Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

This momentarily rendered Dooley and me speechless, but my friend quickly recovered. That’s what all that Discovery Channel watching does. It makes one resilient, and ready to take the vicissitudes of life and the animal kingdom in particular in stride.

“So what’s your name, sir or lady?” he asked now.

The peacock shrugged. “Arnold,” they said. “Or maybe Rose. Or Jasper. Or Francine. I consider myself name-fluid, which means that based on how I feel at any given moment I choose the name I like to use. And there’s nothing you or society can do about it.”

“Isn’t that… a little confusing?” I asked, but the thundercloud that suddenly contorted the bird’s face into an expression of displeasure told me I’d made another faux-pas.

“Maybe it’s confusing to you, but that’s probably because you’re a fluidphobic bigot. And if you don’t know what that means, I’ll tell you. You, sir, are a hater of fluids.”

“I think Max likes fluids,” said Dooley. “Mainly water, though. Milk, not so much.”

The bird raised itself to its full height, which was considerable, and already its ruffled feathers were starting to rise up. “Are you making fun of me? Is that what this is?”

I decided to try and defuse the situation. “So… it’s Francine then, is it?” I asked.

“I feel like a Franklin right now, so call me Franklin,” they said with a toss of the head.

“Great. So, Franklin, can you tell us anything pertaining to the murder of Chickie Hay who was, I presume, your human?”

“Never presume anything,” said Franklin. “Just because she took me under her wing, and fed me and took care of me doesn’t make her ‘my’ human.”

“It doesn’t?” asked Dooley.

“Of course not! That’s such a paternalistic thing to say. She was my fellow living creature, and I loved and respected her, but that doesn’t mean she was superior to me, or assumed a position of control over me. She was ‘a’ human but not ‘my’ human.”

“Fine,” I said, starting to find this conversation a little trying. “So what can you tell us about ‘a’ human named Chickie Hay and her recent demise?”

“She was nice,” said the bird, momentarily looking off with a dreamy expression in their eyes. “She respected me as an individual, and never tried to impose the rigid strictures and structures of society on me. And only yesterday she had a big, great, giant row with her former best friend Jamie.”

“Jamie Borowiak? The singer?” I asked.

“That’s the one.”

“What were they arguing about?”

“Boys, of course,” said the peacock with a very expressive roll of the eyes. “What else? Jamie claimed that Chickie had tried to steal her boyfriend and Chickie claimed she’d known Charlie for so long the argument could be made that it was in fact Jamie who stole her boyfriend from her instead. It all ended with a big brawl and then Jamie stalked off and said she never wanted to clap eyes on Chickie ever again, and Chickie said that Jamie was dead to her and she hated her and hoped she choked and died.” Franklin cocked an eyebrow at me. “But then Jamie returned this morning for a do-over of yesterday’s fight, and this time she killed Chickie.”

I was a little taken aback by this. “What, you actually witnessed the murder?”

“Not witness it, exactly. But I saw Jamie, and I heard her exchange heated words with Chickie in Chickie’s dance studio. So my conclusion is that Jamie is Chickie’s killer.”

“Thank you, Franklin,” I said, excited by this information. “That’s very—”

“Um, the name is Immaculata,” said the peacock. “The name just came to me.”

“Well, thanks, Immaculata. The information is really—”

“Or better yet, call me Sookie.”

“Thanks, Sookie.”

“Or… how about Doogie?”

That was the moment we decided to part ways, before the name-challenged Arnold-Rose-Jasper-Francine-Franklin-Immaculata-Sookie-Doogie drove us completely bananas.

Chapter 7

While Uncle Alec guarded the body and waited for the coroner to show up, Odelia and Chase had decided to tackle the interviews together. The first person they talked to was the housekeeper, as she’d been the one to find the singer. The room they’d been allocated was right next to the rehearsal space, and was a conference room, where Chickie probably conducted meetings with her team. On the wall several gold and platinum disks had been placed, along with plenty of posters of her successful tours.

Hortense was still visibly shaken by what had happened.

“Have you worked for Miss Hay long?” asked Chase, launching into the interview with a softball question.

“Oh, yes,” the woman replied in the affirmative. “I’ve worked for her for seven, or maybe even eight years. Ever since she bought this house, in fact.”

“Is this Miss Hay’s primary residence?”

“Yes, it is. She’s originally from California but she came on vacation here once and liked it so much she immediately bought the house and moved here with her family. She always said she found life more peaceful in Hampton Cove. She also had a lot of meetings in town. Her record label is located in New York, and the recording studio, as well.”

“What kind of person would you say Miss Hay was?” asked Odelia.

Hortense stifled a sob at the use of the past tense. “Very sweet, very kind, very loving. She was the kindest person I ever worked for. Always a hug and a kiss. She was more like family to me than an employer. I’m going to miss her terribly.” She broke down in tears again and Chase fetched a box of Kleenex and placed it before her on the table. “What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked between sobs. “What’s going to become of me?”

“Didn’t Miss Hay live with her mother?” asked Odelia. “Surely she’ll keep you on.”

“I don’t think so, Miss Poole. Yuki never liked it here as much as Chickie did. Yuki—”

“Yuki is Chickie’s mother?”

“Yes. Yuki Hay. She prefers LA. Always did. I’m sure she’ll sell the house and return there soon after the funeral.”

“Do you know if Chickie had any enemies?” asked Chase. “Anyone who meant her harm?”

Hortense shook her head. “No one,” she said decidedly. “Chickie was so loving, so sweet—nobody could be enemies with her. She only had friends. Everybody loved her.”

“But wasn’t she recently locked in a conflict with her former record company owner?” asked Odelia. She was an avid reader of the gossip press and had read all the stories about Chickie having a very public falling-out with the man who’d discovered her.

“No, she didn’t have a falling-out, simply a business disagreement. If anyone fell out, it’s Mr. Weskit. Chickie had a big heart, and Mr. Weskit decided to take advantage of her, but Miss Hay didn’t allow that to happen, and then Mr. Weskit came here last week and shouted a lot of abuse so he was kicked out. Chickie hated conflict—she hated getting into fights with people. But sometimes in this business you have to be strong, or else people walk all over you. So she was strong and Mr. Weskit didn’t like it.”

“What was the fight about?”

Hortense waved a hand. “Something to do with royalties. I don’t know the details.”

“Do you think Mr. Weskit can be violent if provoked?”

“I don’t think so. His wife is another matter entirely, though.”

“His wife?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weskit is a horrible person. I think she was very jealous of Miss Hay, and didn’t like it when her husband and Miss Hay had such a good relationship, such a heartfelt connection, and so she tried to come between them, tried to break them apart, and she succeeded.” The housekeeper nodded sternly as she pressed a Kleenex against her nose. “If there’s anyone who is capable of murder it is certainly Shannon Weskit.”