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

Opal fixed Odelia with a grave look. “I’m under attack,” she said finally in a deep voice. “And I want you to find out who’s behind it.”

“Under attack?” asked Odelia, immediately concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Someone is trying to kill me, Odelia. My car was sabotaged just last week, and my coffee spiked with poison only yesterday.”

“Spiked with poison?” asked Gran. “So how come you’re still alive?”

“Because I immediately tasted something was wrong—I have a very sophisticated palate—and I had it sent to the lab for testing. Cyanide. In my morning coffee!”

“My God,” said Odelia.

“So why don’t you go to the cops?” asked Gran, having adopted the persona of the hard-nosed reporter asking all the tough questions.

“Because if word gets out that I’m being targeted, my investors will get spooked, my staff will freak out, and my stars will get rattled and run to the competition.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m one of your biggest fans,” said Gran, “and if I were to star on one of your shows I’d rally round and do whatever I could to track this miscreant down.”

Opal smiled. “Thanks…”

“Vesta. And this is Hank. Say hi to Opal, Hank.”

“Hi, Opal,” said Hank, and gave her a little wave.

“The thing is,” said Opal, folding her hands in her lap, “that I’m currently going through a business overhaul. I’m actively looking to expand my business and I need new investors to accomplish that, as well as the trust and support of my old and most loyal investors. If word got out about these assassination attempts, they might get cold feet and pull out. Investors don’t like trouble. And they sure as hell won’t like it if the person personifying the brand is in any danger. If I die, the company could go under, and under these circumstances they’ll never invest, which could mean that the company will fold.”

“I thought you were, like, super-rich?” said Gran. “Can’t you invest your own money?”

“I’m rich on paper—most of my capital is invested in my company. Oh, sure, I have some real estate, and if I sell I could raise more money. But the same principle applies: as soon as I start selling property, the investors will smell trouble and pull the plug.”

“So you’re in dire straits, huh?” said Gran. “Look, if you need money, I could lend you some. How much do you need?” She was already grabbing for her purse.

“How about ten million?” said Opal.

Gran gulped. “Are you nuts?”

“Yeah, that’s what Harlan told me.”

“Harlan…” said Odelia.

“Opal’s boyfriend,” said Gran. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Harlan doesn’t agree with me, by the way,” said Opal. “He says I should go to the cops. But I can’t. I worked too long and hard to let my company go belly-up, just because some nutjob out there has decided to draw a target on my back.” She leaned forward and grabbed Odelia’s hands. “Promise me you will catch this person, Odelia. Marilyn told me there isn’t a case you can’t solve—she says you’ve got the touch. You’re the real deal.”

Odelia gave the talk show host a reassuring smile. “Of course. I’ll find whoever is behind this, Opal. You have my word.”

Then Opal turned to Gran. “And please be discreet about it. No one can find out what’s going on, you hear? Absolutely no one.” She then leaned around Gran to give Hank a hard look. “That goes for you, too, buddy boy. Not a peep from you, understood?”

Hank took the straw out of his mouth and paused from sucking on his umpteenth milk carton. “A peep about what, ma’am?”

Chapter 6

In the second limo, which followed closely behind the first one, the conversation had quite naturally turned to a single topic: Hank.

“Who the hell is this guy anyway?” Alec asked again.

“And who are his parents?” asked Marge. “Where does he live? What does he do?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Hank if I were you,” said Chase. “I’m sure Vesta will get tired of the kid soon enough. Just like that guy she used to date—what’s his name…”

“Leo,” said Tex.

“No, Dick,” said Marge.

“Rock,” was Alec’s opinion.

“Well, whatever his name was, he’s gone, and this Hank kid will befall the same fate. Just you wait and see.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Marge. “She seems to be very fond of him.”

“She was fond of Leo, too,” said Chase, “and Rock and Dick.”

“I think she told me she’s angry with Dick, because he told her he was Beyoncé’s choreographer but then it turned out he wasn’t Beyoncé’s choreographer at all.”

“Dick explained all that to me,” said Tex, who happened to be Dick Bernstein’s doctor. “He never told her he was Beyoncé’s choreographer. That was a misunderstanding. He said he wouldn’t mind being Beyoncé’s oceanographer if she decides to take that trip around the world with her family the newspapers have been writing about.”

“Oh, that’s right. Dick used to be an oceanographer,” said Marge.

“It was all just a big misunderstanding,” said Tex. “And Dick has apologized but Vesta being Vesta she’s refusing to even talk to him—or Rock, who she feels is also to blame because he should have told her Dick can’t dance.”

“Well, I just hope Hank isn’t a serial killer,” Uncle Alec grunted.

“He doesn’t look like a serial killer,” said Chase.

“And how would you know what a serial killer looks like?”

“Well, I’ve seen them on TV plenty of times,” Chase said. “The impossible good looks, the blue eyes, the ‘aw-shucks’ goofiness.” He paused. “Now that you mention it, you’re right. Hank’s got serial killer written all over him.”

“Funny story,” said Tex. “When Vesta introduced Hank to me just now I’m pretty sure he called her Vestal.” When no one laughed, he added, “Vestal? Like in Vestal Virgin? No?”

“I don’t care what he calls her,” said Alec. “I just hope she doesn’t wake up one morning to find that the little punk has cut her head off in the middle of the night.”

“If he cuts her head off she wouldn’t be able to wake up, though, right?” said Marge.

“True,” Alec admitted.

And having exhausted the topic of Hank, they devoted the rest of the trip to wondering why Opal Harvey would have possibly hired Odelia. The general consensus was that she’d found a skeleton in her basement and wanted Odelia to figure out where it had come from—seeing as Odelia had gained some notoriety in that particular field.

They’d arrived at Opal’s mansion, and as the limo zoomed through the gates Odelia glanced around and marveled at the beauty of her host’s gardens. She thought she could spot a waterfall nearby, and plenty of greenery covering the large domain surrounding the main house, which, when it finally loomed up behind the bend, turned out to be more of a manor than a house. Built in Tudor style, with the exposed wood framework and the steeply pitched gable roofs, it could probably house not one but a dozen Opals.

“Finally. Home sweet home,” said Opal with a contented sigh as the limo’s tires crunched the blond gravel on the drive and eased to a full stop with nary a jerk.

“Nice place you got here,” said Gran as she peered at the impressive building.

Opal laughed a full-throated laugh. “Yeah, it’s not too shabby,” she agreed.

Four cats eagerly sprang from the limo, and as they trod towards the house, halted in their tracks when the door swung open and a tiny ginger cat appeared on the steps.

“And that’s my own precious Prunella,” said Opal, a warm purr in her voice. “Contrary to you, I only have my one precious darling, but I love her to death.”