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

“And who is this electrician?” asked Odelia, grabbing her notepad.

“Serge Brimley. He was arrested a couple of years ago.”

“What for? Do you remember?”

“Um… no, actually I don’t, but he does have a criminal record, and he was the person who rigged up those lights. Just saying.”

“Any idea if this Serge would have access to Opal’s car?” asked Gran now. She’d emerged from behind the couch, like a turtle poking its head out of its shell, venturing a little closer to Kurtz, as if deeming him not as dangerous as she first thought.

“Um, yeah, sure. Opal’s car is usually parked behind the building, so anyone who works on the lot would have access to it.”

“We need to talk to Opal’s driver,” said Gran, and Odelia nodded. They needed to talk to a lot of people.

“How about Opal’s coffee?” asked Gran, inching a little closer to Kurtz.

“Opal’s… coffee?” asked Kurtz.

“Yeah, you know, the coffee Opal drinks. Would this Serge fellow have access to Opal’s coffee?”

“Um… you mean at the studio? I guess anyone would have access to Opal’s coffee.”

“Was Opal’s coffee poisoned at the studio or at the house?” asked Gran, directing her question at her granddaughter.

“The house.”

“Mh. That complicates things.”

“It sure does.”

“Serge could have an accomplice.”

Kurtz’s eyes had gone wide as saucers. “Opal’s coffee? Poisoned?”

“Yeah, didn’t she tell you? Someone dumped cyanide in her coffee. Almost killed her.”

“Oh, my God!” said Kurtz, bringing a slender hand to his face. “This is terrible! Horrible! Who would do such a thing? Opal is a legend. An icon. A living saint!”

“Sure, sure. Now don’t you go blabbing about this to your colleagues, you hear?” said Gran sternly. She had now emerged fully from behind the sofa and took a seat next to Odelia. “This is all strictly hush-hush, you understand?”

Kurtz nodded and mimicked closing his lips with a key and throwing it away.

“On second thought, I don’t think Opal ever told us where this poisoned coffee was served,” said Odelia, thinking hard, “but I always assumed it was at the house.”

“I have a feeling we’ve assumed a lot of things, Odelia, and I think it’s time we stopped assuming and started treating this investigation the way it should be treated: by looking at the cold, hard facts and nothing but the cold, hard facts.”

Gran was right. That afternoon’s events had really shaken the both of them. Somehow the full import of Opal’s predicament hadn’t really dawned on Odelia. But now it had. That falling light had really driven Opal’s point home: she was under attack, and her assailant wasn’t fooling around. He or she meant business. They wanted her dead.

“Do you know of any other people who would wish your employer harm?” she asked.

“And who would have access to her car, her coffee, and the studio?” Gran added.

Kurtz had gone even paler than usual, if that was possible, and now looked white as the proverbial sheet as he contemplated these questions.

“Um… there have been studio guests who didn’t like the way they were treated.”

“Like Jacqueline Jackson?” asked Odelia.

“Well, Mrs. Jackson was never a guest on the show. She was merely the subject of a small piece we ran last year.”

“Mrs. Jackson said Opal treated her unfairly. That she lied about an incident with a cow and that she ruined her business by supplying her viewers with a false report.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Jackson is completely honest,” said Kurtz. “Did she also tell you that out of the hundred and fifty or so cows she and her husband had on their farm over a dozen had to be put down in the course of the last six months alone? And that the vet who worked for them was the one who approached us when he saw the way they were treating their animals? I was at the farm myself, and I saw firsthand the state those poor cows were in. Dirty stables, cramped spaces—there was a lot of suffering going on.”

“So you were the spy she accused of delivering a biased report?” asked Gran.

“Yeah, I was the spy Opal sent in to take the measure of the Jacksons and their operation. And the footage I smuggled out was just the tip of the iceberg. I think it’s safe to say we did those animals a big favor by shutting down that particular operation. The Jacksons are a disgrace to their profession and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near animal husbandry ever again.”

“Interesting,” said Gran, nodding. “So do you think Jacqueline Jackson or her husband could be behind these attacks on Opal?”

Kurtz thought about this for a moment, pursing his lips. “Um… well, I would love to say that they are, but I don’t really see how. She couldn’t have possibly unscrewed those bolts this afternoon. Someone would have noticed. I guess she could have done something to the car—depending on what exactly it is that you think she did, and as far as the coffee is concerned…” He shook his head. “I’d say it’s doubtful. Unless the Jacksons have a person on the inside, of course. A person they pay to do all of these things.”

“The same way Opal paid you to spy on them, you mean,” said Gran.

He smiled. “Yes. They’d probably consider that poetic justice. In all fairness, though,” he continued, serious once more, “I don’t see them resorting to murder, just to get even with Opal. They may be cruel to animals but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re also potential killers.”

“Good point,” said Odelia.

“They’re desperate, though,” said Gran. “And desperate people sometimes resort to desperate measures.”

“True,” Kurtz admitted. He was eyeing them keenly. “So you’re both detectives? Pardon my impertinence but can I just say you don’t look like detectives?”

“And what are detectives supposed to look like?” asked Gran, a little acerbically.

“Well, um… I guess… butch and… a little surly, maybe? Like Philip Marlowe?” He laughed. “I know this is probably very cliché, but it’s just that… I’ve never seen a woman detective before, and definitely not one as pretty as you, Miss Poole.” He seemed taken aback by his own words, for once more he clasped a hand before his mouth. “I’m sorry. This is probably one of those metoo moments I’ll regret for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Odelia reassured him. “And thanks for the compliment.”

“Yeah, thanks for the compliment,” Gran muttered darkly.

Kurtz swallowed uncomfortably, though by some medical miracle he managed to do so without making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Well, I hope you ladies find whoever is behind this. Opal is our heroine, and we want to keep her with us for a long time to come. She’s not just a talk show host, she saves lives, she heals people, and mends broken hearts. She’s a miracle worker—even more so than Dr. Phil or Oprah Winfrey or any of those other wonderful colleagues of hers.”

Once Kurtz was gone, Gran and Odelia sat discussing the interview.

“Do you really think Jacqueline Jackson and her husband are behind this?” asked Gran.

“I doubt it,” said Odelia, “unless, as Kurtz suggested, they have someone on the inside.”

“I like this Serge guy for this. He had access and he’s got a criminal record, which makes him the perfect candidate in my book. Plus, I have a bad feeling about him.”

“You had a bad feeling about Kurtz,” Odelia reminded her.

“Kurtz is all right,” said Gran with a throwaway gesture of her hand. “He’s a loyal soldier and would never harm a hair on Opal’s head. No, we need to find out more about this Serge what’s-his-face and the only way to do that is by contacting the police.”