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

Chapter 22

The next morning Odelia was the first one up. She decided to go for a walk in the grounds, and get some of that fresh air these Hollywood Hills were so famous for.

She ventured out into the cool and crisp morning air and took in a lungful of the stuff, which made her feel so giddy she broke into a spontaneous run and didn’t stop until she’d reached a little brook and crossed it, finally to reach destination’s end: the small waterfall she’d seen the first night.

It was a beautiful spot, with a gorgeous view, the sun rising over the hills, and spreading its gorgeous rays across a sleeping world. She took a seat on a small wooden bench and took in the breathtaking scene. Behind her, the brook gurgled, next to her the waterfall burbled, and inside, her stomach grumbled.

All this running had given her an appetite, and she couldn’t wait to sit down for breakfast.

One thing was for sure: Opal was the perfect hostess, and not just on her famous show, but in her own home as well. The first-class meals they’d been served were so delicious Odelia was already dreading the moment they’d return home and she’d have to cook again. She’d never be able to compete with Helga, who clearly was a master chef when it came to the work she did in the kitchen, aided by Harlan’s liquor stash or not.

She stretched and yawned, and a voice behind her startled her out of her reverie.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? This is certainly my favorite spot.”

She looked up to find she’d been joined by a woman who looked vaguely familiar. And then she recognized her. “You’re Marilyn Coyn,” she said. “Opal’s best friend.”

“That’s me,” said Marilyn. “And you must be Odelia Poole. The detective.”

“Reporter, actually,” said Odelia. “I’m just an amateur when it comes to detecting.”

Marilyn, who was a statuesque woman with refined features, took a seat next to her on the bench. “That’s not what I heard. I heard you’re a damn fine detective.”

“I do my best,” said Odelia modestly.

“Opal told me what happened yesterday. That must have been a horrible scene.”

“It was. And a miracle she survived.”

“Opal seems to be on the receiving end of a lot of miracles these days,” said Marilyn. “First those faulty brakes, then the poisoned coffee, and now this.”

“She told you about all of those incidents?”

“Oh, yes, she did. In fact it was me who told her to hire you.”

“But… we’ve never met, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“So how do you know so much about me?”

“I read a story about how you caught Chickie Hay’s killer, and that impressed me a great deal.”

Of course. The Chickie Hay case had garnered a lot of publicity.

“I loved Chickie,” said Marilyn. “She was one of my favorite singers and a dear friend.”

“You knew her?”

“Sure. She was a guest on my show a couple of times, and we became fast friends. She was a bright young woman, and didn’t deserve to die.”

She remembered now. Marilyn had her own show, and even though it wasn’t as popular or famous as Opal’s, it still attracted a fairly large viewership.

“Have you gotten any closer to finding out the truth?” asked Marilyn.

“No, not yet, I’m afraid,” she was ashamed to admit. “We’ve gone through a list of suspects but so far haven’t hit on the right one yet.”

“You have to figure out what’s going on, Odelia. I can’t lose another dear friend so soon after I lost Chickie. I wouldn’t be able to cope with the loss.”

She nodded. “I’ll find out who’s doing this, Marilyn. You have my word on that.”

“I know you will,” said Marilyn, placing a hand on hers and giving it a tight squeeze. “That’s why I recommended you.” She got up. “Shall we return to the house? We have an appointment with a beauty parlor, remember?”

“Oh, you’re joining us? That’s great.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Dr. Kavorkjan is amazing. He’ll make you look and feel at least a decade younger.” She arched an eyebrow. “Which, in your case, will make you look like a teenager again.”

Odelia laughed. She liked this friend of Opal. She was funny.

“Have you seen Hank?” Gran asked me.

I shook my head. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, Gran,” I said.

“He didn’t come home last night,” Gran explained, looking pained. “And he’s not answering my calls.”

“He probably hit the town hard last night and is still out partying,” I suggested.

“Possibly,” she allowed, “but at least he could pick up the damn phone.”

“Or he could have been hit by a car or been killed in a mugging,” said Dooley.

Gran frowned at him. “Not helping, Dooley! Not helping!” she said, and walked off in the direction of the main house, presumably to have breakfast. Or to pester more people in her endeavor to find her lost boy toy.

The four of us were seated on a bench that had been placed in front of the guesthouse. It was a great spot to watch the world go by, and to keep an eye both on the goings-on at the guesthouse, and the main house. In other words: the perfect cat spot.

“Poor Gran,” said Harriet. “She just got her boy toy and now she lost him again.”

“That’s what happens with boy toys,” said Brutus. “Now you see them, now you don’t.”

“Is he a real boy?” asked Dooley. “Or is he a real toy?”

“He’s a real person, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Harriet, a little snappishly.

“But why do they call him a toy if he’s a boy?”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet, who has a lot less patience than I have when dealing with Dooley’s tendency to ask a lot of difficult questions.

“I’ll bet he’s gone off to become an actor,” said Brutus. “This town is contagious that way. Anyone who comes here catches the acting bug within hours of their arrival. Maybe they came here to be an accountant or a plumber or a ballerina but soon after they get into town they all switch careers and become wannabe actors instead. I guess it’s something in the air—or the water.”

I’d never heard Brutus turn philosophical like this before, and we all stared at him in surprise.

“What?” he said. “I have deep thoughts, too, you know.”

“I think it’s because you were cloned, Brutus,” said Dooley. “I’ll bet the original Brutus never had deep thoughts.”

“And how would you know?” said Brutus a little brusquely. “You probably never had a deep thought in your life, not the original Dooley, and definitely not this carbon copy.”

“That’s a mean thing to say, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Apologize to Dooley.”

“I’m not going to apologize for telling an obvious truth.”

“He’s right, you know,” said Dooley. “I never have deep thoughts.”

“That’s simply not true, Dooley,” I said. “You have deep thoughts all the time.”

“Give me one example,” Brutus said. “One example and I’ll happily apologize.”

“Um… well, like last night, for instance, when Dooley said humans can change colors just like chameleons. I thought that was very deep.”

“That wasn’t deep,” said Brutus. “He got that from watching the Discovery Channel.”

“It was deep,” said Harriet. “Now apologize to Dooley.”

“Never!”

“Or how you figured out that Brutus is cloned, because now he has deep thoughts and the old Brutus probably didn’t have deep thoughts to save his life,” I continued.

“Max,” Brutus said with a hint of menace in his voice.

“Brutus!” Harriet snapped, and directed a steely glance at her mate.

“Oh, all right,” said Brutus, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m feeling a little grumpy this morning. All this talk about clones and cloning has got me on edge.”