Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“You’re looking great, Clarice,” said Dooley with a grin.

She had a fresh scratch across her nose, and her mottled red hide featured more bald spots than the last time I’d seen her, but she did look slightly fuller. Then again, I knew for a fact that Odelia left food out for her from time to time, so she didn’t really have to dumpster-dive for a living if she didn’t want to. I guess she wanted to. Or maybe it had become a force of habit.

“You look terrible,” growled Clarice. “And so do you, Max. You’re fat. How much do you weigh these days? A hundred pounds?”

“I’ll have you know that twenty pounds is the new ten pounds,” I said haughtily.

“Max isn’t fat,” said Dooley. “He’s a cat of substance. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Exactly right.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Clarice. “What are you morons doing here?”

“We’re looking for clues,” said Dooley.

“Witnesses,” I corrected him. “We looked for clues before.”

“And we found one,” said Dooley. “He was dead and had a pen sticking out of him.”

“That wasn’t a clue—that was the victim,” I said. “Terminology is everything, Dooley.”

“So are you a witness, Clarice?” asked Dooley.

“A witness to what?” she growled, casually licking her paw.

“A man was murdered inside the library tonight,” I explained. “A famous thriller writer called Chris Ackerman. The killer most likely snuck in through the back entrance. So now we’re trying to locate anyone who might have seen this killer—an eyewitness.”

“What do you care that humans get killed?” asked Clarice with a frown.

Clarice had a grudge against humans. Ever since her own human dumped her in the forest on the outskirts of town, she hasn’t forgiven him—or the entire species he belonged to. Though to be honest, what human would dump a beloved pet? A human like that probably doesn’t even deserve to be called human. Unhuman, maybe? Or inhuman?

“Odelia asked us to investigate,” I explained. “And when Odelia asks us to do something, it’s a privilege and a pleasure for us to comply.”

“We love our human,” said Dooley fervently. “We’d do anything for her.”

Clarice was shaking her head. “So dumb,” she muttered, and hopped down from the dumpster. And as she started stalking off, she turned and said, “Ask Big Mac. I saw him skulking around here earlier this evening. Chances are he saw something.”

“Big Mac?” I asked. “Who’s Big Mac?”

“Big fat cat like you,” she said. “You’ll like him. It’s like looking into a mirror.”

“Where do we find this Big Mac?” I asked, deciding not to be triggered by this slur.

“McDonald’s. Where else?” And then she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

We sat staring after her for a moment. I could feel chills running down my spine.

“She just disappeared, Max,” said Dooley reverently. “How does she do that? Do you think she’s a ghost?”

“She’s something, all right.”

“I’m just glad she’s on our side.”

I wasn’t absolutely sure she was on our side. With Clarice you just never know.

“At least she gave us a very important clue,” said Dooley.

“A witness,” I corrected him.

“A clue to a witness,” he said, and he wasn’t wrong this time.

Uncle Alec put down his phone. He was looking grim.

“Chase. Better come along,” he snapped. “They found him.”

“Found who?” asked Odelia.

“The killer.” He turned to Odelia’s mom. “With any luck this’ll all be over tonight, honey.”

“That would be great,” said Mom.

“Can I tag along?” asked Odelia as her uncle and Chase made for the door.

“Sure. Why not?” said the Chief. “You better go home,” he added for Mom, Tex and Gran’s sake. “No sense in sticking around here.”

“But I have to close the library,” said Mom. “I can’t just leave it open all night.”

“My people will close up shop, Marge,” said Uncle Alec with a smile. “You go on home and try to get some sleep. You, too, Ma. Can you make sure they get home safe, Tex?”

“Will do,” Odelia’s dad confirmed.

“I’m gonna tag along with you, Alec,” said Gran.

All eyes turned to the old lady.

“What? Odelia can come and I can’t? This is ageism pure and simple.”

Uncle Alec grimaced. “This is police business, Ma. Nothing to do with you.”

“Everything’s to do with me,” she countered. “I’m a detective in my own right, and I want to see this man’s killer brought to justice.” She vaguely gestured in the direction of the stage, where Chris Ackerman’s body had already been removed by Abe Cornwall’s crew.

“Mom, you’re not a detective,” said Marge quietly.

“But I want to be.” She directed a cheerful look in Odelia’s direction. “Teach me?”

Odelia opened her mouth, then closed it again. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. “But-but-but…” she sputtered.

“That’s settled then,” said her grandmother, and hooked arms with her. “Let’s crack this case wide open, darlin’. And show those bad ‘uns what Poole women are made of.”

Dad made a strangled noise at the back of his throat, Mom looked stunned, Uncle Alec was rubbing his sideburns as if hoping to produce a genie that would spirit Grandma away for good, and Chase was trying not to laugh. All in all, Gran had probably produced the effect she’d been aiming for. Odelia thought her grandmother would have made a great actress. One of those divas of old, like Elizabeth Taylor or Bette Davis. She certainly knew how to hold an audience spellbound with her antics and her harebrained schemes.

They made for the exit, and as they walked out, Odelia nodded a kindly greeting at the officer guarding the door. “Hey, Jackson. Still hanging around, I see?”

Jackson went a little goggle-eyed. “How did you get in?”

“Magic,” said Odelia, doing the jazz hands thing.

“Don’t just stand there, Jackson,” Uncle Alec grumbled. “Make yourself useful.”

“Yes, sir,” said Officer Jackson, practically jumping to attention. He considered his superior officer’s words. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

Uncle Alec fixed him with a stern look. “Write up your report. I want it on my desk first thing in the morning. And make sure to leave nothing out.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jackson happily. Typing up reports appeared to be his strong suit.

As they proceeded down the few steps that led to the library’s courtyard, Uncle Alec grunted, “Told you you couldn’t go in, eh?”

“Yeah, he said you told him not to let anyone in so that’s what he did. You can’t blame him, really. He’s one of those people who refuse to think for themselves.”

“He’s an idiot,” Alec grumbled. “So how did you get in?”

“Back entrance. The same way the killer got in.”

Uncle Alec darted a quick look around, but Chase had already crossed the street, where he’d parked his car, and Mom and Dad and Gran stood arguing nearby. “What did your cats find out?” Alec asked, arching an inquisitive eyebrow and lowering his voice.

“So far nothing. Except for the letter from Ackerman’s publisher.”

“Mh. Abe would have found that eventually, but you’re right. Nice work.”

Odelia didn’t mention that Max and Dooley finding that letter had been a side-effect from falling on Chris Ackerman’s head. Sometimes accidents do happen, and in this case they’d produced a new lead.

She headed for her car, and as she got in, found herself facing her grandmother, who was sitting in the passenger seat, hands folded on top of her purse. “You should lock your car,” Gran said. “It’s a small miracle no one stole it.”