Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“At least we got our guy,” said Chase, leaning his head back against the support.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Detective Kingsley,” grumbled the Chief. “I’m not convinced he’s not what he says he is: a common robber.”

“Pretty sure he’s our guy,” Chase insisted. He ticked off on his fingers. “We placed him at the scene. He’s obviously a no-good thug who wouldn’t mind adding murder to his rap sheet if it meant he could pocket a small fortune. Nah. He’s our doer. No doubt about it.”

The Chief studied Chase for a moment, then asked, “So how did your date go?”

Chase groaned. “I was just about to pop the question when you called.”

“Sorry about that.”

Chase waved a hand. “Not your fault. She got a call from her mother at the same time I got a call from you. Besides, maybe it’s too soon. Maybe she’s just not ready yet.”

“Or maybe she is, and all you have to do is ask her and she’ll say yes.”

“Your mother just moved out.”

“So? Better strike the iron while it’s hot. Knowing Vesta she and Tex will have another blowup and she’ll move back in with Odelia before the end of the week.” He stabbed a stubby finger in his direction. “You better move quick, son, before that happens.”

Chase thought about this. “So… how should I go about it? Any advice for a desperate man?”

“The woman is crazy about you, son, that’s pretty obvious. So from where I’m sitting you can’t do no wrong.”

Chase had a feeling he could go wrong in about a million different ways. He was fearless as a crime fighter but when it came to wooing Odelia Poole he was as nervous as a first-grader on his first day of school. “Do you think I should talk to Tex first? He is her dad, after all, and I want to do this right.”

The Chief seemed to suppress a quick smile, but agreed this would be a great idea.

“I mean, things are done differently out here in Hampton Cove. Traditional, I mean.”

“You got that right, son. We’re big on tradition out here in the sticks.”

He couldn’t tell whether Alec was making fun of him or not but at least the other man hadn’t shot down his idea about talking to Tex. He made up his mind to do just that the first chance he got. To his recollection he and the good doctor had never had a conversation about Odelia. Now was the time to correct that mistake. If he wanted to become a permanent part of Odelia’s life he needed to create a strong bond with her family—starting with her dad.

“You know? While you’re at it you might want to talk to Vesta, too,” said the Chief.

“Now I know you’re pulling my leg,” he said, and when Alec’s voluminous frame started shaking with rollicking laughter he knew he was right. Soon he was laughing right along with the big guy.

Next Alec would tell him to ask Odelia’s cat for permission, too. Ha ha ha.

If you thought we were going beddy-bye after the long evening we’d had you’re sorely mistaken. Cats don’t go beddy-bye in the middle of the night. We go beddy-bye in the middle of the day. Nighttime is cattime so Dooley and I were still rearing to go-go-go!

Well, maybe not all that much. That hike to the Golden Arches and back had taken a toll on us. Still, there was still cat choir to attend, and no Hampton Cove feline wants to miss cat choir when they can help it. Not to sing, of course, but to socialize and sniff some butts. Not me, obviously. I’m not a butt-sniffer. But lots of my feline brethren and sistern are.

You can take a cat out of a butt but you can’t take a butt out of a cat.

We’d said our goodbyes to Big Mac and headed off to Hampton Cove Park, where cat choir holds its nocturnal rehearsal sessions under the tutelage of Shanille, our conductor. When we arrived the place was already buzzing, and Dooley and I quickly joined Brutus and Harriet, who had secured themselves a spot near the benches. Cat choir rehearsals are held at the playground section of the park, us cats occupying the jungle gym and other multi-colored paraphernalia. My favorite spot is on top of the slide. I love sliding down the thing from time to time. It seems to help reaching both those low notes and the high ones.

Milo, our across-the-street neighbor’s cat, who’d recently spent some time with us while his owner was vacationing in Florida, was also there. I was glad to see him. Before he met us his human never let him go outside. Odelia had had a little chat with Mrs. Lane and now Milo enjoyed that rare and wonderful privilege of the cat flap, without a doubt one of the greatest inventions made by man.

“Hey, buddy,” I said when I spotted Milo.

“Max,” he said with a nod.

Milo is a small, white cat with a very big imagination.

“Have you lost weight?” he asked now.

I was inordinately pleased. “You think so?” I asked, checking my girth.

“Your belly used to drag across the ground like a pot-bellied pig’s and now it doesn’t. That’s how I can tell that you lost weight. Either that or your legs have gotten longer, which seems improbable.”

My smile had vanished. I should have mentioned that Milo has a habit of insulting people—and cats. It stems from his days at the pound, when he had to fend for himself. You’ve got to be tough to survive life at the pound, and tough is Milo’s middle name.

“I see you’re still your usual, charming self,” I grumbled.

“Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” He directed a nod at Dooley, who was looking up at the heavens with a suspicious look on his face, as if expecting the sky to drop on his head.

“What’s he looking at?” asked Milo curiously.

“Dooley has started watching the Discovery Channel—”

“Good for him.”

“—and saw a documentary about the apocalypse. Climate change, Yellowstone, earth-destroying comets, the usual. And now he expects the world to end any moment.”

“You’re right, you know, Dooley,” said Milo seriously.

Dooley looked over, surprised. “I’m right?”

Oh, God. Here we go again , I thought. Did I also mention Milo is a fantasist?

Milo placed a paw on Dooley’s shoulder. “The world is ending tomorrow night at midnight on the dot. Which is why I’m feeling slightly maudlin.” He transferred his paw to his heart. “And why I’m so glad I met you guys. True friendship is the only thing that makes this painful moment in our planet’s existence worth living through.”

“Oh, Milo,” said Dooley, touched.

“Thanks for your friendship, Dooley,” Milo said with a catch in his voice. “And you, Max. And Brutus and Harriet. I love you guys.”

“How—how is the world ending, exactly?” asked Dooley. “Is it… Yellowstone? Is she finally going to blow? Or are the North Koreans launching those ICBMs of theirs? Or, or, or is it the three-hundred-foot tsunami that’s going to wipe out the entire continent?”

“All of the above and more, Dooley,” said Milo sadly.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

“I know.”

Both cats were silent for a moment, taking a minute to process these truths, while Harriet rolled her eyes. Then again, if it wasn’t on The Bachelor , Harriet didn’t believe it.

“You can still save yourself, though, Dooley,” said Milo now.

Hope surged in Dooley’s eyes. “How?”

“Simple. Just kick a friend.”

“Kick a friend?”

“Kick him hard. If everyone kicks a friend we can stop this apocalypse.”

“Kick a friend,” said Dooley thoughtfully.

“Here, let me show you,” said Milo, and kicked Dooley.

“Hey!”

“Do you feel it?”

Dooley stared at the cat. “Feel what?”