Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Alibi

“We better show these to Mom,” said Odelia. “She’s always been Chris Ackerman’s biggest fan. If these people are associated with Ackerman, she might recognize them.”

And so she did. Fifteen minutes later Marge Poole joined them, and another ten minutes later she’d identified four out of seven.

“That’s Ackerman’s wife. I think her name is Angelique. That’s Ackerman’s son Trey. That’s Rockwell Burke—weird. I thought he hadn’t shown up. Um, and that’s Malcolm Buckerfield. Like I told you before, he is—or was—Ackerman’s publisher.” She stared at the final three sketches but shook her head. “I’ve never seen these. Maybe they’re more of Ackerman’s relatives?”

“That’s Sasha Drood,” said Uncle Alec. “He’s the one who stole Ackerman’s valuables. He might be the one who killed him.”

Mom pressed her lips together in disapproval. “What a nasty, nasty man. Even if he didn’t actually kill Chris Ackerman he did something that’s almost just as bad. You don’t steal from a dead man.”

“Or a dying man,” said Odelia softly. The thought hadn’t occurred to her before, but if what Drood said was true, and he hadn’t actually killed Ackerman, he might have watched him die, and hadn’t lifted a finger to help him. She frowned and turned to her uncle. “If Drood is telling the truth, then he must have arrived just after Ackerman was killed. In which case he might have seen the killer.”

“I asked him that same question. He says he didn’t see anyone.”

“He could be lying to protect the killer.”

Uncle Alec agreed that that was a distinct possibility.

“Hey, this pizza is amazing!” Big Mac cried from his position on the floor. When Odelia looked, she saw that the pizza was gone.

“Max? Did you get to eat something?” she asked.

Max shook his head. “I figured Big Mac deserved the whole thing.”

And so he did. Two more pizzas were sitting on the desk. She picked up a slice and placed it down in front of Max. “This is for you,” she said warmly. “You brought us Big Mac. You deserve a treat just as much as he does.”

“Yes, you did great, Max,” said Marge, and Gran confirmed that Max was a real trooper. Uncle Alec merely grinned. Even though he’d heard his mother, his sister and his niece talk feline all his life, it never failed to elicit a smile from the big guy.

Chapter 20

Once Odelia had dropped Big Mac off at Mickey D’s and picked up Dooley from the house, it was time for us to conduct our first interview on the Baffling Case of the Murdered Best-Selling Author of the World. As all self-respecting sleuths know, interviews are a detective’s bread and butter. It’s what we live for. Read any Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple novel and it’s wall-to-wall interviews. Some people think it gets a little boring after a while, but not me. Oh, no. I love chatting with suspects. Getting under their skin. Making them talk!

Only problem is, most suspects don’t speak cat. But I don’t mind. I talk to their pets instead, and boy, oh, boy do pets have the most fascinating stories to share. Often they know more about humans and their weird and quirky ways than the humans themselves!

And so it was that Odelia steered her decrepit old Ford in the direction of downtown Hampton Cove, me and Dooley in the back and Grandma Muffin riding shotgun. Usually it’s Chase who’s Odelia’s preferential sleuthpartner, but I guess family comes first. And since Chase wasn’t family yet, Gran had effectively managed to usurp the cop’s position.

“So before we go in there we need to establish a few ground rules,” said Odelia as the car hurtled through town, belching out fumes and rattling as if something was going to bust loose any minute now. A hubcap, maybe, or a vital piece of engine. “One. We behave professionally, which means we don’t pretend to be cops, and we always stay polite.”

“Too bad. I figured we’d do good cop, bad cop and I’d get to be the bad cop,” said Gran.

“Second, better let me ask the questions. I’ve done this before and I know how to handle myself.”

“Honey, I’ve done this a thousand times before. I’m old!” she added when Odelia gave her a skeptical look. “I’ve talked people into saying stuff they didn’t want to say from way before you were even born. Men, mostly, but women, too.” She looked grim. “You wouldn’t believe the things I got your grandfather to confess when I used my thumbscrews on him.”

Odelia laughed, but then seemed to realize Gran wasn’t kidding. She cleared her throat. “Three. We find a way to insert Max and Dooley into the room so they can talk to the suspects’ pets. And we never, ever, leave them behind.”

Never leave a fallen pet behind. I liked it. One of those rules to live by, huh?

“You don’t have to tell me how to do my job,” said Gran, holding up a hand. “I’m a born detective, sweetie. Put me in a room with a suspect and I can tell at a glance whether they did it or not.” She tapped her nose. “It’s called intuition and I’ve got it up the wazoo.”

“Just… let me do the talking,” said Odelia, who didn’t seem comfortable with the idea of bringing her grandmother along for these interviews.

“So how did it go with Big Mac?” asked Dooley.

“It went great,” I said. “He identified seven people who snuck into the library last night, and then Marge recognized four of them. Number five was the guy they picked up last night—the one who stole Mr. Ackerman’s valuables and probably killed him, too. Number eight was a pizza guy, so that only leaves two more Uncle Alec needs to trace.”

“If the thief is the killer, why are we even doing these interviews?” asked Dooley, and very correctly so, I should add.

“Because the thief says he didn’t do it, and there’s some debate about whether to believe him or not. Chief Alec thinks he didn’t do it, and neither does Gran. Chase thinks he did it, and Odelia is on the fence.”

“What do you think, Max?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m a professional detective and professional detectives merely collect evidence then use deductive reasoning to come to a definite conclusion.”

Dooley looked appropriately impressed. “Did you learn all that from the Hallmark Channel?”

“Amongst other things,” I said smugly. I didn’t tell him I’d recently rewatched Sherlock Holmes 1 and 2 with Odelia and that had taught me a thing or two, too. Mainly that Jude Law is probably the most handsome man alive, and that Robert Downey Jr. does a very wonky British accent.

We’d arrived at the Hampton Cove Star hotel, across the street from Vickery General Store, where one of my main informants Kingman holds court. Which reminded me I should have a chat with Kingman. This thing with Brutus’s spots had been worrying me and maybe Kingman had some old remedy to cure our friend. Some root or herb or whatever.

Odelia parked her car in a no-parking zone, then got out and Dooley and I followed suit. We trotted up to the hotel’s entrance and Odelia picked us both up and carried us inside. At least the Hampton Cove Star isn’t one of those No Pets Allowed places. I hate it when hotels do that. There should probably be a law against that. The no No Pets law.

Gran had taken out her smartphone and was aiming it at Odelia.

“What are you doing?” asked Odelia.

“Filming you. What do you think I’m doing?”

“And why are you filming me?”

“For my vlog. Didn’t I tell you? I have a vlog. It’s like a blog, but less boring because it’s got video. I’ve been filming lots of things. I filmed Tex while he was sleeping, and Marge while she was in the bathroom. I’m trying to paint a portrait of life as a middle-aged woman in the suburbs. I’m calling it Desperate Housewives .”