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“Look at this dump,” the cat was saying. “This is beneath us, Chris. Way, way beneath us.”

“I know,” said the guy. “But a job is a job, buddy, so buck up, will you?”

“How much are they paying us? Cause if it’s less than our usual quote I say we get out of here and dump this dump.”

“Ten K now, and another ten if we catch her son’s killer.”

“Twenty K, huh. Not too shabby.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So are we doing this?”

“Hell, yeah,” said the cat.

And cat and man moved towards the front door as one man, then out of sight.

“Weird,” said Dooley.

“What’s weird?” I asked, closing my eyes again now that the show was over.

“That guy could talk to his cat.”

It took me a few moments before realizing the truth in Dooley’s worlds. Then my eyes shot open again. “Great Scott, Dooley!” I cried.

“What?”

“That guy can talk to his cat!”

“That’s what I said.”

“But I always thought Odelia was the only one—and her mom and grandma, of course.”

“Well, looks like they’re not the only ones,” said Dooley sensibly.

I stared at the green van, the engine still ticking as it cooled down. On the side of the car a decal had been stuck. It read ‘Christopher Cross—Pet Detective.’

“Competition,” I murmured.

“Mh?” asked Dooley, who’d closed his eyes, his favorite strike pose.

“Odelia is getting some serious competition, Dooley.”

“So? We’re on strike, Max. Officially we’ve stopped caring about Odelia.”

He was right. Officially we didn’t care about what happened to Odelia. “Still, I don’t think she’s going to like it,” I said as I rested my head on my paws again.

“Maybe it will stop her from taking us for granted,” said Dooley.

I smiled. Some people call Dooley dumb. Dooley isn’t dumb. A little slow perhaps, but smarter than he often gets credit for. “You’re absolutely right, Dooley,” I said. “Maybe this is what she needs to stop taking us for granted.”

Chapter 8

Odelia was staring out of the window. She felt a little creeped out by being in the same room as the victim of a crime. Not that she was particularly squeamish about being in the presence of a dead person. She’d been involved in more murder cases than any reporter had a right to be, especially in a small town like Hampton Cove. But still… It didn’t feel right. Disrespectful, even. Leonidas Flake should be in the presence of his loved ones. Being laid up in a funeral home so he could be mourned properly. Not on display for all the world to see—or at least two amateur sleuths like herself and Gran.

“Look at this, Odelia,” said her grandmother, and she turned in the direction the old lady was indicating. She was on hands and knees, poking at something under the bed.

“What is it?” she asked, also getting down on all fours.

“I don’t know. Looks like a wrapper.”

“A wrapper? Like a candy wrapper?”

“I don’t think so. More like the kind of wrapper you use for a syringe.”

“Probably something Flake’s nurse dropped.”

“Yeah, probably. I mean, the guy was old, right? So he probably was prodded and jabbed with a bunch of syringes, like, all the time.”

Odelia agreed. Still, just to be on the safe side she took a picture of the item, then shuffled back from under the bed. She was just in time to watch the door swing open and Chase stroll in, followed by the coroner, looking harried.

“Finally,” said Gran. “We thought you’d never get here, Abe.”

Abe Cornwall was a scruffy-looking man in his mid-fifties with a marked paunch and hair that stuck out in every direction, as if he’d stuck his fingers in a socket. “Another homicide over in Happy Bays,” he said as he placed his medical bag on the floor. “Got here as fast as I could. So what have we here?”

“Leonidas Flake,” said Gran helpfully. “Designer to the stars. And now up amongst the stars in heaven himself. Unless he’s gone straight down to hell, of course. I guess with the kind of life the dude probably led all bets are off.”

The coroner stared at Gran for a moment, then proceeded to check the dead man’s pulse. “Dead,” he said with an air of finality.

“No shit,” said Gran. “We didn’t need a doctor to tell us that.”

Abe gave her a censorious look. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Vesta?”

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, Abe,” she said caustically. “Now tell us, did he get whacked, yes or no.”

The doctor grumbled something under his breath, then proceeded to pull on a pair of plastic gloves, and give the patient on display his full attention. Moments later, he rose with a serious expression on his face. “Francine will be devastated. She loved his designs.”

“Who cares what your wife thinks?” said Gran. “Give us the verdict, medicine man.”

“She picked up a nice pair of pants from Costco last month. Two blouses, too. Discounted, of course. Still, she was happy as a clam. Guy knew his stuff.”

“Oh, my God! Are you going to keep flapping your gums or are you going to get to the point already?”

“Well, as far as I can tell—and this is very preliminary, mind you—he’s been dead for three or four hours. Cause of death is almost certainly a stab wound to the heart. I’ll know more once I get him on my slab.”

“Thanks, Abe,” said Chase, nodding.

“You’re welcome. Now if there’s nothing else…”

“We found a wrapper for a syringe under the bed,” said Gran.

“Probably something his nurse dropped,” said the doctor. He moved over to the nightstand and picked through the small collection of medication collected there. “Heart medicine, and diabetes, of course. Hypertension, anxiety… the usual. I’ll make you a list if you want.”

And as they were about to leave the room, allowing the coroner’s people to move the body down to a waiting ambulance and then to the morgue, there was suddenly a commotion at the door and a strange-looking man dressed in a long black overcoat came waltzing in.

“Not so fast,” he said, fixing all those present with a steely look.

“And who are you?” asked Chase.

The man drew himself up to his full height. “My name is Christopher Cross. And I was hired by that man’s mother,” he said, pointing to Leonidas.

All eyes swiveled to the old man on the bed. “Leonidas Flake had a mother?” asked Odelia, voicing the question that had occurred to everyone.

“Yes, he had. She’s ninety-eight years old but still in full possession of all her faculties. And upon learning the fate that has befallen her one and only son, she’s decided to engage my services.”

“And those are…” Gran prompted.

“I’m a private detective, with a long list of accolades and clients, and I’m here to take over this investigation.”

“I’m Hampton Cove PD, buddy,” said Chase, “so you’re not taking over anything.”

“Pardon me, sir. Of course I meant taking over from the amateur detectives present.” He directed a pointed look to Odelia and Gran. “Odelia Poole, if I’m not mistaken? I thought I’d find you here. And you must be Vesta Muffin. Charmed, I’m sure.” And he actually grabbed Gran’s hand and tried to press a kiss on it. He would have succeeded if Gran hadn’t pulled back her hand and in the process managed to smack the guy across the face with it.

“Ouch,” he said, then gave her a nasty look. “If that’s the way it’s going to be…”

“Look, I don’t know what your game is,” said Chase, “but this is a police investigation, and this is a crime scene, and you’re not invited. So buzz off.”