Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Cut

“Yeah, I’m good,” said Odelia. “I’ll just pop in at the office to write my article and then we can forget all about this nasty murder business.”

“Too bad,” said Gran with a sigh as she directed a reluctant glance at the door to the doctor’s office. “I like a juicy murder mystery from time to time.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” said Odelia. “Murder mysteries are not meant to be enjoyed, Gran. They’re meant to be mourned.”

“Oh, but I’m mourning Leonidas Flake,” said Gran. “I’m mourning the hell out of that poor man.”

After another pregnant pause, in which Odelia kept her tongue, she finally walked up to the door to the office and disappeared inside. Obviously taking down appointments from people suffering the flu or hemorrhoids was a lot less exciting than hunting down clues and chasing down murderers. Still, Tex needed his receptionist, and Odelia needed her paycheck, so the moment Gran was safely back where she belonged, she walked down the street to the headquarters of the Hampton Cove Gazette .

She hadn’t lied when she told her grandmother she needed to write her article. What she hadn’t mentioned was that she had no intention of dropping the case. Not yet, anyway. Until Leonidas Flake’s boyfriend had confessed to the crime of murdering his partner, there was still a chance that new developments might swing the case in a different direction altogether. Chances of that happening were very slim, of course, but she’d investigated enough crimes by now to know that things are not always what they seem.

Though in this case it looked very bad for Gabriel Crier. Very bad indeed.

She walked into the office and greeted Dan, who was ensconced in his office, furiously typing away on his computer. He looked up when Odelia strode in.

“Oh, hey there,” he greeted her cheerfully. “So how were things at Le Chateau Flake ?”

“Pretty straightforward,” she said as she took a seat on the leather couch that Dan kept in his office for visitors. “Flake was killed with a single stab to the heart, and his boyfriend was seen with the knife in his hand, standing over the body of his dead lover.”

“Too bad,” said Dan, shaking his head. “I liked this Flake fellow. Contrary to some of the other celebrities that consider Hampton Cove their second home, he actually had a gift, and made this world a more beautiful place.”

“I’ve never heard you get lyrical over a celebrity before, Dan,” said Odelia, surprised. “Did you know the guy well?”

Dan, a weathered-looking man in his late sixties with a long white beard, nodded. “He used to come into the office from time to time and we’d share a glass. Did you know he loved animals? Always told me that if he hadn’t become a designer he would have been a vet. He sometimes thought he might become one yet, if and when he decided to retire from creating the most gorgeous garments imaginable. Of course he was never going to retire.”

“And now he’ll never be a vet,” said Odelia.

Dan, who loved animals himself, perked up at the chance to hold forth on one of his favorite topics. “He once invited me to check out his petting zoo. He had all sorts of pets, and not the exotic ones either. He would never imprison an animal if he could help it. Only kept the barnyard variety. Eccentric fellow. Very eccentric, with very strong ideas on all sorts of topics. He’ll be missed.”

“He’ll also be missed by all the people who watched his shows, or bought his designs.” She herself had never been into couture, haute or low. Too expensive and too impractical. She was more a jeans-and-T-shirt sort of girl, though she did love a nice pair of exclusive Converse and had a modest collection at the house. And if she were as rich as Leonidas Flake, she might take an interest in fashion, and start spending serious money on her outfit. On a reporter’s salary that simply wasn’t possible, but she was okay with that.

Dan had taken a whiskey bottle from his desk drawer and now poured a finger into a glass, then offered her one.

“No, thanks,” she said, holding up her hand. “I need to finish the Flake piece.”

“Have you talked to Crier?”

“Chase and Uncle Alec will interview him.”

“Good luck with that.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“Only that Gabe Crier is a cryer. The man cries for the least little thing. When he sees a newborn baby—waterworks. When he watches Will & Grace —same thing. Leo used to complain that living with Gabe was like living life on an emotional roller coaster. Every high was followed by an even deeper low.”

“So why did he stay with him?”

Dan raised his glass. “He said Gabe had… other qualities.” He quirked a meaningful eyebrow, and Odelia got the message.

Retreating to her office, she wondered briefly where Max and the others could be. By now they should have had the chance to talk to Pussy, Flake’s famous cat. If only to add another angle to her story. But then she relaxed. Gran was right. They’d probably returned home by now. Or maybe, just maybe, they were still scouting the Flake place. Max liked to be thorough when he was investigating a crime. He was probably still hard at work, extracting information from Pussy. And if Flake really had a petting zoo, they would have found plenty of witnesses to talk to. Good thing she had until tonight to finish her story. She’d find Max when she got home, get a few juicy quotes, sprinkle them into her story, then send it to Dan for his final edit.

She took out her phone and brought up Pussy’s Instagram. She was an exceedingly pretty cat, and her feed showcased her expensive habits: gorgeous haircuts, fancy outfits, exclusive parties, funky playpen, gourmet pâté…

She smiled. No wonder Max and the others had vanished from the face of the earth. They were probably having the time of their life with Princess Pussy.

Chapter 12

When I say that cats, as a rule, don’t like it when things get too hot or too cold, I like to include myself in that description. The sun had gradually risen, and had kept on rising, and had now reached the point where it had hoisted itself over the roof of the monstrosity that Leonidas Flake had built. And showcasing its customary playfulness, it now tickled my nose, and soon I was hotting up to such an extent that, even though the grass was still cool, I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Dooley must have reached the same conclusion, for he opened his eyes at the same time I did, and said plaintively, “This darned sun keeps following us wherever we go, Max. It’s persecution.”

I could have told him that the sun in actual fact did no such thing. That the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around, but I was too lazy from my nice nap to bother. So all I said was, “Let’s find another spot.”

But as soon as we got up we both experienced a little hunger, so instead of relocating we decided instead to follow in our ancestors’ paw steps and go in search of a bite to eat instead. Even though Samson the chicken might have enjoyed the food he’d been given, I have to admit it left much to be desired.

So we set paw for the house, the only place we hadn’t examined, since we were still on strike.

“We can sneak into the house and not break our strike, can’t we, Max?” asked Dooley as we approached that ominous block of black concrete.

“Of course,” I said. “The only thing we can’t do is perform acts of detection. So no talking to any suspects or witnesses or whatever.”

“I can do that,” said Dooley cheerfully.

As we moved away from the petting zoo, a deep voice rang out behind us. “Hey, cats!” the voice spoke.

We both turned, and discovered the voice belonged to the donkey.