Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Peril

“I have—though we were never formally introduced.”

Next to me, another patient stirred. “Who is she, Max?” Dooley asked sleepily.

“Dooley, meet Shadow. Shadow, this is Dooley, my friend and housemate.”

“And what is your name, friend?” asked Shadow.

“Max. Not the most original name, perhaps, but better than Princess at any rate.”

“I used to know a Princess,” said Shadow musingly. “Most Compelling Cat in the World. Though not a very nice one, I’m afraid. If you ever do meet her, try to steer clear.”

“We met,” I said, “and I have the scratches and bites to prove it.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Shadow,” said Dooley. “We’ve been trying to solve your human’s murder, but so far we haven’t been able to.”

“We got sidetracked,” I admitted. “Some family drama that cropped up.”

“Family drama will always crop up,” Shadow agreed. “It did in my family, too. Like the time Philippe accused his grandfather of hogging all the attention and blocking his own rise to fame as the next Most Fascinating Man in the World. Or the time when Burt threatened to cut Philippe out of his will if he didn’t stop annoying him with his constant nagging about taking retirement and allowing his grandson to take over his crown.” She smiled. “Burt used to tease Philippe about being the Most Annoying Man in the World. Philippe didn’t think it was funny. These things happen in every family,” she assured us. “Best not to linger on it too much.” She sighed. “Remember the golden nuggets and forget the darker moments is my advice. Before you know it your human is gone. Blown to bits by an exploding bottle of beer.”

“You know about that?” I asked, surprised.

“I heard about it. You’d be surprised by the things one picks up when sleeping rough.”

“You’ve been living on the street all this time?”

“I have. After what happened I was afraid to return to the hotel. When people start blowing up your human it’s best to stay away. I don’t enjoy the prospect of suffering the same fate, you see. I have this phobia about being blown up.” She shuddered visibly.

“I think we all have a phobia about being blown up. Unpleasant experience.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Where were you when it happened?”

“Sleeping peacefully underneath the bed. Normally I sleep on top of the bed, but I like to change things up from time to time and that morning I’d opted to sleep underneath it. And a good thing I did. Suddenly the whole world seemed to come apart at the seams.”

“How did you get out?”

“The connecting door had been blown off its hinges. I hid in there for a while, then out into the corridor the moment Philippe returned, and out through the fire escape.”

“Philippe and his grandfather occupied connecting rooms?”

“Yes, they did. Philippe insisted on it. Said his grandfather was so old he needed to be nearby. In case something happened with his ticker. Not that Burt was fond of the idea. Said it cramped his style. Told his grandson that if he wanted to bring a couple of birds up to his room it was none of Philippe’s damn business. Not that he ever did invite a couple of birds up to his room mind you,” she added with the air of one harboring a secret regret.

“I think when he said birds he probably meant girls,” I said.

This was news to Shadow. “Oh? Why? There’s not even a remote resemblance.”

“Humans,” I said, and she nodded knowingly. So did every other animal in the room.

“Humans,” they all echoed, and gave themselves up to silent reflection on the utter strangeness of the creatures that had adopted them as their pets.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, though,” said Shadow.

“Oh?”

“I saw that bottle of beer. I was there when it was brought in. And it smelled like beer. Being around Burt all those years I know what beer smells like, you see.”

“I thought Burt didn’t like beer? At least that’s what my human said.”

“He didn’t. But you can’t be the most famous beer salesman in the world and not sample your fair share of the brew over the course of all those years. And the beer that was brought in that day was beer. I remember peeping my head out from under the bed and taking a sniff, then retreating again. Moments later the door opened again and a powerful whiff of something else pervaded the room. It smelled like…” She wrinkled up her nose in distaste. “Burned sugar.”

“Burned sugar?”

“I remember thinking, why would Burt burn sugar?”

“That must have been the nitroglycerin. You said someone else came in?”

“Yes. Unfortunately I didn’t take a peek that time. And then Burt came walking in from the bathroom, mumbled something and that’s when my whole world collapsed.”

“And to think we thought we had it bad,” said Dooley commiseratingly.

“Why don’t you go back to Philippe?” I suggested. “He seems like a nice person, and I’m sure he’s been looking for you everywhere. I know Odelia would if we went missing.”

“Oh, Philippe is nice enough,” Shadow admitted. “But he’s not Burt. I liked Burt. Burt was fun. He always made me laugh by tickling my tummy and making funny faces.” She smiled at the memory. “Philippe is different. He’s a little grumpy. He doesn’t make me laugh. I think it’s because of all those headaches.”

“Headaches?”

“He suffers from terrible migraines. Says it comes from his job as a teacher.”

“He’s a teacher?”

“A chemistry teacher. He loves his job but all those fumes he’s inhaled over the years must have affected him adversely.”

Shadow’s words gave me pause. They seemed to stir a memory, but I couldn’t quite catch it. Someone in the recent past had told me something about headaches. But who? And what? I shrugged it off. If it was important, it would come to me. For now I was content shooting the breeze with Shadow, who was possibly the most fascinating cat I’d ever met.

Chapter 32

The movie had gone down big with both Alec and his date. The Rock was a cop invited by accident to join the maiden flight of a billionaire’s space ship because his ex-wife—The Rock’s, not the billionaire’s—now worked for him—the billionaire, not The Rock. But then a group of terrorists had interrupted the fun and killed the billionaire and taken his guests and the ex-wife hostage so The Rock had to fight his way through at least a dozen terrorists with a funny accent—the terrorists, not The Rock—before a sleazy reporter had exposed his wife—The Rock’s, not the reporter’s—to the terrorists and things had sort of deteriorated from there. Explosions, fist fights, gunfire, a lot of dead terrorists and of course the happy reunion. Alec was feeling on top of the world, and Tracy Sting evidently was, too, judging from the way she’d returned his heated kisses while the credits finally rolled.

“Wanna go back to my room for a nightcap?” she croakily asked when they walked out of the cineplex, fingers entangled.

“I sure do,” he said just as croakily, though his croak was from emotion, not genes.

And they’d just stepped into her room and he’d pressed her up against the door, clothes magically dropping to the floor as if repelled by their heaving and grinding bodies when a knock on the door elicited annoyed groans from the both of them.

“Room service,” a youthful voice announced.

Tracy yanked open the door. “What?!” she growled.

The pimply youth stared at her, and stammered, “N-n-nuts.”

“Nuts?”

He thrust out a small glass dish of nuts. “N-n-nuts.”

Tracy took it. “I didn’t order no nuts.”

“To go with the b-b-beer,” the youth managed, before quickly retreating into the safety of the corridor.