Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Peril

She buried her face in her hands. “My babies got fleas! I’m officially the world’s worst cat person!”

“No, you’re not. No pets are safe from these pests. Probably picked them up out in the yard or got them from some neighbor cat.”

She peeked between her fingers. “They all got them?”

“Yep. After I found them on Max and Dooley I went next door and Marge checked Brutus and Harriet and they got them, too.” He smiled. “I feel a trip to the vet coming up.”

She shook her head. “They hate going to Vena. Last time I took them they didn’t stop whining for weeks.”

“Yeah, well, better Vena than this flea infestation.” He glanced at a couple of cops who stood interviewing hotel guests, notebooks out, pencils poised. “So what happened here? Your uncle said something about an explosion?”

The topic of the fleas dispensed with, she nodded. “Burt Goldsmith was blown up.”

“The Dos Siglas guy?”

“I was just on my way to interview him when his room exploded and his head came tumbling down at my feet.”

In spite of the circumstances, Chase grinned. “His head, huh?” He shook his own head. “This could only happen to you.”

She whacked him on the arm. “It’s not funny.”

He sobered. “No, I guess it’s not. So what do they think happened?”

“No idea. The room is blown to bits. Looks like a bomb went off or something.”

“So no gas explosion?”

“Definitely not.”

“Maybe he accidentally blew himself up?”

“Or maybe he blew himself up on purpose.”

They watched as a team of Suffolk County fire marshals double-parked their big rig in front of the hotel and walked in. If anyone could find out what happened in there it was these guys. Just then, Chief Alec came walking out, wiping his brow.

“What a mess,” he grumbled as he joined them on the sidewalk.

“Any leads?” asked Chase.

“Yeah, one. Kid who works room service says he brought a bottle of beer up to Goldsmith’s room about fifteen minutes before the explosion. Third bottle in two days.”

“Beer? You think Burt Goldsmith was killed by an exploding bottle of beer?”

Uncle Alec turned up his hands. “Who knows? Apparently there was some kind of private war going on between Burt and some of these other interesting guys. They all work for different beer companies and can’t stand the sight of each other. So they like to send each other beer bottles as a taunt. These particular bottles were sent by…” He took a notebook from his pocket then groped around his head for a moment. “Where are my damn glasses?” he grumbled.

Odelia helpfully pointed to the glasses that were sticking out of his shirt front pocket.

He took them and placed them on his nose. “Thanks,” he muttered, then read aloud, “A Curt Pigott. Calls himself the Most Compelling Man in the World.” He removed the glasses and gave them a dubious look. “And of course Pigott claims he never sent any bottles. And definitely no exploding ones.”

“He would say that, wouldn’t he?” said Odelia.

“Then again, why would he use room service to kill his competitor?” Chase said. “That would be dumb.”

“Good point,” Alec grunted. “And if he did put some type of explosive in that bottle there would be traces on his person and in his room. Which is what we’re trying to determine right now.”

As they spoke, some of the interesting men came ambling out of the hotel and walked over to where Burt’s remains had dropped down to the sidewalk. Burt’s grandson, meanwhile, joined Odelia, Chase and her uncle. He was pale as a sheet. “This is horrible,” he said. “A nightmare. What do you think happened, Chief? Is it true what they’re all saying?”

“What are they saying, son?” asked Alec.

“That he did this to himself? That he committed suicide in the most spectacular way possible?” He stifled a sob. “That he went out with a bang?”

“It’s too soon to tell,” said Chief Alec.

“What do you think?” asked Chase.

The kid stood shaking his head, as if trying to clear it. “Grandpa would never kill himself. He loved life. He loved himself. He loved being the Most Fascinating Man in the World. I—I just can’t believe it. Then again, he did love a good show.” He closed his eyes, looking pained and on the verge of another collapse. “I just don’t know,” he said. “I just know I loved the old man to pieces and now…” He stifled another sob. “Now he is in pieces.”

Uncle Alec grasped his shoulder and gave it a good squeeze. “Try not to think about it too much, son. Whatever happened here—I can promise you this: we’re going to get to the bottom of it. We’re going to find out what exactly happened to your grandfather and you’ll be the first to know when we do.”

“Thanks, Chief,” said the kid hoarsely. “You’re very kind.”

Just then, an altercation alerted them that something was amiss. A woman came walking up to the hotel, loudly demanding to be told what was going on. She was making quite a scene, making heads turn up and down the street.

“Uh-oh,” said Chief Alec.

The woman was his mother—Odelia’s Grandma Muffin.

Chapter 5

Frankly I was having a hard time coming to terms with the tragedy that had befallen me. Fleas? Feasting on my body? The thought was too outrageous to contemplate. And yet it was true. I’d seen the little buggers, jumping up and down with joy after drinking from my blood—sticking tiny little holes in my skin with their tiny little mouths—invading the sanctity of this feline body of mine. Dooley was even more devastated by the news than me.

“Why, Max?” he was wailing after Chase had left. “Whyyyyyy?”

I could have consoled him but frankly I didn’t feel up to it. And when Brutus and Harriet joined us in Odelia’s backyard, also looking glum and forlorn, the pity party was complete. Four cats, struck down by the weight of woe—or a small army of fleas.

“I can’t believe it,” said Harriet, the prettiest white Persian for miles around. She was licking her snowy white fur distractedly, her heart clearly not in it. “Fleas. Me. It must be some mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake,” said her partner Brutus, a black and muscular creature who at one time had been my mortal enemy. We’d learned to coexist, though, and had struck up an awkward friendship. Well, maybe not a friendship, per se. More like a modicum of mutual respect. “Marge inspected my fur and there they were. An entire colony of bugs, snacking on this beautiful body of mine. This temple. This epitome of health and beauty. This—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I said irritably. I was not in the mood to listen to Brutus’s narcissistic ramblings. Though truth be told he recited his ode to himself in a toneless voice. It was obvious he was down in the dumps with the rest of us. “Look, we can whine all we want. It’s not going to do us any good! All we need to do is trust that Odelia will do the right thing.”

“They lay eggs, you know,” Brutus said in that same listless voice. Almost as if he hadn’t heard what I said, which wouldn’t be the first time. “Big giant collections of eggs. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. And when they hatch, that’ll be the end of us.”

Dooley stared at him in abject horror. “Eggs!” He gulped once or twice and dropped to his paws, plunking down on the cool grass. We were seated in the shade of the tulip tree that borders Odelia’s backyard. It’s one of our favorite spots. Now? I wasn’t so sure. Maybe these fleas had jumped from this tree onto our fur? Maybe they lived in the grass?

“Look,” I said, holding up my paws. “Let’s all stay calm, all right? Let’s not panic.”