Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Crime

“Sure. You lose weight, you lose brain cells. And you, my friend, have lost so much weight you must have lost half of your brain. It’s a miracle you can still think straight. Quick, how much is nine divided by three?”

“T-three?”

He grinned at me. “You weren’t sure, were you? Admit it, Max. Your brain resembles a big chunk of cheese. Swiss cheese. With a big bunch of holes in it. More holes than cheese.”

I gulped, the vivid picture Brutus was painting affecting me powerfully. “You think?”

“Of course!” He shook his head sadly. “Good thing Dooley’s brain is as sharp as ever, or else Odelia would have to trade you in for a new model. Can’t have a cat sleuth with Swiss cheese for a brain.”

He was right, of course. I had been feeling a little weak lately. And after allowing Odelia to walk off into danger like that, it was obvious I was slipping and slipping badly.

“Don’t listen to him, Max,” said Dooley. “Your brain is fine.”

“But I have lost a lot of weight,” I said, gesturing at my flabby belly.

“Brains aren’t muscles,” Dooley said.

“Are you sure?”

He hesitated. “Reasonably.”

I shivered from head to toe. I could see my brain shrinking even more. Soon there would be nothing left!

“You know what I’ll do?” asked Brutus.

“What?”

“Just out of the goodness of my heart, mind you.”

“What is it?”

“From now on why don’t I assume a leadership role in this small outfit of ours?”

I found myself nodding even before he’d finished the sentence. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Dooley will be the brains of the operation—obviously. Harriet will be the pretty face. And I will run the outfit.”

“And me?” I asked in a feeble voice.

He eyed me sternly. “Why don’t I appoint you my assistant?”

“I would like that,” I said, still thinking about my cheesy brain. “But do you think I’m up to the task?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said. “Somehow I doubt it, Maxie baby, but I’m willing to take a chance on you. That’s the kind of cat I am. Kind-hearted and generous to a fault. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Harriet, still focused on the end of the garden, murmured her assent.

“What are you looking at, sweet cakes?” Brutus asked, annoyed now.

But Harriet didn’t respond. Instead, she jumped down from the swing and picked her way along the humans, who were all gathered around Doctor Tex, toasting his lovely wife Marge.

“What’s the matter with Harriet?” asked Dooley.

We followed Harriet with our eyes, and when she finally reached the hedge, she plunked down on her haunches and just sat there. At least, that’s what I thought. When I looked closer, I saw her lips were moving. She was talking to someone, and that someone was partially obscured by the boxwood hedge.

“Oh, my God,” said Dooley.

“What? What?!” Brutus cried.

“It’s… Diego.”

We all goggled at the scene, and when the orange cat finally emerged from the hedge, and rubbed noses with Harriet, we all gasped in shock.

Our mortal enemy Diego had returned.

“What do we do?” asked Dooley, panicking. “Brutus? What do we do?!”

But Brutus, our newly self-appointed leader, had been struck dumb. Finally, he turned to me. “Max!” he bleated like a sickly sheep. “What do we do?”

“But I thought you were our leader!”

“I can’t be the leader! This is Diego we’re talking about! And he’s stealing my woman! Again!”

“Well, I can’t be the leader. I have Swiss cheese for a brain!”

“I was just joshing you! Your brain is fine!”

“See?” asked Dooley. “Brains aren’t muscles. They’re… something else.”

A feeling of resolve stole over me as I regarded Diego, who’d casually draped a paw across Harriet’s shoulder and was looking more smug than ever. Then I said, “Winter is coming, fellas.”

“What does that even mean?!” Brutus cried, desperately shaking his paws.

I shrugged. “No idea. But it’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Just then, Diego blew us a kiss, his face splitting into a particularly cheeky grin.

Brutus, Dooley and I watched him stoically. This meant war.

THE END

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Excerpt from Ghost of Girlband Past (Ghosts of London 5)

Prologue

London Borrow of Hackney, August 26, 1997

Five women stood staring down into the freshly dug hole. They gazed dispassionately upon the body of the man they’d just killed and unceremoniously dumped into the hole. Rain was lashing the earth with a dull thrumming sound, stirring up a musty scent that filled their nostrils, rivulets of muddy water flowing into the pit. They were soaking wet and streaked with mud, but they didn’t care.

“Is the monster dead?” asked Janell. Her red hair was plastered to her skull and she was shivering violently. “Is it really dead?”

“It is,” said Carrie, the sporty one amongst the five friends. “We’ve slain it.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Janell.

“What can’t you believe?” asked Amaryllis. “That it’s dead or that we killed it?”

“Both.”

“Better believe it,” grunted Courtney. Rain was streaming down her face, which now resembled a raccoon’s, her mascara creating black streaks across her cheeks.

“And now it’s time to make sure it stays dead,” said Perpetua, and flicked an amulet on top of the body.

Five pairs of eyes followed the silver amulet as it described a perfect arc through the air, then landed on the monster’s chest, where it would make sure it would never rear its ugly head again.

Five shovels dug into the pile of dirt next to the hole and dumped the wet earth onto the body. The fifth and final shovelful was thrown down by Amaryllis, the youngest of the bunch, and the one who’d suffered the most at the hands of the man. She hesitated before tossing the soggy soil onto their victim. They should have closed his eyes. It was way too creepy staring into those dead eyes. They were fixed on her, an accusing expression gleaming in those dead orbs. As if ready to rear up, and attack them again. Finally, with a brave whimper, she flipped the shovel blade and the muddy sod dropped down, plunking down onto the man’s face.

“Well done, Amaryllis,” said Courtney. “Now let’s pray this is the end.”

“This is the end,” they all murmured softly, before digging their shovels in again.

They worked in silence, as more and more of the black earth covered the dead man, soon completely obscuring him from view. When the hole was filled up, they flattened the earth with their shovels, then rolled the plaque back into place. And as they walked away, their deed done, lightning slashed the night sky, and lit up the plaque. It read: Cardinal Yardley Roman Catholic School Time Capsule – Not To Be Opened Before 2067.

London Borrow of Hackney, Present Day

There was a full moon out, which made the work that much easier. Of course, it also meant they could easily be seen from the road by anyone walking their dog.

“Come on, Doug,” said Ricky. “No one in their right mind walks their dog at this time of night. They’d be completely mental!”

“They might,” Ricky said, anxiously glancing up and down the street.

The two friends had come down to the front lawn of the Cardinal Yardley School, their alma mater, to do something they’d been wanting to do since they were little kids. Now, since reaching the ripe old age of twelve, no longer boys but men, they’d decided finally to screw up their courage to the sticking point and raise the capsule.