Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Heat

“If only one of her needles will save my life,” said Dooley.

I had to admit he did look like he was about to die. All because of the power of suggestion.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Since there’s nothing wrong with you Vena will just give you a clean bill of health and a hit with the needle. Me? She’s going to put me on that scale again and decide I’m still too fat for my size and she’s going to put me on a diet and stick me with the needle.” I sighed. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

At least Vena would neuter Diego. It was a small consolation.

“Do you think Vena can cure cancer?”

“If she could, she’d be a billionaire now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He gave me a sad look. “I want you to know I’ve always considered you my best friend, Max. And when I’m gone, could you look after Harriet for me?”

“You look after Harriet. You’re going to outlive us all, buddy. It’s the thin ones that live to be forty.”

“Forty? There’s no cat alive who’s forty.”

“There was this one cat who lived to be thirty-eight. She’s in the Guinness Book of Records. I’m sure someone will best her and beat her record one day.”

“Well, it won’t be me,” Dooley said gloomily. “I won’t live another week.”

I groaned. Was I really going to have to listen to this for much longer? “You’re fine, Dooley. Even Odelia said you’re fine.”

“Odelia’s no doctor.”

“Her dad’s a doctor.”

“So?”

“So it’s in her genes. That kind of stuff runs in the family.”

He gave me a dubious look. “Being a doctor is a genetic thing?”

“Sure,” I lied brazenly. “Didn’t you ever watch Diagnosis: Murder ? Dick Van Dyke’s son was a doctor, too, remember? It’s all in the genes!” He seemed to perk up, so I continued. “So when Odelia tells you you’re fine, you can rest assured she knows what she’s talking about. She’s got the, um, doctor gene.”

“You’re not saying that just to make me feel better?”

I was saying that to make me feel better. “Of course not! Everybody knows that’s how it works. Trust me. Odelia knows.”

He bobbed his head. “Thanks, Max. It’s like a weight off my shoulders.”

I clapped my paw on those same shoulders. “You’re fine, buddy! The picture of health!”

“Phew. And here I was thinking I was a goner.”

“Imagine that.”

He shivered. “I’ve imagined that ever since we talked to Montserrat, so no thank you. I won’t be imagining that anymore. I was actually feeling really sick.”

“Power of the mind, Dooley. It’s all up here.” I tapped his noggin.

“What is up there, Max?”

In his case? Not much. “Your mind, Dooley. Whatever your mind pictures, your body carries out.”

“So, if my mind pictured a nice juicy chicken wing, my body will somehow get it for me?”

“Sure,” I said. “You just have to think hard enough and it’ll happen.”

“Wow, that’s great, Max. Why don’t I try that right now?” And he closed his eyes, presumably thinking very hard about chicken wings.

You’re telling me that wasn’t a very nice thing to do to my best friend? I think it was the best thing I could have done. At least he wasn’t thinking about his imminent death anymore. Now he was thinking about the imminent death of a chicken. Hey, better a dead chicken than a dead Dooley, right?

Chapter 10

When Odelia ended the conversation with Chase she discovered that Max and Dooley had skedaddled. Which didn’t surprise her. Max hated going to the vet, and Dooley seemed convinced he was about to die. She got up from her desk and found Dan leaning against the doorjamb.

“So? How’s the investigation going?”

“So far the most likely suspect is the chef.”

“Isn’t it always?” he quipped with a twinkle in his eye.

“Chase seems to be convinced the couple running the restaurant didn’t do it, and I talked to Skad’s wife and she claims she has a solid alibi.”

“Which you will undoubtedly go check.”

“Undoubtedly,” she said with a smile.

“So did I hear you talking to your cats again?” Dan asked.

“Dooley isn’t feeling well,” she said cautiously. Dan didn’t know she could talk to her cats, though she suspected he had some idea of what was going on. They’d never discussed it, though, and she wasn’t going to risk her career at the newspaper by admitting that her cats were the source of many of her best and most exclusive stories.

“I can imagine it must be quite a burden looking out for—how many cats do you have now?”

“Four—and it’s not a burden. My mom and Gran take care of them, too, so it’s no biggie.”

“You know, when I hired you all those years ago, I partly did so because I figured you were young and you were going to go after the stories with the freshness and zeal that I’m lacking, due to my advanced age.”

“You’re not old, Dan,” she protested.

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “Let me finish. But I also hired you on a hunch. Someone had told me once that the Poole women are special. That they have a feline streak. That they understand cats more than the rest of us do. My hunch proved correct. You’re a better reporter than I ever was, and that’s saying something, as I launched this damn paper.”

She wondered what he was trying to say, if anything. “Thanks, Dan. That’s high praise coming from you.”

“You take good care of those cats for me, won’t you? And tell them thanks.”

She reddened. “I, um—I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Cats can’t talk.”

“No, but they can listen. And they ask the right questions.” He tapped his nose. “And that, my dear, are the hallmarks of a great reporter.”

She left the office wondering if she shouldn’t have protested more. Now it looked like she was accepting Dan’s idea that somehow she could talk to her cats. Then again, she hadn’t admitted anything, and if she knew Dan, she was sure he’d keep her secret.

She arrived at the police station and saw that Chase’s car was gone. She walked into the squat one-story building and breezed past Dolores, who manned the front desk. She gave her a wave and walked right through to her uncle’s office at the end of the hallway. She knocked and stepped inside without waiting for a reply.

Her uncle was sitting with his feet up on his desk when she entered, and she took a seat across from him, also putting her feet up. “So Max and Dooley talked to Erin Coka’s cat Montserrat, who told them another cat, this one called Fred, not that it matters, saw a black Tesla parked in the alley behind the restaurant last night. Just thought you’d like to know.”

Her uncle took pad and pencil and wrote down, “Anonymous witness sees black Tesla parked in alley behind Fry Me for an Oyster .” He looked up. “Plates?”

“No plates.”

He smiled. “That would have been too easy. Anything else your feline detectives discovered?”

“I found out something.” She told him about her conversation with Cybil Truscott and her uncle whistled.

“Now there’s a nice, juicy suspect if I ever saw one. Motive, opportunity… I think she might even have managed to get the body up in the oven. Big, strong woman, right?”

“Not big, but I’ll bet pure rage would have fueled her. She’s the vindictive type.”

“Real ball-buster, huh?” He picked up his pad again, and wrote, tongue between his teeth, “Talk to pool boy at Hampton Springs Hotel.”

“Any word from the coroner?”

“Just got a call from him, as a matter of fact. Found a fortune cookie in the victim’s stomach.”