Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Heat

“I work with the police, actually. My uncle is Chief of Police.”

“I see. So that’s why you’re so nosy. And here I thought you were going to write a nice big front-page article about me.” She pouted.

“I will write a nice big article about you,” Odelia promised.

“But only if I tell you about my alibi, right?”

She smiled. “I’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

“From your uncle. I see.” She waved an airy hand. “Just ask the pool boy at the Hampton Springs Hotel. He’ll tell you all you need to know. With all the saucy details you gossip hounds are so crazy about.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I will talk to him.”

Cybil winked. “There’s even pictures. Lots and lots of them. And video.” Then she looked across the street at the yellow-and-black crime scene tape and sobered. “I did like him once upon a time, you know. Niklaus? He was a vulgar man with a cruel streak, but he had passion. Lots of passion, if you know what I mean.”

Odelia had an idea she knew exactly what the woman meant. She didn’t want to know, though. She wasn’t that kind of reporter.

“When we first got together we went at it like bunny rabbits.” She seemed to shake herself, and gave a slight shrug. “But passion fades, and money doesn’t, so…”

“So you decided to cash in your chips before he did?”

“You are smart. What did you say your name was?”

“Odelia Poole.”

The woman took out her smartphone, and before Odelia could stop her had snapped a selfie of the two of them together. She then flicked her long fingernails across the screen for a few seconds and gave a tiny smile. “Done and done,” she said, holding up her phone for Odelia to read.

“Chatting with Odelia Poole, who’s no fool!” she read. “Nice.”

“You don’t have to thank me when the endorsement deals start rolling in, darling. Call it giving something back to the community. After all, I can afford it.”

Odelia left the coffee shop feeling a little queasy. She didn’t know whether Cybil Truscott was a murderer or not, but she was sure she was not a very nice person.

Chapter 7

Brutus went home to check up on Harriet. He’d decided that the best way to deal with this upstart was to cramp his style—make sure Harriet was never alone with him. It was a great idea. Problem was, Harriet had promised to show Diego the town, so by now they could be anywhere.

Dooley and I decided to check out the restaurant. Even though we were a little bit annoyed with Odelia right now, for saddling us up with Diego, we couldn’t let her down. She relied on us to gather valuable information about this murder and we felt we had to help her get it.

“You know, if we catch the killer we could tell Odelia we’re only going to reveal the name if she promises to show Diego the door,” Dooley suggested.

“We can’t do that, Dooley,” I said. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Is it right she foisted that orange cat on us? I mean—just saying.”

“We have to make it clear to her what kind of cat Diego really is. The moment she knows him like we do, she won’t hesitate to kick him out.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

“Well, I am sure. I trust Odelia. She’s always come through for us, and I’m sure she will come through for us now.”

We’d arrived in the back alley behind the restaurant, hoping to meet a kindred spirit—a fellow feline. We strode over to the dumpster that was parked next to the kitchen entrance and saw that we were right on the money: someone had placed a bowl of milk next to the dumpster, and another bowl with what looked like chicken nuggets.

“Yum,” Dooley said, licking his lips. How that cat manages to stay so thin, I don’t know. He never stops eating.

“Don’t touch that, Dooley,” I told him. “That’s not yours.”

“It’s on public property, which makes it everyone’s, including mine.”

“You can’t just go digging into another cat’s bowl. That would make you just as bad as Diego.”

Dooley started. “Are you comparing me to Diego? That’s mean, Max.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. This bowl belongs to someone, and that someone isn’t you.”

We stared around, hoping to find this mysterious someone. As far as I could see, there was no one around. “Do you think Harriet is going to fall for Diego?” Dooley wanted to know.

“I don’t think so. She’s smarter than that.”

“She wasn’t smart enough not to fall for Brutus.”

“Well, Brutus isn’t Diego. Diego seems to be way worse than Brutus.”

“They’re pretty much the same, Max. Brutus is just being nice to us now that he needs us. The moment Diego is gone, he’ll be back to his mean old ways.”

That was a scenario I hadn’t considered. “Do you think so?”

“I know so. They’re exactly the same, Brutus and Diego. Big bad bullies.”

“Don’t you think Brutus has changed?”

“No way. Bullies don’t change. If anything they just get meaner and nastier as they get older. I’m telling you, Brutus is just acting like he likes us. Deep down he still hates us.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

I turned around, and saw we’d been joined by a smallish black cat, who sat licking her fur while keeping a keen eye on us and the two bowls. I had no idea where she’d come from. One moment she wasn’t there, the next she was. Like magic.

“Um, hi,” I said. “I’m Max, and this is Dooley.”

“We were talking about another cat,” Dooley said. “A bully.”

“Two bullies, actually,” I said.

The black cat nodded sagely. “Trust me, I know all about bullies. We had one in here this past week. Nastiest bully I’ve ever seen. Drove everyone to tears.”

“You mean Niklaus Skad? The celebrity chef?” I asked.

“That’s the one. Yelling and screaming all day long. Nasty brute.”

“You do know that he was murdered, right?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, sure. It’s the talk of the neighborhood. We were all rooting for this Skad guy to leave soon and take his brand of foul abuse along with him.”

“So do you have any idea who killed him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No idea. I wasn’t here last night. A buddy of mine was, though. He said there was a car parked out back, right next to that dumpster. A very expensive car.”

“What kind of car?” I asked.

She laughed. “You have to excuse me. I don’t know anything about cars. My buddy said it was a Tesla?” She laughed again. “He said it looked just like my fur. Obsidian black, he calls it. Whatever that is.”

“A Tesla is an electric car,” I said. “There aren’t that many of those around. Did your buddy get a license plate number?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. In fact Fred was just passing by the restaurant—that’s his name: Fred—though I have a sneaking suspicion he was looking for me. He doesn’t want to admit it but I think Fred likes me.”

“That’s nice,” I said, not interested in the cat’s romantic proclivities. “So about that Tesla—did Fred see a driver? Anyone hanging around?”

“Nope. When he told me I figured it probably belonged to Niklaus Skad. He was always arriving in fancy rides. Though he seemed to have a penchant for sports cars.” She pointed to a BMW Roadster that was parked halfway down the alley. “That’s his car right there. He must have arrived and never left.”

Dooley and I stared blankly at the BMW, then my mind turned back to the Tesla. It was significant, and I vowed to tell Odelia first chance I got.

“Oh, my name is Montserrat, by the way,” the black cat said.

“Is that your food, Montserrat?” Dooley asked, pointing at the bowl.