Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Revenge

“Well, you are under attack, but not from Mr. Albert Kida.”

She wondered what the procedure was. Probably Chase wanted to interview Shayonne, but if she got a head start she was sure he wouldn’t mind. They were a team. From the corner of her eye she saw Max and the others slink into view and disappear into the house. Which reminded her…

“Do you have any animals, Mrs. Kenspeckle? Dogs, cats… cockatoos?”

The last murder case she’d been involved in, the victim had owned a cockatoo, which had made Max’s work very difficult. Cats and birds don’t get along really well, and the bird had refused to divulge a single clue to him.

“Well, Shana has a French Bulldog,” said Shayonne.

“Oh, that’s right.” She remembered now. Even though she’d told Max she wasn’t a fan of the Kenspeckles, that didn’t mean she hadn’t caught a few episodes over the years. Perhaps even more than a few. “Kane, right?”

Shayonne nodded. Just then, the bulldog came waddling out. The moment he caught sight of Odelia, he started barking.

Arf, arf, arf.

“That’s all right, Kane,” said Shayonne. “Miss…”

“Poole. Odelia Poole.”

Arf, arf, arf.

“Miss Poole is here to catch the bad person who killed Mommy.”

Arf, arf, arf.

Shayonne swept Kane up in her arms and the dog stared at Odelia, his body trembling with hostility, a long slab of pink dangling from his mouth, his face puckered into a perpetual scowl. She didn’t think Max would get a lot out of this Frenchie. Like cats and birds, cats and dogs don’t get along.

“He’s been barking up a storm all morning,” said Shayonne, snuggling the bulldog and giving him a peck on his ugly little face. “You miss Mommy, don’t you? Don’t you, Kane? Mh?” And then she burst into tears. “Oh, God! She’s really gone, isn’t she? Gone for good! And to think the last words I said to Shana were that I hated her and that I wished she would just die!”

Odelia stared at the woman. “But… why?”

“Because she was sleeping with my husband, that’s why!”

Chapter 5

We’d been sneaking all over the house but so far not a sign of a feline inhabitant. The only animal we’d met was some horrible dog who couldn’t keep his trap shut. Just our luck: a murder had taken place and the only animal in the house was a stupid French Bulldog. I should have known going in that a family as peripatetic as the Kenspeckles would prefer canines to felines. And I was just about to give up when I caught sight of a rust-colored, scrawny cat, casually licking her paws while seated on a pool lounge chair.

Clarice, Hampton Cove’s resident feral menace, looked right at home.

“Look, you guys,” I said. “It’s Clarice.”

“Not again,” Dooley cried, quickly covering his nose.

The last time we met Clarice, Dooley’s nose had suffered because of the blood oath Clarice had made us swear in exchange of some information.

“Oh, no,” said Brutus, for once agreeing with Dooley. “I’m not going anywhere near that monster.”

“She’s actually very nice once you get to know her,” I told him.

That wasn’t exactly true. Clarice wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Quentin Tarantino movie. But for once I had Brutus at a disadvantage.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Harriet. “Last time Brutus got hurt.”

“Last time Brutus fainted like a kitten,” Dooley muttered.

“I didn’t faint,” Brutus countered vehemently. “I… I simply pretended to faint. I was trying to create a diversion so you could escape with your lives.”

“Oh, that was so brave of you, Brutus,” Harriet gushed.

“Looked to me like you fainted at the sight of blood,” I said.

“Puh-lease,” he scoffed. “Me? Fainting at the sight of blood? As if!”

“Look, Clarice is perfectly harmless,” I said. “She’s just… eccentric.”

“Lady Gaga is eccentric, that cat is just… wacko,” Dooley said.

“Wacko or not, we need her,” I said, and stalked off in her direction.

I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing, but if we were going to find out who killed Shana, we could leave no stone unturned, even the wacko ones.

“Hey there, Clarice,” I said as pleasantly as I could.

She gave me a cursory glance, but kept on licking her paw.

“What a great day, huh?” I said nervously. “Sun is shining, sky’s blue…”

Still no response. I took a hesitant seat at the foot of the lounger. Clarice is a fount of information. She doesn’t owe allegiance to anyone and roams Hampton Cove day and night, looking for food. She’s familiar with every nook and cranny, and knows where all the bodies are buried since she’s the one who buried them. Critter bodies, that is. She doesn’t kill humans. I think.

“We, um, we’re trying to figure out who killed Shana Kenspeckle,” I continued. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen something, would you?”

The others had joined us, but were keeping a safe distance. Dooley was still covering his nose, just to make sure Clarice didn’t slice and dice it again. But Clarice simply ignored us, and kept on grooming herself. The pool was right next to the lounger, and the sun was reflected off the crystal clear water. It also reflected off Clarice’s claw and I gulped when I saw she was watching me intently. I was suddenly reminded of Azrael, the Smurfs’ mortal enemy.

I quickly looked away, and saw that the house was still a beehive of activity, with cops everywhere, doing whatever it was they were doing. Odelia was chatting with one of the Kenspeckle sisters, who was holding that nasty little mutt in her arms. For once the dog wasn’t yapping furiously.

“That dog should be put down,” Clarice suddenly said.

I was glad she finally spoke. I was even gladder it wasn't me she wanted to be put down. "I couldn't agree more. That dog is completely useless."

“He’s been barking up a storm all morning, annoying the heck out of me.”

“That’s what he does. Yap, yap, yap. That dog has no off switch.”

Great. We were bonding over our shared dislike of the canine species.

“That masked killer should have taken his head instead of the woman’s.”

I stared at her. “You saw the killer?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m helping Odelia solve the murder.”

She shook her flea-bitten, patchy head. “You don’t get it, do you? When are you going to stop betraying your own species, Max? When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that humans are not your friends?”

“Odelia isn’t like other humans. She takes care of us.”

“Odelia loves us,” said Dooley, overcoming his fear.

Clarice made a loud hissing sound, baring her teeth, and Dooley yelped and almost toppled into the pool. “Humans can’t be trusted,” she said. “They’re mean and vicious. They chop each other’s heads off!”

“You chop off the heads of mice and rats,” Harriet countered.

“That’s different. I would never hurt my own species.” Her eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Though I might be tempted to make an exception for you.”

Harriet gulped. Brutus, now that his mate was under attack, decided to step up. “Now look here, you… you cat. That is no way to talk to my girl.”

“Girl!” Clarice emitted a series of low grunts that I figured was her way of laughing. “Cats don’t have girlfriends! We don’t mate for life!”

“Well, some of us do,” Brutus said, winking at Harriet, who giggled.

“Well, then you happen to be an even bigger moron than I thought.”

Brutus puffed out his chest. “Hey. Who are you calling a moron?!”

“You,” she said. “You’ve lived with humans so long you’ve become one.”