Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Deadly

“Oh, yes, I will,” said Bryony with a strangely stilted smile. “I’m getting the hang of this, you know. It’s true what they say about murder. Once you’ve made your first kill, the next ones are so much easier.”

“The next ones? You’re not thinking about killing again, are you?”

“Of course. Do you really think I want to see my daughter marry a drug dealer? When I kill Mr. Rubb I intend to inflict as much pain as possible. Serves him right for dealing my husband drugs and seducing my only daughter. Now close your eyes and say a prayer. This is the end of the line.”

“Just what I was going to tell you,” a voice suddenly sounded behind Bryony. “Drop it!” the voice added sharply, “Or I drop you!”

When Odelia opened her eyes, she saw that Chase was standing in the doorway, pointing a very large gun at Bryony, who’d whirled around. The moment she caught sight of the large cop, she uttered a cry of dismay, and instantly dropped the gun. Not such a cold-blooded killer after all.

“Odelia, are you all right?” he asked, giving Bryony’s gun a kick.

“I’m fine,” she said, getting up. “I was just taking a nap while Bryony here told me the story of her life.”

“You’re under arrest, Mrs. Pistol,” Chase grunted, and quickly and efficiently outfitted Bryony with a pair of handcuffs.

“How did you get here?” asked Odelia, surprised and extremely relieved.

“After you left I thought about what you said. All that stuff about not giving up. So I decided you were probably right. I figured I might as well try to get Veronica to sign a written confession fingering the Commissioner. When I arrived I saw your car parked out front, and the gate wide open. And when I looked through the window, I saw Mrs. Pistol here brandishing her gun.” He gave Bryony a grim look. “Before you kill people you might want to close the curtains.”

“Beginner’s mistake,” muttered the woman, looking extremely annoyed.

“You got here just in time,” Odelia said. “Another minute and she would have put a hole in me.”

“I figured as much when I saw you lying on that piece of plastic.”

Just then, Odelia’s phone beeped and she took it out.

“What is it?” asked Chase.

She smiled. “Um… is it all right if we take a little detour before we drop Mrs. Pistol off at the police station?”

He looked puzzled. “Why? You want to go for pizza?”

“Just a small errand I have to run. But a very urgent one. Let’s go.”

He shook his head. “You’re speaking in riddles, Poole, as usual.”

“Probably the reporter in me. Now let’s get moving before it’s too late.”

She drove first, with Chase following right behind her, Bryony safely tucked in the backseat. She followed the flickering dot on the screen, and soon saw they were heading to the Writer’s Lodge. Huh? What was Max doing out there? She drove at a healthy clip, and soon the two cars were roaring up the hill, the wheels of the two pickup trucks tackling the rutted dirt road and spraying up a cloud of dust. The road meandered and narrowed until they reached the small parking space right below the ridge where the Writer’s Lodge was located.

She saw that two other cars were already parked there: a silver Mercedes and a burgundy BMW. She cut the engine and got out of the car, Chase joining her. He was staring at the Mercedes. “NYPD plates,” he grunted.

She smiled, starting to see what was going on here. “Surprise, surprise.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you up to, Poole?”

“Let’s wait and see,” she said, and set foot for the steps that led up from the small parking space to the lodge. She wondered where Max and the others could be. Probably in the shrubbery behind the lodge. So she made her way over there, and when she arrived, saw she hadn’t been mistaken: Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus met her behind the lodge, right next to the verandah where Hetta Fried, the Lodge’s owner, had installed the Jacuzzi.

She crouched down next to the cats, scratching Max behind the ears. She wasn’t going to talk feline now, with Chase looking on, but pricked up her ears when Max said, “Better take out your camera,” and pointed at the lodge.

She looked over, and saw a man and a woman enjoying the Jacuzzi.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Chase whispered. “That’s Commissioner Necker. And Malka Putin. Talk about a déjà-vu.”

And as they approached the verandah, she saw the couple were doing things no married man and woman should do, at least not to the ones they weren’t married to. With a grin, she took out her phone and started snapping pictures of the adulterous couple, adding a short video for good measure.

“I have a feeling Commissioner Necker will be a lot more amenable to finding a solution for your problems than before,” she whispered to Chase.

“Let’s go and say hi,” Chase said.

“Wait, don’t!” she hissed, but he was already walking up the two wooden steps to the verandah and pushing open the screen door.

When the startled couple looked up in dismay, he said, “Hi there, Commissioner. Remember me?”

“What the hell, Kingsley!” cried the Commissioner, descending beneath the bubbles. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Not this time,” Chase said, and when Odelia popped out from behind Chase’s broad back, she flashed the Commissioner and Mrs. Putin her best smile and showed them her smartphone.

“Chase and I were out hiking in the woods, when we just happened upon you two love birds. So I decided to snap some shots. And a little video.”

“Who are you?!” demanded the Commissioner, his face reddening.

“My name is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette and, as it happens, I’ve got an entire front page to fill in tomorrow’s edition.”

“Oh, Christ,” muttered the Commissioner.

“This is all your fault!” cried Mrs. Putin. “I told you we should have booked a hotel!”

“Nobody ever comes out here!” yelled the Commissioner.

“Apart from a cop and a reporter, you mean?”

“Look,” said Chase now, “I have absolutely no interest in exposing your little affair to the world, which is what I told you the last time, remember?”

“I remember,” said the Commissioner, glaring at Odelia’s smartphone.

“But you wouldn’t listen, would you? And then you kicked me out.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” grumbled the portly cop. “What do you want?”

“I want you to clear my name,” said Chase.

The Commissioner looked surprised. “That’s all?”

“Of course it’s not all,” said Mrs. Putin, a round-faced woman with platinum hair. “They want money, can’t you see? How much do you want?”

“Shut up, Malka. Let me handle this.”

“Look, I’ve got a hundred bucks right here,” said the woman, reaching for her purse, which was right next to the bubble bath.

“Just let me handle this, all right?” cried the Commissioner.

“I don’t want any money,” said Chase now, shaking his head disgustedly. “I just want to clear my name. I want you to go on record and—”

“Done,” said the Commissioner. “Whatever you want, son. Anything. Just don’t print those pictures, will you? They would ruin my career.”

“What about me?” asked Mrs. Putin. “What about my reputation, huh? It’s always me, me, me. You and my husband are just the same.”

“Just shut up for a minute, will you? I’m handling this.”

“That’s what you said the first time,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Look, Chase, I’ll clear your record, all right? I’ll talk to this girl—what’s her name, ahm…”

“Veronica George,” Odelia supplied helpfully.