Дебора Хоу - Return To Howliday Inn

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “I’ll talk to my friend Chester. He’s good at figuring things out.”

Wow, I thought, as I raced away with Howie and The Weasel, a real paranormal experience. What would Chester say?

“Baloney!” I heard him mutter as I told him the news over our dinner dishes. A wall separated us,

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[Image: All dogs hug and playing.]

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but I knew Chester well enough to imagine just what his face looked like when he said it.

“What do you mean?” I asked, surprised at his response.

“This food is worse than baloney,” he answered. “I can’t believe how this place has gone downhill. I’m calling my travel agent when we get home.”

I have to admit the food wasn’t great, but at least there was lots of it, which is a primary consideration for us canines. Cats, as you undoubtedly know, are much more finicky eaters.

Chester gagged. In cat language, that means the current cuisine has just failed to get a four-star rating.

“Oh, come on,” I said, “it isn’t that bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” Chester croaked.

On the other side of Chester, Howie piped up, “Hey, Pop! Here’s a joke that’s right up your alley.”

Chester groaned. Howie went on anyway.

“What do you call a fancy dance for rabbits?”

“I give up, Howie. What do you call a fancy dance for rabbits?”

“A hare ball.”

Chester hissed. Howie chortled. I tried to get us back on the subject.

“I’m telling you, Chester,” I said. “There was a sound coming from under the ground. We all heard it.”

“Mass hysteria,” said Chester. “It’s common among dogs.”

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“I heard it too,” The Weasel said from the other side of me.

“If that’s your star witness,” Chester told me softly, “your case is in serious trouble, Harold.”

I was all set to express my astonishment at Chester’s failure to be excited by my discovery when the reason dawned on me. It was just because it had been my discovery that Chester couldn’t get excited. He’s usually the one who’s onto some mystery or other while I’m home napping. Well, today the tables had been turned and Chester wasn’t happy about it. I decided to try a different approach.

“I wish you had been there, Chester,” I said. “You would have known what was going on.”

Chester began to purr. “Wellll,” he said, “purrrr-haps.” I love it when he tries to sound modest.

“Say,” I said, “you don’t suppose it could be one of those paranormal things, do you, Chester?”

It took a moment for him to reply. “Possibly,” he said.

“Maybe a UFO has landed on the other side of the fence.”

“These things do happen.” I could hear the excitement building in his voice. “There are recorded cases. Why, in southern California alone, Harold—”

“Do you think we should investigate?” I asked. I knew if I didn’t interrupt he’d be telling me about every UFO sighting he’d ever read about.

“In time, in time,” he answered, in a tone that

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let me know he thought he was back in charge and he intended to stay in charge.

That was okay with me. To tell you the truth, I was just as glad he didn’t want to investigate anything at that moment. Full of bad but filling food, I was groggy and ready for a little shut-eye. It wasn’t long before I’d fallen fast asleep.

The sound of hushed voices woke me some time later. I’m not sure how much later, but it was dark and the moon was out. I strained to hear.

“No! I’ve already told you—”

“Come on, be a pal. You’re the only one who—”

“Shh, not so loud. You wanna wake up the whole joint?”

I recognized two of the voices as Felony’s and Miss Demeanor’s, but whose was the third?

“Look, leave me alone, will you? You just don’t understand.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge.”

“Listen, we can’t do this thing without you.”

“And I told you—”

Suddenly, I heard Chester’s voice joining the others.

“What’s going on out there?” he demanded. That’s when I realized the voices were coming from just outside our bungalows.

“Oohh,” I heard Miss Demeanor purr. “It’s the one with the cute whiskers. How’re you doin’? Want some ‘nip?”

“Some what?” Chester said.

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” ‘Nip, ‘nip. Want some ‘nip to chew? Here.”

There was a spitting sound and Chester said, “Good grief, I don’t want your used catnip.”

I moved to the front of my bungalow and looked out. Miss Demeanor was retrieving something from the ground. “I prefer to think of it as sharing,” she muttered.

Chester sighed. “That is so gross,” he said. “But you didn’t answer my question. What’s going on out there?”

“Just gettin’ a little air,” said Felony, coming into view. “What’s it to ya?”

“It sounded to me like you were scheming something.”

“We’re always scheming something,” said Felony. “We’re cats.”

Chester didn’t have an argument for that one.

Just then, Linda’s voice rang out in the night air, “But, Bob, we can’t just do nothing. We must find out what’s happened to them!”

Before Bob or anyone else had a chance to react, there came a second voice: tiny, plaintive, and so out-and-out weird that it sent a shiver of fear through every part of me.

At first it barked. Then it began to cry out in a strangled sort of way, “Let me out! Please … let … me … out … of… here!”

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CHAPTER FOUR

Rosebud

“A H-OOOOOOOOOOO!” Howie’s frightened xTLhowl—the kind Chester likes to describe as werewolvian—seemed to make the very walls of our bungalows quiver and shake.

As fast as we could, we unlatched our doors and hurried across the compound, where we gathered in a hushed semicircle around that curious mound of dirt. I glanced to my left. Bob and Linda were huddled together, their teeth rattling. Next to them were the two cat burglars, looking a little more like timid pussycats than they might have wished. To my right, The Weasel was softly singing an inspirational tune in a tremulous voice while Hamlet whimpered and Howie woofed. Chester, meanwhile, stared unwaveringly at the

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mound of dirt, his head thrust forward in the classic feline stalking position or, as he prefers to call it, his don’t-make-a-move-I’ve-got-you-covered look.

“What do you think?” I whispered.

“I think there’s someone in there,” he said.

At that, the general level of rattling, whimpering, and woofing rose sharply and The Weasel burst out singing: “I will be brave, I will be strong, I will be right, unless I am wrong.”

If this was some sort of weasel anthem, it was pretty wishy-washy. No one bothered to comment, however. We were all much too busy listening to our own hearts thumping wildly in our chests.

“Let me out!” called the voice from beneath the ground.

“Oh, Bob,” I heard Linda say, “why couldn’t they have gone to a Club Med and taken us with them?”

“I don’t know about anybody else,” said Chester, “but I think it’s time we did a little digging. Harold.”

“What?”

“You’re a good digger. I’ve seen you.”

“Why is it you only compliment me when you want something?” I asked.

Chester turned, a surprised look on his face. “That isn’t true. Just the other day, I told you I liked your eyes.”

“Yes, but when I got up to look in the mirror, you took my spot on the rug.”

“Would you two get on with it?” the voice in the

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