Дебора Хоу - Return To Howliday Inn

“Wait a minute, Chester,” I said. “If you think you’re going to flatter me into this …”

“I was referring to myself,” Chester said flatly. I’m going to find out the secret of Chateau Bow-Wow, Harold.”

I turned to face him. His eyes were filled with determination. I knew there was no swaying him, no matter what terrible fate might lie in store. A shiver of dread went through me.

Even as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t shake the chill. Nor could I shake Howie’s ranting two bungalows away:

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“I will not shirk my responsibilities nor forget the promises I made on my way to being elected. More miles to the gallon, more crunch in every spoonful, and a par-tri-idge in a … pear … tree.”

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CHAPTER SIX

The Secret of Chateau

MORNING exercise is not my favorite thing in the world. Let me put it another way: My idea of morning exercise is raising one eyelid followed within the hour by the raising of the second eyelid. If I’m feeling really ambitious, I sometimes roll over.

When I raised both eyelids this particular morning, I saw that rolling over wasn’t going to cut the mustard at Chateau Bow-Wow. There in the center of the compound were Daisy and Jill wearing identical warm-up suits. I know they’re called that because Mr. and Mrs. Monroe have similar ones, except that unlike Daisy’s and Jill’s they don’t say

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WE’RE ANIMALS FOR EXERCISEon the front and A

PHYSICALLY FIT PET IS A HAPPY PET on the back.

“Okay, everybody!” Jill shouted, as she bounced up and down. “It’s aerobics time!”

The silence was deafening.

Daisy ran around, throwing open all our cages and crooning, “Out you go, little cuties, nothing like a little workout before breakfast!”

Only Howie exhibited enthusiasm and that’s because he’s a puppy and doesn’t know any better.

Chester and I joined the others in a circle run. I heard him mumbling something about calling his lawyer after he’d called his travel agent just as soon as he got home. At one point, we passed Felony and Miss Demeanor, who clammed up the moment they spotted us. What were those two up to anyway?

Chester was curious too. So he informed me after breakfast (a curious dish that had the consistency of a paste-and-kitty-litter pudding), although not until he’d had the chance to offer commentary on my dining habits.

“How can you eat that slop?” he asked, eyeing my empty bowl. I noticed he hadn’t touched his.

“I pretended it was a hot fudge sundae,” I said, a hair defensively. “Don’t you ever use your imagination?” I realized the moment these words left my mouth that asking this of Chester was a little like asking a dancer if he ever used his feet.

Chester rolled his eyes and sighed.

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If I may change the subject,” he began.

“You brought up breakfast,” I said.

“Nice turn of phrase, Harold.” Clearing his throat, he went on, “Have you noticed anything odd about those two cats?” He indicated Felony and Miss Demeanor, who were stretched out in a patch of sun in front of their bungalows. Felony was twitching her head this way and that, either trying to keep up with a fly or auditioning for the part of Robocat. Miss Demeanor lay flat on her stomach like an imitation bear rug. Her head bobbed up and down to the rhythm of her chewing.

“No,” I said, “they seem like normal cats to me.”

“They are definitely up to something,” Chester said. “I wonder if they have something to do with the secret of Chateau Bow-Wow. I know one way for us to find out.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to pal around with them, Harold. When you’re not busy digging our tunnel to freedom, that is.”

I started to protest, but Chester was already way ahead of me. “It’ll be easy. You’re going to be hanging out on their turf anyway. Just see if you can get them to leak some information.”

“What are you going to be doing, if you don’t mind my asking, while I’m looking for leaks?”

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He lifted his head and stared off toward the office. “I’m going inside,” he said dramatically.

“Ah.” I looked over at the office window. Through it, I could see Ditto pecking at some birdseed in her cage. Beyond her, there was a general bustle and commotion as Daisy, Jill, and Dr. Greenbriar went about their business.

“And exactly how do you think you’re going to get in there, Chester?” I asked. “It’s not like you have an appointment.”

“True. But I do have charm,” said Chester.

I cocked an eyebrow at this one.

“And if all else fails, there’s the bird. A veritable font of information.”

An hour later, Chester found me digging behind the bush between Felony’s and Miss Demeanor’s bungalows.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“That charm without an appointment only gets you as far as the door. And Polly wants a cracker.”

I nodded. Chester looked at the hole. It wasn’t very impressive, but then again we hadn’t been digging very long. Howie was still on a break that had begun a few minutes after we’d started; he was at Bob and Linda’s having smoked Gouda—flavored doggie bones. The Weasel and Hamlet were trying to see if they could get Rosebud talking again. And as for the cat burglars …

“What did you find out?” Chester asked.

“Talk about forthcoming,” I said. “I kept track of

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their answers. There were four ‘What’s it to ya’s,’ three ‘What d’ya wanna know for’s,’ seven ‘Mind yer own business’s,’ and one, ‘What’re you, a police dog?’”

“Gosh,” said Chester, “what kind of questions did you ask?”

“Nine out of fifteen were about the weather.”

Chester shook his head. “Where are they now?”

I shrugged. “Looking for trouble or making it,” I said. “They didn’t let me in on their plans.”

“Hmm,” said Chester, looking decidedly unhappy, “this is going to be a lot tougher than I thought. Let’s see how Hamlet and The Weasel are doing.”

I was pleased to stop digging. Not even halfway through the job and I was already wondering if I’d ever get the dirt out from under my nails. Lucky Hamlet, I thought, not to have to dig at all. But when I saw his woebegone face and remembered his limp, I decided maybe he wasn’t so lucky after all.

The Weasel looked up from where he and Hamlet were hunched over what I presumed were Rosebud’s remains and headed toward us like an express train. He was out of breath when he announced, “She spoke to us. Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

“Calm down,” said Chester. “Come on, take a breath.”

The Weasel sucked in air with such force I felt my whiskers tingle. “Oh, my, oh, dear, oh, my,”

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he exclaimed as he exhaled. “This is terrible, just awful.”

“What?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“You tell them, Hamlet,” The Weasel said as we approached the woeful Dane. “I can’t, I just can’t say the words.”

“It was a warning,” Hamlet told us. “We asked her about the secret. She wouldn’t talk at first. Then, when she did, it was more a riddle than an answer. ‘My fate is a mirror in which to see.’”

“Th-there was more,” The Weasel panted. ” ‘One will look in and end like me.’”

Chester nodded slowly as he repeated the words. “My fate is a mirror in which to see. One will look in and end like me.” He looked off toward the office. Through the window, it appeared that Ditto was alone.

“This is my chance,” Chester said. “Maybe I can get her to talk.”

“But, Chester,” I said, “the warning.”