Дебора Хоу - Howliday Inn

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve done such a dangerous thing,” Chester answered smoothly. He was quiet then, and I remember looking at him, hoping that he was right and feeling somewhere deep in my bones that he wasn’t.

He was lost in thought for the rest of the day. In fact, the only time he spoke to me again was shortly before dinner.

“Just one word of warning,” he said. “Keep awake tonight. The murderer may strike again. Remember: do not sleep . If you do, you may never wake again.”

How it chills me to recall those words. Particularly when I think of them as Chester’s last.

Chapter 7 - Good Night, Sweet Chester

I SHOULD have known something was wrong when tears fell on my breakfast. I looked up and saw that Jill was crying. She didn’t say a word, but when she caught me looking at her, she burst into a fresh bout of sobbing. Shaking her head as if to deny something she knew to be true, she closed my door and moved on to feed the others.

I heard her move past Chester’s bungalow and then I called out, “Chester, Chester.” There was only silence.

“Chester,” I called again. “Why is Jill crying?” Silence. “Answer me, will you? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Heh, heh, heh.”

Again, no response. I was beginning to worry. But not so much that I let it stand in the way of breakfast.

When I looked up from my food dish, I saw that Jill was going back into the office. I knew it was risky, but I had to find out why Chester wasn’t talking to me. I pushed up the latch to my door with my nose and cautiously crept over to Chester’s bungalow.

A shadow fell across his door, making it hard to see inside.

“Chester?” I whispered. I strained my ears to pick up a sound. Any sound. I thought maybe he was still asleep and I’d hear his breathing. Or a rustle of movement.

“Chester!” I snapped impatiently. “Wake up!”

But then my eyes adjusted to the shadowy scene before me. I held my breath as I realized the truth.

Chester was gone!

Immediately my mind began searching for a logical explanation. He was out investigating, I told myself. He was … he was … But what I saw next stunned me into the realization that not only was Chester gone, he might not be coming back.

The bungalow was entirely empty. No food dish. No water dish. No rug on the floor. Only a rag of a mouse hanging limply by its neck suggested that the place had once been inhabited.

I didn’t know what to think then. I stood there, useless as a fire hydrant in a town without dogs, and felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Oh Chester, I thought, why didn’t I listen to you? You told me to stay awake all night, and I didn’t. I was so tired I fell asleep right away. And then this happened. It was all my fault.

Feeling thoroughly miserable, I turned my head away. And then I saw them. All the guests of Chateau Bow-Wow, their noses pressed against the fronts of their bungalows, were watching me. Their silent vigil reminded me of the scene the night before. I saw in their eyes the same look I’d seen when they’d stared at Chester, accusing him wordlessly of … of what? Of knowing too much, I realized. Yes, Chester had paid a price for his curiosity. And for his big mouth.

The sounds of Jill’s renewed crying within the office shook me from my thoughts. Maybe Chester is sick, I thought, and they’ve taken him indoors. I decided to find out what I could by listening at the office window. As I crossed the compound, I thought of our eavesdropping on Max and Georgette yesterday, and a smile came to my lips. It was funny thinking of Chester’s tail tickling my nose, of our falling into the mud puddle, of his saying to me—

And then I felt a lump in my throat, and I thought no more about it.

Placing my front paws on the windowsill and standing on my back legs, I was able to see inside the office. Harrison, his back to me, stood by the examining table. Jill sat in an old beat-up chair next to him. She kept dabbing her red eyes with a handkerchief. Chester, I observed, was nowhere in sight. I strained to hear as best I could.

“I can’t believe it,” Jill was saying, between sobs. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Harrison replied. “But it’s the only explanation.”

“How did it happen?” Jill asked. “That’s what I don’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sometimes life is like that,” Harrison said, waxing philosophical. “Sometimes life just doesn’t make sense.”

“We’re not talking about life, Harrison. We’re talking about—”

“Yes, I know.”

Jill stopped crying and heaved a huge sigh. After a moment of silence between them, she looked up at Harrison. “It’s all my fault, you know. I did it.”

“Of course you didn’t, Jill,” Harrison answered calmly. “You’ve got to stop talking like that. These things happen, that’s all. It could have happened to anyone. Look, I make mistakes, too, you know.”

“Maybe, but I was the one who cleaned out that part of the storage shed. I remember carrying that stuff out to the street for pickup. I just don’t understand how it got inside the compound.”

“Uh … well …” Harrison said.

Jill looked up at him. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Harrison answered quickly. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side.

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing, really. I just—”

“Harrison …”

“Never mind, I don’t want to upset you.”

“I’m upset already. Tell me what you were going to say.”

“Okay, if you insist. I was just remembering that when you came inside the compound, you were carrying that bag of garbage …”

“When Louise was barking, yes,” said Jill, with a worried look. “And the bag broke. That’s how it got there.” They both fell silent. “Harrison?” Jill said then.

“Yes?”

“May I take the rest of the day off?”

Harrison paused uncertainly. Then he said, “Of course you can. Why not? Maybe the rest will do you good.”

“Yes,” was all Jill said in response, and then she stood. She took off her smock and started toward the door to the front of the building. Turning back to look at Harrison (I could see her face clearly now and had to duck down so she wouldn’t see me), she said, “How could it have gotten into Chester’s food? Just tell me that.”

This was the first I’d heard Chester’s name, and I felt my stomach tighten. How could what have gotten into Chester’s food? I listened carefully.

“I don’t know,” Harrison replied. “All I know is that I found the container near his bungalow, and when I tested his food—”

“Poison?”

“Poison.”

Poison. The word went through me like an arrow.

Jill spoke again. “And now he’s …”

“Gone. Yes,” Harrison said.

“May I see him?” Jill asked.

Harrison stepped toward her. He put his arms out to take her by the shoulders. “Why upset yourself anymore?” he asked. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“And Dr. Greenbriar?”

“I’ll call him. Don’t worry. Just go home and rest.”

What happened then I don’t know. I dropped down from the windowsill, no longer caring about anything more I might hear or see. I’d heard quite enough. Slowly, I stumbled back to my bungalow. Everyone may have been watching me still, but I have no recollection of anything except the lump in my throat growing larger with every step I took. And the thought that my best friend in the whole world was gone. Poisoned. And all because he knew too much.

Back inside my bungalow, I curled up as tight as I could and fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 8 - Harold X, Private Eye