“I figured that Ross would probably be alone for his big date. He wouldn’t want anybody spoiling the fun. So I drove down to the marina, took one of the dinghies that are always moored there, and rowed over to the Aurora. I checked to see if the coast was clear, then climbed on board and simply walked up to the man. To say he was surprised to see me would be an understatement. But I quickly made it clear I meant him no harm, and when I explained I was Jane’s husband, he calmed down. I said I wanted to talk to him man to man and wanted to know what his intentions were. I think he was greatly amused by that and decided he liked this game and wanted to have a little fun with me. So he offered me a drink and got one out for himself. I knew he loved his Dr. Pepper Cotton Candy, so that’s what I asked for. Then, when he wasn’t looking, I simply dumped the cyanide into the can and made the switch. He never noticed, too busy as he was telling me all about how he had never stopped loving Jane and that he felt they deserved a second chance. He also told me that Jane had confessed she wasn’t happy with me. I have to admit that stung, but then I remembered that Jane wasn’t happy, period, and probably would never be happy again—ever. She was that broken.”

  “Where did you get the cyanide?” asked Chase.

  “I had it in the shed, behind lock and key, of course. Got it from my dad, who was a farmer and bought it years ago to kill rabbits on his farm. So I figured I’d finally put it to good use.”

  “So you put it in his soda, and then you watched him die.”

  “Then I watched him die,” Bert confirmed. “And I have to say, it didn’t give me great pleasure. I loved his movies, Detective Kingsley. And I thought he was a great actor but a terrible human being. But if my wife was going to live, Ross had to die.”

  “And then you dumped his body in the pool.”

  “I figured you’d probably see through it, but I did it anyway. At the very least, I’d buy myself a couple of hours while you figured he’d drowned.”

  “We saw through it in minutes,” Chase grunted.

  “Which just goes to show what a lousy murderer I am,” said Bert ruefully.

  “So how did you stop Jane from meeting the guy at eleven?”

  “Simple. I had bought one of those unregistered phones and sent her a message pretending to be Ross and claiming that I’d lost my phone and postponing the meeting. I hoped she would buy the deceit, and she did.”

  “You could have sent that message from Ross’s phone.”

  “Yes, but then you would have immediately established a link between my wife and the dead man. And that’s the last thing I wanted. Actually, I had hoped you would leave us out of the whole thing entirely. After all, it was twenty-five years ago.”

  “When a famous actor returns to his home town after twenty-five years only to end up being murdered, it’s only natural that we start looking into possible ties between the victim and the town. And so your wife’s name cropped up.”

  “I hope this won’t affect her too much,” said Bert. “I mean, she won’t miss me, not in a romantic sense. But she will suffer from the disruption in her daily routine. And so she’ll probably miss me in a practical sense.”

  “Maybe in her own way, she does love you, Mr. Collins.”

  The man smiled. “I would like very much to believe that, detective. I really would.”

  CHAPTER 31

  We were enjoying one of those rare moments of familial bliss in our backyard, with Tex manning the grill and the entire family gathered for the feast, when Dooley raised the alarm. “Max! Our litter! It’s gone again!”

  Immediately, we jumped down from the swing and followed our friend into the house. And it was as he had predicted: Harriet and Brutus’s litter boxes were once again devoid of their usual littery contents. Only that morning, Marge had filled them up again after we had pointed out the dreadful dearth to her, and now the precious substance had once again disappeared without a trace.

  And since at heart we’re scientists, and no statement is relevant without a second opinion, we hurried out of Marge and Tex’s house and over to Odelia and Chase’s dwelling, where unfortunately the same unsettling sight met our eyes: our litter boxes were also empty, even though Odelia had followed her mother’s example and had filled them up that morning.

  “This isn’t happening!” Brutus cried, much dismayed.

  “I told you that the litter monster is on the move,” said Dooley. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “There is no such thing as a litter monster, Dooley,” I felt obliged to point out.

  “There is a cookie monster, Max,” he said. “So there is bound to be a litter monster as well. A monster who likes to eat litter and simply can’t get enough of the stuff.”

  Loathe as I was to accept that this might be true, maybe he had a point. Why else would our litter keep disappearing? It wasn’t because our humans had been struck by the desire to economize since they had decided not to skimp on litter and had gotten us one of the best brands this time, to reward us for the role we had played in the capture of Mr. Ross’s murderer and also because we had had to do without litter for a while.

  “Okay, so we need to figure this out,” I told my friends. “And the only way we can is by laying a trap.”

  “A mouse trap?” asked Dooley. But then he got it. “Ooh, I see what you mean! A litter monster trap!”

  “Better build a big trap,” Brutus grunted. “Because a monster that can eat four trays of litter must be huge.”

  And so it was decided. Odelia would fill up the litter box once again, we would all pretend to be next door, enjoying our barbecue, while in actual fact, one of us would stay behind, carefully concealed, and catch this monster in the act of absconding with this vital ingredient to a cat’s happy home life. And since it was my idea in the first place, I was selected as the hapless volunteer.

  Odelia was alerted to the terrible tragedy that had befallen her cat contingent, the ruse was created, the trap set, and so while the others all enjoyed their food, I hid underneath the couch, from where I had a good view of the kitchen, where our litter boxes stood in the small alcove behind the fridge. I hoped it wouldn’t be long before the thief showed up because my stomach was rumbling, and I wouldn’t have minded a bite to eat.

  I had kept my eye on the prize when all of a sudden the pet flap moved. But when I was ready to spring, I saw that it was Dooley.

  “Max? Where are you?” he whispered.

  “Over here!” I said, and he joined me underneath the couch.

  “Nice and cozy, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Well...” I glanced over. “Did you bring me something to eat?”

  “No, I didn’t. I just figured you’d get lonely, so I decided to keep you company.”

  The sentiment was noble, but the lack of food still rankled. And so we waited. And waited. And waited.

  “So how did you find out that Bert Collins killed Robert Ross, Max?” Dooley finally asked, boredom starting to hold him in its grip.

  “Something Kingman said about sacrifice. And also the fact that he’s allergic to cockroaches.”

  “Is Bert Collins also allergic to cockroaches, you think?”

  I smiled. “No, but Jane Collins is allergic to dogs, remember? Which is why Robert asked one of his crew members to walk Flame while he was entertaining his old girlfriend. I’d been wondering why he would do that since he truly loved that dog. So why would he send her off the boat? It could only be because his visitor had expressed a fervent wish not to be in the presence of the dog. And then when Jane told us she was allergic to dogs, it didn’t register at first, but then suddenly when we were chatting with Kingman about cockroaches, it did.”

  “Jane could have killed Robert and not Bert.”

  “Yes, that’s where the sacrifice came in. Jane could never kill Robert. She loved him and had loved him from the beginning. She lied about their break-up having been a natural consequence of their lives drifting apart. Her feelings for the man were a lot stronger than she admitted to us—or to her husband.”

  “So how did you end up with Bert being the killer?”

  “Well, if Jane hadn’t killed Robert, then who had? It was obvious that he was meeting her that morning, and it was also obvious that Bert loved his wife and wanted to protect her at all cost from anything that might upset her. He even made sure they didn’t get the Gazette, though from Jane’s statements we know she had read the paper that morning, presumably behind her husband’s back, and to follow the news about Robert arriving in Hampton Cove first-hand. Because Bert was right about that: the news that both fascinated and upset his wife the most was anything that had to do with Robert Ross. Which is why I figured he just might be the one who killed the actor. And then when we confronted him, he quickly confessed.”

  “So he sacrificed himself out of love for his wife?”

  “If you take the charitable view, yes, he did. Though you could also say he killed Robert because he was afraid he would steal Jane away from him. Which he just might have done if Bert hadn’t interfered.”

  For a moment, we both ruminated on the case of the murdered mega-star, but then all of a sudden, the pet flap moved again, and we both hunkered down, ready to pounce on the litter monster. But as the kitchen door opened, we saw that it was Gran who entered. She glanced left and right, then quickly ventured in, a plastic garbage bag in hand. And as we watched, she emptied the litter boxes into the bag, hoisted it onto her back, and hurried out again.

  To say we were flabbergasted would be an understatement.

  “Max, the litter monster is... Gran!”

  “I know. But why?”

  After we had recovered sufficiently from the shock of our discovery, we ventured out through the pet door in Gran’s wake. We had to find out what she was up to!

  We soon caught up with her and discovered she had retreated to the safety of her beloved rose bushes, where she was busy pouring out the litter and mixing it with some of the potting soil she had apparently stored there. After she had mixed up the batch, she transferred the newly mixed soil to a bucket, then quickly carried it over to the flower beds she had recently planted and which were her pride and joy. Since neither Odelia nor Chase are blessed with green thumbs, Gran had taken it upon herself to take care of their backyard.

  She now spread the mixture over the flower beds and made sure to tuck in her flowers nice and snug, covering the ground with the stuff. Then, as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been spotted, she hurried back to her own backyard. But when she looked back, she caught sight of the two of us, and she brought a distraught hand to her mouth.

  “Max! Dooley!” she said. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to see what you did,” I said, not seeing the point of beating around the bush.

  “You’re the litter monster, Gran,” said Dooley accusingly. “But why?”

  Gran sighed deeply and retraced her steps, then settled down on her haunches in front of us. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But only if you promise to keep my secret, all right?”

  “On one condition,” I said.

  “Anything.”

  “Please leave those poor caterpillars alone. Very soon now, they’ll all turn into beautiful butterflies, and you’ll be happy that you saved their lives.”

  “Okay, fine. I won’t touch them. See, the thing is that my flowers are suffering. Either they get too much water when it rains, like these last couple of days, or they don’t get enough. And then I read that cat litter is a wonderful ingredient for creating the perfect atmosphere. It retains water and prevents plants from drying out, but it also offers the necessary drainage so the plants don’t drown. In other words, the perfect ingredient to make your plants happy.”

  “But why steal it?” I asked. “Couldn’t you just buy the stuff?”

  “That’s just it. Tex doesn’t want me to! I told him about how great the stuff is for our plants, but he claims it’s a waste of money to use expensive cat litter for gardening purposes. And so if he won’t let me buy it, I decided to steal some of it instead. And it’s just for the time being, you know, until my plants are strong enough to survive under any weather conditions.” She got up again with a slight effort. “So now you know.”

  “Now we know,” I agreed.

  “So what are you going to tell the others?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted.

  “Will you tell them the truth?”

  She stared at us, and we stared right back. Now under normal circumstances, I don’t take kindly to people who steal my stuff. But this was different. This was a matter of life and death—for Gran’s plants. And so a plan formed in my mind.

  “I’ll think of something,” I finally said.

  She smiled a grateful smile. “After that debacle at the Star Hotel, my stock isn’t trading very high at the moment, so if they find out I’m the litter thief, they might throw me in jail.”

  “They won’t,” I said. That whole fracas with Robert Ross’s brother had been dealt with by Charlene Butterwick herself. After we had caught his brother’s murderer, Eric Ross had been so relieved and grateful that he had quickly decided to drop any lawsuit he might have considered bringing against us. A quiet word from the Mayor and the implicit promise of a posthumous ceremony to award the key to the city to the late actor hadn’t hurt.

  Though when the truth about Mr. Ross came to light, and his reputation took a hit, maybe that ceremony would be just as quietly canceled again.

  We had returned to join the others, and when Odelia took a seat next to us on the swing to find out what we had found out, I told her in solemn tones that her father was the culprit. That we had seen him sneak into the house, remove the litter, and sneak out again.

  “But why?” asked Odelia. “Why would Dad steal your litter?”

  I pointed to the grill. “We all know that cat litter is perfect for keeping your grill clean, Odelia. You sprinkle some of it in the grill before you start cooking, and it will collect all the grease. Then once you’re done, you simply remove the litter, and your grill will be clean in no time. Easy peasy. Only cat litter is expensive, and I’m sure your dad doesn’t want you to know he uses it for that purpose.”

  Odelia smiled. “Oh, the sweetheart. Well, his secret is safe with me.”

  She rejoined the others and made sure to give her dad a peck on the cheek, causing the man to look up in pleasant surprise.

  Moments later, Marge sat down next to us. “So who has been stealing your litter?”

  “It was Odelia,” I said.

  “Odelia! But why?”

  “Well, we all know that cat litter absorbs moisture and bad smells. So she likes to put some of it in her closets to get rid of that musty smell. But since cat litter costs a lot of money, she didn’t want to tell you.”

  “Oh, poor darling,” said Marge, touched. “I won’t betray her secret.” And so she left us to return to the feast and gave her daughter a hug in the process.

  Harriet and Brutus now stared at me, and also Grace. The latter asked, “So who did steal your litter, Max? And tell us the truth this time.”

  “It was your dad,” I revealed. “We all know that cat litter is perfect for removing greasy spots. So he’s been using it to get rid of those grease spots on the driveway by covering them with litter. It works like a charm.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet of him,” said Grace and hopped off the swing to give her dad a big hug, which the cop responded to by giving her a big hug in return.

  Brutus and Harriet eyed me closely, and Brutus narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re lying, Max,” he said. “I can tell from the way your eye twitches.”

  “Does my eye twitch?” I asked.

  “No, it doesn’t, but I still know you’re lying.”

  “Okay, so I’ll tell you the truth,” I said. “But please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Scout’s honor,” Brutus said.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Harriet.

  “Okay, so you know how cat litter is great to get traction when you’re driving on ice? Well, it is. So Uncle Alec decided to fill a couple of bags and put them in the trunk of his car just in case.”

  “But winter is months away!” said Harriet.

  “Always good to be prepared, Harriet,” I told her.

  “I guess you’re right.” She glanced over at Odelia’s uncle. “Oh, the poor dear. Didn’t want anyone to find out that he wants us all to be safe.” And so she jumped off the porch and jumped up on the Chief’s lap, giving him a cuddle against his chin. Uncle Alec, who had been in the process of putting a piece of steak into his mouth, eyed her with surprise, then decided to share a piece of his meat with her.

  Brutus now turned to me and whispered, “Tell me the truth, Max. The real truth this time!”

  “Okay, fine. You got me,” I said. “The real culprit is Scarlett. She must have read somewhere that cat litter is perfect for absorbing odors from shoes. You put some of it in an old sock, put the sock in the shoe, and voila. Almost like new.”

  “Genius,” said Brutus, well satisfied. And so he traipsed over to Scarlett and settled on her lap.

  Dooley stared at me, and I frowned. “Dooley, you know that Gran stole our litter, so don’t ask me who did, all right?”

  “You’re such a good liar, Max. I believed you every time, even though I know the real truth—the real, real truth.”

  I smiled. “Just spreading some sweetness and light, Dooley.”

  “Well, I sure didn’t know cat litter is good for almost anything.”

  “It certainly is, my friend. Maybe cat litter is the panacea we’ve all been looking for. Maybe it can even cure cancer and bring about world peace.”