If the presence of a cop on his doorstep caused the tabloid editor concern he hid it well. “Oh, sure. Come on in. Is this about the Dickerson investigation?”

  “It is,” Odelia confirmed, as they followed Brettin through a cozily appointed hallway—with a nice painting of a man on a horse—and into the living room, where more paintings of horses adorned the walls. There was also a white Stetson hanging from a peg, a clear sign Olaf Brettin was into the Old West.

  “That yours?” asked Chase, admiring the hat.

  “Yup. I like to wear it when I go riding,” said Brettin. “I got the boots, the vest and the belt buckle, too, if you’d like to see. I even got the neckerchief.”

  “You got the gun, too?” asked Chase, cocking an eyebrow.

  Brettin laughed. “Now that I don’t got, Chief.”

  “We have a question for you, Mr. Brettin,” said Odelia.

  “Please call me Olaf,” said Brettin.

  “The thing is, remember I asked you about the picture of a rose that was found near Dickerson’s body?”

  “Uh-huh. And I told you that doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Your daughter… died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?”

  She was studying a painting on the wall that depicted a beautiful young woman.

  “She did,” said Brettin, his joviality slightly diminished now.

  “I watched a video of the eulogy you gave at her funeral. You called her your rose.”

  Brettin’s smile had completely dimmed. “Lavinia was my rose. The light of my life. When she died I thought I’d die, too. I didn’t, even though a part of me did die that day.”

  “What happened?” asked Chase, a softness to his voice Odelia appreciated.

  “She… took her own life, Detective. A, um, video was made—silly thing.” He was staring off now. “She was young, and in love, I guess. And you know how young people are. They’re into making these… selfies and things.” He swallowed. “So she made one of those sex tapes. Nothing unusual about that. She and this boy she was seeing, they were really into each other. There was even talk of an engagement. She’d introduced him to us—me and Abbey. That’s my wife Abbey over there,” he said, indicating another portrait, this one depicting a strikingly handsome woman with clear blue eyes.

  “So she made the tape,” prompted Chase when Brettin stopped talking.

  “Yes, she did. And somehow that tape got out. Someone hacked Lavinia’s phone, found the tape, and a bunch of pictures, and threatened to post everything online.”

  “That’s horrible,” said Odelia.

  “Yes, it was,” said Brettin. “Lavinia, of course, was shattered.”

  “Was this a blackmail thing?” asked Chase.

  “Yes. But not aimed at Lavinia. Aimed at me. You see, I was making inroads in markets that had previously mainly been Dickerson’s province. The Midwest, for one. And he didn’t like it. And Dickerson being who he was, he decided to play dirty. So he had someone hack my phone but probably didn’t find the kind of dirt he was looking for so he extended the hacker’s scope to my family, my wife and daughter. He must have been over the moon when he discovered that private video and pictures. Pay dirt,” he scoffed bitterly.

  “Are you sure this was Dickerson?” asked Odelia.

  “Oh, yes. He called me. This was the day after Lavinia had gotten the message about the video being posted online. Dickerson said a little birdie had dropped that same video into his mailbox, and how he wanted to express his concern from one family man to another.”

  “He actually threatened you?”

  “No, of course not. Dickerson was too smart for that. He just wanted me to know that he had the video, and that if I didn’t back off, he was going to have it posted online.”

  “That’s… criminal,” said Chase, shaking his head.

  “You should have reported him to the police,” said Odelia.

  Brettin looked sad. “What was there to report? That Dickerson had received an anonymous message from the creep who’d hacked my daughter’s phone? I get anonymous tips every day. Pictures, videos—heck, it’s part of the tabloid business model. ‘We pay cash for videos.’ Dickerson would have made damn sure nothing connected him to the hacker.”

  “But you knew he was behind the hack.”

  “Oh, yes. And he knew I knew. That was his whole spiel.” His expression softened. “One week later Lavinia took her own life. She couldn’t live with the knowledge that that video was out there. I told her I’d take care of it. That no one would ever see it. She must not have believed me. And seeing the line of work I’m in, maybe she was right not to trust me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Odelia. She felt for the man. This was a horrible story. And showed what a ruthless crook Dickerson had been.

  “I blame myself, you know,” said Brettin. “I was Dickerson’s target, and my beautiful flower got caught in the crossfire. And so did my wife. Abbey never recovered. She died six months later. Her heart simply gave up. They say you can’t die from a broken heart but I can assure you that you can. The only reason my own heart is still beating is probably because I’m too stubborn to die. But a big part of me died the day I buried my daughter—my rose.”

  “So… did you have Dickerson killed, Mr. Brettin?” asked Odelia softly.

  He glanced up, then shook his head. “I’m not a killer, Odelia. Even though I’m glad someone took the law into their own hands, it wasn’t me.”

  “But… the rose.”

  “I’m not the first person Dickerson destroyed. There are countless others. And I’ll bet lots of people use the image of the rose to refer to a loved one. No, you’re barking up the wrong tree, Odelia—Detective. I may have wished Dickerson harm, but I didn’t act on it.”

  Just then, the editor’s phone jangled and he picked it up from the table with a frown. “Yes, Mr. Paunch,” he said, much to Odelia’s surprise. She hadn’t heard from President Wilcox’s friend in quite a while, and had hoped he’d lost her number. “Is that a fact? No, I didn’t know the President was the youngest billionaire in history. That is news to me.” He rolled his eyes at Odelia. “So it’s official? President Wilcox is Sexiest President Alive? That’s quite an achievement. I didn’t even know such a category existed. Yes, I will mention it in the next issue of the Daily Inquirer, Mr. Paunch. And give my regards to the President.”

  “Was that Otto Paunch?” asked Odelia.

  “Oh, you know Mr. Paunch?”

  “He’s been calling me non-stop with little tidbits about the President.”

  “Did you know President Wilcox has been voted Sexiest President Alive three years in a row?”

  “He also has the softest hair,” said Odelia. “Soft like a baby’s bottom, I’ve been told.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Brettin with a smile.

  “I thought the President only worked with the National Star?”

  “Oh, I think he works with any publication that will sing his praises.”

  “But he was very chummy with Dick Dickerson, wasn’t he?”

  “He used to be,” Brettin acknowledged.

  Dua Lipa demanded Odelia’s attention by belting out her signature tune and she was surprised to see it was her uncle.

  “Uncle Alec?”

  “Hey, honey. Look, there’s some kind of fracas going on downtown.”

  “Downtown? You’re back?”

  “Just arrived. It’s your cats, Odelia. They’re trying to tell me something but you know I don’t speak feline. You better get down here ASAP. It looks serious.”

  Chapter 45

  Milo had just dozed off when Harriet came in, all atwitter. She motioned for me and Dooley to meet her in the backyard. The moment we set foot outside, convening amongst the mounds of dirt Grandma had dug up, she cried, “It’s Brutus! He’s gone!”

  “Gone? Gone where?” I asked.

  She gave us a pained look. “The pound!”

  “Why would Brutus go to the pound?” asked Dooley. “Does he know cats there?”

  “No, he doesn’t know cats there, Dooley! He just kept telling me the pound is paradise and how I should come with him—to escape Max’s reign of terror!”

  “My reign of terror?” I asked. “I don’t have a reign—and definitely not one of terror.”

  “He seems to think you’re some kind of dictator. And that we’re your slaves. He said the only way to escape this prison camp is to head down to the pound—where cats are cats and are free to live their lives untethered by the chains you bind us with.”

  This was all news to me. I didn’t even know how to lay my paws on a pair of chains. “This all sounds very suspicious to me,” I told Harriet. “Where would I even get chains?”

  “He’s gone completely bananas,” Harriet agreed, giving us an imploring look. She would probably have wrung her hands if she had hands. Instead, she merely screwed up her face into a pitiable expression. It was obvious she was in the throes of extreme emotion. “We have to save him, Max. If he sets paw inside that pound they’ll lock him up and throw away the key.”

  “Why would they throw away the key?” asked Dooley, intrigued. “Wouldn’t they need it to open his cage so they can feed him?”

  “Cage!” Harriet cried. “Can you imagine Brutus locked up in a small cage?!”

  I could, and the thought frankly made my stomach turn. I’m not claustrophobic, per se, but I definitely don’t like small spaces. Or cages, which are a form of small space, I guess.

  “What if they want to clean out his cage?” asked Dooley, still pursuing his own line of thought. “Wouldn’t they need a key to open it? Or do they install new locks each time? That just seems wasteful.”

  “Please, Max,” Harriet said. “Let’s save Brutus. I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye but you’re friends now, aren’t you? You don’t want him to languish in some cage?”

  No, I certainly didn’t. What was more, I had a fairly good idea who was responsible for Brutus’s sudden wish to escape my so-called reign of terror. Only Milo could have planted such a ridiculous notion into his head. “Let’s go,” I said therefore. “Maybe we can catch him before it’s too late.”

  And so our mission to save Brutus commenced. Dooley was still brooding on locks and keys, Harriet looked as if she was ready to call in SEAL Team Six to save her mate, and I wondered how we were ever going to get this Milo menace out of our lives before he did more harm. Yes, I know he was leaving in two weeks, but considering how much damage he’d done in just a few days, I could only imagine how much worse things could get.

  It was quite a long walk to the pound, and Brutus had a nice head start, so we broke into a trot and put some haste into our mission. Once Brutus entered the pound it was game over for the black cat.

  It was a testament to Harriet’s despair that it only took us twenty minutes to reach destination’s end, and the horrible building soon loomed up in our field of vision.

  It wasn’t one of those places I enjoyed visiting. In fact the further away from the pound I stayed the better I felt. But our friend was in need, and so there we were.

  “I don’t see him,” said Harriet nervously as we surveilled the squat gray-brick building from across the street. It looked like an army barracks, or a prison, or even a police precinct.

  Dark, ominous, and absolutely evil, it didn’t look like no paradise to me.

  “Let’s check the back,” I said. “Maybe we can look in through the windows.”

  “If this place has windows,” said Dooley, and he had a point. The only windows I could see had either been bricked up or were covered with the kind of thick safety glass that is impossible to see through.

  Still, we’d come this far, so we needed to see our mission through. So we crossed the street—after checking left then right then left again, like our mama taught us—then stealthily moved around the building. There was nothing but a strip of wasteland behind the pound, which neighbors had happily used to dump their rubbish: broken bicycles, old couches, mattresses, even a car wreck provided a backdrop to Hampton Cove’s scariest building.

  “There!” Harriet cried suddenly. “It’s Brutus!”

  I half expected her to be pointing at the mangled body of the former butch cat, but Brutus looked fit as a fiddle, staring into the only window that seemed to offer a glimpse of the pound’s innards. We quickly joined him but he barely looked up when we did.

  “Brutus!” Harriet said. “What has gotten into you!”

  He shrugged, still staring intently through the grimy window. “Milo told me that the pound was paradise,” he said in a low, dispirited voice. “Look at that. Does that look like paradise to you?”

  We all looked where he was looking. And I knew I was looking at hell when the scene unfolded before my eyes: rows and rows of cages, with dogs of every variety locked up inside. Most of them looked absolutely listless, huddled up near the back of the cage, lying on the concrete floor. Some of the dogs were barking up a storm.

  “Newcomers, I’ll bet,” said Brutus softly. “Listen to them.”

  We listened. “Let me out!” a Labrador was yelling. “This is a mistake! I don’t belong here! I have a family! Let me out!”

  “All I did was root around in the trashcan,” a Poodle was lamenting. “I like trashcans. What’s wrong with that? There’s always something new to be found in a trashcan. So when will this punishment be over? And what are all these other dogs doing in here? Are they all punished, too? What is this place? A prison for dogs?”

  “More like a concentration camp for dogs, buddy,” said a Beagle sadly.

  “Where are the cats?” asked Dooley. “Maybe they’re treated better?”

  “You wish,” scoffed Brutus. He tracked a path to the right side of the building, and sank down in front of another grimy window, affording a glimpse inside.

  This was obviously the feline part of the pound, with dozens of cats locked up in cages, looking equally demoralized and unhappy.

  “Oh, this is just terrible,” said Harriet. “Poor cats!”

  “Milo tried to convince me this was paradise,” said Brutus. “Now I see he was just lying, as usual.” He directed an apologetic look in my direction. “I’m sorry, Max.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “He said you were a dictator. That I was your minion, having to kowtow to you. I should have known he was full of crap. When did I ever kowtow to you? We butted heads so many times we both have the bruises to prove it.” He placed a paw on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for believing those lies about you, buddy. I feel like such an idiot.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits…”

  He laughed. “I deserved that.”

  Dooley was still looking through the glass. “You guys. Do you think this is where Milo lived for the first part of his life?”

  “Yeah, I think he wasn’t lying about that part,” said Brutus. “His human probably picked him up here.”

  “Don’t you think… this is why he turned into the cat he is now?” asked Dooley. He looked up. “This could all be some kind of… survival mechanism.”

  We were all so surprised that Dooley would even be aware of such a big word that we simply stared at him.

  He went on, “I mean, this place is like prison for cats and dogs, right? So maybe this is why he lies so much—to protect himself from the harsh realities of life? And why he sets cats up against each other. So they wouldn’t pick on him?”

  “Direct their attention away from himself. Divide and conquer,” I said, nodding.

  “Dooley, you’re a lot smarter than you look,” said Brutus.

  “Hey, thanks, Brutus,” said Dooley, suddenly chipper.

  “It’s no excuse for Milo’s behavior, though,” said Harriet sternly.

  “No, it’s not, but it definitely explains a lot,” I said. I thought I understood our new housemate a little better now. And even though I didn’t approve of what he did, I was beginning to see things from his point of view. Entering a potentially hostile environment, with four other cats to contend with and one human to dole out punishment and reward, he must have automatically reverted to his old ways of sowing discord and making fantastical statements.

  Poor cat. Suddenly I felt Milo was to be pitied more than to be censored.

  And I would have had a lot more to say on the subject if a stray cat hadn’t suddenly been streaking past us, looking extremely excited about something.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Big to-do in town!” he yelled. “Kit Katt’s been spotted! Kit Katt and Koh!”

  Chapter 46

  We didn’t linger at the pound. Instead, we hauled ass in the direction the other cat was going and soon we were going well and going steadily, as more and more cats joined the stampede.

  “Looks like every cat in Hampton Cove will be there!” cried Dooley excitedly.

  “Who doesn’t want to meet Kit Katt and Koh?” I said, equally excited about the prospect of meeting our heroes in the flesh.

  “What are they doing in Hampton Cove?” asked Harriet.

  “Probably filming new episodes for their show,” said Brutus.

  “Maybe they’ll let us guest star!” Dooley said.

  “To guest star on a show you have to be exactly that, Dooley,” I said. “A star.”

  “We could be extras,” said Harriet, the prospect clearly enticing.

  By now it looked like a minor migration was taking place, and I saw and nodded a greeting at many a familiar face. The closer to the town center we got, the bigger the crowd. Almost like going to a rock concert, if rock concerts weren’t so terribly loud and rock music so perfectly horrible to listen to. Nope. Cats do not like rock music. Let me be clear on that.

  The action seemed to be taking place near the old industrial zone, on the other side of town. A few deserted factories awaited demolition, to be replaced with a commercial park. The factory where all activity was centered was the old Beluga Watchcase Factory.

  The brown-brick five-story structure was derelict, with windows shattered and ivy covering a big part of the building. Cats seemed to have converged on a window on the ground floor, and sat staring inside, much the same way we’d been trying to get a peek at the pound innards just before.