Gran shook her head, causing her tiny white curls to dance around her wrinkly features. “Do you know any other popes? Of course the one in Rome. I told Francis he needs to get a handle on this Angujistan business before more people die and he agreed wholeheartedly. As he should. When a fellow Catholic calls in with an urgent message it’s only natural that he would be thrilled. He told me he’d heed my most excellent advice.”

  “Your grandmother has been advising world leaders,” said Mom at Odelia’s unposed question. “She’s already talked to Bong Si-moon.”

  “Ban Ki-moon,” Gran was quick to correct her.

  “That one. He runs the United Nations.”

  “Great guy,” said Gran. “Very happy to chat.”

  “And who was that other one you talked to?” asked Mom.

  “Try to keep up, Marge. Bill Gates. Sharp dude. We talked about providing housing for the poor. I gave him a few suggestions and he was more than happy to jot them down.”

  Dad gave Odelia a knowing look. “We’re in the presence of greatness, Odelia.”

  “Yeah, forget about Charlie Dieber,” Mom added. “It’s your grandmother you should be interviewing.”

  “But how?” Odelia asked. “How do you get in touch with these people?”

  Gran shrugged. “I have my ways.” She hopped from the stool with surprising agility. “Gotta be going. I’m expecting a call from the President. Give him a piece of my mind.”

  And with these words, she stalked off, frowning at her phone and very much looking the part of the highly regarded proficient advisor to the world’s political and business elite.

  Odelia was going to ask her parents what the heck was going on, but Mom shushed her and turned up the volume on the TV set. As they watched, the host announced with breathless relish that shots had been fired at Charlie Dieber as he exited the studio. Visibly disappointed, the radio jockey clarified that Charlie was unharmed and that his bodyguard had sustained the brunt of the attack and had been pronounced dead at the scene.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Mom cried, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. “Thank God Charlie lives!”

  “Poor bodyguard, though,” Odelia said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, imagine having to take a bullet for Charlie Dieber,” Dad quipped.

  Mom shut him up with a pointed look. “The man died so Charlie could live. He’s a hero and a saint and should be praised for his brave and selfless act.”

  Dang. Mom was an even bigger Bedieber than Odelia would have guessed.

  She promptly got up. “This is big,” she announced. “I have to get over there and break this story.”

  “And while you’re at it don’t forget to ask for Charlie’s autograph, honey,” Mom said as she moved to the door.

  “If I get within ten feet of Charlie I’m not going to nag him about autographs, Mom.”

  “You promised!” she called out after her.

  “That was before someone tried to drill a hole in him!”

  Chapter 3

  We were seated in Odelia’s backyard, me, Dooley and Brutus, for an emergency meeting. Hidden behind the gardenias, from time to time ducking our heads up to see if the coast was clear and we weren’t being overheard, we conducted our meeting with the stealth and solemnity the situation demanded. We were at war, and it was all paws on deck.

  “He ate all your food?” asked Dooley. The gray Ragamuffin looked shocked.

  “Everything. Every last morsel,” I confirmed.

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Not nice?! It’s downright criminal!”

  “You can have some of my food,” Dooley magnanimously offered. “There’s plenty.”

  “Yeah, have some of mine, too,” said Brutus, a powerfully built black cat who’d been my mortal enemy until not all that long ago. In fact the arrival of Diego had created a bond between us that had wiped out our former enmity and turned us into unlikely allies instead.

  “Will you look at that?” Dooley asked, a somber note in his voice.

  We peeked through the gardenias and Brutus drew in a sharp breath when he saw Diego seated on the terrace with Harriet, pressing their paws together in a cloying picture of loved-up cuteness. Any moment Celine Dion could burst into the Titanic theme song.

  “Don’t look, Brutus. Just don’t look,” I advised the cat, who’d been Harriet’s beau before Diego’s fateful return.

  But Brutus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the train wreck even if he wanted to. Nor could I, actually, or Dooley, who’d also been one of Harriet’s admirers. In fact it was safe to say I was probably the only male feline for miles around who’d never been into the white Persian. No idea why that was. Probably the fact that she was one of those haughty specimens, who enjoyed lording it over other cats, a quality that set my teeth on edge.

  “This is too much,” growled Brutus. “Stealing your food. Stealing my girlfriend—”

  “Stealing my litter box and my morning cuddle with Odelia,” I said somberly.

  They gawked at me. “He uses your litter box?” asked Brutus. “Say it isn’t so, Max!”

  I nodded in confirmation. “Sadly, yes. I’ve been forced to do my business in Odelia’s rhododendrons ever since Diego’s return. No way am I going to suffer the indignation of relieving myself in a place that reeks of Diego. Talk about suffering the ultimate humiliation.”

  Brutus and Dooley sat in stunned silence, as they imagined having to share a litter box with Diego. This was bad, their silence seemed to indicate. This was extremely bad.

  “Did you say he stole your morning cuddle with Odelia?” asked Dooley.

  “He did.” I proceeded to describe my shock and dismay when I discovered Diego snuggling up to Odelia that morning. How he didn’t even bat an eye when I confronted him.

  “Oh, the horror,” muttered Brutus. “The heartbreak. The infuriating gall of the cat!”

  “We have to do something about this, you guys,” I said. “I feel like he’s slowly but surely trying to get rid of me. Before I know it, Odelia will vote Diego Most Valuable Cat.”

  “Odelia would never do that,” said Dooley, eyes wide. “Would she?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Diego is trying to poison Odelia’s mind,” said Brutus.

  I stared at him. “Poison Odelia? But why?”

  “Poison her mind—set her against you.”

  “No way,” Dooley gasped. “There’s just no way!”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” Brutus assured him. “He’ll feed her all kinds of lies. Start with something innocuous, like the fact that Max left some poop on the floor, for instance.”

  Dooley turned to me. “Max! Did you poop on the floor?”

  “Of course I didn’t poop on the floor! He’s talking about Diego.”

  “Diego pooped on the floor?!”

  “Oh, Dooley,” I said. “Try to pay attention.”

  “Diego could poop on the floor,” Brutus explained, “and then tell Odelia Max did it.”

  The pure deviousness of the scheme seemed to shock Dooley, for he audibly gasped.

  “And when she’s finally had enough, she’ll get rid of Max,” Brutus continued.

  “Get rid of me!”

  Brutus nodded somberly. “The animal shelter, Max. Where all cats go to die.”

  “Noooo!”

  “Oh, yes. Mark my words. Before you know it, you’ll be locked up in a cage the size of a shoebox, waiting to be gassed or whatever it is that they do at these establishments.”

  I sank back on my haunches, the terrible fate that awaited me suddenly looming large and ominous. “I don’t want to go to the shelter, you guys. I don’t want to be gassed!”

  “You might get an injection,” Brutus said. “I’ve heard some even offer electrocution.”

  His words provided no comfort. I’d suffered injections from Vena Aleman, Odelia’s go-to veterinarian. And I’d seen The Green Mile. No electrocution for me, thank you very much.

  “We have to stop him,” I said, a tremor in my voice. “We have to do something.”

  “Before Diego poops on the floor,” Dooley added, his mind stuck on that image.

  “Then let’s get rid of this pest,” said Brutus, pointing a resolute claw at Diego.

  “But how? We tried to get rid of him before, remember? He’s hard to dislodge.”

  “There’s only one cat in this town who’s ever managed to get rid of Diego,” said Brutus, “and that’s Clarice. We have to find her and convince her to repeat the procedure.”

  “I remember,” I said, cheering up a little. Clarice is a feral cat, Hampton Cove’s very own dumpster-diving feline superhero, swatting away lesser cats with a flick of her paw and putting the fear of God into everyone she meets. Even though I’m scared stiff of her—and so are Dooley and Brutus—she’s helped us out on more than one occasion, and even received a standing invitation from Odelia to raid her supply of cat food any time she wants. Not that she ever shows her whiskers around here. She prefers to traipse through the woods that surround our small hamlet, roaming around unfettered like the maverick cat that she is.

  “Brutus is right, Max,” said Dooley. “Clarice is our only hope.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Last time she drove him away he quickly returned. What’s to make him stay away now? And who’s to say Clarice will want to do our dirty work for us?”

  “Max is right, Brutus,” said Dooley. “Clarice takes orders from no one.”

  “We’re not going to order her around,” said Brutus. “We’ll ask her nicely. In exchange for a lifetime supply of Cat Snax I’m sure even she can be persuaded to do the right thing.”

  “Brutus is right, Max,” said Dooley. “No one says no to a lifetime supply of Cat Snax.”

  “Clarice is going to need more than Cat Snax. You guys, we’re talking about a cat who feeds on mice and rats and who knows what else. This is a raw foodie—not a pampered pet.”

  “Max is right—”

  “Oh, shut up, Dooley,” Brutus growled. “So we’ll offer her raw meat—I don’t care. If I have to I’ll catch her some nasty, hairy rats myself. Anything to get rid of that horrible pest.” He turned a vicious eye on Diego, who was now exchanging tender smooches with Harriet, and lowered his voice to a menacing snarl. “That cat’s got to go, before I commit felinicide.”

  Chapter 4

  Odelia parked her dinged-up pickup around the corner from the radio station and got out. Hiking her purse higher up her shoulder and smoothing her purple blouse and jeans skirt, she set foot for the place where the terrible events had unfolded. Chase Kingsley’s pickup stood parked haphazardly across the curb, and so did her uncle Alec’s cruiser. And as she drew closer to the W-AWOL5 radio station, she saw that a small mass of onlookers stood rubbernecking while Hampton Cove’s finest were going about their business of finding clues.

  There wasn’t all that much to see, actually, as the Dieber himself and his crew were long gone—no doubt ducking into a limo and racing from the scene with screaming tires the moment the shots rang out—but young girls with Dieber T-shirts and Dieber banners still stood lining the sidewalk, just the way they’d done when their idol was exiting the station.

  W-AWOL5 was housed on the first floor of a nondescript building, a temp agency occupying the ground floor. And as Odelia approached she saw that police officers working for Uncle Alec were busy talking to the hordes of Dieber fans and other witnesses, no doubt extracting statements from each and every one of them.

  And that’s when she caught sight of her uncle himself, standing out because of his sizable bulk—her uncle was easily thrice as big as she was—and his snazzy Chief of Police uniform. He stood scratching his ruddy face and russet sideburns, looking decidedly puzzled.

  “Hey, Uncle Alec,” she said as she joined him on the curb.

  “Odelia, honey,” he said by way of greeting, then slapped a hand to his brow. “I should have called you. Totally forgot.” He shook his head. “It’s been a real shit storm.”

  “I can only imagine. Is this where it happened?” She was pointing at a spot on the pavement, which was marked with a chalk outline of a body.

  “Yeah. That’s where he dropped dead. Name of Ray Cooper. Only been a bodyguard for a year or so. Played pro ball before—Green Bay Packers. After he retired from the game he decided to go into the personal protection racket, and ended up on Dieber’s security detail. Can you imagine taking a bullet for that annoying little twerp? Talk about bad luck.”

  Odelia grinned. “Not a big fan, are you, Uncle Alec?”

  “Nope. Can’t stand the kid. I mean, if you’re going to take a bullet, do it for the President, or a talented dude like Bruce Springsteen or Garth Brooks. Not some obnoxious tattoo junkie who can’t sing for crap and has the mentality of a spoiled brat.”

  “Talking about the Dieber, I presume?” asked Chase, walking up.

  Odelia smiled up at the tall cop—who also happened to be her boyfriend. “Hey, Chase. So are you a Bedieber?”

  “I’m with Alec on this one,” the lanky detective intimated, his blue eyes flashing with good humor and his lips curling into a slight grin. “If you’re going to take a bullet for someone, better have that someone be more of a mensch and less of a pain in the neck.”

  “Well, I’m a fan,” she said. “I think he’s got a great voice, and I love all of his songs.”

  Both men groaned. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste,” said Alec.

  It was obvious they were going to have to agree to disagree on this one.

  “So what happened, exactly?” she asked, deciding to change the subject.

  “Well, Dieber and his entourage left the radio station,” said Uncle Alec, gesturing at the entrance that was located right next to the temp agency. “Hundreds of fans waiting when he walked out—his team had anticipated the warm reception so they had bodyguards in a diamond formation escorting the star to a waiting limo while others assisted some of our guys with crowd control, keeping the fans behind the barriers the town council had us erect. And that’s when someone decided to take a shot at Dieber but hit Ray Cooper instead.”

  “Did they miss? Or did Cooper throw himself in front of the shot?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine,” said Chase, his smile vanishing. “So far Dieber’s people haven’t exactly been obliging. In fact I’m going over there later. Try to get them to cooperate. Wanna join me?”

  She jumped at the chance. “Talk to the Dieber? Are you kidding? Of course!”

  “Cool it, Bedieber. This is a murder investigation, not a meet and greet.”

  “I know that,” she said, trying to inject a modicum of solemnity into her demeanor. Her radiant smile gave her away, though. So far Dan’s attempts to land her an exclusive sit-down had been a bust. Now she would get some face time with the star after all. Though instead of asking him about his love life she’d have to confine herself to threats made against his life.

  She didn’t care. She was going to meet her biggest idol—yay! She just hoped she’d be able to restrain herself, and not go all fangirl on him. Though she was sure Chase’s presence would keep her feet on the ground and prevent her from making a complete fool of herself.

  “I’m heading back to the station,” Alec announced. “Not much more we can do here.”

  Odelia decided to tag along. If she was going to get to the bottom of this she needed to stick to Chase and her uncle like glue. The funny thing was, they usually let her. Even though she was a reporter she had great instincts as a snoop, and had helped them out on more than one case.

  “You know?” said Chase as they walked back to their respective vehicles. “Your status as an official Bedieber just might come in handy. You know an awful lot about the guy, huh?”

  “Ask me anything,” she said.

  “How does a kid who sounds like a sickly goat become a global pop sensation?” asked Alec.

  “Ask me anything not insulting,” she amended.

  “Why don’t you join us on the investigation?” Chase suggested. “I have a feeling this might prove a tough one to break, and if Dieber meets a true groupie like you, he just might be more accommodating to our line of questioning. Open up, if you know what I mean.”

  She frowned, not knowing whether to be insulted or complimented. “For your information, I’m not a groupie. I’m just a very big fan. I think he’s extremely talented.”

  “Exactly. The guy obviously has a gigantic ego—all those big stars do—and if I take you along to stroke it…” He spread his arms. “Done deal, babe.”

  She shook her head as she hopped into her pickup. “You know what? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were jealous, Kingsley.”

  “Jealous! What’s there to be jealous about?”

  “His success? His mega-fortune? His millions of fans?”

  He made a throwaway gesture with his hand as he, too, climbed into his pickup. “I’m not jealous. Of that knucklehead? Puh-lease.”

  She shared a quick smile with her uncle, who was shaking his head at their war of words. “Kids—do try to get along, will you? We’ve got a murder to solve, and a killer to catch. Preferably before he kills Odelia’s personal hero.”

  His words startled her. And as she started up her car, she realized he was right.

  Someone was trying to kill Charlie Dieber. And if they didn’t catch this guy before he succeeded, those millions of Bediebers—not to mention Mom—would be devastated.

  Chapter 5

  Odelia slipped her pickup into a free parking spot in front of the police station and climbed out, slamming the door shut. A big chunk of rust dropped down. She ignored it. When you drive a car as aged as hers, this kind of thing was to be expected.

  Inside the station house she was greeted by sheer pandemonium. Usually not much happened in Hampton Cove—from time to time a flurry of activity would keep its police force engaged, but pretty soon things would return to normal. Now, however, the town’s finest were locked into a feverish attempt to nail the perp who’d taken a shot at Dieber and missed.