Officers moved in and out of offices and interview rooms, and everywhere she looked teens and preteens occupied the space otherwise reserved for the town drunks, hard-partying weekend tourists and the elderly, complaining about those same hard-partying weekend tourists and those selfsame drunks using their mailboxes to relieve themselves.

  She walked through to her uncle’s office at the end of a long corridor and gave the doorjamb a knock on her way in. The big guy was looking more than a little unnerved, the few hairs on his head that had survived attrition in disarray and his facial expression frazzled.

  “You gotta help us out here, honey,” he told her, rifling through his desk.

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Chase is heading into interview room number one to talk to one of the witnesses. Can you give him a hand? We need to get through all of them but we don’t want to keep them too long either, or else their moms and dads will get all worked up and give us hell.”

  “How many have you got?”

  “Heck if I know. Dozens, probably. That Dieber kid sure knows how to attract a crowd.”

  “Yeah, for a singer who can’t sing he sure is popular, isn’t he?” she said with a grin.

  He leveled a comical look at her from beneath bushy brows, then continued rifling through his desk.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “My glasses!” he cried, throwing up his hands. “I know I left them in here somewhere before I got called out to the radio station and now I can’t find the damned things! How the hell am I supposed to organize a bunch of interviews if I can’t even read my own notes?!”

  She pointed at his head, where his glasses were perched. His eyes rolled up, then he placed his hands on his head, retrieved the glasses without a hitch, and put them on his nose with a grateful nod in her direction. “Thanks, honey. I’m a doofus and you’re a lifesaver.”

  “Oh, Uncle Alec,” she said before leaving the office, “I asked Dad to install a pet door at my place. Could you give him a hand? Before he goes and destroys the house, I mean?”

  Uncle Alec nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. And if you and Chase catch me this killer before he takes another shot at Dieber, I might even get to it sooner rather than later.”

  She stepped out of her uncle’s office, leaving him to coordinate the investigation, and headed over to interview room number one, where Chase was already talking to a particularly nervous-looking girl who couldn’t have been older than fourteen. She was accompanied by her mother, who looked as uncomfortable being there as her daughter.

  They all looked up when she walked in, and she gave them a smile that she hoped would put them at ease. “Hey there,” she said. “My name is Odelia Poole and I’ll be assisting Detective Kingsley with the interview if that’s all right with you guys.”

  She darted a quick look at Chase, who gave her a curt nod.

  “Miss Poole is a civilian consultant,” he explained. “She helps us out from time to time. Now what can you tell us about what happened this morning, Kayla? In your own time, and in your own words, please.”

  Kayla’s mother turned to her daughter. “Just tell them what you saw so we can get out of here, honey.”

  The girl looked like a deer in the headlights, her eyes swiveling from Chase to Odelia and back to her mother. “I saw Charlie. He was coming out of the building. We’d been waiting for what felt like hours—me and Janet. And my mom, of course,” she added softly, as if embarrassed that her mother would have been there, too.

  “Who’s Janet?” asked Odelia. “Is she your friend?”

  Kayla nodded. She was of slight build, with long dark hair and large brown eyes that now were wide and terrified. She was wringing her hands, and Odelia saw she had a temporary tattoo of a kitten on her wrist—a Bedieber thing. At least she hoped it was a temporary tattoo and not a permanent one, as she seemed kinda young to start inking up.

  “Janet and I are Charlie’s biggest fans.”

  “That’s an understatement,” said her mother, settling back in her chair. She was a large woman, with a perpetual frown that had cut a deep groove between her brows. It made her look annoyed and put out, even though she didn’t appear to be particularly unfriendly. Merely concerned, which was understandable under the circumstances.

  “When we heard Charlie was coming to town, I thought I’d die,” said Kayla. “We just had to see him. I barely slept last night, and we were out at the radio station three hours before he arrived.”

  “I had to put my clock at five,” the mother explained. “And she still beat me to the bathroom. We arrived at six, and the fans were already three rows thick. Unbelievable.”

  “Better bediebe it,” Chase said with a smile, in an attempt to break the ice. The mother merely gave him another one of her dark scowls and Chase’s smile disappeared.

  “So we saw Charlie arrive—in a white limo and surrounded by his bodyguards,” Kayla continued, scratching at her tattoo. “He waved at us, but he didn’t stop, like I’d hoped.”

  “The least he could have done was sign a few autographs,” said her mother. “But no, he went straight from his limo to W-AWOL5 without breaking stride. Barely looked our way.”

  “He had to be live on the air at nine, Mom,” said Kayla, defending her idol. “He didn’t have time to say hi. I’m sure that he’d planned to talk to us later, after his interview.”

  “Yeah, and look how that worked out.”

  “What happened when he came out of the building, Kayla?” asked Odelia gently.

  The teen swallowed at the memory. “We all yelled for him to come over and say hi.”

  “I yelled the loudest,” said her mother. “Not because I’m such a big fan of the dude, but my dogs were killing me and I was desperate to get out of there.”

  “Your dogs?” asked Chase.

  “My feet, detective. I had sore feet, okay?”

  “I’m pretty sure he was going to come over and talk to us,” Kayla continued, “but then suddenly there was this loud bang, like an explosion, and when I looked over, Charlie was on the ground, his sunglasses all askew, and his bodyguards were all over him.”

  “The kid looked scared shitless,” commented the mother.

  “No, he didn’t,” Kayla said. “He was just worried about being shot.”

  “Well, someone did just try to kill him,” Chase said.

  “And then his bodyguards sort of shoved him into the limo and they drove off with tires squealing,” Kayla finished her story. “It all happened so fast I didn’t even know what was going on until later, when Janet told me someone had just tried to kill Charlie. If I’d known—”

  “You wouldn’t have done a thing,” her mother said. “I wouldn’t have let you.”

  Kayla gave her mother a defiant look. “I would have thrown myself in front of Charlie, Mom, and so would Janet. We would have saved him, just like that hero bodyguard did.”

  The mother shook her head, as if to say, ‘Kids.’

  “Did you see who shot the bodyguard, Kayla?” asked Odelia.

  “No, I didn’t. Like I said, it all happened real quick. And I was focused on Charlie. He looked so fine—just like in the pictures and on YouTube, only better, because he was really there. Like, for real and all.” She then gave Odelia a hopeful look. “I heard he’s staying in town—to prepare for his world tour. Do you know where he’s staying?”

  “Um, I think at some compound near the beach?” said Odelia. “Though I’m sure he’ll be heavily guarded. Especially after what happened this morning.”

  Kayla nodded, and Odelia could tell she was already making plans to stake out Charlie’s mansion, along with her friend Janet, hoping to catch another glimpse of the singer, and this time maybe even get her hands on that coveted autograph.

  “Is there anything else you want to know?” asked Kayla’s mother, placing a protective arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “If not, I’d like to get out of here. I need to go to work, and Kayla needs to go to school.”

  Kayla looked dismayed at the prospect. “Mom! I can’t go to school. Not after what happened. It’s like going back to school after-after-after President Kennedy was shot!”

  “Trust me, honey, Charlie Dieber is no Kennedy. And besides, he’s not dead, is he?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You already missed half a day of classes—I don’t want you to miss the rest, too. You’re going to school and you’re going to forget all about this terrible business. And so am I,” she added, her frown deepening as she spoke.

  Outside the interview room, Chase and Odelia watched as Kayla and her mother walked away, still arguing about going to school or not. It was obvious that now that she’d been through such a life-changing event, the girl wasn’t ready to sit in school and learn about geography or math. She wanted to hang out at Charlie’s place with her friend instead.

  “And?” asked Chase. “What do you think?”

  “I’m thinking that these girls make lousy witnesses. They were all so focused on Charlie that they didn’t see anything else.”

  “And I think you’re right,” said Chase, dragging his fingers through his curly brown hair. “But we’re still going to have to go through each and every witness report in hopes of finding something we can use.”

  Just then, Uncle Alec walked up. “We’re collecting all the video and picture material from everyone who was outside that radio station. Can you start combing through it? I have to warn you though—it’s a lot. Looks like every single person waiting for the Dieber to come out had his or her smartphone up and was filming the whole thing.” He nodded at his niece. “Which is a good thing. We might get lucky, and nail this guy before he tries again.”

  Chase and Odelia moved into one of the larger rooms near the back of the police station, where a technician had set up a computer and was busy downloading data from the dozens of phones and other devices confiscated from the witnesses being interviewed.

  They both took a seat behind the computer and the techie showed them how to access the data. For the next two hours Odelia saw more footage of Charlie Dieber than she’d ever seen before. Unfortunately it was all the same scene, and at no point did the famous singer break out into song, or show them some of his smooth dance moves. All he did was bite the dust over and over again, looking like a kid who’d just crapped his pants.

  Chase seemed to enjoy the look of pure terror on the singer’s face—Odelia did not.

  “I think this must be his best performance yet,” Chase commented after they’d gone through the scene about a dozen times, each time shot from a different angle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this got him the Oscar for best performance in a comedy.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny, Chase. How would you react if someone tried to shoot you?”

  “I’d definitely not look like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a bunny rabbit about to be put down by the big, bad hunter.”

  “I think you’re prejudiced. So maybe you should recuse yourself from this case.”

  “Like hell I should. I’m not prejudiced. I just don’t care about the kid is all.”

  “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be on this case. Only someone who truly cares about Charlie Dieber will do their level best to bring his shooter to justice.”

  “You mean someone like you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Honey, if I can’t be on this case because I don’t like Charlie Dieber, neither can half the cops in this outfit. Mostly because we’re not thirteen-year-old girls with braces.”

  “I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl,” she said defensively. “And I got rid of my braces a long time ago.”

  He gave her a grin. “I would have loved to see you in braces. I’ll bet you looked cute as a button.”

  “I think I still have them somewhere,” she said, her belly going slightly weak at his wolfish grin.

  “Don’t tempt me. We still have a couple more hours of this stuff to go through.”

  And so they had. Not that any of it was in any way helpful. None of the footage showed anything beyond Charlie hitting the deck, and being bundled into his stretch limo.

  Chapter 6

  We’d been scoping out the back alleys of Hampton Cove for what felt like hours—looking for Clarice in what I knew to be her usual haunts and hangouts. For some reason Clarice likes dumpsters. No idea why. I find them foul places where only death and decay lurk. Not to mention the odor they spread is positively foul. But to each their own, I guess, and since Clarice likes dumpsters, that’s where we had to be if we wanted to find her.

  “I’m tired, Max,” said Dooley after we’d tapped yet another dumpster and called out Clarice’s name in the faint hope of getting a response. “Maybe we can do this some other time?”

  “We can’t do this some other time,” I told him. “Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”

  He gave me a blank look, so I decided to remind him.

  “If we don’t dislodge Diego from my home he’s going to extend me the same courtesy.”

  He stared at me, clearly not comprehending.

  “If we don’t kick him out, he’s going to kick me out!”

  “Oh—right. Of course. Only, he won’t do that, will he? He may be bad, but he’s not bad to the bone.”

  “He is, Dooley,” I assured my friend. “That cat is bad to the bone.”

  “Can you guys shut up already and give me a paw?” Brutus called out from the back of the alley. He’d been going from dumpster to dumpster, giving each one a hard rattle, calling out Clarice’s name all the while.

  “I don’t think we’ll find Clarice, Max,” Dooley said, now really deciding to embrace his inner voice of gloom. “Remember she likes to hang out in the woods near the Writer’s Lodge? I’m sure she’s out there right now, being fed by some writer with writer’s block.”

  Dooley was right. The first time we ever met Clarice was out in the woods, near Hetta Fried’s place. Hetta rents out a small cabin to writers and other creative desperados, eager to escape their busy lives and hone their craft surrounded by all of nature and woodland creatures like Clarice. And since these creative geniuses usually are the top of the cream and have money to burn, they treat their temporary feline companions very well indeed.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe we should expand our search to the lodge.”

  “Of course I’m right. I’ll bet she’s curled up on the lap of Stephen King or Dan Brown or JK Rowling, being fed Cat Snax. She might even feature in one of their next books.”

  “Wouldn’t that be great?” I asked, licking my paw and making a face when I realized I’d stepped into a piece of rotten fish.

  “Wouldn’t what be great, Max?”

  “To be the cat of a famous writer, and feature in their books?”

  “And when they turn that book into a movie, to be asked to star as yourself in the Hollywood version,” Dooley said excitedly.

  “I think I’d want to be in a Dan Brown book,” I said. “To be Professor Langdon’s feline sidekick. And then I could be in the movie with Tom Hanks.”

  “I’d want to be in the sequel to the Hunger Games. Fight the forces of evil side by side with Jennifer Lawrence,” said Dooley, a dreamy look coming over his face.

  “Or to be in a new Harry Potter movie!” I cried. “To be a shapeshifting cat, capable of amazing feats of witchcraft. And a chance to hang out with Emma Watson, of course.”

  We both sat gazing into the middle distance for a moment, the roseate glow of our Hollywood careers lending me a momentary respite from the stark reality of my life.

  “You know? Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea,” Dooley suddenly said. “I mean, since Odelia is going to kick you out and all, you’re going to want to find a new home anyway, Max. You could do worse than Tom Hanks or Emma Watson.”

  I gave him my best scowl. “I’m not going to be kicked out, Dooley. Not if I can help it.”

  “No, but I mean, Tom or Emma might adopt you after the shoot is over. But you’re going to have to work hard to ingratiate yourself. Really put in the time to win them over.”

  I turned my back on him. This was not what I wanted to hear.

  “You’ll have to show them Lovable Max, Max. Not Grumpy Max!” he called out.

  “Oh, go away, Dooley,” I said, thumping my paw against a dumpster.

  “That is not the way to make friends and influence people, Max.”

  I snarled something under my breath. Dooley was right, though. If we didn’t find Clarice soon, I was doomed. Doomed to roam these back alleys and fend for myself and snack on rotten fish until I blew out my final breath. Not an agreeable prospect.

  “Give us a smile, Max!” Dooley was shouting. “Show us those snappers!”

  In response, I thumped the next dumpster extra hard, hoping against hope that Clarice would suddenly materialize, just like she had those previous times, and help us out.

  “I don’t think she’s here, buddy,” said Brutus when I’d reached the end of the alley.

  “She’s probably hanging out at the Writer’s Lodge,” I told him, and explained about Clarice’s habit to keep aspiring and accomplished artists alike company out at the Lodge.

  “That’s a pretty long hike, Max,” he said. “I mean—I don’t mind going out there, but it’s going to take us the better part of the day.”

  I was touched by this sudden display of selflessness on the part of my former nemesis. “You would do that for me, Brutus? Go all the way out to the woods to find Clarice?”

  He frowned. “I’m not doing this for you, Max. I’m doing this for me. Or have you forgotten that Diego is moving in on my girl? If I don’t get that cat out of the picture, Harriet will never take me back. For some reason that cat’s got the fatal attraction thing nailed.”

  “I think the fatal attraction thing involves a bunny,” said Dooley, who’d joined us.

  I gave Brutus a cold stare. “And here I thought you were my friend,” I said.

  “I am your friend,” said Brutus. “I mean, I hated your guts before. Always thought you were too hoity-toity for my taste. But now that I’ve come to know you I’ve got to admit you’re a great cat to hang out with. But you’re not the only one with Diego issues, Max.”