And so when the first shoe of the evening came zipping through the air and found its mark in Tigger, the plumber’s cat—humans very rarely display the kind of appreciation for true art that you’d expect them to—I found myself wondering what would happen if someone other than Odelia could read my brainwaves. Not that that was possible, of course, since Vena had assured us that the Better Pet Yet products were absolutely hacker-proof. But still, a tiny part of my brain couldn’t help but consider the consequences of just such a contingency.

  It just goes to show how this whole pet flap business had weakened my natural positive mental attitude, as Kingman or Brutus would say. I’d quickly gone from being a confirmed optimist to being a weary pessimist!

  5

  The next morning, I took one look at that pet flap, wondered if I should try squeezing through it again, but decided against it. The ordeal of being rubbed in oil still was fresh in my mind, and I didn’t think I could go through it again so soon after the first time.

  So instead I passed through the open kitchen door instead. Last night Odelia had been so kind to leave the door open as well, and maybe from now on she always would. Though maybe that was not such a good idea. For even though Hampton Cove is a fairly safe town in many respects, leaving the back door open because one of your cats is too large to squeeze through the pet flap probably is simply ridiculous.

  And I’d just emerged into the backyard and was gratefully stretching myself, when the doorbell chimed and immediately I returned indoors to see who it was. I must confess I wasn’t in the best mood imaginable, since I’d found my bowl only half full that morning, same as I had found it last night, and it was obvious that Odelia was rationing me. Of course I could have eaten Dooley’s share, and I must admit I felt very tempted, but through an act of sheer willpower I refrained from doing so. I’m not the kind of cat who steals food from his friends. That’s where I draw the line.

  Odelia came down, dressed in skinny jeans and a T-shirt that proudly announced she loved cats, which is certainly true, and called out, “Chase! Are you expecting anyone?”

  From upstairs, Chase called back, “No, babe.”

  “Maybe it’s Bambi,” I said, referring to our mailwoman Bambi Wiggins. I’d assumed a watchful position in front of the door, and next to me, Dooley had assumed the same position. It’s not only dogs who like to watch the postperson arrive, you know, though cats usually refrain from taking a big bite out of their ankles if they can help it.

  It wasn’t Bambi but a very nicely dressed man. He was in a suit and tie and looked more like a banker or a businessman. Or a lawyer. And it was the latter category he professed himself to fit into, which became clear when he announced, “Sam Goldwyn. I represent George Calhoun. This is the residence of Tex Poole, MD?”

  “Um, no, Tex is my dad, actually,” said Odelia. “He lives next door. What’s this about?”

  The lawyer frowned, as he didn’t seem to enjoy the notion of being wrong, glanced over to the house indicated, then said, “Apologies for the intrusion—my mistake.” And without further ado, excused himself and was gone.

  “Odd,” said Odelia as she stared after the man, then looked down at the card he’d offered her. “George Calhoun’s lawyer? What does he want with dad?”

  “Who was it, babe?” asked Chase as he came tramping down the stairs.

  “George Calhoun’s lawyer,” said Odelia, handing Chase the card. “He was looking for my dad.”

  Suddenly Chase went very quiet. And if I wasn’t mistaken a guilty look crossed his face, as if the unexpected visit of this lawyer wasn’t as unexpected to him as it was to us.

  “Maybe we better go and take a look next door,” he now announced and immediately and without awaiting Odelia’s reply, moved out the back door and set foot for the opening in the hedge between our backyard and Tex and Marge’s, then disappeared thither.

  Odelia frowned after her husband, then glanced down at Dooley and myself, and said, “Do you guys also get the impression something is going on and nobody is telling us what it is?”

  “I definitely get the impression Chase knows what’s going on,” I agreed.

  “I think George Calhoun probably wants to hire Tex to play a part in his next movie,” said Dooley. “And I think he’s right. Tex is going to be a movie star. He’s got that look.”

  “What look?” asked Odelia.

  “The look of a leading man,” said Dooley. “He could be the next George Clooney.”

  We pranced along in our human’s wake, who was prancing along in her husband’s wake, even though prancing is maybe not the term I should use. It was more a sort of thoughtful gait, as if she was thinking about recent events and wondering what was going on.

  We arrived next door, and immediately and without further ado moved inside, where we discovered that George Calhoun’s lawyer had already entered the house and was in discussion with Tex and Marge, looked upon by Harriet and Brutus, and of course Gran, who never misses a moment when something exciting is going on. And the arrival of George Calhoun’s lawyer definitely qualified as the sort of excitement she revels in.

  We were gathered in the living room, where the humans had taken a seat at the table, with Gran ensconced on the couch, where she’d been engaged in taking in Good Morning America, which she’d just muted to follow what this tough-looking lawyer had to say.

  “I would like to advise you of your legal obligation to hand over the footage you illegally shot of my client, Mr. Poole,” said the lawyer now, and placed a very thick sheaf of documents on the table in front of an astonished-looking Tex. “And I also would advise you to sign this non-disclosure agreement, prohibiting you from discussing this incident with anyone. Failure to comply will result in damage claims amounting to the sum of one million dollars. You, too, ma’am,” said the lawyer, addressing Marge, who just sat there staring at the man. “I am correct in assuming that you are the owner of the drone that illegally captured imagery of my client, am I not?” said the lawyer, when he became aware of a lot of dropped jaws around the living room table, and even dropped cat jaws, too.

  “Um…” said Tex, darting a helpless look at Chase, who stood at his right shoulder, like a guardian angel advising him of his rights, perhaps urging him to negotiate a better deal.

  “I don’t understand,” said Marge finally. “What’s this all about, Mr. Goldwyn, sir?”

  “Your husband flew his drone over my client’s property yesterday,” said the lawyer, looking as if he was used to having to explain complicated legal matters to laypersons and had resigned himself to this. “As he did, he shot footage of my client engaged in activities that are of a private and highly sensitive nature, and so now my client would like to see that footage destroyed and all those involved in the incident to sign this NDA, barring them from discussing this matter with anyone.” He gave Marge a stilted smile. “Though I sense that your husband hasn’t yet discussed his unlawful behavior with you, Mrs. Poole.”

  Marge turned to her husband. “Tex? Is it true what this man is saying? Did you fly that drone of yours over George Calhoun’s backyard?”

  “Um…” Tex prevaricated, lest he compromise himself legally, and once again glanced up at Chase, the latter having placed a sizable hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

  In a deep rumbling voice the cop now spoke for the first time. “I’d advise you not to sign this, Dad.”

  “Are you Mr. Poole’s lawyer, sir?” asked the lawyer suspiciously.

  “No, I’m a cop, and I don’t think it’s any of your concern what Tex did or didn’t do yesterday.”

  “Why do you think my husband filmed George doing whatever?” asked Marge, eager to get to the bottom of this thing.

  “Because it has reached my client’s ear that he did,” said the lawyer curtly. He eyed Tex sharply. “If you don’t sign this NDA and if you refuse to hand over that drone footage, I will be forced to take this matter further, Mr. Poole. And I can promise you it won’t be pretty.”

  Chase scoffed, “What are you going to do? Go to the police?”

  The lawyer sized up Chase. “Being a cop yourself, I can see how you would find this amusing. All the more because your boss, Alec Lip, is not only chief of police, but also the third member of the party involved in this incident. So trust me when I tell you that we won’t go to him, or to you, to find legal satisfaction. And we will find legal satisfaction.”

  “So who are you going to go to?” asked Tex as he cleared his throat.

  Mr. Goldwyn gave him a smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. “I’m not going to discuss my strategy with you, Mr. Poole. Will you hand over the footage and sign the NDA or not?”

  “Um…” said Tex, this time directing a searching look at his wife, who was frowning and trying to read the document on the table, which presumably was drawn up in the kind of legalese that is very hard for the layperson to decipher.

  “Fine,” said the lawyer finally, tucking away a very expensive-looking fountain pen. “I will advise my client of your decision not to cooperate. I hope you have a good lawyer, Mr. Poole. Because you will need it.” And with these words, he nodded in greeting to Marge, then left without another word.

  And as we all sat there, wondering what had just happened, finally Gran said, “What the hell did you do, Tex!”

  6

  “It wasn’t my fault!” were the first words out of Tex’s mouth.

  “Oh, dear,” said Marge as she sank back in her chair.

  “The words of a guilty man,” said Gran.

  “It was my drone. I haven’t completely figured out how to work it, so when it flew over George Calhoun’s property and shot that footage…”

  “What footage?” asked Marge. “What’s so special about this footage?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” said Gran. “Must be something pretty hot.”

  “Footage of George Calhoun in intimate embrace with a person who isn’t his wife,” said Chase in a low voice, apprising all those present of the facts pertaining to the case.

  Jaws dropped even more now, followed by startled cries, and a guffaw from Gran.

  “George was boning some broad who wasn’t his wife?” she cried. “That’s classic!”

  “It’s very embarrassing,” said Tex. “I for one wish I’d never laid eyes on the man doing… what it was he was doing.”

  “And you still have that footage?” asked Gran.

  “I have it in my possession,” the doctor confirmed.

  “I helped Tex transfer it from his drone to his computer,” Chase clarified, “and then onto a USB stick, which is now safely tucked away in your upstairs safe, Mom.”

  Marge frowned. She didn’t seem to appreciate all this happening under her nose, so to speak.

  “Can I see it?” asked Gran as she eagerly licked her lips. Good Morning America clearly had lost its appeal. Who needs celebrities on TV when you can watch the real deal on your son-in-law’s drone footage instead?

  “No, you can’t,” said Tex.

  “You need to erase that footage, and you need to sign this NDA,” Marge said, referring to the voluminous document the lawyer had left behind. “Otherwise they’re going to sue us, Tex. You heard what that man said. George Calhoun will sue us for a million dollars!”

  “No, he won’t,” said Chase. “No way is that guy going to sue over footage nobody knows about. For one thing, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want his wife to find out, and when he goes to court, that’s exactly what will happen. Her and the rest of the world.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Marge as she brought a distraught hand to her face. “I really don’t like this, Tex. Can’t you simply delete everything and be done with it?”

  “I wanted to delete it,” said Tex, “but Chase told me not to, and so did your brother.”

  “But why?” asked Marge.

  “Yeah, why would you tell Dad to keep that footage?” asked Odelia.

  “As a precaution to protect us against this exact thing,” said Chase, tapping his finger on the thick NDA. “If George sends his lawyer after us, the only thing standing between us and a lawsuit is that film. As long as we have that, George won’t dare to come after us. So I suggest you keep that USB stick in your safe, and make sure nobody knows it’s there.”

  “I wonder how George found out about you,” said Gran with a thoughtful frown.

  “He didn’t find out from me,” said Tex. “I didn’t tell a living soul.”

  “That’s true enough,” said Marge, looking mildly hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Oh, honey, I didn’t want you to worry,” said Tex, patting his wife’s hand.

  But she pulled her hand away and folded her arms in front of her chest. “I still don’t understand what you were doing flying your drone over George’s house,” she said now.

  “I told you, honey. I have no idea how to control that thing, and it just flew wherever.”

  “It was Tex’s maiden voyage,” said Chase, “and he wasn’t in complete control of his drone yet.” He shrugged his large shoulders. “It could have happened to anyone.”’

  “Yeah, but it happened to you,” said Marge with gentle reproach.

  “What’s going on, Max?” asked Dooley.

  “Well, it looks as if Tex accidentally shot some footage of George Calhoun having… relations with a woman who is not his wife.”

  “Oh,” said my friend as he processed this, then: “You mean they were kissing?”

  “Yes, Dooley, they were kissing. Kissing a lot.”

  “That’s not very nice of George, Max. If there’s anyone he should be kissing it’s his wife, not another woman.”

  “I know, Dooley, and that’s exactly why he sent a lawyer to destroy the evidence of what he did.”

  “Look, I don’t know how George found out,” said Chase, “but this probably won’t be the end of this sordid business. We all know that guys like him are used to getting what they want. So you better keep that USB stick safely tucked away, for when he comes back.”

  “I don’t like this, Tex,” said Marge. “We haven’t even paid off the new kitchen.”

  “I don’t like it either, honey,” said Tex. “But what’s done is done.”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Chase. “There’s nothing George can do as long as we have that video. That’s our trump card. It will protect us from any legal repercussions.” He squeezed his father-in-law’s shoulder gently. “Everything will be just fine, Daddy. Trust me.”

  Tex winced a little at this endearment. Even though he loved his son-in-law deeply, and thoroughly approved of Odelia’s choice of husband, he still wasn’t used to the latter calling him Dad or Daddy.

  “Uh-oh,” said Dooley.

  “What is it, Dooley?” I asked.

  “Whenever someone in a movie says ‘trust me, everything will be just fine,’ that’s usually when things start going terribly wrong.”

  “This isn’t a movie, Dooley,” Brutus pointed out.

  “Yeah, when Chase says it’ll be fine, it will be fine,” Harriet chimed in.

  Dooley looked to me for the final word on the matter, but honestly? I had a feeling he was right on the money. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

  7

  George Calhoun had realized he was in something of a pickle the moment he spotted that drone flying overhead. But he hadn’t fully appreciated the scope of the pickle until his cook had returned from her grocery run that morning and had announced that her master’s love life was suddenly the talk of the town. She said the owner of the General Store had been cracking jokes about George’s frivolous ways until she’d felt compelled to put the man in his place. But then he’d revealed that actual footage existed—footage captured in full-HD clarity of his infidelity, and if she wanted to, he could get the footage and show it to her. She’d told the man to go to hell, of course, at which point he’d grabbed his phone and had shown her the telephone number of a friend of his who could easily get her hands on that footage. Her name was Vesta Muffin, and she was the mother-in-law of the drone owner, a man named Tex Poole. It was at that moment that George had decided to call his bloodhound lawyer, the one who’d gotten him out of another recent pickle, that time when he’d made a movie criticizing the Saudis, who’d promptly invited him for a visit to their embassy. That’s when Sam Goldwyn had warned him that the Saudis had the unfortunate habit of chopping people up into tiny little pieces, never to be seen or heard from again. It was their way of handling folks who weren’t enamored with their regime.

  The lawyer thusly dispatched, the man had easily acquired the information needed, and had soon learned that Tex Poole had purchased the drone, and had flown it along with his brother-in-law Alec Lip, local chief of police, and Chase Kingsley, local cop.

  And George was just checking his sizable fridge to find something to eat—he was big on stress eating—when his telephone chimed and he recognized the ringtone as that assigned to Sam—appropriately it was the Ally McBeal theme song—and he immediately picked up. “Sam,” he said as he grabbed some cold chicken and took a tentative sniff.

  “No dice, George,” said Sam. “I’m afraid they’ve decided to circle the wagons and play hardball.”

  “They have, huh? That was probably to be expected. How much did you offer them?”

  “Nothing so far. I thought I’d start with the stick before I bring out the carrot. But they’re not budging. It’s that cop, that Kingsley. He advised his father-in-law to stand firm, and the sap went for it. I think if it was just Poole, he would have folded like a wet blanket.”

  “How much does he want, this cop?”

  “Like I said, I haven’t offered them any money. Yet. Thought I’d run it by you first.”