I wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to spend good money on some stupid machine. He just needed to talk to Odelia and she could tell him exactly what we were saying.

  Soon we were leaving the town center, and for the first time I started to wonder where we were going. We were clearly not homeward bound. And when I saw Odelia’s expression of concern, I suddenly realized exactly where we were going: to the pound!

  “You guys!” I hissed. “They’re taking us to the pound! Diego was right!”

  “Oh, crap,” said Brutus. “I knew that creep wasn’t lying. We have to escape!”

  “Odelia would never take us to the pound,” said Dooley. “Would she?”

  “Where else could they be taking us?!” I cried.

  We glanced up at the windows, but they were all rolled up. And when I tried the door handle, the stupid thing wouldn’t budge. We’d just have to escape the moment Chase stopped the car!

  “We’ll escape into the woods,” Brutus said, already drawing up a plan of campaign. “If she’s still alive, we’ll simply join Clarice and ask her to teach us the ways of surviving in the wild.”

  “I’ve never survived in the wild, you guys,” said Dooley. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Of course you can,” said Brutus. “It’s just a matter of… adjusting your taste.”

  “No more Cat Snax,” I said, feeling even more dejected than before. “And no more of that delicious paté.”

  “Hey,” said Brutus. “Cheer up, Max. If Stephen King and Dan Brown and JK Rowling are really out there, I’m sure they’ll have some great snacks to dispense. Maybe they’ll even adopt us. Give us a life of unparalleled pampering and luxury. Paté up the wazoo and maybe even a visit to the cat spa from time to time.”

  “What’s the cat spa?” asked Dooley.

  “It’s a place where cats go to relax,” Brutus explained. “I saw it on TV. They’ve got a playpen and a massage parlor and manicurists and hairstylists—the works. It’ll be fun.”

  “But we won’t be together,” Dooley lamented.

  “I don’t want to go and live with Dan Brown,” I said miserably. “I mean, I know I said before I wanted to star in a movie with Tom Hanks, but all I really want is to stay home with Odelia. Wake her up in the morning by sticking my nose into her armpit, help her with her articles, hang out in front of the TV and catch an episode of The Voice together…”

  I was going to develop my theme further, but the car suddenly lurched off the road and came to a full stop in front of a large wooden gate, a man carrying what looked like a weapon of some kind giving us a penetrating scrutiny by sticking his head in the window.

  “Hampton Cove PD, buddy,” Chase said, and showed the man his police badge.

  The guy waved us through, and Chase took us along a long and winding driveway until a large house loomed up at the end of it, and he parked in the circular driveway, crushed gravel crunching underneath his tires.

  “This is it, you guys!” I said. “Let’s make a run for it!”

  “I don’t know,” said Brutus, studying the house. “It doesn’t look like a pound.”

  “And how would you know what a pound looks like?”

  “Well, not like this. Pounds usually look like the last place on earth you want to be seen in. This place? It looks like something the Kardashians would rent if they came to town.”

  He was right. The house we’d arrived at was one of those large McMansions, with private pools and private Jacuzzis and private cinemas in the basement and stuff. We’d seen plenty of them in the course of our investigations and this one looked just like the others.

  “We’re here,” said Odelia after Chase had exited the car and stood stretching. She then turned to us. “Look, I don’t know what Diego told you, but I have no intention of getting rid of you. When we get home I’m going to have a long talk with that cat. Secondly, I’m never going to take you guys to the pound. You’re my cats and you’ll always be my cats. Is that understood? Thirdly, we’re here because someone has tried to shoot Charlie Dieber this morning and we’re trying to figure out who did it. So do what you do best and mingle, all right? Try to talk to Dieber’s cats and dogs—of which I’m sure he’s got plenty—and find out what’s going on.” She shook her head as she shot us a look of gentle concern. “How could you possibly think I’d want to get rid of you? I love you guys so much.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she quickly got out and allowed us to hop down to the ground before slamming the door shut.

  Chapter 9

  A sense of elation and warmth spread through my weary bones at Odelia’s little pep talk, and suddenly it was as if life returned to its full splendor. Once again the sun shone and the birds chirped and the cloud of doom and gloom that had hung over me like a pall lifted.

  “I’m sorry for ever thinking you’d abandon me, Odelia,” I said as I fell into step beside my human.

  “I would never abandon you, Max,” she said, but when Chase gave her an odd look, she clamped her lips together.

  “You know?” he said. “I could swear that sometimes you can actually talk to those cats of yours. It’s the darndest thing.”

  She laughed. “Talk to my cats? If only. I would love that.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. Imagine the stuff they could tell us. For instance, they could talk to Dieber’s pets and tell us what the hell is going on. Find out if the Dieber’s got enemies—if people have made threats against his life and stuff.”

  “Yeah. If Max and Dooley and Brutus could talk—imagine how they could help us.”

  The three of us fell back. “We’re not being put out to pasture!” Brutus cried. Then he frowned. “I knew that cat was lying. He was trying to get into our heads. Psych us out!”

  “Oh, he’s nasty,” I said. “Nasty and wily.”

  “So he was lying?” asked Dooley.

  “Yep!” said Brutus. “Our humans aren’t trying to get rid of us. Our humans love us! I’ll bet even that big lug Chase deeply cares—even though he can’t understand a meow we say.”

  I felt as if I were suddenly walking on air, and as I filled my lungs to capacity, I said, “Let’s not disappoint Odelia. Let’s show her we’ve got her back—just like always.”

  “What’s the mission?” asked Dooley. “Why are we here, exactly?”

  “Someone is trying to kill Charlie Dieber and we need to find out who.”

  “Who’s Charlie Dieber?”

  “He’s that singer Odelia likes so much.”

  Dooley thought for a moment, then his face lit up. “Oh, the one who sounds like a cricket with the flu.”

  “That’s the one.”

  While Chase and Odelia had walked up to the front of the house, the three of us had veered off course and were now making our way along a paved path to the back. When we arrived there, we found ourselves in a pool area, not unlike some of the other houses we’d visited in the course of our investigations. It reminded me of the house of John Paul George, the famous British pop star, and of the Kenspeckle place, the well-known reality show family. Just like at the Kenspeckles, a party was in full swing when we arrived at the back.

  “Wow,” said Dooley, and I think he spoke for all of us.

  Music pounded from the speakers as a few dozen people were lounging around the pool, several semi-naked young women playing some kind of ball game in the water and having a blast. People were drinking, laughing, dancing and generally whooping it up. And in the center of it all, I saw a heavily tattooed Charlie Dieber sucking from a very large bong.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Dooley, sniffing the air. “Is that… barbecue?”

  “Weed,” said Brutus. “Charlie doesn’t seem impressed with the attempt made on his life.”

  “Or maybe this is his way of trying to deal with the shock,” I suggested.

  Just then, Charlie shouted, “I’m coming, bitches!” and bombed into the pool, much to the amusement of the nubile girls, who quickly surrounded him like a personal harem.

  “Yeah, he’s clearly having a hard time coping,” Brutus said. “We better spread out, you guys. Try to talk to some cats—and maybe even dogs.” A look of distaste came over him as he uttered these words. Dooley and I shared the look. No cat enjoys the prospect of having to deal with the canine species. Then again, if we were to help Odelia we needed to overcome our prejudices, cat up and ferret out information where it could be found. Even if it meant having to talk to Dieber’s pack of Chihuahuas or whatever foul species he favored.

  So while Brutus headed towards the house, Dooley and I decided to check out the rest of the garden. And we hadn’t moved ten feet when suddenly we saw a familiar face.

  “Isn’t that…” Dooley began.

  “Clarice!” I yelled. “Yoo-hoo! Clarice!”

  The feral cat was lounging on a lounge, casually licking her paws, and surveying the world with those dark eyes of hers.

  “Clarice!” Dooley cried when we’d reached her. “You’re alive!”

  She gave him a disdainful look, her upper lip curling into a snarl. “Of course I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be alive?”

  “Diego told us you were dead. He said that he ‘took care of you.’”

  Her snarl tightened. “That nasty piece of work tell you that? And you believed him?”

  “Well—I didn’t,” I told her. “I didn’t believe a word he said.”

  Dooley stared at me. “You didn’t believe him?”

  “Are you kidding me? I knew he was yanking our chain. Who can take out Clarice? No one! And definitely not some hustler like Diego.”

  “I believed him,” said Dooley. “I thought he’d killed you, Clarice. I’m glad he didn’t.”

  “I’m very hard to kill,” said Clarice, and I actually believed her.

  I was so glad to see her I wanted to hug her, but of course I didn’t. Hugging Clarice is one of those things you do at your own peril.

  Dooley obviously liked to live dangerously, for he actually moved in for a hug. When she held up a vicious claw and produced a loud hissing sound, he quickly backed off, but didn’t lose the wide grin that had appeared on his mug the moment we caught sight of her.

  “You look good,” I told the formerly feral cat. And she did. Usually Clarice looks like she’s just been in a fight, with pieces of her mottled red fur missing and scratches across her scrawny face. One ear was still lopsided, and it was obvious someone had taken a bite out of the other one at some point. But she looked well-fed and well-tempered, her fur shiny and healthy, her cheeks full and her whiskers polished to a shine.

  “Yeah, I’m one of the Dieber Babes now,” she said casually, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

  We both goggled at her. “Dieber Babes?” I repeated finally.

  “What’s a Dieber Babe?” asked Dooley.

  “Fancats,” she said. “Dieber likes cats—in fact he adores them. Collects them en masse. Calls them his Dieber Babes.”

  “But how—when—why?” I asked, not quite coherently. I simply couldn’t imagine Clarice allowing herself to be domesticated. In fact it upset my worldview so thoroughly I suddenly felt as if I’d landed in an alternate reality. Like Neo discovering the Matrix.

  Clarice shrugged. “I was hanging out at the Lodge, like I usually do, when Dieber showed up with his entourage. He needed a weekend to decompress after playing a grueling show, and decided the Lodge was the place to do it. His entourage left, and he stayed behind all by himself. And that’s when we struck up a firm friendship. I would keep him company as he contemplated fate and his place in the world, and he would feed me the best damn cat food I’ve ever tasted in my entire life. Actual raw steak, the most delicious fish filets you can imagine, prime ribs…” Her eyes softened. “I think for the first time in my life I was in love.”

  “With the prime ribs?” asked Dooley.

  “With a human, doofus. The guy has a way with cats. Never thought I’d ever feel that way about any human again but Charlie managed the impossible. When his retreat was over, he told me he wanted to adopt me, and I decided to let him.”

  “But I thought you loved your life!” I said. “Roaming around—listening to no one. Carving your own path…”

  “Yeah, that all sounds great until you’ve actually lived it. Trust me, it’s not much fun having to scrounge around for food all day long. Much easier to have some dude like Dieber provide it for you.” She darted a quick look at me. “I get you now, Max. I mean, I know I’ve made fun of you in the past. Calling you a pansy-assed namby-pamby yellow-belly sissy, but I can see the allure of living with a human who truly cares about you. It’s a pretty sweet deal.”

  “A Dieber Babe,” I repeated. “I just—”

  “What?” she asked, her eyes suddenly flashing darkly. “You gonna judge me? Huh?”

  I quickly held up a peaceable paw. “Oh, no. Of course not. No judgments, Clarice. Uh-uh. I think you look great. Doesn’t she look great, Dooley?”

  “You look amazing,” Dooley said.

  Clarice smiled—the first time I’d ever seen her smile. “Thanks. I feel great. In fact I haven’t felt this great in ages.”

  “Do you… still catch mice though, and enjoy the occasional rat?” I inquired.

  She laughed. “Sure. When you’ve got your own private chef all you want to do is gobble up a few stinking rats.”

  “You’ve got your own private chef?” asked Dooley, eyes wide.

  “Nothing but the best is good enough for Dieber’s Babes,” she said with a grin.

  I had to hand it to her. She’d struck gold. And I was happy for her. I really was. Then again… Did she still have what it took to get rid of a certain nasty feline intruder?

  “We were actually looking for you, Clarice,” I said, deciding to get down to brass tacks. “Diego has been pestering us again, and I was wondering—”

  “Well, talk of the devil,” Clarice said, darting a pointed look behind us.

  Even before I’d turned around, Diego’s silky voice already rang out. “Well, who do we have here? Looks like the gang’s back together again. Clarice—always a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is all yours,” she said with a menacing glance at the new arrival.

  When I finally laid my eyes on Diego, I saw he wasn’t alone. “Harriet!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, Max. Try to keep up,” said the pretty Persian with a flash of annoyance in her green eyes. “Diego and I were invited to join Dieber’s party. The real question is: what are you doing here?”

  “Odelia brought us here,” I said, raising my chin in a gesture of defiance.

  “Not one of those silly murder investigations again,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “When is Odelia finally going to see that cats aren’t outfitted to play amateur sleuth?”

  Her words were so outrageous I had a hard time coming up with a response.

  “I thought you liked sleuthing, Harriet,” said Dooley, giving her a somber look.

  “Oh, I liked it well enough when it was all fun and games, but now it’s turned into something much more sinister and I, for one, want nothing more to do with the dreadful business.” She brushed a whisker. “All that death and decay. It’s so depressing.” She batted her eyes at Diego. “Brutus is very much into all of that stuff. Good thing you’re not, Diego.”

  Diego visibly shivered. “You’re absolutely right, babe. One shouldn’t get too mixed up in the affairs of men. Let them deal with their homicidal maniacal tendencies all by themselves. Us cats should rise above that terrible habit of slaying one’s brethren.”

  “Well spoken, darling,” said Harriet. “You’re so smart.”

  “And you’re so beautiful.”

  “Oh, you’re too sweet.”

  “Most beautiful babe ever. Yes, you are.”

  “Ooh. Kissy kissy, darling.”

  The cloying scene was too much for me, and I decided to remove myself before I threw up my breakfast. And as I was walking away, I saw to my surprise how Dieber himself approached, his eyes focused on but one thing: the white Persian we all knew as Harriet.

  Chapter 10

  It had taken some time for Odelia and Chase to be admitted to the house. Even though the security guard at the front gate had allowed them in, the one posted at the house had taken his time to study their credentials. It appeared as if he’d never seen a police badge before, and he’d even called Uncle Alec to check if Chase was a real cop or just some crazed fan trying to get close to the Dieber under false pretenses. When he’d started reading Chase’s badge number to Odelia’s uncle and giving him Chase’s description, the cop had finally had enough and threatened to arrest the guy on the spot for obstruction of justice.

  That had done the trick, and they’d finally been allowed to proceed.

  The vestibule was large and consisted of white marble walls, floors and even ceilings. It was the life-sized horse that dominated the entrance that made Odelia draw up short. She stared at the horse, which was white and rearing up on its hind legs. On top of the horse sat an equally life-sized Charlie Dieber, his arm raised as if he was about to invade some foreign nation, his eyes fixed on the horizon and his expression dead serious.

  On the side of the horse a slogan had been sprayed, which read, ‘Be Who You May Be – Charlie Dieber.’

  “Charlie Dieber. Philosopher,” Chase murmured as he joined her. “It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before.”

  “Well, he does write all of his own songs,” she said.

  “Of course he does.”

  They moved beyond Dieber the Conqueror and deeper into the house. To her surprise the place was pretty much empty. They passed through a spacious living room, where gigantic portraits on the walls announced, in case they still had doubts, that they’d entered the world of the Dieber. Six Warhol-type portraits adorned the space, each in a different bright color, and each depicting Dieber’s heavily-tattooed torso. Tattoos of dollar bills, snakes and even Indiana Jones’s famous fedora and whip covered every inch of skin.