“So let me ask you again. Have you seen Brutus? And don’t give me this ‘Dying in a ditch somewhere’ nonsense, because I don’t buy that for one minute. Brutus is not the kind of cat who’d allow himself to be poisoned, and even if he were, he wouldn’t go and lie in some awful ditch but scream bloody murder and bring the whole house down.”

  “Brutus is at the beach,” said Odelia, who just happened to be passing by just then, and overheard Harriet’s words. “Gran took him and his pet turtle to look at the ocean.”

  “Pet turtle?” said Harriet. “What pet turtle!”

  Odelia shrugged. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry, sweetie. Now do you want me to introduce you to Little Randy? I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

  “This is a nightmare,” Harriet grumbled, but allowed herself to be led to Little Randy, and dutifully said hi to the dog.

  “This is going to be an interesting four days,” said Max.

  “Three days and one night,” Dooley corrected him. But Max was right. Things looked to be hotting up at the Poole household. But then when were they ever not?

  10

  Brutus, as Gran started on the drive home from the beach, felt a renewed sense of purpose now that he’d taken Pinkie under his wing. Of course he felt responsible for Harriet’s well-being, and to a lesser extent Max and Dooley, but he’d never had a living creature being so dependent on him as this turtle. She was looking at him with those tiny eyes of hers, filled with gratitude and awe at the selfless way he’d taken on her case.

  It took a lot for a tough cat like Brutus to experience those mellow feelings often associated with heroes like firefighters or even doctors and medical professionals fighting for people’s lives on a daily basis, but the look on Pinkie’s face definitely did it for him. It totally melted the heart of this tough cat, and oddly enough, he liked it!

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Pinkie,” he said now, patting the tiny turtle on the back. “We’ll find those friends of yours and we’ll save them—or my name isn’t Brutus.”

  “Your name isn’t Brutus?” asked Pinkie surprised.

  “No, it is. What I meant to say was that—”

  “What are you guys talking about?” asked Gran as she steered them through traffic.

  “Well, Pinkie here says that her friends are having an awful time at the pond, and now she wants me to help them escape.”

  “Escape the pond? What pond? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I told Pinkie I’d help her, and so I will.”

  “Better you than me, pal,” Gran grunted. “So where is this pond?”

  “I’m sure Pinkie will take me there in due course, isn’t that right, Pinkie?”

  “We better wait until dark,” said Pinkie. “There are always less people around when it’s dark.”

  “People?” he asked. “What people?”

  “Well, the pond guards, of course.”

  For some reason, as he listened to Pinkie talk about pond guards, he had the distinct impression he’d managed to get himself involved in something he probably shouldn’t have gotten involved in.

  Too late to back out now, though.

  “Oh, before I forget, Odelia just texted me. She and Chase have a guest,” Gran said. “And her guest is none other than… Randy Hancock!”

  “Who?”

  “Randy Hancock. The fitness guy?”

  “Never heard of him,” Brutus intimated.

  “He’s been poisoned, and now Odelia wants to find out who did it, and how to get the poison out of his system before it kills him. Oh, and he’s brought his dog along, so it looks like you’ve got company, buddy.”

  First a turtle, then a fitness guy and his dog? What was next? Edgar Allan Poe and his pet raven? “So will you help Odelia save this man’s life?” he asked.

  “Nah. Got other fish to fry,” said Gran, much to Brutus’s surprise.

  “What fish?” And why fry a fish when you could simply eat it raw?

  “Scarlett just told me Wilbur Vickery is sweet on me, and I’ve decided to go out on a date with him.” Gran was grinning a little strangely, Brutus thought. In fact she was a lot more chipper than she usually was.

  “A date?” he asked. “You’re going on a date?”

  “Yeah, go figure, right? Last time I dated a guy he turned out to be a real dud. And even though Wilbur isn’t exactly a catch, it never hurts to see what happens. Hey, maybe we’ll hit it off. If my son can find love at his age, maybe I can, too, huh?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Brutus. “Go for it, Gran.”

  “Yep. I’ll give it my best shot. And if it turns out Wilbur is a dud, too, no harm done.”

  And then she actually started singing! Brutus, who’d never heard Gran sing before, looked at her a little uncertainly. This was a Gran he didn’t know. A pleasant and cheerful Gran. A Gran, in other words, who wasn’t like Gran at all.

  Tex had just said goodbye to his final patient for the day, and wondered now, not for the first time, where his receptionist could have gone off to.

  When he’d decided to give his mother-in-law Vesta a chance to earn a little extra working for his doctor’s office as a receptionist, he hadn’t exactly banked on her playing hooky half the time—or all of the time. He’d agreed with his wife that Vesta could use something to keep her hands and her mind busy and out of trouble. But the last time she’d actually spent time greeting his patients and picking up the phone and taking care of his appointment book was probably a fortnight ago now.

  So maybe, he thought as he closed the door of his office, it was time to hire a real receptionist, and replace the unreliable one he had now with an actual pro.

  It sure would make his life a lot easier. First off, it would lessen his load, and secondly, he would never again have to look at Vesta’s grumpy face staring back at him from behind her desk, if she decided to look up from her game of Solitaire, that is.

  And as he started on his short trek home, the thought of getting rid of Vesta once and for all cheered him up to such an extent that he was smiling widely before him by the time he turned the corner and entered the last stretch. The road home took him past the dog park, and he saw now that both of his neighbors were walking their respective dogs.

  So he waved, like any neighborly neighbor would, to Kurt and Ted, who both blithely ignored him, Kurt because he was Kurt, and Ted because the accountant was probably legally blind after spending an entire career looking at numbers on a computer screen.

  Tex’s cheerfulness diminished only to a slight extent, then increased again when he saw that Marge had arrived home before him.

  Marge, who worked at the local library, would probably not be all that happy when she heard the news about her mom being out of a job at the age of seventy-five, but she would understand. Of that Tex was sure.

  “Honey, I’m home!” he hollered as he entered the house. It was a lame joke, but never failed to put a smile on his face.

  “I’m in the kitchen!” Marge yelled back.

  He joined her there, and kissed her on the temple. Marge stood staring into the fridge, probably wondering when all those stories about a smart fridge ordering food all by itself would finally come true.

  “Vesta didn’t show up again today,” he said, deciding to launch into his story straight off the bat. “So I’m thinking, honey, that it’s time to finally let her go and hire a real receptionist for the office. What do you think?”

  “Did you know that Randy Hancock is staying next door?” asked his wife. “I mean, Randy Hancock, Tex—the Randy Hancock!”

  “Oh?” he said, not all that interested in the fitness guru. “I didn’t know he gave private lessons.”

  “He doesn’t. He’s been poisoned, and now he wants Odelia to try and save his life. Can you believe that? Randy Hancock!”

  “Poisoned? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know all the details, but it looks like someone is blackmailing him. They told him he only has a couple of days to live, and if he doesn’t do what they tell him, they won’t give him the antidote.”

  Marge was looking much too bright and cheerful to be telling such a gruesome story, but then she’d always had a thing for Randy Hancock. Tex, on the other hand, could take Randy Hancock or he could leave him. “Did you hear what I just said about your mother? She didn’t show up again.”

  But Marge was clearly not listening. Instead she was staring out the kitchen window with a strange look on her face. “Odelia has invited us over. What do you think I should wear? Something sporty, or completely the opposite? Something really fancy?” She turned to him and fluffed up her hair. “How do I look?”

  “Great,” he said.

  “I was thinking maybe to have my hair done. Do you think Fido would be able to squeeze me in?”

  Fido Siniawski was their local hairdresser, and a miracle worker when it came to all things hair-related.

  “Um, I guess so,” he said, not exactly up to date on Fido’s schedule. “Though if what you’re saying is true, and Mr. Hancock only has a couple more days to live, I’m not sure he’ll be all that interested in what your hair looks like, Marge.”

  His wife gave him a look of disappointment. “I want to look good for Randy, Tex. Is that so hard to understand? He’s a celebrity!”

  An almost-dead celebrity, he wanted to point out, but didn’t. “So isn’t this whole setup extremely dangerous for Odelia and Chase?”

  “Nobody knows Randy is staying next door,” said Marge. “So it’s all perfectly safe.”

  “What poison did they use?” he asked, his professional interest piqued.

  “I don’t know.” Then her eyes went wide. “Oh, Tex—you could examine him! You could find out what poison is being used and you could save Randy Hancock’s life!”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Oh, please do it for me, honey! Please!”

  “I could take a look,” said Tex. “Though what he needs to do is go to the nearest hospital where he can be thoroughly checked out—blood work, tissue samples, the whole enchilada.”

  “Can’t you do all that?”

  “I don’t have the equipment, honey.” And he wasn’t exactly qualified to look for little-known poisons having been injected into this fitness star’s bloodstream. But when Marge’s face fell, he said, “I could have a look, though. But only if Randy wants me to.”

  “Oh, Tex! Thank you! Of course Randy will want you to. Why wouldn’t he?”

  And then she disappeared upstairs, presumably to look for something to wear for this special occasion. Looked like the story of Vesta’s imminent dismissal would have to wait.

  11

  I know that Odelia had told us Brutus had gone walkabout with his pet turtle, but I was still happy to see him arrive home safe and sound… with the pet turtle in question.

  “Brutus!” Harriet cried the moment she laid eyes on him. “I’m so happy you’re all right!”

  “Of course I’m all right,” said the black cat. “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” He looked genuinely surprised that anyone would think that he wasn’t all right.

  “Oh, honey bunny,” said Harriet, and nudged up against him, purring up a storm. But then she caught sight of that turtle, and her purrs immediately stopped as if turned off at the tap. “What is that!” she cried, aghast.

  “You guys, this is Pinkie,” said Brutus proudly. “Pinkie, meet the rest of the gang: Harriet, Max and Dooley.”

  “Hi, guys,” said the tiny turtle, and I could have sworn she gave us a little wave of the leg, or the hand, or whatever turtles use to get around.

  Harriet gawked at the tiny green thing, and then at Brutus, and her look wasn’t at all dripping with the milk of feline kindness I can tell you. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why would you take a pet, Brutus—you are a pet!”

  “I’m not Brutus’s pet, Harriet,” Pinkie pointed out. “I’m his friend, and he’s promised me to help save my other friends.”

  “Pinkie used to live in a pond,” Brutus explained. “But that was before she escaped. And now she wants me to help her secure the escape of all the other turtles.”

  “I don’t get it,” Harriet repeated, and quite frankly neither did I.

  “Why did you want to escape your pond, Pinkie?” asked Dooley. “Didn’t you like it there?”

  “Like I already told Brutus, I liked the company,” said Pinkie. “But I didn’t like the place, or the people running the pond.”

  “How do you run a pond?” asked Dooley, mystified.

  “Badly,” said Pinkie. “At least the people running it now are up to no good, which is why I want to free my friends. That way we can all go to the ocean and finally be free!”

  “Oh, all right,” said Dooley, but it was clear from the look on his face he still didn’t understand a thing.

  Brutus had spotted Little Randy, still lounging in the same spot where he’d dropped upon his arrival. “So is that Little Randy?” he asked. “Gran told me all about what happened,” he explained. “Something about a fitness star who’s been poisoned and decided to come and stay with us until Odelia can find him his antidote.”

  Gran had explained things well, and I wondered where the white-haired old lady herself was. “Where is Gran?” I asked.

  “She’s probably getting ready for her date,” said Brutus casually, earning himself three gasps of shock from yours truly, Dooley, and Harriet. Pinkie wasn’t gasping, in shock or otherwise, but then she hadn’t known Gran all that long.

  “A date?” asked Harriet. “What date?”

  “A date with Wilbur Vickery,” said Brutus, who seemed to enjoy being at the center of attention for once.

  “This is terrible news,” said Harriet. “Wilbur Vickery is the worst possible match for Gran—the absolute worst!”

  “I don’t know,” said Brutus. “He’s younger than Gran, which is probably a good thing.”

  “They call younger men who date older women toy boys,” said Dooley. “Or boy toys.”

  “Please let’s not go there again,” said Harriet, holding up a paw.

  Once upon a not so long ago Gran had dated a boy toy—or toy boy—or at least pretended she had, and he’d dumped her. Besides, Wilbur didn’t look like a boy toy to me. He actually looked older than Gran, even though he was younger. Wilbur Vickery runs the General Store, and is also a member of the neighborhood watch Gran operates. I guess sitting in cars together for their regular stakeouts, and going on patrols together must have lit the spark that had led to this unexpected romance.

  “If Gran dates Wilbur, and the two of them hit it off, it’s not inconceivable that they’ll want to move in together,” said Harriet. “And when they do, it means she’ll move out.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me, or Brutus—or Dooley. “Gran move out? But why!” Dooley cried. Gran is his human, you see, which means if she moves out—he moves out, too!

  “It’s only natural that when two people are in love, they want to live together,” Harriet explained with a shrug.

  “But can’t they move in next door?” asked Brutus.

  “Do you really think Wilbur would want to live under the same roof as Tex and Marge? He’s got his own place, Brutus. And he’ll want to live there with Gran. Have some privacy—like any young couple would.”

  “They’re not exactly what I would call a young couple,” I said. “Gran is seventy-five, and Wilbur is probably sixty-eight or so. Not exactly two spring chickens!

  “Look, all I’m saying is that things are about to change around here,” said Harriet. “And I think it’s only sensible to be prepared. So when the announcement is made we’re not caught by surprise.” She eyed my friend closely. “And Dooley is ready to move out.”

  “But I don’t want to move out!” said Dooley. “I like it here. I don’t want to go and live with Wilbur… and Kingman.”

  Kingman is Wilbur’s piebald. He’s very large and very nice, but maybe not the best housemate to have around, especially since he’s something of a ladies’ cat. And ladies’ cats are only interested in finding themselves a wingcat so they can go and chase lady cats together. And let me just say that Dooley is not exactly wingcat material.

  “Max, I don’t want to go,” said my friend now, giving me a panicky look. “They can’t make me, can they?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “Gran hasn’t even gone out with Wilbur once. And chances are they won’t hit it off, let alone decide to move in together.”

  “If I know humans, though,” said Harriet, “and I think I do, things can move very quickly. First date today, marriage tomorrow, and buying a place of their own the next day.” She cocked an eyebrow at Dooley. “So better start packing up, little buddy. Cause your human might be moving house in exactly three days.”

  “Well, she can’t,” said Dooley. “Because in three days Randy will die, and a wedding and a funeral can’t happen on the same day. There’s rules about that kind of thing.”

  Little Randy, who’d pricked up his ears at the mention of the word funeral, now came trotting over. “What’s all this about a funeral?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Dooley quickly.

  “Your human will do whatever she can to save my human, right?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Dooley. “Odelia is the best at what she does. The very best.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “If anyone can save your human’s life it’s our human.”

  “Good,” said Little Randy. “Cause if Randy dies, I’m sure he’ll ask your human to adopt me. Which means I’d be sticking around indefinitely.” And with these words, he trotted off again, then plunked himself down in the exact same spot he’d vacated.

  Dooley gave me a look of alarm. “You know, Max,” he now whispered, “maybe when Gran moves out, and I move out, you can move out, too. That way we’ll still be together—but not here!”

  “I heard that!” said Little Randy. “And if you want to get rid of me, cat, all you have to do is save my human from certain death!”