I saw how Dooley made a beeline for Kingman, Wilbur Vickery’s piebald. “Kingman!” said Dooley anxiously. “My human and your human are dating. Did you know?”

  Kingman looked slightly taken aback by this piece of news. “Dating? What are you talking about?”

  “Gran and Wilbur—they’re dating! And there’s even talk of marriage! Which means that you and I…” He swallowed. “You and I… might be brothers in the near future!”

  Kingman darted a curious glance at me, and I shrugged. “They are dating,” I confirmed, “but I haven’t heard anything about a wedding being planned.”

  “Are you sure?” said Kingman. “Cause Wilbur usually doesn’t date anyone over the age of fifty. I even heard him tell Mayor Butterwick once that if she wanted to snag him she needed to hurry up. She’s forty-eight, see, and he told her she only has two years left before she reaches the cutoff point.”

  “What did she say?” I asked, curious.

  “She slapped him across the face,” said Kingman with a grin. “Which happens a lot, actually. Wilbur isn’t what you might call a ladies’ man. In fact you might call him an anti-ladies’ man. Not a chick magnet, if you see what I mean, but a chick repellent.”

  “Yeah, I don’t really see this whole affair going anywhere,” I confided in Kingman. I glanced around, and saw that Harriet and Brutus were chatting with Shanille, possibly arranging Gran’s wedding, as Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat. “As far as I understand, Scarlett set the whole thing up. And she’s not exactly the world’s best matchmaker.”

  “Scarlett set this up?” said Kingman, his smile widening. “This will not end well, boys. I see another slap in the face in Wilbur’s future. Two slaps, probably, as Vesta Muffin has two good hands on her.”

  And it was with this takeaway that we assumed our positions, and moments later choir practice began. Dooley, who seemed more or less reassured by Kingman’s words, sang his little heart out, and so did I. And when it finally came time for Harriet’s big solo, she opted to sing the tune from Titanic for some reason. Possibly she had romance on her mind—a word no one has ever associated with Gran, except apparently Harriet.

  When rehearsals were over, Shanille approached me, a serious look on her face. “Max, we need to talk,” she said, and led me away from the throng for a private word. “Harriet tells me Gran and Wilbur are getting married. Is this true?”

  “I think it’s a little early to start ringing the wedding bells,” I said with a smile. “They’re going on their first date, that much is true, but beyond that who knows what will happen.”

  Shanille nodded seriously. “I think it behooves us to start taking some preliminary steps,” she said. “You know what humans are like. Today the love light appears in their eyes, and tomorrow they’re already talking to Father Reilly and setting a date for the wedding. So I was thinking that you and Dooley and Harriet and Brutus could act as flower cats, and so can Kingman. You know,” she added when I merely stared at her. “You walk behind the bride and groom, festooned with flowers. It’ll look lovely, trust me. And one of you will have to carry the veil—which might prove a little hard,” she said, more to herself than to me, “as you can’t actually carry the veil. Unless… Oh, I’ve got it! You can carry the veil between your teeth. So do you want to do the honors, or Dooley? Probably Dooley, right? He’s Gran’s cat, after all. Dooley!” she bellowed before I could stop her.

  “What is it?” asked Dooley as he came tripping up anxiously.

  “Here, hold this,” said Shanille, and promptly stuck a piece of paper she’d found on the ground between Dooley’s teeth. “Now walk for me,” she instructed.

  Dooley stared at me, but then did as Shanille had instructed and walked.

  “Very cute,” said Shanille, nodding. “Though you need practice. Why don’t we meet tomorrow at the church and we can discuss this in detail.” And before I could protest, she’d already turned on her heel and was stalking off, looking every inch the busy choir leader that she was.

  Dooley stared at me, then dropped the piece of paper, which was a flyer for one of Randy Hancock’s fitness videos I now saw.

  “What was all that about, Max?” asked my friend.

  “Um…” I didn’t really want to get into it, as I was pretty sure it would only serve to upset him. But then Shanille suddenly returned and said, “Practice at home if you can, Dooley. If you’re going to be Vesta and Wilbur’s flower cat and official veil carrier at the wedding, you need to practice, practice, practice!” And then she was off again.

  Dooley slowly turned to me, his face falling. “Max!” he cried. “Gran is getting married!”

  15

  If Odelia thought their new guest’s behavior was a little strange, she decided not to show it. The man was probably under such a great deal of pressure he wasn’t acting normal.

  She’d arrived downstairs to surf on her laptop and prepare for tomorrow’s interviews. Before she could dig into her interviewee’s profiles, though, her mom and dad dropped by, with Mom carrying a boxy VHS tape that looked really ancient.

  “Is he here?” asked Mom, keeping her voice down as one does when visiting a sickly patient laid up in bed. “I thought Tex could take a look at Randy and maybe find out what kind of poison they used on him.”

  “I already told you, honey,” said Dad. “If he wants to know what poison was administered he needs to go to the hospital so they can run the appropriate tests.”

  “All I’m asking is for you to take a look, Tex,” said Mom, sounding a little irritable. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?”

  “That, I am,” said Dad with a slight sigh.

  “So where is he?” asked Mom, more insistent. She held up the VHS tape. “I thought I’d ask him to sign my tape.”

  “He’s upstairs resting,” said Odelia. “He received another message, this time asking for money in exchange for the antidote.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mom, clutching a hand to her face. “How much do they want?”

  “Ten million dollars.”

  “Ten million dollars!” said Mom, her eyes sparkling. “You know what? If you don’t mind I’ll go and see him. The poor man is probably feeling blue.” And before Odelia could stop her, she was already on her way upstairs.

  “She hasn’t stopped talking about Randy,” said Dad morosely. “It’s Randy this and Randy that. She’s obsessed with that man.”

  “Do you think you can help him?” asked Odelia. “With the poisoning I mean?”

  “I can take a look,” said Dad reluctantly. “Why did he come to you?”

  “He saw me on the news when I helped solve the Passion Island case.”

  “You’re really making a name for yourself as a detective, honey,” said her dad, sounding proud. “Maybe you should quit the paper and go into business for yourself?”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” said Odelia with a smile. “I’m not a detective, Dad. I’m a reporter, and if from time to time I can do my bit to help solve a case, that’s gravy. But I’m not going to start a detective agency so I can lurk in bushes trying to catch unfaithful spouses.”

  “Yeah, I guess most detective work comes down to that, doesn’t it?”

  “That and corporate espionage. And I’m not interested.”

  “Listen—I wanted to ask your advice. I was thinking about hiring a receptionist. A real receptionist this time.”

  “And fire Gran?”

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “I think you should probably do what you think is right, Dad.”

  “Your grandmother is the worst receptionist in the world, honey. And I think it’s time I replaced her with a professional.” He dropped his voice. “Though now that she’s dating Wilbur, maybe I won’t have to actually tell her she’s fired. Maybe she’ll go and assist him at the store—God help the poor schmuck.”

  Odelia’s eyes went wide. “Gran? Dating Wilbur? Are you serious?”

  “Oh, absolutely. You should have seen her just now. She even put on makeup and a dress. I don’t think I’ve seen your grandmother in a dress since… well, ever.”

  “Oh, my,” said Odelia, taken aback by this bit of news. “And do you think it’s serious?”

  Dad shrugged. “With Vesta you never know. Though I’m hopeful. For the first time in a long time I’m actually hopeful.”

  Odelia grinned at her dad. “You’re secretly hoping she’ll move out, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” said Dad, returning her grin.

  She patted her dad on the back. Poor Dad, she thought. Not only did he have to tolerate Gran living with him, but working at his place of business, too. No wonder he was suddenly looking so happy.

  “Tex! You can come up now!” Mom yelled from upstairs. “Randy is ready for you!”

  “Here we go,” said Dad, and heeded his wife’s call with the kind of alacrity all women like to see in her devoted husband.

  Marge, when she’d arrived upstairs, had expected to find the patient sickly and pale, looking as if he was at death’s door. Instead, she’d found Randy Hancock preening in front of the mirror, only dressed in very short boxer’s shorts, and flexing his muscles.

  When she pushed open the door, after the most cursory of knocks, she gasped at the sight of the fitness guru whose workout routines she’d religiously followed for the last thirty years, ever since he’d burst onto the scene like a pint-sized human spark plug.

  “Oh, Randy,” she breathed in a hoarse whisper, clutching a hand to a heart practically beating through her heaving chest. “It’s an honor—a pleasure—I’m your biggest fan!”

  Randy, who looked startled at this unexpected invasion of his privacy, quickly recovered. He was probably used to fans walking in on him by now. So he plastered a smile onto his face and said, “And you must be Odelia’s mom—the resemblance is striking, sweetheart. And can I just say you could be mistaken for her sister? Absolutely!”

  “Oh, thank you, Randy,” Marge said, simpering a little as she proceeded further into the room—this holiest of holy places now that Randy had taken up sojourn there.

  Chase’s fitness equipment occupied one corner of the room, a desk the other, and Odelia had now turned the couch into a bed, and somehow the combination of home gym and guest bedroom was fitting for the fitness megastar.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about your predicament,” she said breathlessly as she clutched the tattered videotape in her sweaty hand. “My husband is a doctor, Randy, so if you want him to take a look at you—maybe he can find out what’s going on.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Randy courteously. He gestured to the video. “And what do you have there? A gift for me?”

  “Oh, no. I thought… if you want… and only if you want… if you could maybe… sign it for me?” She handed him the tape. “It’s the very first exercise tape I ever bought. I must have done these exercises hundreds of times… thousands… probably more!”

  “I remember this one,” said Randy, fondly tapping the tape with his index finger. “Do you know this is still the best-sold exercise tape in the world? Sold millions and millions of copies. It’s out on DVD now, and available for free on my YouTube channel if you like.”

  “I still prefer my old VHS tape,” said Marge, drinking in the fitness guru’s presence with her eyes. He looked exactly like he did on the cover of the tape. Only his hair was a little less dark, and his face a little more lined, but that lean physique was still there, and that sparkle in his eyes. “You look wonderful, Randy. I hope you don’t mind if I say this?”

  “Oh, no. You can tell me I look wonderful all day long and I still wouldn’t get tired of it,” he quipped.

  “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you stay so fit and healthy?”

  He held up the tape and tilted his head. “The secret is right here. I said it thirty years ago and I keep saying it now: you have got to keep moving, baby—keep grooving!”

  She nodded, suddenly getting emotional from being in the presence of greatness.

  “Are you all right?” he asked when she swayed a little, like a sapling in the breeze.

  She nodded, furiously fighting to keep her tears at bay. “It’s just that…” She halted, then tried again. “Do you ever feel like you could use a little more… sparkle in your life, Randy?” Immediately she knew she’d crossed a line, and held up her hand. “Please forgive me. You don’t need to hear all this. You’ve got enough problems of your own.”

  “No, it’s all right,” he said, and took a seat on the edge of the bed, then patted the spot beside him. “Tell me all about it, sweetheart. Pour out your heart to your friend Randy.”

  “Oh, Randy,” she said, a tear now rolling down her cheek. “People all around me are getting married, you see, and it’s made me feel… It’s just making me feel so… so…”

  “Left out?” he said.

  She stared at him. “How did you know?”

  He placed a hand to his heart and regarded her with so much compassion it almost made her weep like a newborn. “I’m in love, too, Marge. With a person I can’t have. I can relate. We all need romance in our lives, and sometimes it simply eludes us, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, it does! I mean, I’m a happily married woman, and I really shouldn’t feel like this, but sometimes I just want… more, you know? More romance, more of that… spark.”

  “I hear you, Marge. One hundred percent.” He gave her a big smile—just like he did in his videos—then opened his arms wide. “Come here,” he said. “Let me give you hug.”

  And then they hugged, and Marge thought it felt so good. “Oh, Randy,” she murmured.

  And when Chase walked in ten seconds later that’s how he found them: Randy naked from the waist up, and both of them sitting on the bed locked into a tight embrace.

  So he discreetly backtracked and closed the door. They hadn’t even noticed him.

  16

  Little Randy wasn’t exactly feeling on top of the world. To be more precise he felt on the bottom of the world, or even below it, underneath the world, if that was even possible. He’d failed in his principal duty: to protect his human, and still Randy had decided to stick with him. Any other human would have simply dumped him—maybe taken him back to the breeder—or left him at the local pound—but not Randy Hancock. The man was so kind-hearted, so loving and generous he had seemingly forgiven Little Randy his trespasses and allowed him to tag along to this, his new home.

  The Irish Setter had spent the entire afternoon in front of the window feeling sorry for himself, and now he was lying outside on the cool lawn, still feeling sorry for himself but also wondering where the cats he’d met earlier had gone off to.

  And he was just hoping they’d return soon, as he was starting to feel a little lonely all by his lonesome, when suddenly he became aware of a pssting sound near where he lay.

  He glanced up, and saw that a smallish dog was looking at him through a hole in the fence. If he wasn’t mistaken the dog was of the Yorkshire Terrier breed, and really tiny.

  “Psst!” the doggie repeated. “Hey, big guy! Who are you?”

  “My name is Little Randy,” he said, well pleased to discover that it wasn’t just cats who infested this part of the world but dogs, too. “And what is your name, tiny dog?”

  “Fifi,” said the fluffy white thing. “So Odelia finally took a dog, huh? Tired of spending her life surrounded only by cats?”

  “I’m not Odelia’s dog if that’s what you’re thinking, Fifi. I belong to Randy Hancock. The fitness star? He’s staying with Odelia for a couple of days and was so good to let me tag along, even though I failed him in every way.” He hung his head. “I allowed him to be poisoned, you see, and now he will die soon and I will be to blame.” He normally didn’t allow himself to confide in strangers, even if they were dogs, but he was feeling a little down in the dumps and it felt good to unburden his soul.

  “Your human is about to die?” asked Fifi.

  “Yeah, that poison will kill him in exactly three days and one night.”

  “What will happen to you when he goes?”

  “I don’t know. I assume I will go and live with one of Randy’s relatives. I’m sure he will have added a clause to his will stipulating my fate in great detail.” Another nail to the coffin of Little Randy’s conscience: even though he’d neglected to protect Randy, Randy was doing everything in his power to protect his precious dog—what a guy! What a pal!

  “You know what I think you need?” asked Fifi now, as she glanced up at him shyly.

  “A dose of the same poison that is going to kill my master?”

  “You need to sing, Little Randy. Sing your heart out!”

  “Sing?” he asked, eyeing Fifi as if she’d lost her tiny little mind. “What do you mean, sing?”

  “Me and a buddy of mine have just launched dog choir, and we’re inviting all of our friends—and now I guess I’m inviting you, Little Randy. If you’re interested, of course.”

  “Dog choir?” he said, making a face. He’d never heard of dogs singing before, except maybe in Saturday morning cartoons. “Dogs don’t sing, Fifi. Everybody knows that.”

  “Cats don’t sing either, and yet this town has a very popular cat choir. They gather at the park every night, and sing their hearts out. So I figured why should it just be cats who get to sing, right? Why can’t dogs have some fun, too? And so Rufus and I are heading out there right now, so if you want to come, let’s get going, Little Randy.”

  “But…”

  She flashed him a shy but sweet smile. “What do you have to lose, my friend?”

  This was absolutely true. He didn’t have anything to lose, except his dignity, and frankly he was beyond the point where that kind of stuff mattered. So he finally shrugged. “Okay. So where is this park of yours?”

  “Follow me,” said Fifi, and popped through the hole in the fence, then tripped over to the hedge that separated Odelia’s backyard from her parents’ and said, “Rufus! Rufus, let’s go!”