The pugs looked quite stunned, as if they couldn’t believe that four cats had the audacity to wander into their home. Then the pug leader, the one who had so successfully turned out the huskies, spoke up. “You are the second pair of detectives to barge in here today looking for answers. But like we told the previous bunch, we don’t have any answers to give.”

  “Nor should we be obliged to!” yelled another pug.

  “The Eiderducks treated us horribly!” yelled a third pug.

  “They were animals!”

  “Monsters!”

  “Beasts!”

  “So they weren’t very nice to you?” I asked, just to make sure I hadn’t misheard.

  The pug leader smiled. “What do you think, cat? They locked us up in this derelict old barn, barely fed us, and kicked us if we weren’t behaving according to their strict rules. It was only after they passed away that someone had the decency to open our cages and let us out.”

  “Who opened your cages?” asked Brutus.

  The attention of the pugs turned to my friend, who wilted a little under the scrutiny of all of those eyes that were suddenly fixed on him.

  “It was an older woman,” said the pug leader finally. “She didn’t mention her name, but she said that she would be back with food and vehicles to have us transported to a different location. One where we would be taken care of properly. And where we would find pet parents to take us to our new forever homes.”

  “Must have been Ida Baumgartner,” said Harriet. “She must have heard that the Eiderducks died and decided to stage a rescue operation.”

  “Do you know this woman?” asked the pug leader, who still hadn’t told us his name.

  I nodded. “She is a patient of one of our humans. Her name is Ida Baumgartner, and she has taken your plight to heart.”

  “She organized a protest against the conditions in which you were kept,” Harriet explained. “And campaigned tirelessly to improve your situation.”

  “Well, we certainly owe her a big debt of gratitude,” said the pug leader. “My name is Pickles, by the way, and these are my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles—my entire extended family, in other words.” He cocked his head. “So you know our benefactor, do you?”

  “Yes. Like I said, she is a patient of Tex Poole, who is one of our humans.”

  “Do you think there’s a possibility for all of us to stay together?” asked Pickles. “We’re quite attached to each other, you see. Possibly as a consequence of enduring the same hardships and having been together since we were born in captivity in this horrible barn.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I surveyed the sea of pugs and wondered how many there could possibly be. Dozens? Hundreds? At any rate, too many to be adopted by a single family.

  “Do you think Ida Baumgartner will adopt all of us? She’s our hero now. Our savior.”

  “Well, Ida lives in an apartment,” I said. “So if she wanted to adopt you, she would have to move to a much, much bigger place.”

  “We could ask,” said Harriet. “You know, make the suggestion? Especially if Tex tells her it will be good for her, she might consider it. She always does whatever Tex tells her to do,” she explained for the benefit of the pugs. “He’s her doctor, so she trusts his judgment.”

  “What is a doctor?” asked Pickles.

  “A doctor treats you when you’re sick,” I explained. Then it dawned on me. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been seen by a doctor?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “We haven’t been seen by anyone,” said Pickles, who seemed to be the spokesperson as well as the leader. “Except for Bramwell, of course. He and his wife.”

  “What about the daughter?” asked Brutus. “Um… Anthemia?”

  “No, Anthemia didn’t really deal with us. Though we did see her from time to time, when she came in assisting her mom or dad. But she seemed as much under their thumb as we were, poor girl.”

  “So… at the time of the murder, you were all locked up in your cages?” I asked, just to make sure.

  “That’s correct,” said Pickles. “So if you’re asking us if we saw who killed the Eiderducks, we didn’t. And if you’re asking us if we can think of someone who might have wished them harm, we can’t. But ask us if we’re glad that they’re dead.”

  “Um… so are you glad that they’re dead?”

  A loud cheer rang out through the stable.

  Looked like that answered that question.

  It was at this moment that the sound of a car engine on approach made us all look up in alarm. Soon the sound swelled to a roar that told us that this wasn’t one car but an entire fleet of vehicles.

  “That must be Ida Baumgartner,” said Pickles with satisfaction. “Looks like she’s a woman who is true to her word.”

  “Three cheers for Ida Baumgartner, our savior!” one of his family members cried. And once again, cheers rang out.

  “Looks like Ida is very popular here, Max,” said Dooley.

  “I just hope she will be able to keep this bunch together,” said Harriet. “I would hate to see them split up, after everything they endured.”

  “Those Eiderducks weren’t very nice to these pugs, were they?” asked Dooley.

  “No, they weren’t very nice,” I agreed.

  The cars pulled to a stop outside, and suddenly the doors were wrenched open and we came face to face with Ida Baumgartner in person. When she saw the four of us addressing a crowd of pugs, a smile lit up her face.

  “Why, if it isn’t Odelia’s cats!” she cried. She stood there, hands on firm hips, looking quite different from the way she had become known to us. Mostly I pictured her seated in Tex’s waiting room, ready to pepper the doctor with another long list of symptoms and diseases she was suffering from. But the Ida who stood before us looked hale and hearty.

  Looked like the cause of saving the pugs had done her a world of good—more than any medication ever could.

  “Okay, you guys,” she said. “I’ve come to take you away from here. We’re going to the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter, where you will be washed, cleaned, get a full medical checkup and receive the necessary treatments. You will be fed and pampered in a way you’ve never been fed and pampered before.” Her voice broke and she wiped away a tear. “I mean, just look at you darlings. Those mean Eiderducks did quite a number on you, didn’t they?”

  “They sure did, Ida Baumgartner,” said Pickles as he gazed up at the woman with eyes filled with gratefulness.

  “Okay, you guys, all aboard!” said Ida as she clapped her hands. A small army of volunteers now wrenched open the doors further and started collecting the pugs and carefully placing them into the vehicles they had brought.

  “So is this the Pug Liberation Army?” asked Dooley.

  “I’m not sure what they call themselves,” I said. “But that’s what it boils down to.”

  “I think it’s wonderful that they’re doing this,” said Harriet. “And if I were a wealthy cat, I’d give them a sizable donation.”

  We watched on as the pugs were carried to the safety of the vehicles, until the last one had been offered a seat. Then the procession got into motion once again and moved off.

  “I do wonder about the legality of this,” I said. “I mean, the pugs are officially property of the Eiderducks. And now that they’re gone, they probably belong to their daughter Anthemia, right? So technically what Ida and her volunteers are doing is called theft.”

  “I’m sure that Anthemia Eiderduck has other things on her mind right now,” said Harriet, “than to worry about her dad’s collection of pugs.”

  Ida and her cohort disappeared into the distance, and so we commenced the trek back towards the Eiderducks’ pink mansion. We hadn’t really learned all that much, except for the fact that a few dozen canine souls were better off without Bramwell Eiderduck and his wife.

  Not a great legacy to leave behind!

  CHAPTER 13

  Marge Poole couldn’t help but sing a little ditty as she stocked the newly arrived books on their designated shelves. For ages, she had pestered her husband to join a yoga class in the morning or go for a run—anything to keep their middle-aged bodies in shape. But every time Tex had moaned and groaned and hadn’t wanted to join her.

  Until that morning. She hadn’t even known that Kurt and Gilda were into yoga until Harriet had told her, and invited them to join the couple. Now she could see the whole block coming together to partake in this most invigorating morning activity.

  Though she had to say that the backyard would probably be a little cramped. She could always suggest to Gilda to take their morning yoga classes to Blake’s Field. One of the neighbors had recently taken his lawnmower to the overgrown field that stretched out behind all of their houses and cleared a swath of land. Then he had taken out a couple of lawn chairs, a paddling pool, and he and his family spent the afternoon having a great time, the kids enjoying their time in the pool and the grownups talking and enjoying a barbecue.

  That was what they should do: clear more of that field and use it for neighborhood activities.

  She knew that the town council had been working on plans to turn the field into a local park, but these things take time—soooo much time.

  She had asked Charlene about it, but all she could say was that they “were working on it.” It seemed to Marge that they had been working on it for months—years. How long had it been since Blake sold his field? Though of course, the good part was that it had become like a nature resort, with plenty of birds and other species having found it a great place to stay.

  Ted Trapper’s Silkie chickens roamed wild and free, and so did Tex’s chickens, along with several families of mice and shrews and other animals. So maybe it wasn’t a bad thing that the town simply left it alone.

  And she had just placed a copy of the latest fantasy romance sensation on the shelf when Margaret Samson walked up to her, carrying a large tote bag with her latest haul to return.

  “Marge,” said Margaret, looking as chipper as Marge had ever seen her.

  Marge descended from her stepladder to accept the bag. Margaret was one of those avid readers who finished a book in a day, so she was one of the library’s most regular customers.

  “Hey, Margaret,” she said. “So what did you think of the new Grisham?”

  “Not bad,” said Margaret. “Not enough spice, though.”

  It was one of Margaret’s most common complaints. The woman liked her reading material extra-spicy.

  “Though I gotta say that nothing beats the real thing, honey.”

  Marge looked up. “What do you mean?”

  Margaret wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully. “Ever since Gerald and I rekindled our romance, things have been heating up in the bedroom. That man is a tiger, honey! And I’m his willing gazelle, happy to be devoured—over and over and over again!”

  “All right, all right,” said Marge laughingly. “Sounds like you two have really hit it off, huh?”

  “Oh, it’s such a blessing,” Margaret gushed, clasping her hands together, her pale eyes shining with glee. “Who would have thought that I would get to live through a steamy romance—at my age! Though of course I gotta be careful. Gerald does have his hernia to take into consideration, and I have my bad hip. But apart from that, Tex has given us the go-ahead. He even told us not to hold back—can you imagine? Your husband is a gem, Marge.”

  “Just make sure you don’t overexert yourselves,” said Marge, who seemed to remember Margaret once telling her that apart from his bad back, Gerald also had a bad ticker. He wouldn’t be the first one who dropped dead after a bout of passionate lovemaking.

  “Oh, we will,” said Margaret with a giggle. “You know what he did this morning?” And she proceeded to give Marge a blow-by-blow of her latest bedroom escapades. Marge wasn’t a prude, but even she felt her ears turn quite red at Margaret’s account. “You have to try it, Marge!” she advised. “I’m sure Tex will be more than happy to!”

  “And I’m sure he won’t,” said Marge. If Tex hated getting up at six for half an hour of yoga, she couldn’t imagine him being excited about the kind of bedroom acrobatics Margaret and Gerald seemed to have engaged in.

  “Tell him that the secret to a happy marriage is a bit of hanky-panky,” said Margaret with a mischievous glint in her eye. “And plenty of it!”

  As Margaret went in search of more books to devour, Marge wondered where the woman got the time to read. But then Margaret was a couple of decades older than she was and had plenty of time—and so did her boyfriend.

  As she mounted that stepladder again, she wondered if she and Tex shouldn’t try and spice things up a little. It had been ages since they had varied from their fixed routine, and there was a point to what Margaret had said, which boiled down to: don’t let things go stale.

  She fingered the book she had in her hands. It was called One Hundred Tips for a Happy Time Between the Sheets. Maybe she should borrow it herself and try some of the stuff mentioned in the book?

  It couldn’t hurt. In fact, it might bring some new excitement to a marriage that, admittedly, had gone a little stale of late.

  And so it was decided: she’d read the book, convince Tex to do the same, and together they’d set out to turn bedtime into showtime.

  As Margaret had proved: you were never too old to rekindle that spark.

  Vesta Muffin had just flipped a page in the latest copy of People Magazine when the door to the doctor’s office opened and a familiar face walked in. It was none other than Ida Baumgartner, one of their regulars.

  “Hey, Ida,” she said as her eyes scanned an article about Brad Pitt’s latest girlfriend. According to the investigative reporters of People, the actor’s conquest was an architect who had designed plenty of impressive buildings in her native land of Italy. Vesta’s eyebrows drew up at some of the pictures of the lady, who appeared to be built along the lines of the great Italian divas of old. Sophia Loren and Claudia Cardinale would have approved.

  She sensed more than saw that Ida was standing at her desk, and so she raised her eyes to meet hers. At some point, Ida would have to run out of illnesses she imagined herself to have, wouldn’t she? After all, there were only so many diseases that a person could contract, and as far as Vesta knew, Ida had had them all—or so she thought. Though of course there were also imaginary diseases. Now there was still plenty of potential.

  “I need your help, Vesta,” said Ida.

  Vesta suppressed a sigh. “Of course. What is it this time? Cirrhosis of the stomach? Cancer of the earlobe? Thrombosis of the gall bladder? Bronchitis of the big toe?”

  “Pugs,” said Ida.

  “Pugs?” She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that one. But I’m sure Tex has. Shall I put you down for an appointment? He’s got time at three. Otherwise five-thirty.”

  “I just delivered fifty pugs to the animal shelter that carries your name,” Ida specified.

  “Good for you,” she said. She could be forgiven for forgetting she had an animal shelter named after her. After all, she wasn’t involved in the day-to-day running of the place. She had other things to keep her busy—like jotting down appointments for serial hypochondriacs like Ida.

  “I would like all of them to stay together,” Ida went on, indicating she hadn’t made her point yet, which was probably so, for Vesta had no idea what she was going on about. “You see, they’ve led a pretty miserable existence. Have you heard of a man named Bramwell Eiderduck?”

  “Um… can’t say that I have,” she admitted.

  “Former Hollywood producer,” Ida said, wrinkling her nose. “He made some truly awful TV shows back in the late eighties and nineties. After retiring, he moved to Hampton Cove and started breeding pugs—which, as we all know, really shouldn’t be bred. Poor things suffer from all kinds of serious health issues. Breathing problems like Brachycephalic Airway Syndrome, eye troubles like proptosis and ulcers, spinal deformities like hemivertebrae, hip dysplasia, overheating... and let’s not forget the heartbreaking Pug Dog Encephalitis.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Vesta, her hand still hovering over Tex’s appointment book. “So what’s the problem?” she asked at last, eager to get back to reading about Brad Pitt’s latest girlfriend.

  “The problem is that Bramwell and his wife were murdered yesterday, and so we took it upon ourselves to liberate the pugs from captivity.”

  “You stole a bunch of pugs?”

  “We liberated fifty pugs, who were being badly treated by their breeder.”

  “Okay. So what’s that got to do with me?” It wasn’t that she didn’t like dogs, but she already had four cats to take care of, and felt that was probably plenty.

  “We need to find these animals a forever home. And preferably one where they will be able to stay together. They’re all related, you see. One big unhappy family. So will you help us?”

  “Help you…”

  “Find them a family.”

  “A family for fifty pugs. I don’t think so, honey. Who in their right mind wants to adopt fifty dogs?”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of people. All we need to do is find them.”

  The door to the inner office swung open and Tex appeared. When he saw Ida, he blinked a few times. “Ida? I didn’t know you had an appointment.” He paused, then added, “I can squeeze you in, if you want.” He said it like a man volunteering for a second root canal.

  “No time, Doctor Poole,” said Ida. “I’ve got a pug family of fifty to rehome. You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a few dozen furry companions, would you?”

  Tex emitted a bark of mirth, but when he saw that Ida was serious, he swallowed his laughter and pulled his face into an expression of seriousness. “Um, no?” he said tentatively. For with Ida, you never knew. You might tell her she was fit as a fiddle, and she’d come right back with an article she read that proved the dark spot on her toenail was terminal cancer.