Purrfect Obsession

“Oh, will you just shut up, already,” suddenly an irritable voice sounded from up above. It wasn’t the voice of God, at least I didn’t think so. So it was probably Mr. Owl.

“Mr. Owl,” I said, much relieved. “Is that you up there?”

“Please stop calling me Mr. Owl. I’m a lady not a gentleman. And if you dare call me Mrs. Owl I’m going to swoop down and bite you.”

“So what do we call you?”

“Rita,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Great!” I said. “So, how about it, Rita? Can you help us out here?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You’re cats.”

No argument there. We were cats. “That’s right.”

“So this is probably just a trick to get me to come out of this tree. And then you’ll pounce on me and eat me. So no can do, cat. Please go away, and don’t come back.”

“We would never pounce on you and eat you,” said Dooley. “Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Of course not. We’re not those kind of cats.”

“What are you talking about? You’re cats. Cats eat birds. I’m a bird. This is not rocket science. So take a hike, will you? You ain’t sweet-talking me out of this tree.”

“Like I said, we’re not like that,” I said. “We, um—”

“We’re vegetarians,” said Dooley.

Both Brutus and I stared at Dooley, who smiled winningly.

“Vegetarians. Really,” said Rita. She obviously wasn’t buying it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I said, deciding to go with the flow. “Meat is murder, right?”

“So what do you eat?” she challenged.

“Um…” I cast about for a good alternative to meat. “Brown rice?”

“Yummy,” said Dooley, while Brutus winced.

“What else?” asked Rita. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Um... lentils?” I offered, though I could already feel my stomach churning.

“I like tofu,” said Dooley. “I can eat tofu for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“And what do you like, black cat?” asked Rita, still not convinced.

“I like, um, broccoli,” said Brutus, then gulped. “And quinoa.”

Silence reigned for a few moments while Rita considered this. There was a soft rustle, and she flew into view, taking perch on a lower branch. She was a big bird. Big and fluffy. She looked pretty yummy to me. I’d sworn to Odelia I’d never eat birds, though, and I intended to keep my promise. Brutus, though, who’d never made such a promise, stared at Rita, and already I could hear his stomach growl and see his eyes glaze over. We were all hungry, not having eaten in hours, and a juicy bird like Rita would have hit the spot just fine.

Instead, I said, “So. Can you tell us what happened here this afternoon?”

“Not much to tell,” said Rita. “A man stabbed a woman and left her to die. Happens all the time.” She shook her head. “Humans. They’re probably the most murderous species ever to roam this earth. Though Tyrannosaurus Rexes were no picnic either.”

I decided to ignore the philosophical musings and get right down to brass tacks. “Did you get a good look at the killer’s face?”

“Sure. He had a human face. That’s because he was a human,” she said, very logically, I thought.

“So, what did he look like?”

We all waited with bated breath for her response. This was the moment of the big reveal. The moment we’d all been waiting for. The moment we were going to learn the identity of the killer.

“How should I know?” said Rita. “Humans all look the same to me.”

Ugh. So she was one of those owls, huh?

“Yeah, they do look alike, but there are differences,” I pointed out. “Some humans have big noses, others have small noses. Some have freckles, some don’t. Some have blond hair, others have brown hair, some even have blue hair…”

She frowned, or at least I thought she did. Like with cats and fur, it’s tough to read between the feathers. “Well, he had a regular nose, I guess. Nothing to write home about. Regular face, regular build, regular mouth, regular arms, regular—”

“What color was his hair?”

“He wore one of those caps, with the bill covering the upper portion of his face.”

“Did he have a beard, mustache…”

“No beard, no mustache.”

“Color of his eyes?”

“Sunglasses,” she said with a shrug.

Dang it. “So what can you tell us about him? Any distinguishing features?”

She thought hard, then spread her wings. “I don’t know, all right? What is this? A third-degree? Why is this so important, anyway? Plenty of humans get killed all the time.”

“It’s important because Dany Cooper was a friend of our human.”

“Yeah, you may think humans all enjoy killing each other but that’s simply not true,” said Dooley. “Our human is a very nice human and she would never kill anyone. She just wouldn’t. In fact she dedicates her life to finding those nasty humans who do kill others.”

“It’s also against the law,” said Brutus. “The human law, that is.”

“Well…” The owl hesitated. “He did have one distinguishing feature that I thought was a little weird.”

“What was it?” I asked, suddenly excited again.

“He had an owl-shaped mole on the back of his hand, which I personally found insulting.”

“An owl-shaped mole?”

“Yup. On his right hand—the hand he stabbed the woman with. Very inappropriate. I mean, I admit to enjoying a nice, juicy mouse from time to time, but I’d never kill a fellow owl. That’s just so… human.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Only humans kill other humans.”

“That’s not entirely true, though,” said Dooley, surprising us. “There are plenty of species that kill their own. In fact the most murderous mammal species are meerkats. Meerkats kill twenty percent of their own kind.”

“Interesting,” I said, wondering why, oh why I had ever extolled the virtues of the Discovery Channel. He wasn’t finished, though. Like a real professor, he just droned on.

“It is true, however, that most mammal murders involve infanticide—the killing of babies. In meerkat society it’s the dominant female who routinely murders the pups of the subordinate females in their own group. Humans are part of a small group of mammals—among them lions, wolves and spotted hyenas—that routinely murder the adults of their own species. And of course humans are very creative to find ways to kill each other. Lions or wolves or spotted hyenas will never use poison or guns or knives or whatever to kill other lions or wolves or spotted hyenas.”

“That’s fine, Dooley,” I muttered.

“You’re very smart, for a cat,” said Rita appreciatively.

“One of Gran’s soaps is on hiatus so I’ve been watching the Discovery Channel.”

“I can tell,” I said.

At any rate, we’d gotten what we’d come here to find. Now all we needed to do was find out if Wolf Langdon had a mole on his hand in the shape of an owl. If he had, Ringo had been lying to us when he said Wolf was standing right next to him when Dany was killed.

We thanked Rita profusely and I like to think that we left her with the impression that not all cats are vicious bird-eaters.

“I only wish more cats were like you!” she said. “Vegetarians, I mean.”

We took our leave, and as we walked away, Brutus said, “I hate broccoli. And quinoa.”

“And I hate lentils,” I said.

“I actually like tofu,” said Dooley. “I think I could get used to it.”

“It’s all matter of perspective,” I said with a grin.

Brutus didn’t even crack a smile.

Probably too soon.

Chapter 28

As she was driving home, Odelia got a message from her uncle.

‘If you’re going to inject yourself into this investigation, you might as well drop down to the station to watch the interview.’

She smiled, performed a quick U-turn and headed down to the station. She didn’t particularly enjoy police interviews, but she did want to see what Wolf had to say for himself. Even though her cats were pretty convinced the director had nothing to do with Dany’s murder, the presence of that yellow parka in his closet proved otherwise. As Chase had said, it was an open-and-shut case. One of those cases where the killer is so cocky he trips up even before the person he murdered has arrived at the morgue.

She parked in front of the station house and quickly hurried inside, not even bothering to lock up her car. The pickup was so old and decrepit no one in their right mind would steal it.

She arrived at the interview room at the back of the station, and when she entered found her uncle already standing at the two-way mirror.

He looked up when she entered. “I thought you’d want to see this.”

“Thanks, uncle,” she said, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

“I know it’s hopeless to try and keep you from putting your sleuth cap on, but you can’t blame me for trying,” he said in response. “Especially considering how much the victim resembled you.”

“Well, you were wrong about me being the killer’s target.”

“It would appear so,” he said cautiously.

She thought about Brutus almost being run over, but decided not to mention the fact. That was probably a coincidence. There was, after all, probably more than one person dressed in a yellow parka driving around Hampton Cove.

In the interview room, Chase and Wolf sat, the director uncharacteristically ill at ease. His hair was a mess, and so was his beard, and he was still dressed in his silk pajamas.

“I didn’t do it, detective!” he exclaimed. “You have to believe me! I liked that girl. She had a gift. Why would I kill a promising young talent like that!”

“I’ll tell you exactly why,” said Chase, who was his usual unruffled self. He was never better than when interviewing suspects and making them sweat. “You were having an affair with Dany Cooper, and when she pressured you into getting a divorce from your wife, you knew it was time to get rid of her.”

“That’s... crazy,” blustered Don. “Who told you that?”

“You told me yourself.” Chase placed Wolf’s own phone on the table and tapped it. “I’ve made a printout of your WhatsApp chats. Pretty hot stuff, Mr. Langdon.”

Wolf’s face turned white as a sheet. “I thought WhatsApp messages were automatically deleted?”

“That’s Snapchat. You should probably read up on your social media. Now do you still deny having an affair with Miss Cooper?”

He hung his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, now with a voice as if from the tomb. “We were having an affair. It’s true.” He looked up. “But I didn’t kill her.”

Chase took a stack of papers he’d brought into the interview room and began reading. “Wolfy, baby. Have you talked to your wife yet? Inquiring minds want to know. Smiley smiley smiley. When is the divorce planned? Heart heart heart. I think I can hear the wedding bells already. Kiss kiss kiss. Can’t wait to say I do, sweet boo. Cupid Cupid Cupid.”

“All right, all right, all right,” said Wolf. “Yes. I promised her I’d divorce Emily.”

“But you were never going to do that. Because your wife was your partner in Langdon Productions, and without her and her family’s money, you were sunk.”

“Who told you all this?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. You’re right. I couldn’t get a divorce. Not unless my next couple of projects all proved sure-fire hits. Emily had already told me she was sick and tired of throwing good money after bad. Called the production company a black hole. So it was do or die, and the Bard in the Park thing in the Hamptons was going to give me a lot of publicity and hopefully push my next Broadway show, which I’m hoping will put us in the black. And I promised Dany the main part.” He spread his arms. “So you see? I would never kill her. She was going to be my star.”

“So why didn’t you give her the starring role in Bard in the Park?”

“Like I said, I’m only doing these Bard in the Park shows for the visibility and the buzz. There’s no money in it. Plus, I didn’t want to show off Dany and risk her being wooed away by the competition when they saw how good she was. And she was awesome.”

Odelia frowned. So what did that make her? Less than awesome, apparently.

“You’re not making your case here, Wolf. You just admitted you couldn’t afford to get divorced. And that Dany was pressuring you. So why don’t you simply admit you killed her?”

“But I didn’t! I loved that kid. She was great fun to be around. And I’m the one who discovered her. This was just like that movie...” He snapped his fingers. “A Star Is Born!”

“In A Star Is Born the male commits suicide when the female’s success eclipses his own,” said Chase dryly.

“What I mean to say is, I discovered her. I was going to turn her into a star, and—”

“And then you were going to ride on the coattails of her success.”

“Exactly!” said Wolf without a trace of irony. “She was my ticket to the big time. If she became a star, I didn’t need Emily or her damn money. I could buy her out. Be my own man!” He tapped the table frantically. “So why would I kill Dany, huh? It makes no sense!”

Odelia turned to her uncle. “Max and Dooley talked to Wolf’s Chihuahua.”

Uncle Alec grinned. “Now there’s something you don’t hear every day.”

She ignored him. “The dog—who is called Ringo, by the way—said Wolf would never kill Dany. They had a good thing going, but also, Wolf was with Ringo when Dany was killed. He saw the killer, Alec. He saw the killer and it wasn’t Wolf Langdon.”

Uncle Alec fingered one of his chins. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. Ringo also said he didn’t get a good look at the killer’s face, but an owl did.”

Alec’s grin widened. “An owl.”

“An owl, yes. Sitting in a tree…” Hearing herself, she had to smile, too. It sounded pretty ridiculous. “Anyway, Max and Dooley are talking to this owl as we speak, so…”

Uncle Alec nodded. “You think we may have arrested the wrong guy.”

“Could be. Unless the dog is lying, but in my experience dogs rarely lie.”

That grin was back.

“Yes, I know how this sounds,” she said. “But you know me, uncle. I’ve solved cases you thought were unsolvable before.”

“I know you have. And I’ll be happy to hear what this... owl has to say. In the meantime Wolf Langdon is still my best suspect, and I’m keeping him right here.”

“The yellow parka.”

“The yellow parka—and his motive. Greed is always a great motive for murder, and he had a whopper of a motive, no matter what he’s saying about this A Storm Is Born stuff.”

She didn’t bother to correct him. “Someone could have planted that parka.”

“Someone could have, but in my experience that is rarely the case.”

“So what about the Chihuahua and the owl?”

He held up his hand. “I know your Dr. Dolittle qualities have been useful on more than one occasion, honey, but the statement of a dog and an owl is not something that will stand up in court, I’m afraid. A solid motive and physical evidence, on the other hand…”

“I understand,” she said.

“Besides. Just like humans sometimes make lousy witnesses, so can dogs. Or owls.”

She glanced back at Wolf, who was still trying to convince Chase of his innocence.

Looked like her career as an actress was finished before it even started.

Chapter 29

The next day, Tex was on his way to work when suddenly a flowerpot crashed down onto the pavement right in front of him. One fraction of a second later, and he’d have gotten it straight on the noggin. It was a heavy flowerpot, as flowerpots go, and would have crushed his skull and sent him to an early grave if the thing had hit its intended target.

Intended target?

Even while his heart was still beating a snare drum inside his chest, Tex wondered why the thought had occurred to him that this was no random flowerpot incident but a concerted effort to make him dead. In other words, an attempt on his life.

He glanced down at the flowerpot, which now rested beyond repair at his feet, sand and a wilted undefinable plant spilling out beyond the shards. Then he looked up to determine the source of the phenomenon. A windowsill on the third floor of an adjacent building was the likely resting place of the pot before it had decided to take the sudden leap into the unknown. And just as he looked, he thought he saw that very same window that was framed by that very same ledge, gently being closed by an unseen hand.

His face took on a more determined expression. “Hey!” he shouted, balling his fist at the now-closed window. “I saw you! Don’t think for a minute I didn’t see you! What’s the big idea, chucking flowerpots at innocent passersby?”

And in a sudden wave of indignation, he turned to the house whose window had been used for this dastardly murder attempt, and rattled its handle. Locked, of course. But no worries. The culprit who’d done this dastardly deed no doubt was still inside.

“Let’s see you get away with this,” Tex muttered, as he took out his phone. He called up his brother-in-law’s number and hit Connect. The moment Alec picked up, he bellowed, “Alec! Someone just tried to kill me! That’s right. And I’ve got the killer locked up in the house! He’s not getting away. You better do what it is you do—arrest him! Arrest him, man!”

Five minutes later, three police vehicles descended on the scene, sirens wailing, and six police officers exited and one ruddy-looking police chief. Alec was panting. An attack on his brother-in-law in his own town was not something that happened every day, nor was it something he was willing to overlook.

“Where is he?” he said between two gulping breaths as he came hurrying up. He dragged up his pants, which, in spite of his sturdy belt, always seemed to be sagging, and glanced up at the house Tex was pointing a rigid finger at.

“He’s still inside. I’m sure of it. I’ve been here all this time and he hasn’t come out.”

“What did he do? Take a shot at you?”

“Worse! He dropped a flowerpot on my head!”

Alec blinked. “A flowerpot?”

“A flowerpot!”

And to prove he wasn’t making this up, he pointed at the evidence.

Alec stared at the remnants of the flowerpot which now lay in ruins.

“So who was he?”

“Mh?”

“The guy who threw the pot at you?”

“I have no idea. He’s locked himself inside and he won’t come out. And don’t think I haven’t tried. I must have rung the bell a million times. I even pounded the door.”