Purrfect Obsession

“See ya around, Poole,” Don muttered, and was off.

Chase retracted the hand. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing. Don has this thing about the boyfriends of his leading ladies.”

Chase quirked an eyebrow. “A thing? What thing?”

“He was once on the receiving end of a punch thrown by an actress’s spouse. His nose has never been the same.”

“He must have given him reason,” said Chase, looking on as Don made his way over to the makeup table for a touch-up and a flirtatious chat with the makeup ladies.

“I’d say he did,” said Odelia. “Don Stryker has a reputation as a ladies’ man, and he likes to make sure that reputation stays earned.”

Chase quirked his other eyebrow. “Should I worry about this Stryker guy?”

She smiled. “No, of course not.” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“That’s more like it,” he rumbled, then lifted her up into a full-body hug. If Don was watching, the hug might be interpreted as a gesture of possessiveness but Odelia didn’t care. There was only one man in her life and that was Chase, and no arrogant Broadway star could change that.

“So I was thinking,” said Chase now.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking we haven’t gone out on a date in a while—just you and me.”

She liked where this was going. “So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest dinner and a movie? There’s a new place in Happy Bays we haven’t tried. It’s called The Dusty Tavern and they’re rumored to serve some damn fine clam chowder.”

“The Dusty Tavern it is, then.”

“I have some stuff to finish up at the precinct. Pick you up at the house at seven?”

“Sounds great. See you later, Chase.”

“See you, babe,” he said with a happy grin, then was off, but not before giving Don the kind of look that would remind him of the punch that had given his nose that tweak.

Odelia sank down on the blanket and took the script she’d tucked underneath the basket and opened it to a well-thumbed page. This was the first time she was playing a part in a play, or any performance, for that matter. She had no acting experience whatsoever, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if this production would be seen by more than a few people.

Bard in the Park was a strictly local setup, designed to entertain natives and tourists alike. Not exactly the start of a great career in acting. More like a fun way to while away the time and do something different for a change. Also, Dan Goory, her editor at the Hampton Cove Gazette, had instructed her to write a piece on the acting troupe, and the recurrent phenomenon of summer public theater, and what better way to write about Shakespeare in the Park than to immerse herself in its world and even play a small part?

She frowned as she read through her lines. The hardest part about this acting thing was memorizing those big chunks of text. She was constantly in fear she would drop a line and get absolutely, completely stuck, with people all staring at her. Which was why she was determined to study hard and nail her dialogues until she could recite them in her sleep.

And she was still muttering William Shakespeare’s memorable and immemorial lines to herself when a loud scream suddenly pierced the air. She looked up, startled, and was even more surprised when she saw a small group of people standing around nearby, the director and some of the other troupe members among them.

She got up and hurried over, afraid someone had become unwell and had collapsed.

When she reached the small throng Wolf Langdon, his face white as a sheet, was already clutching his phone to his ear and barking, “She’s dead. She’s dead, I’m telling you!”

Finally Odelia reached the commotion. On the ground, her face frozen in a mask of shock, a young woman lay motionless, her eyes staring unseeingly up at the people all crowding around her. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was, indeed, dead, what with the big knife sticking out of her chest. Odelia recognized her as Dany Cooper. Her understudy.

Chapter 4

“So... I don’t get it,” said Dooley once I’d explained to him and Harriet why Odelia had been kissing this man.

Harriet rolled her eyes, but I cut in before she could launch a scathing comment. “What don’t you get, Dooley?”

“So it’s all right for humans to cheat on their significant others when the person they’re cheating with is an actor? Is that how it works?”

“Oh, Dooley,” said Harriet, unable to contain herself. “They weren’t really kissing. They were acting!”

“It looked like they were kissing to me,” said Dooley.

It looked like that to me, too. “They were only pretending to be kissing,” I said. “None of it is real. Like in Game of Thrones? When they cut off people’s heads, the way they do on that show, the actors still get to walk away when the scene is over. Heads attached.”

“Yes, but Odelia has to lock lips with this guy, right?”

“Right,” I admitted.

“I mean, it’s not CGI like in Game of Thrones. It’s her actual lips on this guy’s actual lips. And they’re actually kissing. Swapping bodily fluids and rubbing tongues and all that.”

“You don’t have to be so graphic about it,” I grumbled.

“No, but I’m right, right?”

“I guess so.”

“So what’s the difference between a movie kiss and a real kiss?”

Tough question. “Well, for one thing, a real kiss has emotion. Humans kiss each other because they love each other—like Odelia and Chase. This guy, that’s not real.”

“It looked real to me.”

“Yes, well, it’s not,” said Harriet snappishly. “So just drop it, will you?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted my time on this nonsense. And I still haven’t been able to find Brutus, the reason I came to the park in the first place.”

We all looked around, as if fully expecting Brutus to suddenly pop up from behind a bush or a tree.

“I don’t know,” said Harriet. “I haven’t seen him all day. It’s not like him to go off without a word.”

“Why don’t we ask that nice dog over there to sniff him out?” Dooley suggested.

“That nice dog just threatened me,” I said. “So he’s not a nice dog at all.”

“But he is a dog, and dogs are known for their ability to find missing persons—and cats.”

We all turned to Scoochie. Dooley wasn’t the smartest cat in the world, but even not-so-smart cats get these sudden flashes of insight. Maybe now was Dooley’s turn for a flash.

“Are you nuts?” Harriet asked suddenly. “Why ask a dog to do a cat’s job? Our sense of smell is superior to that of a dog—didn’t you know that?”

“Um…” said Dooley, blinking.

“We have 200 million receptors in our noses, far more than any dog.” She tapped Dooley’s nose. “So repeat after me. We don’t need dogs. To suggest we do is ridiculous.”

“We don’t need dogs,” Dooley muttered meekly.

“We don’t need dogs,” I echoed.

“But if that’s true, why haven’t you been able to track down Brutus?” asked Dooley now, risking hide and hair to point out the fatal flaw in Harriet’s reasoning.

She narrowed her eyes at him, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“Dooley has a point,” I said, backing up my buddy.

“Hrmph,” was Harriet’s only response.

Just at that moment, there was a loud commotion nearby. Humans were converging on the scene, and even Odelia hurried to where a small group of other humans stood.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Looks like something’s going down down there.”

“I don’t care,” said Harriet. When we turned to her, she explained, “I cared when I thought Odelia was cheating on Chase, because…” She bit her lower lip. “I’m starting to think Brutus is cheating on me.” She studied her paws. “There, I said it. Now make fun of me all you want.”

“We’re not going to make fun of you, Harriet,” I said.

“Yeah, we’re your friends,” Dooley chimed in. “We’d never make fun of you.”

Except when she was being unreasonable, which was a lot. Or when she was doing her diva thing again, which was also a lot. But apart from that? Never.

“Hey, you guys,” a voice sounded behind us. It was Tigger, a member of cat choir who lives near the park. “You gotta see this. Brutus is making out with some hot chick.” Then he caught sight of Harriet and gulped then quickly snuck away, clearly fearing her wrath.

“Brutus is making out?” Harriet said between gritted teeth. “Where? Come back here, you little weasel!”

But Tigger was gone. Harriet’s eyes were flashing and she quickly retraced Tigger’s steps, both Dooley and I following in her wake. It didn’t take us long to arrive at the duck pond that’s one of the park’s main features. Children can usually be found there, gleefully ignoring the big ‘DON’T FEED THE DUCKS’ sign and feeding the ducks. There’s a nice copse of beech trees just across the little bridge that spans the pond. Harriet was already sniffing the air, trying to pick up the scent of her errant mate.

Dooley and I exchanged a glance of worry. If Tigger was right, and Brutus was indeed making out with ‘some hot chick,’ there would be hell to pay. Not to mention scars to nurse.

Harriet stalked across the bridge, and Dooley and I followed at a little distance. I love Harriet, and she’s one of my best friends, but there are times she scares the crap out of me, and this was one of those times.

We’d arrived on the other side of the bridge, and kids were already pointing in our direction and yelling, “Look, mama, kitty catties!”

Those same mamas probably thought we were stalking a duck breeding ground, and judging from the irate looks on their faces were getting ready to chase us away. What they didn’t know was that we weren’t advancing on a duck breeding ground but apparently on a Brutus breeding ground.

Arriving at the small crop of trees, Harriet sniffed twice, then made a growling sound at the back of her throat. I sniffed, too, and immediately knew we were on the right track. Or the wrong one, depending whose side you were on.

“Brutus!” Harriet bellowed, then made a mighty leap and arrived at the little clearing between the trees.

And there he was, not exactly making out with a hot female feline, but still in flagrante delicto: Brutus, that black, butch cat, was sniffing the butt of a gorgeous redhead.

Chapter 5

Brutus looked exactly like what he was: busted!

“I, um, I’m…” he stammered, then finally resorted to that old standby: “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, puh-lease,” said Harriet, and would have folded her front legs across her chest if she’d been human. “Don’t give me that crap. Don’t tell me you were acting, too.”

“Huh?” said Brutus. To his credit, this was not an excuse he’d considered.

The redhead, whom I’d recognized as Darlene, one of cat choir’s femme fatales, appeared unruffled. She gave Harriet a faux curious look. “So you’re the girlfriend, huh?”

“You know I’m the girlfriend, Darlene,” Harriet snapped. “Though not for much longer. In fact I’m officially handing the girlfriend baton to you.” She slashed the air with her tail for emphasis, then lifted her chin imperiously. “And I sincerely hope you choke on it.” Having delivered this message, she then promptly turned on her heel and stalked off.

Darlene laughed a throaty laugh. She seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.

Brutus was less sanguine. “Sweetums, wait!” he yelled, and would have gone after Harriet if I hadn’t stopped him with a gesture of my paw.

“No good?” he asked.

“No good,” I returned.

I’d known Harriet practically from the cradle, and when she was in a vengeful mood like this, the only thing that would result in Brutus going after her was fur flying and claws slashing tender skin. I might not have liked Brutus in the past, but close association had warmed me to the butch cat, and I couldn’t stand the thought of him having to lick his wounds after a close encounter with Harriet’s wrath. The only words appropriate in a situation like this came to me and so I spoke them.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“You guys seem to have a lot to talk about so I’ll leave you to it,” said Darlene. “Toodle-oo.” And she sashayed off, every sign of the feline femme fatale in her manner.

The three of us couldn’t help but stare after her. I might not be a big fan of cat fatales, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admire them when I meet one. Finally, she rounded the bend and when no sounds of cats fighting reached my ear, I assumed Harriet hadn’t been lying in wait and her rival had gotten to safety unchecked and unharmed.

Once again I turned to Brutus. “What were you thinking?” I repeated.

“Yeah, what were you thinking, Brutus?” Dooley echoed.

Brutus looked devastated. “You have to help me, Max. You have to talk to Harriet.”

“All the talking in the world isn’t going to help you now, Brutus. You’ve officially done it.”

“But that’s just it. I haven’t done a thing!” he said, wringing his paws.

I uttered a sound of exasperation. “We saw you! You were... doing whatever you were doing. In the bushes! The cliché to end all clichés!”

“Officially this is not a bush. It’s a thicket,” Dooley corrected me.

“I wasn’t doing anything! I was never going to let it go that far.”

“You had your nose up Darlene’s butt, Brutus.”

“I hadn’t!”

“Well, from where I was standing it looked like you had.”

“A matter of perspective. My nose wasn’t anywhere near her butt!”

“Who cares where your nose was?! You were in the bushes! Making out!”

“Thicket,” said Dooley, then shut up when I gave him a foul look.

Brutus plunked down on his haunches, a look of distress in his dark eyes. “I know how bad this looks, but… have you never been in a long-term relationship and started to wonder?”

Since I’d never been in a long-term relationship, or a short-term one, I wisely kept my tongue.

“Sometimes you just wonder if you’ve still got it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

“Yes, what are you talking about, Brutus?” Dooley said, looking as puzzled as I was feeling. “Harriet is the finest cat for miles around. How can you cheat on her?”

Dooley had a point. Harriet was the finest cat for miles around. What’s more, Dooley had always had a thing for Harriet, so this whole Darlene thing came as a shock to him, too.

Brutus raised a helpless paw. “You wonder if you still have it.”

“Have what?” I asked.

“It! The pizzazz. The fatal attraction.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, in case that wasn’t obvious from the confused look on my map.

Brutus sighed. “I used to be a big thing before, you know. Cats would fawn over me. I’d strut my stuff and heads would turn. I was the Tom Brady of cats, all eyes on me. Queens wanted to be with me—tomcats wanted to be me. I was top cat. Leader of the pack. Head of the herd. Now, no cat looks at me twice, because they know I’m with Harriet. So they don’t even bother. It’s like I’ve become invisible, all of a sudden. Not worth their while.”

I hardly would have called Brutus, a buff black cat, invisible, but that just goes to show that you can never know another cat’s mind. “You’re not invisible, Brutus,” I said.

“No, I see you, Brutus,” Dooley concurred.

These words didn’t seem to do much to buck the butch cat up, though. If possible, he slumped even more. “Look, I love Harriet with all my heart—she’s the only cat for me. But sometimes a fellow just wants to know if he hasn’t lost it, you know? So when Darlene suggested I meet her in the bushes—thicket—I jumped at the chance. I guess I was flattered. Happy that my fatal charm still worked. And it did! Only it worked a little too well, I guess.”

“You were sniffing her butt, Brutus,” I said.

“I wasn’t! Honestly! I would never cheat on Harriet. You know that, Max.”

I did know that, but I also knew things looked bad for Brutus. Very bad.

“You gotta help me, Max,” he said now, a pleading note in his voice. “You gotta explain to Harriet. Make things right. I can’t lose her. I’m nothing without that cat. Nothing!”

“I don’t know, Brutus. I know Harriet, and she’s not the forgiving kind.”

“Oh, man,” he moaned. “I’ve really done it this time, haven’t I?”

And with these words, he slunk off in the direction of the pond. For a moment I expected to hear a plunge and was already bracing myself to jump in after him to save his life. No plunging sound came, though, and the moment passed. I should have known. Even in the depths of despair, Brutus wasn’t the kind of cat to take his own life. Probably because he knows he’d have to repeat the procedure nine times, and who wants to be bothered?

“What are we going to do, Max?” asked Dooley.

“First we’re going to give Harriet a little time to cool off,” I said.

“And then we’re going to talk to her? Convince her Brutus wasn’t really cheating on her? That he was doing exactly what Odelia was doing: playing make-believe?”

I smiled at Dooley’s quick insight. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going to play Cupid, Dooley.”

“It’s going to be tough.”

“Yes, it is. But when have we ever turned away from a challenge?”

“Never.”

I eyed him appreciatively. “Any other cat would have jumped at the chance to use this opportunity to seduce Harriet—become her shoulder to cry on and move in on her.”

Dooley looked sincerely shocked. “No way! Harriet loves Brutus and he loves her. I would never do that to two of my best friends.”

“You know what, Dooley? You just might be one of the most chivalrous cats around.”

He looked confused. “What’s chivalrous, Max?”

“You, Dooley. You are chivalrous. A regular knight of old.” These words didn’t seem to mean a thing to my friend, so I added, “You’re a true friend. Now let’s go and check out this hullaballoo. I do believe Odelia just may have stumbled upon yet another murder.”

“She should probably stop doing that. It’s a very bad habit.”

Chapter 6

“Who was she?” asked Uncle Alec.

Odelia was seated on a bench, still experiencing the kind of dread that accompanies the discovery of a fellow human being whose life has been snuffed out prematurely.