From her own little bed, Grace made quiet murmurings, but slept on.
“Max, the doorbell,” Dooley repeated, as if I was a Downton Abbey butler.
“I know it’s the doorbell,” I said. “But what do you want me to do about it?”
My friend opened his eyes and seemed to see me for the first time.“What?”
“The doorbell? You know as well as I do that cats don’t open doors, Dooley.”
“What are you talking about?”
It became clear to me now he’d been talking in his sleep, a habit he gets sometimes. “It’s fine, Dooley. Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“Your phone, Chase,” Odelia said plaintively.
“Your phone, babe,” Chase returned, just as plaintively.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” I suddenly burst out. “It’s the door!”
“What are you talking about?” said Odelia with a tired groan.
“There’s someone at the door!”
“Oh, all right, hold your horses,” she said, making a valiant attempt to open her eyes. She slipped one leg from underneath the covers, and before I knew what was happening, there was a sort of thud and Odelia was on the floor. “Oops,” she said, then scrambled into a more or less upright position and headed for the door.
“I think she’s sleepwalking, Max,” said Dooley. “Look at her. She’s still asleep.”
He was right. Odelia was walking, but her eyes were firmly shut.
“Open your eyes, woman!” I cried, afraid she’d tumble down the stairs and break that delicate human neck of hers.
“Yes, sir,” Odelia mumbled.
“It’s not my phone,” Chase said as he made an attempt to grab the device from the nightstand. “So it must be yours.” The phone slipped from his nerveless grasp and hit the floor. “Darn it,” the cop muttered, as his arm just dangled there.
“Are they on drugs, you think, Max?” asked Dooley, as he watched the sad spectacle. “They must be on drugs, acting so weird.”
“Yes, they are,” I said with a frown. “The drug of binge-watching.”
Downstairs things seemed to be happening, for I could hear the door being opened and moments later the nervous tones of Uncle Alec’s voice reached my ears.
“There’s been a murder,” the police chief was saying. “At your mom and dad’s tennis retreat.”
These words finally shook Odelia into full wakefulness, for I could hear her say,“What?!”
“Your folks are fine. It’s one of the hosts that’s been murdered. Some woman named Isobel Droba?”
“Oh, my God.”
“Yeah. Where’s Chase? Can you guys get over there pronto?”
“Chase!” Odelia bellowed. “Babe, get down here!”
“All right, all right,” the cop said. “Where’s the fire?”
“There’s been a murder!” Uncle Alec shouted at the foot of the stairs.
This statement had the desired effect on the stalwart police detective. He jerked into an upright position, and moments later was thundering down the stairs. If his superior officer took offense by the casual wear his underling had donned—naked torso and floral-patterned boxers—he didn’t show it. Instead he proceeded to fill the detective in on some of the details of the case, then entrusted it into his capable hands.
“Looks like it’s time to get up,” said Dooley with a muscular yawn.
“Yeah, looks that way,” I agreed, and since yawns are infectious, I went through one myself.
And so it was that while our humans halved their usual bathroom time and kitchen time, Dooley and myself patiently waited until they were ready to move out. They still didn’t look entirely chipper and ready for duty, but then humans rarely do when they’re being dragged out of bed at some ungodly hour.
After placing Grace in the capable care of Gran, instructing her to drop the toddler off at the daycare center at her earliest convenience, we were off.
We arrived at the house Michele Droba had rented—an Airbnb, apparently—posthaste, and judging from the police vehicles parked haphazardly in the drive, and the coroner’s van, the investigation was already underway, even though the actual detective being assigned to the case hadn’t yet arrived. But then I guess that’s often the way: thestar of the show is frequently the last one to arrive.
The villa was a large one, as villas go, and located on the outskirts of Hampton Cove, that fair and friendly town in the Hamptons. It was a large place, with a nice paved forecourt and plenty of well-manicured greenery all around.
“It doesn’t look like an Airbnb, Max,” said Dooley as we got out of Chase’s squad car. “It looks more like one of those posh mansions celebrities occupy.”
It did look like a posh celebrity dwelling. And that’s probably because there were several celebrities staying at the place. Or at least such were the rumors. And so as we entered, I wondered if we’d run into Beyonc?, or Tom Cruise, or even that skinny guy from those Spider-man movies. Unfortunately for us no celebrities were actually present, as soon became clear when we were led up the stairs by one of the officers on the scene, who gave us a list of the guests.