“I can’t thank you and your mom enough for telling Michele to get a friend for Joey,” said the former model. “She’s been so happy since I got Zoey.”
“I know from experience how lonely our furry friends can be when they’re the only pets we’ve got,” said Odelia. She gestured to Dooley and me. “These two are never apart. They play together, sleep together, share their meals together.” Sleuth together, I thought.
“Same here,” said Ona. “I’m so lucky that Joey and Zoey get along so well. They’re like twins now. They even look as if they could be from the same litter.”
“They’re adorable,” said Odelia as she admired Ona’s twin pride and joy.
Chase cleared his throat. Clearly he felt there were other, more pressing matters to discuss than Odelia and Ona’s respective pet pairs. “So Isobel Droba,” he said. “How well did you know her?”
“Not that well,” said Ona. “I knew Michele from a shoot I once did for her, but I’d never met her sister before she invited me to this tennis retreat.”
“Sister-in-law,” Chase corrected her.
“Oh, they weren’t sisters? I thought they were.”
“Did you hear anything last night, Ona?” asked Odelia. “Or you, sir?”
The plastic surgeon shook his head.“Not a thing, I’m afraid. Slept like a log.”
“I didn’t hear anything either,” said Ona. “But then I take a sleeping pill before I go to bed.” She gingerly touched her face. “I suffered through multiple operations in a short space of time, and the nerve endings in my face are still very sensitive.”
“It won’t be like that forever,” the surgeon assured her.
Ona gave him a grateful look.“It’s improved a lot already.”
“And it will keep improving—just you wait and see.”
“So Isobel was writing her autobiography,” said Chase. “And she was planning to name names and reveal secrets about the people she knew.”
“Yes?” said Ona.
“It’s possible that this book is connected to what happened to her.”
“I thought she was killed by a burglar?” asked Max Stinger.
“One of the theories we’re investigating right now is that she was murdered because of the manuscript,” Chase explained. “Whoever did this stole her laptop, and that manuscript was on that laptop.”
“Coincidence, surely,” said the face doctor. “They probably grabbed whatever valuable things they could find.”
“I never heard about this autobiography until now,” said Ona. “So you think that’s why she was killed? Because someone wanted to get their hands on it?”
“It’s a possibility,” said Chase.
“A very remote one, surely,” said the doctor.
“So you weren’t concerned that you were going to be in Isobel’s autobiography?”
“Oh, no,” said Ona with a smile. “I hardly knew the woman, and she hardly knew me. Besides, I have no secrets to hide, Detective. My life is an open book.”
But as she said it, she lowered her lashes. A bad liar, I determined. Whatever Ona was hiding clearly had something to do with that fateful manuscript.
“How about you, sir?” asked Chase.
“What about me?” the surgeon said, frowning at the cop. “Secrets? I don’t have any secrets. Nothing to hide. Just ask the IRS. Everything in order and above board!” And to emphasize how ridiculous Chase’s suggestion was, he barked a hearty laugh.
I directed an inquisitive look at Joey and Zoey, who’d been following the interview with rapt attention. They had probably never been present at a police interview before, and were fascinated to watch it play out in real time, in front of their noses. “So what do you think, Joey?” I asked. “Could Ona or Max be involved in this murder business, you think?”
Joey’s eyes went wide in shock. “Max, what are you saying! Of course not! Ona could never murder a person. Absolutely not. She’s the sweetest person I know!”
“And how about her boyfriend?”
“Yeah, he’s a surgeon,” said Dooley. “And we all know that surgeons like to cut things open—people or pets. So is it possible he was suffering through acute withdrawal and found a perfect specimen in Isobel to practice his skills on?”
I wouldn’t exactly have put it that way, but it did seem to me that a surgeon would know how to go about killing a person. Though what his exact motive would be was beyond me at that point.
“Max is a decent man,” said Joey. “He would never harm anyone.”
“He’s a saint,” Zoey chimed in. “A saint who saved Ona’s life.”
“He did save Ona’s life. Because that’s what he does.”
“Doctors save lives, Max. They don’t take it.”
“Fine,” I said, holding up my paw. “I get it. Ona wouldn’t hurt a soul and Stinger is a saint. Still, saints can sin when pushed to the limit, and so can nice people like Ona. Especially when someone is threatening to expose their biggest secrets.”
“Absolutely not,” said Joey. “Ona doesn’t have secrets, and neither has Max.”
“This Max or that Max?” asked Dooley, just to make sure.
“I don’t know about this Max,” said Joey. “Maybe this Max does have secrets.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I assured the little doggie with the funny face.
“Well, that Max doesn’t have secrets either,” said Joey with conviction.
“He’s a saint,” Zoey repeated. “And saints don’t have secrets, Max.”