“Look, you just can’t go around driving like a maniac, son,” said Chase, switching gears and adopting a more fatherly tone. “Or throwing stones through people’s windows, just because they applied for the same job you did.”
“But I didn’t, I swear!” the man bleated weakly.
“So you’re actually going to sit there and tell me that you coming to Hampton Cove, of all places, is just a coincidence?”
“It is, I’m telling you!”
“You’re a lousy liar, Crowley,” Chase grunted.
“But I’m telling you the truth,” he said softly. He had sort of collapsed in on himself, and was sitting slumped in his chair, a miserable pile of human being.
“You’re lucky no one got hurt this time,” Chase grumbled. And he proceeded to give the designer a lecture on respect for other people’s property and the proper way to behave in traffic.
“Is he going to arrest him?” asked Dooley.
“I doubt it,” I said. “No one actually got hurt in that driving incident, and there’s no evidence linking him to the broken window, so that’s going to be hard to prove. And as far as the smear campaign against Steph is concerned, that incident is being handled by the NYPD as a separate investigation.”
“It’s possible he’s telling the truth. A lot of people come to Hampton Cove just to enjoy some fun time at the beach. And he did say how much he likes to swim.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence,” I said, shaking my head. “The same person who competed with Steph for that job ends up in the same place at the same time, and even manages to cut her off while traveling in the same direction? He’s up to something, that’s for sure.” But whatever Edmundo had in mind for whatever reason would hopefully end now. Chase’s little speech would go a long way toward accomplishing that. And if the aspiring designer knew what was good for him, he’d stop now.
Though it would have been good to know what had possessed the guy to do a thing like that. One thing was for sure: it wasn’t because he liked swimming.
CHAPTER 13
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While Chase returned to the office to type up his report, and Odelia returned to her office to type up her article, Dooley and I decided to pay a visit to Kingman. We hadn’t forgotten about the equally important task we’d taken upon ourselves of trying to locate Shanille, and I thought that maybe Kingman would know more. The big cat proudly carries the proverbial badge of best-informed feline in Hampton Cove, and now was his chance to prove it.
Unfortunately when we arrived, it soon became clear that he had no idea about our missing conductor’s whereabouts either.
“It’s a mystery, fellas!” he cried, throwing up his paws in despair.
Harriet and Brutus had also had the same idea I’d had, and so the five of us organized an impromptu brainstorming session, trying to come up with some kind of plan. It’s always important to have a plan, you see, before you go off on some mission. James Bond always has a plan before he tries to save the world from yet another bomb-building evil genius located in some weirdly remote spot on the globe. But at least James gets his plans from his superiors, who are identified not by their names but by a letter. Like M. Or Q. Or maybe even Z.
“Okay, I suggest we start by interviewing anyone who could have seen Shanille before she disappeared,” said Harriet, quickly taking control of the meeting.
“But humans can’t understand us,” Dooley pointed out. “So we can’t talk to them.”
“Who said anything about talking to humans? We’re going to talk to pets, Dooley. Because wherever humans are, there will always be pets—and plenty of them, too. So all we need to do is talk to all the pets who live in the neighborhood. Someone is bound to have seen something. A car drive off with Father Reilly behind the wheel. Or a camper van parked in front of the rectory. Anything.”
“So you agree with me that Father Reilly is on vacation and took Shanille along?” I asked.
“At this point it’s my main line of inquiry,” Harriet confirmed. “The other possibility is simply too horrendous to even contemplate.”
“Alien abduction?” Dooley ventured.
“Mischief,” Harriet countered.
“What do you mean?”
“Do I have to spell it out to you?”
“Yes, please,” he said happily.
Harriet rolled her eyes, but then Brutus beat her to the punch.“What Harriet means is that something could have happened to Father Reilly. Something bad.”
“Like bad breath?” asked Dooley. “Or maybe he ate a bad apple?”
“No, Dooley,” said Brutus, adopting a grave tone. “More like a bad person did something bad to him.”