“You’ve settled down, that’s what. Like all men who settle down you’ve lost your edge, Brutus. And don’t get me wrong, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. All bad boys lose their wildness at some point, and for good reason. Imagine being a bad boy all your life, picking fights and busting heads wherever you go.” She directed a tender smile at her beloved. “But it wouldn’t hurt if you showed some of that old fighting spirit from time to time, sugar plum. Especially when we need to find a dear, dear friend like Shanille, and help her in her hour of need.”
Her little pep talk seemed to have a profound effect on the butch black cat, for he puffed out his chest, and some of that old defiance returned to his features.
“We’re going to show Max that we’re the best detectives in town,” he said.
“Now you’re talking,” she said with satisfaction. “Let’s move out, detective!”
And so move out they did.
As expected, the expedition proved a tough slog. They talked to cats, dogs, parrots and even pet turtles resting in their tanks on the windowsill, taking in some of that nice sunshine that is all the rage in the summer. But what they didn’t find was a clue that would lead to the unraveling of the baffling mystery of cat choir’s missing conductor. Until finally a sleepy-looking canine who lived across the street from the rectory provided a glimmer of hope.
“Oh, sure I saw them,” said the raggedy old dog. His eyes were droopy, and so Harriet wasn’t sure if she could rely on this witness to have seen what he said he saw. “They loaded up the car and took off. Must be… four or five days ago now?”
“They packed up the car and left?” asked Harriet, excitement making her voice squeaky. “Where did they go? Did they pack a lot? Who was in the car? Tell us!”
“Hey, slow down, little lady,” said the dog, whose name was Bruce. “They didn’t pack an awful lot, just one suitcase as far as I could tell. That and a couple of cardboard boxes. And it was just Father Reilly behind the wheel, not his lady. Oh, and Shanille, of course. She was also traveling in the car with her human.”
“So Marigold wasn’t in the car?”
“No, she left last week. In her own car. Slammed the door on her way out, too.” He smiled at the recollection. “You should have seen Father Reilly’s face when she walked out. He didn’t look happy, I can tell you that. Was frowning and wringing his hands and pleading with her not to go. But she wasn’t having it. She just got in that car with that daughter of hers and that was that. Haven’t seen them since.”
Harriet exchanged a look of excitement with Brutus. Now this was the goods. This was the stuff. And they didn’t even need Max to get them this vital clue!
“Thank you so much, Bruce,” said Harriet.
“Yeah, thanks, Bruce,” said Brutus. “You’ve been a great help, buddy.”
“You’re welcome, Brutus.” The old dog smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. A dollop of drool dripped from his lip and splashed on the sidewalk where he was lying. It seemed to be his favorite spot to see the world go by and do some people-watching—one of the daily highlights in any pet’s life. “Funny your name should be Brutus and mine is Bruce. Almost as if we’re brothers from another mother.”
“Put it there, pal,” said Brutus, and held up his paw. Bruce obliged by bumping his own paw against the black cat’s, and Harriet could see that a bond for life had been established. So important if you were going to be a pet detective.
“Good job, sweetie,” she said as they went on their way.
“Yeah, Bruce provided us with some very important information,” said Brutus.
“Okay, so now we know that Marigold and Father Reilly had some kind of fight, and Marigold left with her daughter last week. And four or five days ago Father Reilly also left, in his own car, and with only Shanille as company.”
“Looks like Father Reilly was in a serious hurry,” said Brutus, nodding. “Which is probably the reason Shanille didn’t tell anyone where she was going. She simply didn’t have the time.” He gave Harriet an expectant look. “So now what?”
“Now…” She hesitated. Bruce had told them the direction the car had traveled in, but that didn’t tell them where Father Reilly had gone off to. For all they knew he could be in Florida right now, or lying on a beach in the South of France. “Now at least we know that Shanille is all right.If she was seen leaving in the car with Father Reilly a couple of days ago, chances are that she wasn’t abducted by aliens, or killed by home invaders. So that’s all good news—very good news.”
But frankly where did that leave them? Exactly nowhere.
And she was thinking hard when Brutus spoke those fateful words:“Maybe we should ask Max what to do next.”
“Absolutely not! We’re going to solve this mystery ourselves, Brutus.”
“Yes, of course. We don’t need Max.”
“That’s right. We don’t need Max!”
Still. She had no idea what to do. Which is when she spotted a familiar figure slinking along the street in her customary graceful pantherine way.
“Clarice!” she called out. “Hey, Clarice!”