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Frankly I didn’t know what the big deal about dental hygiene was either. Nowadays with all the pampering going on, and kitties getting massages, and saunas, and facials, and pedicures and manicures, why not add brushing teeth to the mix? Take Pussy, for instance. She was a bona fide Instagram star, and no one laughed at her. On the contrary, cats admired her, and aspired to live the kind of life she lived. So maybe Dooley was right, and I should put aside my petty prejudices and allow Odelia to brush my teeth.

And I was still thinking about this when suddenly a panel van stopped right next to us and two men jumped out.“I’ll take the fat one, you take the midget,” a big, bearded man announced. And before we knew what hit us, we’d both been scooped up into some kind of fishing net, and deposited in the back of the van. The doors were slammed shut and then we were off, being taken to a destination unknown.

Though I had a pretty good idea what that destination could be, and so did Dooley, judging from his next words, spoken in visible and audible distress.

“Max, they’re taking us to the pound!”

Chapter 14

Jacob Turner, mayor of Hampton Cove, pounded the table with his fist.“Where’s my Duffer! I want my slice of Duffer!”

Lewis Ferries, who would be his server today, came running.“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mayor, but we’re all out of Duffers, I’m afraid.”

“Then get me some from the Duffer Store,” said the Mayor, showcasing the keen intelligence your local politician needs.

He was having lunch at Fry Me For An Oyster, conveniently located around the block from Town Hall, and had ordered his usual: a slice of Duffer as an amuse-bouche.

This was his daily routine, and one from which he hadn’t varied since beginning his stint as Hampton Cove’s mayor.

“I’m afraid they’re all out, too, Mr. Mayor,” said the server, wringing his hands.

“Get me the manager!” the mayor yelled, never satisfied with dealing with underlings when he could be dealing with the brass.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor, sir,” said the server, hurrying away.

The mayor, a sixty-something man of impressive proportions, pulled at his white mustache. It was this mustache that had played an important part in his career. Even as a young man the mustache had lent its hitherto hapless owner prestige and a certains?rieux, and when that mustache had suddenly turned from its original mustard color to a distinguished white, as had his hair and sideburns, that prestige had grown with leaps and bounds. One look at the Turner mustache and voters knew that here was a man they could trust. A man in whose hands they could safely place their future. It had been thus when he’d been a lowly bank teller at the First National Bank of Long Island, where people entrusted him with their hard-earned paycheck, and it had been so when he’d gone into politics and had reached the pinnacle of his political career by becoming mayor of his town, twenty-five years ago today. The only thing that hadn’t changed in all those years, except the volumeof his mustache, was the nature of his favorite salami.

He liked his Duffer and he liked it on a daily basis.

Wallace Banio, the ma?tre d’ at Fry Me For An Oyster, had arrived and was clasping his hands in front of his white apron. He was a nervous little man with a nervous little black mustache, and looked even more nervous now. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Mayor,” he said.

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” said the Mayor. “I want my Duffer and I want it now!”

He’d resumed his habit of pounding the table with his fist, and the sound made the ma?tre d’ flinch. Other customers were already turning in their seats and staring in their direction. And a disgruntled mayor could very well be the kiss of death for a five-star establishment like the Fry Me For An Oyster, especially in these troubled times, when competition was relentless and restaurants popped up like a rash all over the place.

“I’ll try and wrangle one up for you, Mr. Mayor. Please bear with me. Five minutes.”

He hurried away, already taking his phone out of his pocket. Surely there was a Duffer somewhere he could supply to this most distinguished customer.

“Hello, is this the Duffer Store? Yes, this is Wallace Banio, ma?tre d’ of Fry Me For An Oyster. Mayor Turner is one of our patrons today, and he wants a Duffer. Yes, the XXL.”

“I’m very sorry, Wallace,” said the voice on the other end, after identifying itself as belonging to Colin Duffer himself. “But we’re all out of Duffers right now. As soon as the new stock arrives I’ll send over a box of the XXL with my personal compliments.”

“You don’t understand, Colin. If I don’t get the Mayor a slice of his favorite salami right this minute, he’ll go nuts! The man has been gorging on Duffers every day for the past twenty-five years and he’s become superstitious about it. If he misses even a single day he thinks it will be the end of his mayoralty!”

“I’m sorry, Wallace. Like I said, we’re all out.”

“One Duffer, Colin! Just give me one Duffer. Half a Duffer! A single slice! Please!”