04b1ef9c60873c444a27c4afd3197be1

“Oh, Dooley would most definitely jump at the chance to put his paws on Harriet. He’s been praying for an opportunity to be alone with her in a situation where she’s vulnerable and prone to errors of judgment! And all because of some dumb reporter who likes stalking innocent women and children!”

“Well, if you put it that way,” I murmured.

We sat there for a moment, contemplating ways and means of getting out of the tree without risking our necks, but I couldn’t come up with anything other than that our fate rested in the hands of Dooley and Harriet who still hadn’t—at the time of writing—left those darn bushes!

“If I survive this I’m going to kill Dooley,” said Brutus.

I didn’t respond. I was starting to wonder how long the feline body can survive without taking nourishment and drink. Not long, I imagined.

And as the thought entered my mind, already my stomach was rumbling.

Yep, we were two dead cats, and all because of one cat-hating reporter and Dooley’s out-of-control libido.

Chapter 32

Gran wasn’t having a lot of fun. She’d come on this trip hoping it would be a blast, but so far it was more of a bust than a blast. The investigation was one of those weird ones, where you just kept going around in circles, and frankly she’d lost interest in the case the moment Odelia and Chase had taken the lead, making it clear they did not need a little old lady cramping their style.

And then there was the whole debacle with the Queen. Gran had hoped the Queen would become her BFF. That they’d exchange phone numbers and chat for hours and hours about their lives and how much they had in common. Instead, the Queen had been out of there like a flash the moment her precious corgis were returned, and she hadn’t seen or heard from the woman since.

Not exactly the behavior of a true BFF.

She also hated the whole lockdown scenario they’d been living. She’d hoped to visit London and take in some of the sights—preferably with her new BFF by her side—but being locked in the cottage had put a stop to that.

So no trips to London. No invitations for a slumber party at Buckingham Palace where she could have pillow fights with the Queen and drink hot cocoa while they swapped war stories from their long and eventful lives.

And now it seemed as if the whole thing was over before it even got started, with this maid being arrested. Talk about an anticlimax. The cops had dropped by and escorted the hate-spewing online troll into a car and had carted her off to prison and that was that. The end of the investigation and the end of their English sojourn. Soon it would be bye-bye and back to America.

She needed some air, that’s what she needed. So she headed for the door and walked out. Some security guy was lounging out there, looking all threatening and bearded, but she just said, “I’m going for a walk,” in a tone that allowed no backchat, and he merely nodded and watched her walk off.

He’d probably received instructions to protect Tessa, Dante and the baby, and those American tourists were all expendable. So if someone kidnapped them, who cared? Not Tessa—and most definitely not the Queen!

“Dumbasses,” she muttered as she kicked a rock that had the gall to traverse her path.

She headed along a dirt road, and as she walked, soon her mood started improving considerably. It was a beautiful day, with the sun streaming through the canopy of leaves overhead and lovingly dappling the path ahead. Soon she was wondering if maybe they couldn’t extend their trip for a couple of days. They’d probably only be in England this one time, and they needed to take advantage of the opportunity.

And she’d walked about half a mile when she was greeted by a surprising sight: Dooley and Harriet were hurrying down the road, and when they saw her, they practically yipped with joy.

“Thank God!” said Harriet. “Max and Brutus are in trouble, Gran!”

“What trouble?” she asked as she bent down, ignoring the ache in her back and the twin crackling sounds emanating from her creaky knees.

“They were chased up a tree by that nasty reporter and now they can’t get down!” said Dooley, panting freely.

“Oh, heck,” she said, straightening. “Show me the way, will ya?”

They showed her the way, and soon she found herself in a clearing, a faint whiff of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, probably from that nasty reporter, and when she looked up, she saw two cats, hugging a tree branch, and looking down at her with visible joy.

“Gran! Are we glad to see you!” Max shouted.

“Did you do hanky-panky with my girlfriend?!” Brutus demanded.

“Hanky-panky with your girlfriend? Are you nuts? There’s only one person I’d do hanky-panky with and that’s a prince. Unfortunately they’re all taken, as far as I can tell. I’d settle for a duke or a count, but same story.”

“I’m talking to Dooley,” said Brutus, clearly delusional from being up in that tree.

“Brutus, you’re an idiot!” Harriet shouted.

“Tell me the truth! Did he jump your bones when you were in those bushes?”

“Of course he didn’t jump my bones!”