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But we were both disappointed, and the bet would have to remain a toss-up. For at that exact moment the front doorbell jangled, and both Odelia and Chase uttered a groan of annoyance and made to get up and start their day.

Unfortunately Chase did this with a little less tact and care than Odelia, and the upshot was that his sudden movements bumped Harriet from the bed and onto the carpeted floor, then also sent Dooley flying. The only one still in position was me, and I carefully watched Odelia as she swung her feet to the floor.“A bowl of kibble says Chase will go downstairs to open the door and Odelia is going to race to the bathroom,” I said, still wanting to win my bet.

Three pairs of cat’s eyes watched carefully as two humans stuck their feet into their respective slippers—a pair of Hello Kitty slippers for Odelia and boring old brown ones for Chase—and got up. They both moved out of the room, but before reaching the door Chase took a sharp left turn and muttered, “Can youget that, babe? I need to take a wee.” And before she had the chance to respond, he’d closed the bathroom door behind him and that was that.

Talk about a shock twist! Which just goes to show that human behavior is very hard to predict indeed.

“All bets are off,” said Dooley, sounding disappointed.

“And we still don’t know why Odelia was staring at Chase’s face for the best part of an hour,” I added, equally disappointed.

“Love!” Harriet cried as she padded to the door. “I keep telling you. Love!”

“Yeah, right,” I said. Only a female feline could come up with a dumb theory like that. Dooley and I exchanged a knowing glance. We were in agreement: Harriet was crazy. And we didn’t even need to bet kibble over that. It was a fact, borne out by long association with the white-haired Persian.

And since we were all up now we decided to follow in Odelia’s footsteps and see who this early morning visitor could be. Even before we’d set paw on the first step of the stairs, I recognized the voice of Odelia’s uncle Alec, Hampton Cove’s police chief and generally a harbinger of bad news.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “This can’t be good.”

We hurried down the stairs, all questions regarding human behavior wiped from our minds. And as we arrived in the living room, the first words I heard were,“He was dead when we got there. Dead as a dodo.”

I heaved a deep sigh. I may not know why humans like to stare at one another in the early morning, but here’s one thing I do know: humans simply can’t seem to stop murdering each other. The good thing, of course, is that this unseemly habit provides a steady flow of income for the fine upstanding men and women employed by the Hampton Cove Police Department. And Odelia.

I probably should have mentioned this before, but Odelia is by way of being a local sleuthhound. Officially she’s a reporter for theHampton Cove Gazette, but her natural curiosity and keen intelligence have turned her into something of a local amateur detective. And that’s where the four of us come in. As cats we have access to all those places that are usually off-limits even to your intrepid reporter-slash-sleuth. Places only cats can sneak into unseen and unheard, and pick up those precious tidbits of information that are not designed for snooping eyes and ears. Plus, we get to talk to all the other cats that freely roam our town, along with its resident animal population, wild or domesticated, large or small. And it provides us what a pretty accurate picture of what goes on in our town at all times, which we then dutifully convey to Odelia, and which has helped her solve numerous crimes so far.

I know they say cats are selfish and solitary creatures, and if a human wants to choose a partner from the animal kingdom they should pick a dog. Well, that’s where they would be wrong. Dogs, because of their natural tendency to shoot their mouths off and trip over their own clumsy feet, are the worst sidekick imaginable. If you really want to get the job done, you should pick a cat. Discreet, silent as the night, and naturally nosy, we are the perfect amateur sleuth’s assistant, and that isn’t merely my humble opinion. It’s a fact.

“So who’s dead?” asked Odelia, stifling a yawn.

Uncle Alec, a ruddy-faced man with russet sideburns and only a few token hairs left on top of his head, cocked an eyebrow.“Have you ever heard of Leonidas Flake?”

Odelia frowned.“The fashion designer?”

Uncle Alec nodded.“That’s the one.”

“He died?”

“He died,” the portly police chief confirmed. “And what’s more, we know exactly who did it.”

“Who?”

“Gabriel Crier. His partner of thirty years. We found him with the bloody knife in his hands, bent over the corpse of his dead lover.”

“If you know who did it, then why are you here?” Odelia asked.

He shrugged.“I just figured you’d like to have the scoop.”

Odelia’s face twisted into a wide smile. “I love you, Uncle Alec.”

“I know you do. Now where the hell is Chase? I’ve been trying to call him all morning.”

Chapter 2