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“Cats don’t frame humans,” Uncle Alec was saying. “That’s a fact. I mean, no offense to you guys,” he added, gesturing to Max and the others, “but I don’t think you have it in you to try and frame someone for a crime you committed. Am I right or am I right?”

“Cats may be a lot of things but we’re not that cunning,” Brutus agreed.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said Harriet. “Cats can be very, very cunning.”

“What is he saying, honey?” asked Alec.

“He’s saying cats are not that cunning,” said Odelia, shoving her notebook into her purse and checking the kitchen to see if all the appliances were turned off.

“And then there’s the logistics of the thing,” said Chase. “How would a cat kill a person, then plant the knife into the hand of another person, without that person’s knowledge? It can’t be done. No, I think you’re right, Alec. The case is open-and-shut. All we need to do is get a confession and we’re done.”

“That’s the plan,” said Alec. He got down from the kitchen stool and hoisted up his pants. “Well, let’s get going, kids. Chateau Leonidas awaits us.”

“Chateau Leonidas?” asked Chase. “Why am I not surprised that the man lived in an actual castle?”

“Because if you’re one of the most successful designers in the world, of course you live in a castle,” said Alec. “Besides, he’s French, so there’s that.”

“Do all French people live in castles?” asked Dooley.

“No, I don’t think they do, Dooley,” said Odelia with a smile. “Only the very wealthy.”

“Oh,” said Dooley, looking slightly disappointed.

“I, for one, can’t wait to meet this Pussy,” said Brutus with relish, then, when he caught Harriet’s sideways glance, quickly added, “I mean, so we can talk to her, and find out what she knows.”

Harriet, who’d narrowed her eyes, didn’t seem all that excited at the prospect of meeting what could very well be the richest cat in the world. And as she extended and retracted her claws a few times, Odelia thought she could actually see Brutus’s Adam’s apple nervously shift up and down.

She hadn’t even known cats actually had an Adam’s apple.

Chapter 3

I glanced over to my feline comrades. It’s one thing to act as a sleuthcat, but another to have to investigate a fellow cat for a crime they may or may not have committed. At least for me this marked the first occasion that a cat had been singled out as a possible suspect in a heinous crime like murder. Usually cats, when accused of a crime, are only guilty of misdemeanors like destroying a beloved set of curtains, a nice carpet here or there or stealing a fish from the fishmonger’s slab. I’ve even known a cat who chased little chicks around the backyard of some minor amateur chicken farmer. When interviewed after the fact, he claimed to have been looking for a feathered little friend to play with.

“Cats can be killers, though,” said Harriet seriously. “Cats have been known to kill birds and mice and on occasion even a rat or two.”

“Cats kill fish,” said Dooley, adding his two cents to the discussion.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Brutus brusquely. “Cats don’t kill fish.”

“They do!” said Dooley. “I once saw Shadow racing down Main Street with a complete fish between his teeth.”

“I’m sure Shadow didn’t catch that fish,” said Harriet.

“No, he did,” Dooley insisted. “He got it from Wilbur Vickery’s store.”

We all laughed, except for Dooley, who didn’t seem to get the joke.

“That fish was already dead, Dooley,” I said finally, when he merely stared at me, clearly expecting me to provide him with an explanation for the sudden chucklefest.

“Dead? I don’t think so.”

“Fish live in the sea,” I said, “or in rivers or lakes or even the occasional pond. They don’t hang around Wilbur Vickery’s General Store.”

“The fish Vickery sells is caught by fishermen,” Harriet said. “Men who fish. In the sea,” she added, as if addressing a not-so-clever kitten.

“Oh,” said Dooley, clearly disappointed that his war story turned out to be a benign little tale instead. “Well, he did catch it, even if it was dead already.”

“Just like I catch my kibble every day,” Brutus said with a grin.

Harriet clapped her paws.“Order, people. Let’s come to order,” she said. “Let’s focus on the task at hand. We won’t be able to help Odelia by telling tall tales of Shadow stealing fish from the General Store. We need to decide once and for all if cats are capable of homicide—in other words, the killing of a hominid.”

“A what?” asked Brutus.

“A hominid. A member of the family of the Hominidae or great apes.”

“A human,” I explained.

“Oh, right,” said Brutus.

“I once saw a story about a cat that likes to lie on top of its human’s face,” said Dooley. When we all stared at him, he added, “It was on the Discovery Channel so it must be true!”

“So did the human die?” asked Harriet.

“Yeah, that’s the real issue here,” Brutus added. “Did that human die?”

“I don’t think so,” said Dooley, frowning as he searched his memory. “No, I think he survived. At least he was alive when they interviewed him.”