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If there’s one thing I’m grateful for it is that cats are not able to drive cars. The plain truth of the matter is that I don’t like cars. What’s to like, really? Cars smell funny, they’re cramped and closed off, like a big metal box, and they move way too fast most of the time. And then of course there’s the fact that cats don’t wear seatbelts. I mean, the first car manufacturer who designs seatbelts for pets still has to arrive on the scene. Elon Musk, maybe? At any rate, even if seatbelts for pets were invented, I don’t think I’d use them. Too confining. They’d probably feel like a noose, or, worse, a leash, and as you well know cats don’t condone leashes. We’re not dogs, for crying out loud!

One of the issues that vex me when riding in cars with strangers, or even non-strangers like Odelia, is the harrowing driving style of most humans. They drive their cars as if they’re bumper cars, looking for other cars they can hit. Humans seem to enjoy driving at breakneck speeds through places teeming with people, pets and kids, where at any given moment one of those people, pets or kids might wander into the flight path of the incoming vehicle and be run over. It’s one of those absurdities I’ve never understood. One of those maniacs was now giving chase, flashing their lights and leaning on their horn, probably wanting to overtake us but not being able to, due to space constraints on this stretch of road, as well as cars coming from the opposite direction. Then, when I glanced back, to see who this road rage person could be, I was surprised to find that it was none other than Grandma Muffin!

Then again, I probably shouldn’t have been too surprised. Gran is the worst driver known to man, and that is saying something. She drives as if she’s the only person on the road, which was probably the case back when she got her license, but in the meantime more drivers have arrived on the scene, a fact which irks her to such an extent she tries to remove them from her path like corn before her sickle. She usually drives Marge’s little red Peugeot, since Marge doesn’t really need it to go to work, the library being within walking distance from the house. If I were Uncle Alec, though, I’d have grounded Gran a long time ago. A question of protecting the safety of the many from the lack of driving skills of the few, if you see what I mean.

“I think she wants us to pull over,” said Odelia now.

“I think she wants torun us over,” said Chase, craning his neck.

Odelia slowed down the car, then parked it on the shoulder. Grandma, true to Chase’s predictions, pulled over right behind us and got out. She didn’t look happy. In fact it wasn’t too much to say she looked livid.

“Hey!” she shouted even before she’d reached us. “Hey, you!”

Odelia rolled down the window.“Gran. What’s wrong?”

“I had to hear it from Tex, who had to hear it from Marge, who had to hear it from Alec!” she said, shaking her fists like one about to blow her top.

“Hear what?” asked Odelia.

“That there’s been a murder!”

“Has there been a murder?” asked Odelia.

“Don’t you play dumb with me, missy!” said Gran, still fuming.

Grandma Muffin, who is Marge and Alec’s mother, is a little old lady, with tiny white curls and tiny round glasses. She looks like Sylvester Stallone’s mom in that ageless classicStop! Or My Mom Will Shootif Estelle Getty hadn’t dyed her hair in that one. If you see Gran for the first time you might be mistaken to think she’s one of those sweet old ladies who bake cookies for her grandkids and read them bed-time stories. Gran isn’t like that. She’s more likely to shoot you where you stand than sing a lullaby. Atleast if New York gun laws weren’t so strict, and if her son didn’t keep a close eye on her.

“So why wasn’t I invited?” she demanded, practically stomping her foot.

“Invited to what?” asked Odelia, still playing coy.

“To the murder! You know how much I like a good murder!”

“Nobody likes a murder, Gran,” said Odelia. “Murders are horrible, and not something to be enjoyed.”

“You promised me I could tag along when you had another murder case. You know as well as I do what a great team we make. Like Starsky and Hutch. I’m Hutch, of course, the pretty one, and you’re the Brooklyn babe.”

“I’m not from Brooklyn.”

“Who cares! We’re a team! You don’t break up the team!”

Odelia rubbed her eyes.“Well, I guess I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Wake me! I’ve been up since five! I was up while you were still in la la land!” She stuck her head in the window and directed a scathing look at Chase. “You!”

“Ma’am?” said Chase, meeting Gran’s kindling eye.

She wagged a bony finger at him.“You should be ashamed of yourself, Detective Kingsley. Hogging my granddaughter’s time like that. You know as well as I do that I only got a couple of good years left to spend with my one and only grandchild, and you’re stealing it!”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, trying not to grin and failing.

“What’s with all the ma’am crap! It’s Mrs. Muffin!”

“Of course, Mrs. Muffin.”