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Retreating to her office, she wondered briefly where Max and the others could be. By now they should have had the chance to talk to Pussy, Flake’s famous cat. If only to add another angle to her story. But then she relaxed. Gran was right. They’d probably returned home by now. Or maybe, just maybe, they were still scouting the Flake place. Max liked to be thorough when he was investigating a crime. He was probably still hard at work, extracting information from Pussy. And if Flake really had a petting zoo, they would have found plenty of witnesses to talk to. Good thing she had until tonight to finish her story. She’d find Max when she got home, get a few juicy quotes, sprinkle them into her story, then send it to Dan for his final edit.

She took out her phone and brought up Pussy’s Instagram. She was an exceedingly pretty cat, and her feed showcased her expensive habits: gorgeous haircuts, fancy outfits, exclusive parties, funky playpen, gourmet p?t?…

She smiled. No wonder Max and the others had vanished from the face of the earth. They were probably having the time of their life with Princess Pussy.

Chapter 12

When I say that cats, as a rule, don’t like it when things get too hot or too cold, I like to include myself in that description. The sun had gradually risen, and had kept on rising, and had now reached the point where it had hoisted itself over the roof of the monstrosity that Leonidas Flake had built. And showcasing its customaryplayfulness, it now tickled my nose, and soon I was hotting up to such an extent that, even though the grass was still cool, I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Dooley must have reached the same conclusion, for he opened his eyes at the same time I did, and said plaintively, “This darned sun keeps following us wherever we go, Max. It’s persecution.”

I could have told him that the sun in actual fact did no such thing. That the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around, but I was too lazy from my nice nap to bother. So all I said was,“Let’s find another spot.”

But as soon as we got up we both experienced a little hunger, so instead of relocating we decided instead to follow in our ancestors’ paw steps and go in search of a bite to eat instead. Even though Samson the chicken might have enjoyed the food he’d been given, I have to admit it left much to be desired.

So we set paw for the house, the only place we hadn’t examined, since we were still on strike.

“We can sneak into the house and not break our strike, can’t we, Max?” asked Dooley as we approached that ominous block of black concrete.

“Of course,” I said. “The only thing we can’t do is perform acts of detection. So no talking to any suspects or witnesses or whatever.”

“I can do that,” said Dooley cheerfully.

As we moved away from the petting zoo, a deep voice rang out behind us.“Hey, cats!” the voice spoke.

We both turned, and discovered the voice belonged to the donkey.

“Yes, donkey?” I said politely, for Odelia has always taught us to be polite.

“Is it true that you’re some kind of detectives?”

“No, we’re not,” I said. “Well, technically we are,” I admitted when Dooley gave me a curious look, “but right now we’re on strike so we’re not allowed by our union to perform any detective-related activities.”

The donkey was silent while he absorbed this important information, then said,“Is it true that the boss is dead?”

“Yes,” I said, not seeing how confirming the man’s death broke the union decree. “Yes, he is. At least that’s what a usually reliable source told us.”

“How did he die?”

“Stabbed in the chest. By his live-in lover, a man called…”

“Gabriel Crier,” said the donkey somberly. “I know Gabe. We all do.”

More animals had gathered around. I saw a horse, a cow, a goat, two rabbits, two sheep… Quite the collection.

“I liked Leonidas,” said one of the rabbits. “He always gave me fresh grass and hay. Who’s going to give me fresh grass and hay now?”

“I’m sure someone else will come along to take care of you all,” I said. “By all accounts Mr. Flake was a very wealthy man and I’m sure he’ll have made provisions for you in his last will and testament.”

“I’ll bet he didn’t,” bleated the goat, who seemed like a somber sort of fellow. “I’ll bet he forgot all about us.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” countered the donkey. “I actually asked Gabe about it last week.”

“And what did he say?”

“Well, always considering the fact that Gabe doesn’t actually speak donkey, the impression I got was that he cares for us a great deal and would never leave us to fend for ourselves.”

“What does that even mean?!” cried the cow.

“It means that he will have made sure we’d be taken care of.”

“But he’s in jail, isn’t he? For murder!” said the sheep. “So if he’s gone, and the old man’s gone, who’s going to need me? Who’s going to feed me?”

Somehow this reminded me of a song, though I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.