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“Well, a cub scout is a member of the Cub Scouts of America,” he said, “and he gets together with other cub scouts to go camping and generally have a good time. Oh, and somehow there are cookies involved, though that part is still a little fuzzy to me.”

“You’re going to sell cookies door to door?” asked Harriet with a smirk.

“And go camping? I didn’t know you liked camping,” said Brutus, with an equally sneering quality to his voice.

“Well, if I’m going to be a full-fledged member of the Cub Scouts of America I don’t mind the camping bit and the cookies bit,” said Dooley. “I just think it will be nice to meet other cubs and get to know them.”

“You do know that the cub scouts aren’t actually cubs, right?” said Brutus.

“Of course I know,” said Dooley. “They’re kids that are cute and cuddly—like cubs.”

“Just checking.”

“And I’m sure they’ll be happy to have a real cub join up—me.”

“You’re not a cub, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Cubs are the young of big cats or bears or foxes. Ours are called kittens—and you, my friend, are not a kitten.”

“But…”

“Dooley could be a member of the Kitten Scouts of America,” Brutus suggested.

“But I…”

“If he was a kitten, which he’s not,” said Harriet.

“Cat Scouts of America, then?”

“But I want to be a cub scout,” said Dooley.

“Impossible,” said Brutus. “You’re not a cub.”

“Max? I can be a cub scout if I want to, right?”

“Um…” I said. I hated to rain on my friend’s parade, but Brutus and Harriet had put me on the spot here. If I said cub scouts were for cats, I would be lying, and if I said they weren’t for cats, I’d be dashing Dooley’s hopes of joining this particular organization Cub Scouts of America—which didn’t exist, as I’d been trying to point out to him, to no avail.

Lucky for me I was saved by the bell. Or in actual fact Odelia’s phone as it started belting out a Dua Lipa song.

“Oh, it’s Rose,” she said as she dried her hands on the kitchen towel and picked up. “Hi, Rose.” She listened for a moment, then her face creased into a frown. “Hold up—calm down. What’s wrong?” Then her eyes went wide and she glanced over to Chase, who was holding a pot of spaghetti, ready to pour it into the strainer Odelia was still holding and looking a little foolish as he did. “I’ll be right there, Rose. Don’t touch anything. Five minutes, all right?” She disconnected then said, “Jared Zmuda is dead. Rose just found him.”

Chase looked at the pot of spaghetti, the pan of spaghetti sauce gently sizzling on the stove, and I could tell he was momentarily struggling to get his priorities straight. Then, finally, he set down the spaghetti, turned off the heat on the stove, and said,“I’ll drive.”

Moments later we were speeding along the road. Odelia was on the phone again, this time with her uncle, and before long we’d arrived at the gym and alighted from the car. Chase and Odelia hurried inside, and so did the rest of us. And true enough: there he was. Jared Zmuda, lying flat on his back on one of those fitness benches. The guy was dead as a dodo, his throat crushed by the weight of the weightlifting apparatus he’d been hoping would improve his general health and wellbeing but had instead—and quite ironically I might add—ended his life.

Chapter 24

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive—well, Uncle Alec and a few of his officers at any rate. Chase, since he was already at the scene, assumed control, and immediately started doing what police detectives like to do in cases like these: looking here and there, searching all around for possibleclues. What seemed uncertain at this point was if this had been a terrible accident or… murder.

Frankly I leaned towards the former. Jared Zmuda had probably underestimated the weight he’d pulled and overestimated his capacity for lifting it. A comment Chase made convinced me of the probability of this theory.

“He shouldn’t have tried to lift such a weight without a spotter,” he told Odelia.

“A spotter?” I asked. “What’s a spotter?”

It was Odelia who responded, as Chase unfortunately is one of those rare humans who can’t understand what cats are saying.

“A spotter is a person who stands next to the person lifting a weight and makes sure that if the person is incapable of making that final push and replace the weight on the stand, assists him. Otherwise he might be in trouble when he can’t.”

“Just like Mr. Zmuda,” I said.

“Just like Jared Zmuda,” she agreed.

But then Uncle Alec came rushing in, followed by Abe Cornwall, the county coroner, and so we all had to take a backseat while the police and the coroner went about their business.

“I’m taking you home with me if that’s all right,” Odelia told Rose as she placed an arm around the shocked girl’s shoulders.

Rose nodded, her eyes teary and her demeanor downcast.

“Poor girl,” I said. “Two dead bodies in two days. It would be enough for anyone to be completely discombobulated.”