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“Isn’t it obvious? Jealousy, pure and simple. Kim is an up-and-coming talent, who’s about to make it big, and Emerald a has-been on her way down.”

“So what happened?”

“So Alina and Abbey flatly refused to fire Kim. Said she was an integral part of the cast and if Kim walked, they would walk, too. And since they’re co-producing, Emerald didn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“She could have bowed out.”

“No, she couldn’t. She’s not getting the parts she used to, and she needs the work. The show was last year’s biggest hit, and was shaping up to be an even bigger hit this year, so Emerald wanted in, whatever the cost.”

“Even if she had to tolerate Kimberlee,” said Odelia, nodding.

“Exactamundo.”

“What happened just now with Verna Rectrix?” asked Chase.

“Actors,” he said with a shrug. “They’re all nuts.”

He quickly excused himself and moved off.

“If you ask me, there’s more to this Verna story than Kimberlee’s boyfriend is letting on,” said Chase.

“Definitely. Who would have thought there was so much dirt to dig up?”

“And all off the record,” said Chase with a grin.

“Absolutely. I have a hunch this whole weekend is going to be one long feast of off-the-record stories.”

Chase studied her for a moment.“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Detective Kingsley,” she said dramatically, placing a hand on his arm and gesturing around at the little cliques of gossiping Hollywood actors and their significant others, “this is what paradise looks like to a reporter.”

Chapter 8

In the daytime Kingman can always be found on Main Street, where he holds court in front of his human’s popular store. Now, in the middle of the night, for some reason the general store is closed for business, and so Kingman shifts his presence to the park, where most of Hampton Cove’s cats meet up.

We like to call it cat choir, because we have a regular conductor, who tries to tell us what to do, and tries to instill a modicum of melodiousness in the ragtag collection of cats’ wailings. But as Shanille well knows, it’s all to no avail. Cats can’t sing, and that’s the hard truth of the matter. We do know how to produce a lot of noise, and we enjoy it, too, especially in the springtime, when males and females try to attract each other’s attention for procreational purposes, which is what Harriet’s beef with Brutus apparently was all about.

So after a short hike we arrived at the park, and immediately I felt buoyed, just like Dooley had promised. My friend was right. When a cat wants to forget about his trouble with humans, all he or she needs to do is spend some time amongst his own posse, and those lingering doubts and fears all melt like snow before the summer sun. It didn’t hurt that Brutus’s troubles were greater than my own, which offered a welcome distraction. The soap opera principle.

“Kingman—hey, Kingman!” I called out when I caught sight of our trusty old comrade.

As usual, he was perched on top of the jungle gym, which offers a bird’s-eye view of the goings-on in the park. Or should I say a cat’s-eye view?

Cat choir convenes at the children’s playground. It consists of a swing, a jungle gym, and other paraphernalia designed to entertain and delight infant humans, all bolted to the ground and finished with a nice layer of rubber.

During the daytime it is overrun with children, watched over by their doting parents, but once darkness sets in, cats take over and rule this roost.

We’d joined Kingman, who was chatting up two very perky-looking cats, and he reluctantly transferred his attention to us. A spreading piebald, he is by way of being Hampton Cove’s feline mayor, and one of my oldest friends.

“You won’t believe this,” he said, “but now Shanille has gotten it into her nut that cat choir needs fresh blood, so she’s asked her cousin Minny, who lives over in Happy Bays, to send some of that town’s cats over here.” He shook his head. “As if we don’t have enough trouble laying down the law with this sorry lot.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the three dozen or so cats who were shooting the breeze, preparatory to starting rehearsals.

“Yeah, that’s all very interesting,” I said, not interested in the finer points of cat choir organization right then. “The thing is, we need your help, Kingman.”

“Okay. What is it this time? Has Dooley seen UFOs? Is he worried again about the end of the world?”

“UFOs?” asked Dooley. “What are UFOs?”

“Nothing,” I said, not wanting to get sidetracked. “Brutus needs a shrink, Kingman, and we were hoping you could recommend him one.”

Kingman stared at me for a moment, then roared with laughter, his voluminous belly quivering like jelly.“Max!” he cried, tears rolling down his furry cheeks. “That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard! A shrink! For cats!”

I wasn’t laughing, though, and neither were Harriet and Brutus. Dooley, of course, laughed right along, even though he probably had no idea what he was laughing about. He’s every sociable that way.