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“Suicide? Murder, you mean.”

“Pretty sure it’s suicide.”

Gran patted her cheek.“You’re so naive. Now show me the dead woman. I’m gonna nail this perp before the body is cold or my name isn’t Vesta the Great.”

“Your name isn’t Vesta the Great.”

“That’s what I said.” She suddenly caught sight of a young police officer and collared him. “Hey, you! Show me the body!”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the officer, recognizing his boss’s mother, and graciously took her arm and led her up the stairs.

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“Oh, boy,” I said, as I watched Gran disappear from view.

“You guys better follow me to my room,” said Odelia. “Emerald is allegedly allergic to cats, and doesn’t want you skulking around.”

“If you didn’t want us skulking around you shouldn’t have brought us here,” said Harriet, who wasn’t used to being hidden away like a stowaway.

“I didn’t bring you—Gran did,” said Odelia.

“What? We thought this was your idea,” I said.

“No, it wasn’t. I told her not to come.”

“You told us not to come?” asked Dooley. “You don’t want us here?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You literally just did,” said Harriet dryly.

“Let’s go up to my room,” said Odelia, who looked uncomfortable.

She led the way up the stairs, the four of us following in her wake.

As we arrived upstairs, a little white fluffy dog greeted us.

“And who are you?” asked the dog, not very welcoming, I thought.

“Oh, hey, Fanny,” said Odelia, crouching down. Turning to us, she added, “You guys, meet Fanny. She’s Emerald’s. Isn’t that right, Fanny?”

Fanny ignored Odelia, her attention fixed on us—the intruders. “I should probably tell you cats are not allowed in this house. We are allergic to cats.”

“Give me a break,” said Brutus. “A dog allergic to cats? What a bunch of—”

“I didn’t sayI was allergic to cats,” said Fanny, tilting her chin. “I saidwe are allergic to cats—in reference to my beloved human Emerald.”

“Well, I guess she’ll just have to get used to us,” said Harriet, who had no patience for uppity little doggies—or uppity humans, for that matter.

“I can’t say it any clearer than this,” said Fanny, who wasn’t budging. She assumed a fighting position, which was a little funny for a teensy weensy ball of fluff. “You shall not pass!”

Harriet rolled her eyes.“Who died and made you queen of the mansion?”

“Died?” Fanny cocked a whisker at Harriet. “Who told you someone died?”

“Gran did. And she’s here to solve the murder.”

“Murder!” Fanny cried. “Nobody told me about no murder.”

“That’s because there was no murder,” I said.

“Wait, does she think it was murder?” asked Odelia, crouching down.

Fanny stared from Harriet to Odelia.“Can you… talk to your human?”

“Yes, I can,” said Harriet triumphantly. “And she can talk to us, too.”

“That’s more or less a given,” I murmured.

“Ask her if she saw what happened,” said Odelia.

“I wasn’t there,” said Fanny. “But I know someone who was. Stevie.”

“Who’s Stevie?” asked Harriet.

“The dead woman’s Brussels Griffon. She was in the room with her.”

“We have to talk to Stevie,” said Harriet, looking up at Odelia. “She was there when the dead woman died.”

Odelia smiled and patted Harriet’s head. “Well, done, honey. We’ll do that later. First I’ll show you your room. Oh, and before I forget, did Gran bring your stuff?”

“I’ll bet she forgot,” I said.

“No worries,” said Odelia. “I’ll borrow one of Fanny’s bowls.”

“Hey—no borrowing my bowls!” yelled Fanny. “I need all of them!”

But we’d already reached Odelia’s room and she now ushered us in.

The moment she’d closed the door, I turned to her. “All right. Let’s get this out of the way once and for all. Why did you have a vital part of our anatomy removed for no good reason at all?”

Chapter 22

“Look, I’m sorry I never told you,” said Odelia, which was a good way to start, I thought, “but it was for your own good,” which I thought was a bad way to finish.

“For our own good?!” cried Harriet. “You took away our proactive capacity. How can that be for our own good?”

“Reproductive,” I corrected her.

“Whatever!”

“Look, before we get into this, I want you to know this hasn’t affected you in any way—on the contrary, it’s been proven that male cats that are neutered suffer less risk of disease and certain cancers, and the same goes for females. It also limits aggression in males and the mating instinct in females.”

Looked like it hadn’t worked for Harriet, I thought, who had a very powerful mating instinct. And as far as aggression in males went, Brutus could be just a touch too aggressive in my view. But who was I to contradict Odelia’s words? She seemed to know all about the topic—more than us cats!

“So you see?” Odelia concluded her instructional little talk. “It’s all good!”

“The thing is, Odelia,” said Brutus, “that Harriet and I want to start a family. You know, settle down, raise a couple of rug rats. So we’d like very much for you to make an appointment with Vena and get these tubes untied.”

“Yeah, we’ve decided to take our relationship to the next level,” said Harriet, “and bless the love we share with offspring of our own.”