31906844db5c02010017a90f3f2ca805

He then placed the cage in the back of a golf cart, got behind the wheel, and pushed a button. The thing came to life with a soft purr and then we were off, Dooley and I locked up in the cage, being carted off in a direction unknown, by a man who seemed to love rules.

We rode through a landscape that looked like the golf course part of the country club, and I wondered if he was going to give us golfing lessons next. I didn’t think so. That probably wasn’t in his particular rulebook.

Just then, a booming voice had us both jump up to the top of our cage.

“Sad day,” boomed the voice.

Chapter 25

We turned in the direction of the voice, and found ourselves looking at a second cage, placed next to ours. This one was bigger, and contained a sad-looking Droopy dog.

We’d finally found our dog. Though perhaps not in the most pleasant of circumstances.

“Oh, hey, dog,” I said by way of greeting. “My name is Max, and this is Dooley.”

“Melvin,” said the Basset Hound. “So they caught you guys trespassing too, huh?”

“We weren’t trespassing,” I said with a measure of indignation. “Our human didn’t know this place had rules about pets, so she brought us along in her car.”

“I was just looking for a bite to eat,” said the sad dog in a drawling voice. “And each time I come to this club I get to have a nice gourmet meal. Unless I’m caught and kicked out, of course,” he added mournfully.

From his demeanor I guessed he hadn’t had time to enjoy his gourmet meal before being kicked out today, though.

“So what are you cats doing here?” he asked.

“Our human is a detective. She solves murders,” I explained. “And right now she’s trying to solve the murder of Camilla Kirby.”

“So she brought us here hoping to talk to someone who knows Jeb Pott—that’s Camilla’s ex-husband—and shed some light on this murder business,” Dooley continued.

“I know Jeb,” said the dog.

I was surprised by this.“You do?”

“Oh, sure. We used to spend a lot of time together.”

I couldn’t believe our luck. Of all the places in town, we’d found the one place where we got to meet Jeb Pott’s dog.

“So Jeb is your human, huh?”

“Oh, no. I don’t have a human. I belong to no one. Well,” he corrected himself after a pause, “I used to belong to someone, but that was before they tied me to a tree and took off. I haven’t belonged to anyone since.”

“What a horrible thing to do!” Dooley said. “Who does that?”

“Humans,” said the dog. “That’s who.”

“Not all humans are like that,” I told the dog. “Our human would never, ever do such a horrible, unspeakable thing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clearly not giving much credence to my words. “So Jeb, huh? Long time no see. We used to have such a good time when he was in town. He’d stumble from bar to bar and I’d follow him, then when he was passed out on the street, drunk as a skunk, I’d keep him company. People would pass us by and throw money in his hat, and a bone for me. I ate the bones, and Jeb, when he finally woke up from his drunken stupor, would use the money to buy us a nice meal. A burger for him, and a nice sausage for me.”

“Did this… happen fairly recently?” I asked, surprised that a Hollywood megastar would choose to live the life of a common tramp.

“Oh, sure. Only last month we went on another one of our midnight benders. Well, he went on his bender, while I stuck close to him and made sure he arrived home safe and sound. Jeb has balance issues, and orientation issues, and… Well, a lot of issues, I guess.”

“Jeb supposedly killed his ex-wife two nights ago,” I said. “So now we’re trying to find out if he really did kill her, or if maybe somebody else did and they’re trying to blame him.”

“Jeb would never kill anyone,” said Melvin decidedly. “Jeb is a dog lover, and dog lovers are not killers.”

“Yes, but he really didn’t like his ex-wife, and maybe he finally decided that enough was enough and so he killed her in a rage.”

“Not a rage,” Dooley said. “He invited her by text, so he must have planned it.”

“Premeditated murder,” said Melvin, nodding. He seemed to be a dog of the world. “No, Jeb doesn’t have it in him to do such a thing. Take my word for it, cats. I’ve seen him give his last cent to a street bum.”

From one street bum to another, I thought. It didn’t mean that Jeb wouldn’t kill Camilla, of course. It’s not because someone loves dogs and bums that he doesn’t harbor a festering hatred towards the woman he blames for his downfall.

“If anyone did this, it’s one of the guys Jeb owes money to,” said Melvin.

“Jeb owes money?” I asked, surprised.

“I thought he was rich,” said Dooley. “Aren’t all Hollywood stars filthy rich?”

“Not all of them,” I said. And apparently Jeb lost a lot of money in the divorce. Lawyers are costly, and so are ex-wives with expensive tastes.