40b1ce81e27faee7f7dcd22da99b93e1

“Alain Maury,” said Deith. “He won’t mind answering your questions. And now if there’s nothing else, I would like to talk to my lawyer.” When Odelia made to speak, she held up her hand. “About the inheritance, not this so-called murder.” And with these words, she was off, clutching her Chanel purse under her arms, looking like a woman with not a single care in the world.

Odelia sighed. If only she could exude so much class!

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

The day of Harriet’s photoshoot had finally arrived. The prissy Persian was primped and ready, and not a little excited to give of her best and become the first feline in Hampton Cove to grace the cover ofCat Life, only the most popular magazine for cat lovers in the country—perhaps even the world!

The location of the shoot was a studio located on the top floor of Advantage Publishing headquarters, which was a slight disappointment, for Harriet had fully expected the shoot to be an outdoor affair, with some glorious scenery to be displayed behind her. Perhaps the Sahara desert, or the Manhattan skyline.

Instead, they had her in front of a green screen, with the photographer explaining to Odelia and Gran and Scarlett and Marge, who had all decided to be there for this momentous occasion, that they would fill in the background later on. It could be the Eiffel Tower, or the Grand Canyon, or some babbling brook or even an airplane. They hadn’t decided yet, which Harriet thought was outrageous.

Then again, the company had just lost its CEO, so perhaps that was the reason they were so ill-prepared.

“I think you look great, sugar pie,” said Brutus, who was watching from the sidelines as Harriet got done up to perfection by a professional pet groomer.

“I know I look great,” said Harriet as she followed the groomer’s progress in the mirror. That spot on her nose was gone, and no other spots had appeared, so it was all good. Except that she felt that her nose didn’t look its usual roseate pink but had developed a slight brownish discoloration. Nothing Photoshop wouldn’t be able to fix, however—as Brutus kept saying.

“How long is this going to take?” she heard Gran ask. “It’s just that we’re supposed to be working.”

“You’re an intern, aren’t you?” Harriet snapped. “So that means you’re not being paid. Which means you can take as many breaks as you want.”

Gran declined to respond, since it would look a little weird in front of the photographer and his team, but she could tell that the old lady couldn’t wait to get back to the office, and do whatever it was that she was doing there. Some matchmaking nonsense, if Max was to be believed. Just a lot of silliness, at any rate. What could be more important than this photoshoot? Nothing!

“Just sit back and enjoy,” said the groomer as she powdered Harriet’s nose. “This is your moment, sweetie. This is the day you’re going to be immortalized!”

And so she sat back and tried to relax. This was her moment. Her big moment!

[Êàðòèíêà: img_4]

I was watching the scene with a sort of detachment. My mind was whirring with potential suspects and possible scenarios of how Michael Madison could have met such a sticky end. Odelia had told us about her brief interview with Deith Madison, and how she had checked with the woman’s boyfriend, who’d confirmed her alibi. So that was one less suspect to consider, which unfortunately didn’t make things easier for us.

We’d already come to the conclusion that Tom Mitchell was our guy, considering his habit of chucking people he didn’t like out of windows. But a second visit to Melanie Mitchell had only met with the latter’s firm reiteration of her earlier statement that Tom had been home that night—all night.

So he couldn’t have done it either. Unless Melanie was lying, of course.

“She looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” said Brutus with a sort of whimpering adulation. “These pictures are for the kids.”

“What kids?” I asked. “You guys don’t have kids.”

Brutus winced.“Please keep your voice down!”

“But it’s true,” I said. “You’re neutered and Harriet is spayed.”

“We could always adopt,” he said.

“But—”

“For God’s sakes, Max, don’t spoil Harriet’s finest hour!”

“Okay, fine,” I said. “Forget I said anything.”

“I will. Now please be quiet. This is her moment. Her moment to shine.”

And shine, she did. The groomer had finished prepping her to within an inch of her life, and she had never looked better—or more unnatural. Her fur had a sort of shine to it, which very likely came from a bottle, and her face was lit up.

“She’s glowing, isn’t she, Max?” said Dooley. “She’s actually glowing.”

“Glowing from all the junk they’ve put on her,” I grumbled.

Okay, so I wasn’t in a good mood. Can you blame me? My human had asked me to assist her in cracking this case, and so far all I’d done was move around in circles, not getting any closer to the truth. It was frustrating, to say the least.