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“Yoko could come back to erase every last trace of her crime,” said Dooley, who still hadn’t given up on that Nurse Bauer wannabe as his prime suspect. “Maybe she dropped something, and now she’s going to have to find it, before the police do.”

“Good thinking, Dooley,” said Gran, before relaying Dooley’s latest brainwave to her friend.

Scarlett was staring intently at me and Dooley.“You know, sometimes I think I can almost understand them,” she said now. “I feel like I’m almost there—but not quite.”

“You’ll learn,” said Gran, patting her on the arm. “You just stick with me, and I’m sure that my skill will rub off on you sooner or later.”

“I would like that,” said Scarlett. “It would be so much fun to understand cats and dogs and all the other pets.”

“Just cats,” said Gran curtly as she took a swallow from her hot chocolate. A small puff of cream was left on her upper lip but she didn’t seem to notice.

“What do you mean, just cats?”

“We can only understand cats,” said Gran. “I’ve told you this, Scarlett.”

“You mean you can’t understand dogs?”

“Nope. No dogs, only cats. Though Max and Dooley can talk to dogs, and if they’ve got important information to share, they tell us. Though I can’t imagine dogs could ever have anything important to tell us. They are, after all, an inferior species compared to cats.”

“But I would like to talk to dogs,” said Scarlett. “I like dogs more than cats,” she explained.

Gran sat up as if stung.“You never told me that!”

“Well, I do. I’m a dog person.”

“No way!”

“Yes, way. Dogs are cute and funny. Cats are… well, a little scary, you have to admit.”

“I don’t have to admit anything! Dogs are dumb, Scarlett. Cats are smart. Everybody knows that.”

“Dogs can be very smart, too, Vesta. Some of them even save humans from certain death, when they’re buried under an avalanche or whatever.”

“You’re thinking of St. Bernards,” said Gran, a dark frown still creasing her brow. “They like to lug a gallon of Scotch around the mountains for some mysterious reason.”

“Or how about that nice dog that followed Richard Gere around in that movie?”

“Following Richard Gere around like a moron doesn’t necessarily indicate smarts.”

“Well, I think dogs are all right.”

“Okay, be that way,” said Gran with a sigh. “But don’t expect me to agree with you because I don’t.”

“Fine. Let’s agree to disagree.”

“If you say so,” said Gran, but it was obvious her respect for Scarlett had taken a big hit. A St. Bernard-sized hit, in fact. She got up, abruptly shoving back her chair, which scraped on the stone floor. “Well, I gotta go. I’m meeting my decorator Jason.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Scarlett, and drained her cup. “I want to meet this guy.”

“He’s the best,” said Gran as she threw down a couple of bills. “The best of the best, in fact.” She gave both me and Dooley a kiss on the top of our heads, and then they were off. “So how did you get this weird fascination with dogs? And do you think it can be cured?”

“It’s not a disease, Vesta. I just happen to like dogs.”

“I think you should see a shrink. This is not normal.”

“Plenty of people like dogs!”

“Plenty of people are sick in the head.”

“You take that back, Vesta Muffin.”

“I’m just trying to help!”

13

Odelia, who’d enjoyed a nice coffee and a piece of banana cake with cream on top, announced it was time for our last interview of the day.

And so we found ourselves sitting in the car with her and Chase as the cop drove us in short order—but always within the speed limit—to the home of the Larobskis.

Hazel Larobski, when she opened the door, turned out to be a woman with lined face but plenty of unnaturally dark hair that fell in curls around that face. It was hard to determine how old she really was, which was the same problem I’d had with Janette Bittiner and even with Neda’s secretary Cher. Hazel’s face told me she was closer to sixty than forty, but her hair broadcast the message she was barely out of her teens.

“Oh, hi,” said Hazel, as her eyes keenly swept across the small company that stood on her welcome mat.

“Chase Kingsley. Hampton Cove PD,” Chase grunted, and whipped out his badge, as he’d probably done a million times throughout his professional life.

Hazel’s eyes went a little wider, then she said, “This is about Neda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” said Chase. “May we come in?”

“Um, sure,” said Hazel, and stepped aside to allow us passage into her neat little home. “Don’t mind the mess,” she said apologetically as she led us into the living room. “My cleaner comes in on Tuesdays, even though I would have preferred Mondays, of course.”

Why Monday would be a better day for a cleaner to come in than a Tuesday, I really couldn’t say, but then the world of humans still holds many mysteries for me, of course. I’m their always eager student, but sometimes I have a feeling it’s going to take me my whole life to understand even a small snippet of what makes this peculiar species tick.