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“Oh, sure, honey,” said Gran, as she kept a keen eye on the house of Neda Hoeppner, now dark and deserted. “Shoot.”

“Well, you know how St. Theresa Choir is having their big concert next week, right?”

“I doubt that’ll happen. With their choir leader bludgeoned to death this morning.”

“She wasn’t actually bludgeoned to death, Gran,” I reminded her. “She fell and hit her head.”

“Fell or was pushed? There lies the difference between murder and an accident, Max.”

Scarlett, who had a hard time following the conversation, yawned.“I really wish you’d translate what they’re talking about, Vesta. It gets annoying for me otherwise.”

“Oh, sure, hon,” said Gran, and obliged her friend by translating Harriet’s words.

“So if that concert goes through,” Harriet continued, “I was thinking that maybe cat choir could join St. Theresa Choir and we could stage a concert with the two choirs.”

Gran frowned. This was clearly a train of thought she’d never considered before. “Huh,” she said finally. “St. Theresa Choir and cat choir together on the same stage.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Brutus. “It’s going to blow the roof off that old church. It’s going to attract a lot of attention and show the world what cat choir can really do.”

“Thanks, snuggle bunny,” said Harriet.

“And especially your star performance, of course, sugar lips,” her mate continued, unabashedly plugging Harriet’s qualities as a soprano.

“Thanks, my wuggle bear.”

“I don’t know, Harriet,” said Gran. “We’d have to sell Francis on the idea, and you know what that stubborn old fool is like.”

“No, what is he like?” asked Harriet.

“Old-fashioned. Anything that’s new or hip or cool is a hard pass with that man.” She was frowning before her into the dark night, as if picturing the aged priest and thinking hard thoughts about his capacity for embracing Harriet’s idea—which I was sure Gran had now taken on board and had magically transformed into her own idea.

“Well, can’t you at least talk to him?” asked Harriet.

“Oh, sure, but I can’t promise you he’ll agree.”

“But you have to try, Gran,” said Harriet. “You have to do the best you can.”

“And I will. Of course I will.”

Harriet cheered up considerably at these words.“So you think it’s a good idea?”

“Absolutely. I think it’s just as you say. It’s going to be a big smash. Now all we need to do is convince that old nincompoop…”

Her words died away, for suddenly a car was approaching. It had its lights turned off, and was cruising very slowly in our direction!

“This is it,” said Gran, sitting up. “The killer is back!”

“You were right, Vesta!” Scarlett cried excitedly.

“Of course I was right. When have you ever known me not to be right!”

“How do we handle this?” said Scarlett, as she nervously shifted in her seat. “We can’t let him get away.”

“You take the stun gun, I’ll take the shotgun, and as for the others…” She cast a quick glance at the backseat, where four cats sat at attention, ready to do their bit. “You make sure that when this guy makes a run for it, you grab him and grab him good, all right?”

“Aye-aye, captain!” Brutus bellowed.

And so it was arranged: Gran and Scarlett would form the advance troops, ready to hit the killer by surprise, and the four of us would hold back, and make sure that if the killer managed to evade two old ladies armed to the teeth, we’d bite them in the ankles or do whatever else it took to incapacitate Neda’s vicious attacker!

Gran and Scarlett carefully opened their respective doors, after Gran had had the presence of mind to disable that little car light that annoyingly announces to anyone and sundry that something is going down, and slowly got out.

The killer’s car had parked three cars in front of us, so while Gran kept to the left side, and used the intervening cars as cover, Scarlett did the same thing on the right side.

A two-pronged attack!

And as for us? We simply crept underneath the vehicles, making sure we stayed in the shadows.

Soon Gran had reached the car parked right behind the killer, and Scarlett was waiting in the right wing for Gran’s signal announcing their surprise attack.

Then Gran suddenly hissed,“Now!” and both women sprung the trap, Gran securing the driver’s side door and Scarlett the passenger side door. They both yanked open their designated doors, while four cats sat watching on with bated breath, claws out!

Judging from Gran’s face, though, the identity of the killer surprised her a great deal, for she momentarily reeled. And then she said, “What the hell are you doing here!”

“I could ask you the same thing,” an irritable voice sounded from within the car.

“I should have known it was you,” said Scarlett, sounding disappointed.

And then the killer emerged from the car—or the two killers, actually.

They were, reading from left to right: Wilbur Vickery and Father Reilly!

16

Wilbur and Father Reilly had had the exact same idea as Gran and had decided that if the killer returned to the scene of the crime, they’d be the ones to nab them.