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“Hey, you guys,” he said when we waltzed into the salon. Charlene Butterwick was on the chair, subjecting herself to Fido’s stellar technique.

When she saw us, she smiled through the mirror, and I gave her a little wave of acknowledgment.

“Buster, Odelia received a mysterious note this morning,” I told our friend, deciding to forgo the small talk for once. “And she really wants to know who delivered that note.”

Fido’s shop is on the corner of the street where Odelia’s office is also located, and Buster can see the Gazette office from the hairdresser’s window. I just hoped the Maine Coon hadn’t slackened his notorious vigilance, and had seen all, as he usually does.

“Oh, that was Father Reilly,” said Buster, hitting a home run straight out of the gate.

“Father Reilly?” I said, a touch of doubt in my voice.

“Sure. I saw him walk up to the office and quickly slip something into the mailbox, then walk away as if nothing happened. He looked up and down the street before he did, though. So that drew my attention, of course. Suspicious, if you know what I mean.”

“Of course,” I said. It would certainly have drawn my attention. “So he looked up and down the street, then slipped a note into the Gazette mailbox?”

“Well, first he was dawdling on the corner, since there were several passersby, most notably Ida Baumgartner. But once Ida had moved out of sight, Father Reilly quasi-casually crossed the street, took a good look up and down and then pretended to just happen to pass the Gazette offices, dumped that note into the mailbox with a very dexterous hand, and came back.” Our friend nodded importantly. “If you hadn’t shown up to ask me about it, I would have collared you at cat choir tonight to tell you.”

I could tell that our friend was dying with curiosity to know what had been in that little note.

“It was a very short message,” I said, not wanting to keep Buster in suspense. “It said…”

“Look no further than RP for the murder of NH,” Dooley said, beating me to the punch.

“Okay,” said Buster, thinking this through. I could tell there was a touch of disappointment on his face. Clearly the dramatic content of the message failed to grip.

“Look at Raban Pacoccha for the murder of Neda Hoeppner,” I translated Father Reilly’s missive to Odelia.

“Oh, of course,” said Buster, his interest piqued once more. “So Father Reilly thinks this…”

“Raban Pacoccha,” I supplied helpfully.

“Killed Neda Hoeppner? Interesting. Very interesting.”

“What are those cats discussing, I wonder?” said Charlene.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Fido as he bent through his knees to study his latest victim in the mirror, framing her head with his hands. “Those are Odelia’s cats, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are. Max and Dooley.”

“They’re in here all the time. Always chatting away a mile a minute with my Buster.”

“You know, before I met the Pooles I didn’t even know cats could be so chatty.”

“Oh, they sure are chatty. Buster sneaks off every night to go to the park, where he meets all the other cats and they spend half the night doing whatever it is they do.” He shook his head. “It’s a mystery, Madam Mayor, but at least it keeps them out of trouble.”

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” she said, and gave me a wink. She knew exactly what we got up to, of course.

“You know, one time I followed Buster to the park. Frankly I hadn’t even known that he spent all his nights down there. But I’d outfitted him with one of them GPS trackers, you see, and so I decided to keep an eye on him, just out of curiosity. You should have seen them. Dozens and dozens of cats, all sitting around that playground. Some of them on top of the jungle gym, or crawling all over the slide. And the noise they made. The meowing! And you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but it almost looked as if…” He hesitated.

“Yes?” Charlene encouraged him.

“Well, you know Father Reilly’s cat?”

“Shanille.”

“Shanille, yes. Well, Shanille was sitting out in front, and the cats were all over that jungle gym and that slide, and that, um, that seesaw?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it almost looked as if they were… singing.”

“Singing?”

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right?”

“No, I don’t think it’s crazy, Fido. Cats are clever creatures. So maybe they do like to get together and sing. Who knows?”

“And Shanille? She was waving her paws like a choir director.” He laughed an embarrassed little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. They’ll think I’ve finally lost it.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Gee, thanks, Madam Mayor. Now how do you want your hair done this week?”

“Oh, just the usual. And if you could do something about those gray roots?”

“Sure thing. Consider it done.”

“We’re starting to get famous, you guys,” said Buster, after the conversation between Charlene and the hair doctor had turned technical. “And soon we’ll be even more famous if we can pull off that concert.” He gave me a quizzical look. “Do you think it’ll happen?”

“I’m sure it will,” I said. “If Harriet wants something, it usually does.”