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“Neda was meticulous about her appointments. She wrote every appointment in her diary. So when her sister called she wrote down her name on the designated page and the designated time. Titta tore the pages from the diary, to hide her visit, and it got me wondering: what if a second diary would exist? One at home, and one at the office. And what if we slipped the message to Titta that this second diary was still at her sister’s office—untouched, with her name in it, on the date and time of the murder? So Odelia talked to Cher, and together they set the trap: Cher contacted Titta, and asked her what to do with her sister’s office paraphernalia, and also happened to mention the double diary thing, and made sure to stress that the police still hadn’t searched the office.”

“So Titta came hurrying over, to make sure that diary never fell into the hands of the police,” said Harriet, nodding.

“Very clever of you, Maxie,” said Brutus, giving me a pat on the back that almost made me topple from the swing. “Though if you’d bothered to consult me I could have told you an even better scheme to trap Neda’s killer.”

“Oh?” I said. “What scheme?”

“Simple. You slip the woman some truth serum, and start asking your questions. She’ll have to tell the truth, because of the—”

“Truth serum. Yes, I see.”

“I don’t think that kind of thing is legal, though, sweetums,” said Harriet.

“If it isn’t, it should be,” Brutus grumbled. “Or you could have hooked her up to one of those lie detectors. Pretty sure she would have sung like a canary!”

Odelia had delivered us some little nuggets of delicious food, before her dad scorched them to oblivion, and we all gobbled them up eagerly.

“You did well, Max,” said my human, a proud look on her face.

“Oh, Odelia,” said Harriet. “So how about the concert? Did you have a chance to talk to Father Reilly?”

“Yes, I did, actually. And I think he’s on board for a concert with St. Theresa Choir, cat choirand dog choir. He figures it’s a pretty novel idea.” She leaned in. “Frankly he owed us a favor, after foisting Raban Pacoccha on us and making us waste a lot of time.”

“So Fifi and Rufus won’t have to go on a hunger strike,” said Brutus. “Which is a good thing, especially for Fifi. She’s so thin already if she stops eating there will be nothing left!” He laughed loudly at his own joke, but when no one else joined in, quickly stopped.

The humans, meanwhile, were having a wonderful time. Gran was still a little sore that her designer had so spectacularly self-destructed, but she was a good sport, and Marge had promised she could tag along on their shopping spree for new furniture and those fun little furnishings that make all the difference.

Also: Gran had been granted the rare honor of choosing the wallpaper for the kitchen—and her own room, of course.

Tex was busily slaving away at the grill, and now yelled,“Alec, heads up!” A sausage suddenly flew through the air, but unfortunately Uncle Alec had been chatting with his girlfriend Charlene, and only became aware of the meaty treat heading in his direction when it landed on his nearly bald pate with a wet splat, scorching that sensitive area, before dropping down onto his plate.

“Ouch!” said Uncle Alec, and directed a look as scalding as the sausage at his brother-in-law, who quickly ducked behind his grill, pretending nothing had happened.

“Oh, my dear lamb,” said Charlene, and proceeded to plant cooling kisses on the devastated area.

“I still wonder how that girl managed to get past us,” said Scarlett as she took a sip from her red wine. “I mean, we were right there, not one but two neighborhood watches, and she still broke into the house and stole that photo album—right from under our noses!”

“We were too busy arguing to notice,” said Gran ruefully. “This feud with Wilbur and Francis really has to end, Scarlett. It’s hampering our crimefighting efforts!”

“She probably saw you,” said Chase. “And so she snuck around the back and got in and out as quick as she could. You have to remember she used to live in that house. She knew the way, even after all these years.”

“What’s going to happen to the house and all of Neda’s possessions?” asked Marge as she ladled a very large portion of mashed potatoes onto her brother’s plate.

“Neda died intestate,” said Uncle Alec, “so who inherits will be for a judge to decide. Under normal circumstances the law doesn’t allow a murderer to inherit from their victim, but since Titta claims her sister’s death was an accident, things are not so clear.”

“She never wanted that money for herself,” Odelia said. “She wanted it for her orphans.”

“I just hope the orphans get the money,” said Dooley, “and not the lawyers.”

This caused three pairs of lips to curl up: Odelia, Marge and Gran’s.

Afterword

An Eventful Evening in Hampton Cove

by Odelia Poole