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“Not a chance,” she said, and this time she did dial 911. “You’re the Hampton Heisters, aren’t you? You and your friends?”

“I’m not telling you shit, lady,” the girl spat.

“Well, you just went too far,” said Odelia. “You just graduated from being a thief and a burglar to attempted murder.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. And you better pray that Carl pulls through.”

“We didn’t do that! He was like that when we got here, okay?”

“You didn’t hit him over the head?”

“Of course not. I’m not crazy.”

“You better come with me,” said Odelia, and yanked the girl to her feet and marched her off to the house. “My uncle will be here soon, and you can tell him all about it.”

“You’re Odelia Poole, aren’t you? The reporter?”

“What’s your name?”

There was a pause, then:“Emma.”

“Emma and what else?”

“Emma Hudson.”

“Well, Emma Hudson, it looks like you’re in a great deal of trouble.”

“I could say the same about you… Odelia.”

“What do you mean?”

“I caught you, didn’t I? And I could tell the police that you hit Carl over the head.”

“When I got here Carl was already down.”

Emma shrugged.“It’s your word against mine.”

Odelia rooted through the girl’s backpack, and found several trophies, three Rolex watches and several other items of considerable value. She held them up. “Now I wonder who the police are going to believe? A thief? Or a reporter who had an appointment for a meeting with Carl.”

Emma made a face, then glanced in the direction of the golf pro’s inert body. “Is he dead?”

“No, he’s not. No thanks to you, by the way. Why didn’t you call an ambulance when you found him like this?”

She shrugged.“I told the others we should, but they told me to wait.”

“They wanted to clean the place out first,” said Odelia, nodding.

“To be honest we found him just before you caught us. I didn’t even think anybody was home.”

“Even though the TV was blaring away in the living room?”

“Plenty of people leave the TV on—to scare away potential burglars.”

The sound of a police siren suddenly rent the air, and Odelia was glad that help was on the way. Judging from Carl’s chalk-white appearance, it was going to be touch and go.

15

Cat choir wasn’t a pleasant affair that night. Brutus and Harriet’s recent behavior had given rise to plenty of commentary, and since Dooley and myself were still considered their closest friends and housemates, we were also looked at askance. The term cats were bandying about was ‘anti-cat behavior’ andthey seemed to feel that this was a charge serious enough to warrant a very serious discussion.

Harriet and Brutus, who were also present, but were keeping to the sidelines out of a cat’s natural sense of self-preservation, watched the scene with slight trepidation.

“I think they should both be expelled,” said Shanille, cat choir’s director. “We can’t have this kind of behavior in cat choir, and I feel we need to set an example: make it absolutely clear that this cannot and will not be condoned.”

“But what are you actually accusing them of?” I asked. “What constitutes anti-cat behavior?”

“They’re trying to become dogs, Max! And everybody knows that dogs are a cat’s natural enemy, so basically they’re colluding with the enemy. In other words: treason.”

“They’re not actually trying to become dogs,” I argued. “All they want is to fit into their new environment, and so what if they try to humor their new human?”

“This goes way behind humoring their new human. Did they or did they not go to the dog park today—twice?”

“Well, they did,” I admitted.

“And did or didn’t Brutus play fetch with Ted Trapper?”

“Well, sure, but…”

“And did or didn’t he assume the position and pee and poo like a dog!” She cast a very irate look in the culprit’s direction. “Answer me!”

“Well, he did,” I said, “but…”

“I rest my case,” said Shanille.

“Kingman,” I said, turning to Hampton Cove’s unofficial feline mayor. “You don’t really think their behavior constitutes treason, do you?”

“I don’t know, Max,” said Kingman, a very large cat who all cats look to for the deciding vote in such matters. “You’ve got to admit it looks pretty bad. Peeing like a dog, pooping like a dog… playing fetch, for crying out loud. This is not the kind of behavior we like to see in an upstanding member of the feline community.”

“But he was only doing it to humor his human!”

“The exact definition of treason,” said Shanille, who wasn’t beating about the bush.

More cats had gathered around, and all of them seemed to consider Brutus’s behavior especially as the kind of thing that simply could not be condoned.

“Look, I have nothing against dogs, personally,” said Buster, the hairdresser’s Maine Coon, “but you have to admit that there’s a vast difference between the two species, and once you start trying to blur those lines, or try to erase them, that way lies disaster.”