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Lucky for us—and for her—a golf course consists of a lot of shrubberies and greenery, and so we had no difficulty staying hidden while she talked to the famous pro golfer. We were at Hampton Cove’s pride and joy: the Riviera Country Club, where men went golfing, and women came to enjoy a leisurely time spent with the local tennis pros.

Carl Strauss was not a tall man, but he was still quite impressive with his slim build and the suavity of his manner. I could see how a lot of women would fall for his magnetism and the debonair way in which he held himself. The man simply oozed charm, and his smile was so seductive even I felt drawn to the guy—and I’m a cat!

“Look, I don’t know what Erica told you, Miss Poole,” said Carl as he gently teased a golf ball into a hole a few inches further. “But we’re still very much together and as far as I’m concerned that’s exactly the way it’s going to stay for the foreseeable future. We love each other,you see, and there’s nothing you or anybody else can do about that.”

“She told me she wants to divorce,” said Odelia. “And she also told me she told you she wants to divorce, but that you’re refusing to grant her one.”

“This is all very silly,” said Carl, that smile still firmly in place as he picked the little white ball from the hole and pocketed it. “I made a mistake, and I admit it. But I promised Erica that this would be the last time I made such a terrible error of judgment.”

“She says she caught you cheating on her several times, Mr. Strauss.”

“Oh, I think we both know that she’s exaggerating. Several times? Okay, so I have made the odd slip. See, Miss Poole, the problem is that I’m too kindhearted. Other people of my stature keep a solid distance between themselves and the outside world—fans and such. They build a wall around themselves and don’t allow anybody in. I’m not like that. I’m from a modest background myself, and I find it very hard to draw a line when I meet one of my many, many fans. Especially when they show me with their words or actions that they enjoy my company. If I have one weakness it is that I simply love to be loved—I’m a people’s friend. And that’s been the main problem all along. Erica expects me to pay attention only to her. Whereas I like to be everybody’s friend, see?”

“Your friends all seem to be attractive young women.”

“Oh, I have many male friends, too, Miss Poole. In fact you’d be surprised to know—”

“Look, all I know is that Erica wants a divorce, and so—”

“She doesn’t want a divorce,” Carl assured her. “She just thinks she wants a divorce.”

They’d moved on to the next hole, as I think the vernacular goes, and Carl was now waggling his golf club, poised to hit the ball in the direction of yet another target. Frankly, I didn’t see the point of the whole endeavor: why hit a ball with a stick, only to hit it again later? It all seems pointless. Then again, I’m just a cat, of course. Cats don’t play with balls. That’s dogs. And humans. A predilection both species have in common.

“What’s a sax maniac, Max?” suddenly Dooley asked.

“Um…”

“Only I heard it on the news this morning. In the kitchen? They were talking about Carl Strauss. One of the reporters said he’s a sax maniac. Addicted to sax, they said. Did they mean he’s addicted to sax music?”

“Not sax—sex with an e,” I said before I realized my mistake. Oops.

“Oh.” He thought about this for a moment. “So what does that mean, exactly?”

“Well, I guess it means that Carl likes sex very much,” I said, treading carefully.

“But why, Max? Why does he like sex so much?”

“I guess he must find it… pleasant?” I suggested.

“But they said he’s addicted to it, and in the office this morning Erica said the same thing. She said that her husband is addicted. Like an alcoholic, but not to alcohol but sex.”

“I guess people can be addicted to different things,” I said. “Some people are addicted to alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs, and others, like Carl Strauss, are addicted to sex.”

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Dooley asked now as he gave Carl a look of suspicion.

“Dangerous? What do you mean?”

“Well, if he’s addicted to sex, don’t you think he wants to have, like, sex all the time?”

“Um…”

“I think we should warn Odelia. Just in case he attacks her. On the television this morning they said that no woman is safe when Carl Strauss is around. That he will hit on them.” His eyes went wide. “He might use those sticks, Max—to hit Odelia!”

“They’re called clubs, Dooley. Golf clubs. And they’re used to hit that little white ball across the fairway in the direction of that hole over there—not to hit women.”

Dooley thought about this for a moment.“I still think we should warn Odelia. I think she’s in danger and she doesn’t know it.”

“And I think Odelia can take care of herself,” I countered. “But just in case he does try any funny business, we’re right here, Dooley, and we’re not letting her out of our sight.”

“Oh, you bet we’re not,” he said.