Читаем 57aacbcd9598439b495cce0c68035a7c полностью

As he drove her back to the Hampton Cove Gazette, her mind drifted back to the story her dad had told them. Bees. This whole thing revolved around bees. But how? And why?

Chapter 29

We were home again, Dooley and me. We’d done all our usual haunts: the hair salon, the police station, the alleys and back alleys of Hampton Cove, talking to other cats, but they’d yielded no results. On top of that, I was tired. Subsisting on diet food like I did, I tired easily these days and all I wanted was to take a nap and float off into oblivion.

Unfortunately when we walked in through the glass sliding door, Harriet and Brutus were still there, like a couple of unwanted guests you just can’t seem to get rid of.

“And? What did you find?” I asked, jumping up onto the couch and settling down in my usual spot.

Harriet merely frowned, as if I’d asked her the wrong question.

“Nothing,” Brutus replied in her stead. “Bupkis. Diddly squat. Jack shit.”

“Brutus!” Harriet snapped. “Language.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” asked Brutus, whose long surfing session seemed to have galvanized him. “I know everything about Justin Bieber’s tattoos and even which kidney Selena Gomez had implanted but I still know precious little about who offed Donna Bruce.”

Harriet lifted her chin.“We just have to keep on looking. It’s only a matter of time before we hit on the telling clue.”

“Not by surfing that darned Interweb we won’t. How many times can you read about Kim’s Paris attack? Seriously, I’m done.” And to show us he meant business, he hopped down from the computer table and stretched and yawned.

“Brutus! We’re not finished yet.”

“I’m sorry, toots. I would tell you I cared about how much weight Mama June lost but I don’t.”

Harriet’s ears colored. “I’ve been looking at other stuff, too.”

“Right. What Honey Boo Boo looks like these days. I’m a cat, honey munch. I don’t care about that stuff. What I do care about is treating myself to a nice piece of meat at regular intervals, lounging on the couch with my precious—which is you, by the way—and sneaking around the neighborhood after dark, chasing critters and fighting off trespassers. So if you care to join me—which I sincerely hope you do—you’re welcome. If you prefer to find out what the Real Housewives of Nowhereville are up to, that’s fine, too. But don’t expect me to stick around, cause I won’t.”

Harriet looked shocked after this unexpected harangue.“Brutus,” she muttered brokenly.

“Now what’s it gonna be, sugar puss?”

Her blush had deepened.“Brutus, you’re suddenly so… dominant.”

“A tom’s gotta do what a tom’s gotta do. Now are you with me or not?”

“Brutus,” she breathed, deserting the world of reality TV and dropping down from the computer table. She stalked up to her beau, her tail trembling wildly. “Oh, Brutus…”

Brutus grinned at me and gave me a wink.“Watch and learn, fatso. Watch and learn.”

I responded with an eyeroll. So the old Brutus was back, huh? Of course he was. He’d just been suffering from a temporary weakness, as was to be expected.

“We’re hitting the town, boys,” Brutus announced when Harriet had sidled up to him and was rubbing herself provocatively against his flank. “Don’t wait up for us.”

And with these words, the revolting couple was off, leaving Dooley and me reeling. Well, Dooley was reeling. I wasn’t.

“Why can’t I be more like Brutus, Max?” Dooley lamented. “If I could be more like Brutus maybe Harriet would like me too. And then I’d be the one who took her out on the town.”

“Do you really want to take Harriet out on the town?”

“Of course I do! She’s so…” He sighed forlornly. “… wonderful.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I muttered, and closed my eyes. I only woke up when something was poking me in the side. I tried to slap it away but the poking only intensified.

“Max! Max, wake up!”

“I’m a cat, Dooley. I’m always awake,” I reminded him. Though as a matter of fact I’d actually been sleeping soundly, dreaming of that nice piece of steak Dooley had stolen from me. “What is it?” I finally asked, reluctantly abandoning my dream. If I couldn’t eat steak, at least I could dream about it. As far as I know, dreams aren’t fattening. Or are they?

“I think I found something,” Dooley announced.

“If it’s not meat I don’t want to know,” I muttered, and closed my eyes again.

“It’s about Hillary.”

“I don’t care about politics, Dooley.”

When he didn’t respond, I opened my eyes again and found him staring at me. “What do you mean you don’t care about politics?”

“Hillary Clinton. Donald Trump. I just don’t care.”

“Who are Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump?”

“My sentiments exactly. Now leave me be. I have to conserve my strength. I’m on a diet.”

“Poor Hillary Davies lost her daughter a couple of years ago.”

“She did, huh? That’s terrible,” I muttered, trying to go back to sleep.

“I was surfing the web, typing in the names of all the suspects in the Donna Bruce murder case and that’s what came up.”

“Terrible tragedy,” I murmured.

“Oh, and they’re doing a remake ofStar Cars, only without Zelda Yoke this time.”

“Too bad.”

Перейти на страницу:

Похожие книги