57aacbcd9598439b495cce0c68035a7c

“Don’t tempt me. We still have a couple more hours of this stuff to go through.”

And so they had. Not that any of it was in any way helpful. None of the footage showed anything beyond Charlie hitting the deck, and being bundled into his stretch limo.

Chapter 6

We’d been scoping out the back alleys of Hampton Cove for what felt like hours—looking for Clarice in what I knew to be her usual haunts and hangouts. For some reason Clarice likes dumpsters. No idea why. I find them foul places where only death and decay lurk. Not to mention the odor they spreadis positively foul. But to each their own, I guess, and since Clarice likes dumpsters, that’s where we had to be if we wanted to find her.

“I’m tired, Max,” said Dooley after we’d tapped yet another dumpster and called out Clarice’s name in the faint hope of getting a response. “Maybe we can do this some other time?”

“We can’t do this some other time,” I told him. “Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”

He gave me a blank look, so I decided to remind him.

“If we don’t dislodge Diego from my home he’s going to extend me the same courtesy.”

He stared at me, clearly not comprehending.

“If we don’t kick him out, he’s going to kick me out!”

“Oh—right. Of course. Only, he won’t do that, will he? He may be bad, but he’s not bad to the bone.”

“He is, Dooley,” I assured my friend. “That catis bad to the bone.”

“Can you guys shut up already and give me a paw?” Brutus called out from the back of the alley. He’d been going from dumpster to dumpster, giving each one a hard rattle, calling out Clarice’s name all the while.

“I don’t think we’ll find Clarice, Max,” Dooley said, now really deciding to embrace his inner voice of gloom. “Remember she likes to hang out in the woods near the Writer’s Lodge? I’m sure she’s out there right now, being fed by some writer with writer’s block.”

Dooley was right. The first time we ever met Clarice was out in the woods, near Hetta Fried’s place. Hetta rents out a small cabin to writers and other creative desperados, eager to escape their busy lives and hone their craft surrounded by all of nature and woodland creatures like Clarice. And since these creative geniuses usually are the top of the cream and have money to burn, they treat their temporary feline companions very well indeed.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe we should expand our search to the lodge.”

“Of course I’m right. I’ll bet she’s curled up on the lap of Stephen King or Dan Brown or JK Rowling, being fed Cat Snax. She might even feature in one of their next books.”

“Wouldn’t that be great?” I asked, licking my paw and making a face when I realized I’d stepped into a piece of rotten fish.

“Wouldn’t what be great, Max?”

“To be the cat of a famous writer, and feature in their books?”

“And when they turn that book into a movie, to be asked to star as yourself in the Hollywood version,” Dooley said excitedly.

“I think I’d want to be in a Dan Brown book,” I said. “To be Professor Langdon’s feline sidekick. And then I could be in the movie with Tom Hanks.”

“I’d want to be in the sequel to the Hunger Games. Fight the forces of evil side by side with Jennifer Lawrence,” said Dooley, a dreamy look coming over his face.

“Or to be in a new Harry Potter movie!” I cried. “To be a shapeshifting cat, capable of amazing feats of witchcraft. And a chance to hang out with Emma Watson, of course.”

We both sat gazing into the middle distance for a moment, the roseate glow of our Hollywood careers lending me a momentary respite from the stark reality of my life.

“You know? Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea,” Dooley suddenly said. “I mean, since Odelia is going to kick you out and all, you’re going to want to find a new home anyway, Max. You could do worse than Tom Hanks or Emma Watson.”

I gave him my best scowl.“I’m not going to be kicked out, Dooley. Not if I can help it.”

“No, but I mean, Tom or Emma might adopt you after the shoot is over. But you’re going to have to work hard to ingratiate yourself. Really put in the time to win them over.”

I turned my back on him. This was not what I wanted to hear.

“You’ll have to show them Lovable Max, Max. Not Grumpy Max!” he called out.

“Oh, go away, Dooley,” I said, thumping my paw against a dumpster.

“That is not the way to make friends and influence people, Max.”

I snarled something under my breath. Dooley was right, though. If we didn’t find Clarice soon, I was doomed. Doomed to roam these back alleys and fend for myself and snack on rotten fish until I blew out my final breath. Not an agreeable prospect.

“Give us a smile, Max!” Dooley was shouting. “Show us those snappers!”

In response, I thumped the next dumpster extra hard, hoping against hope that Clarice would suddenly materialize, just like she had those previous times, and help us out.

“I don’t think she’s here, buddy,” said Brutus when I’d reached the end of the alley.