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I could hear Odelia’s voice coming from one of the rooms. She was talking to Chickie’s sister. But Dooley and I decided to follow our noses this time, and soon we had struck gold. Prime kibble, not fifty feet away. We quickly found ourselves in a nice set of rooms, and to our elation one of the rooms had been setup as a playroom for Boyce Catt. There were several bowls all brimming with tasty bits, and immediately we started salivating.

“Looks like Boyce Catt decided to stop eating,” said Dooley.

“Looks like,” I agreed, as all of the bowls were untouched.

“A loss like that will do that to a pet.”

“Yes, it absolutely will.”

We were silent for a beat, then shared a look.“Terrible waste of good food,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, terrible waste,” I echoed.

And so we tucked in. What? We’re environmentally conscious cats. We don’t like to see perfectly good food go to waste just because its recipient is too sad to eat it.

After we’d eaten our fill—and left plenty for Boyce Catt, I might add—we checked the rest of Nickie’s apartment.

“Always nice to see how the other half lives,” I told Dooley, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

There was a nice, big bedroom, an adjoining bathroom, a salon where Nickie could watch television curled up on her couch, and of course a large dressing room, with rows and rows of clothes. There was even one of those nice vanities with a dresser attached to it and Dooley had quickly jumped on top, presumably to check his look in the mirror.

Odelia had promised him a picture in her newspaper, as the cat who’d discovered the letter, and he was eager to look his absolute best for what he presumed was a photoshoot with a professional photographer. I could have told him Odelia would probably pick one of the pictures she already had of him, but had decided not to burst his bubble.

I jumped up onto the vanity, too. I glanced around, but there wasn’t all that much to see. A box of jewelry, an extensive selection of nail polish and lipstick, sets of eyelashes. And as I jumped down again, I accidentally jumped into a drawer instead, and found myself knee-deep in more jewelry. With an eyeroll I jumped down, Dooley following suit.

“Let’s call it a day,” I said. “We ate, we sniffed around—time to get out of here.”

“Do you think I need a haircut, Max?” asked Dooley as we plodded down the stairs.

“A haircut? Why? You look fine, Dooley.”

“For my picture. It’s not every day that I have my picture taken for the newspaper.”

“We’re not show cats, Dooley. We don’t dress up so we can look good for the camera.”

“Maybe a ribbon? A nice pink ribbon? Or a collar with flowers on it?”

“You look fine,” Dooley,” I said decidedly. “You don’t need ribbons. Just be yourself.”

“All right,” he said dubiously.

We arrived at the front door just as Odelia and Chase did, and if Yuki and Nickie thought it strange to see two cats traipsing about their home, they didn’t mention it.

As we were driving back to town, Odelia mentioned how she’d helped Nickie look for Chickie’s crescent-moon earrings but hadn’t had any luck. And that’s when a memory stirred. Something important. Only it didn’t immediately come to me, and then when Dooley started talking about pink ribbons and collars with flowers on them again, and asking Odelia if she thought he needed a haircut, the thought went out of my head.

Chapter 34

The wake was a peculiar affair. I don’t think pets were necessarily welcome there, but Odelia didn’t care what the funeral home director said. She wanted us present and keeping our eyes peeled. Why, I didn’t know, as the case was now probably closed.

Harriet and Brutus were there, and me and Dooley, of course, and so was Boyce Catt. The only pet the Hays hadn’t brought was Mark the Peacock. Very sensibly they’d decided to leave him at home, otherwise the wake would have turned into a real zoo.

Laron and his wife were there, and Charlie, of course, though they weren’t speaking to the Pooles, clearly blaming them for Jamie’s arrest. I didn’t think this was fair, to be honest. After all, Jamie only had herself to blame. She shouldn’t have murdered her former best friend.

The pets had all been relegated to a space near the front of the room, and so we sat on the floor, next to Boyce Catt, who couldn’t stop howling, unfortunately, and after a while was discreetly led away by a well-dressed man who worked for the funeral home.

The wake was one endless line of people wanting to say goodbye to Chickie, who was a very popular person. Several people had flown in especially for the wake and tomorrow’s funeral. Finally, Harriet and Brutus decided to leave, due to a bladder emergency—the wake did drag on a little too long for my taste—and then it was only me and Dooley. The room had emptied out at this point, with most people talking softly in the next room, reminiscing and sharing stories of Chickie.