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He reached for his copy ofField& Stream and she grabbed her copy ofStar Magazine, and moments later they were both engrossed in their bedtime literature.

“Hank!” Gran hollered somewhere outside. “Get your ass back here!”

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In the next room, Odelia was reading through her notes. Her cats were all ensconced at the foot of the bed, and had been suspiciously quiet ever since they’d gotten back to the guesthouse. But since she was so engrossed in her notes she hardly paid attention.

So far they’d ruled out three suspects—well, four, if George was to be counted. Serge Brimley, Hector and Helga and George. And Opal said she vouched for her driver, whom they’d also briefly talked to after dinner.

In a thick Irish brogue he’d explained to them how the car had clearly been tampered with. The brake lines had been cut, and as they’d been rolling down the Hollywood Hills on that fateful day, he’d pumped and pumped the brakes to no avail, and had figured his final hour had struck. With dumb luck, and a screaming andpanicking Opal in the back, he’d managed to steer the car up an incline that forked off the main road and it had come to a full stop without a hitch.

There must have been someone upstairs looking after him and his employer, for how else could they have survived such a harrowing incident? Later he’d confirmed that the brake lines had, indeed, been cleanly cut, but nothing that a good mechanic like himself hadn’t been able to fix, and now the limo ran as nice and smooth as before.

He hadn’t seen anyone lurking around the garage that day or the days before, and he would have noticed, as he kept a close eye on Opal and Harlan’s collection of cars.

And an impressive collection it was, Odelia had been able to ascertain for herself: old-timers but also brand-new cars like Maseratis and Bugattis and Ferraris. Harlan had a penchant for expensive Italian cars, and Opal indulged his hobby with a generous hand.

Odelia had come to the end of her notes and realized she wasn’t any the wiser.

“Hank!” she could hear her grandmother scream. “I’m not telling you again!”

Hank hadn’t been at dinner, and when Gran tried to call him her call had gone straight to voicemail. The guy had effectively disappeared. She hoped it wasn’t related to the case, but had a feeling it wasn’t. If Hank was a gigolo, maybe he’d found a better-paying client out here in LA who wouldn’t be such a tough proposition as Gran.

It was hard on Gran, of course, for now she’d lost her companion.

“Has Gran lost her boy toy?” asked Harriet now.

“I’m afraid so,” said Odelia.

“Too bad. I liked him,” said Brutus. “He had a way with words.”

Odelia raised her eyebrows. A way with words? Hank? She hardly remembered the sound of his voice.

“He told me I was butch,” said Brutus proudly. “Said he wouldn’t mind owning a cat just like me one day. That I complimented his tan and the chicks would really dig me.”

So that was why Brutus liked him so much. She smiled.“So how have you guys been holding up?” she asked, realizing she’d been neglecting her cats.

“Oh, we’re fine,” said Harriet.

“Prunella has been acting a little weird, though,” said Max.

“Weird, how?”

“Well, she keeps forgetting who we are.”

“She’s been cloned,” Dooley explained.

“I know. I was the one who told you, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Dooley, looking puzzled.

“Do you think the cloning caused her brain to get scrambled?” asked Brutus.

“Prunella’s brains are scrambled? Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harriet. “Absolutely scrambled.”

“Well… Opal told me the new Prunella is just like the old Prunella, so…”

“So you think she was always like this?” asked Max. “Scrambled, I mean?”

“I guess so. Opal would have noticed if this Prunella was substantially different from the original one.”

“Weird, though, isn’t it?” said Harriet, giving her a strange look. “This cloning business?”

“Yeah, Prunella’s original self is kept on ice in some lab somewhere,” said Brutus. “And the new Prunella walks around with scrambled brains. Very odd, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it is a little weird,” said Odelia. “But if you consider that only the genetic material of the original, cloned pet is used, and that the puppy or kitten develops like all puppies or kittens develop: inside a host, it’s a little less weird. The so-called new Prunella was bornlike any other cat, and even though genetically she is a copy of the original Prunella, that doesn’t mean she will lookexactly the same down to the smallest detail.”

“She won’t?” asked Dooley. “You mean they didn’t put her through a photocopier?”

“Oh, no of course not,” said Odelia. “You can’t copy a living being. What they do is take the nucleus of a cell of the pet they want to clone, and insert it into an egg cell. They give it an electric jolt and let the host carry it to term. And hope the process is successful.”

“Oh, so that’s how it works,” said Dooley. “Nucleus, jolt, egg…” He looked confused.

“It’s a complicated medical procedure,” she said. “Say, you guys are acting a little weird. Are you sure you’re all right?”