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“The Cliffords were important clients of my grandfather and my dad, too,” said Amabel, looking up from her computer. “Um, they used to live in one of those big mansions out on what is now called the Billionaire Mile. I don’t think they still live there, though. Mrs. Clifford died many yearsago, and her family got rid of the mansion.”

Odelia studied the document a little longer, then tapped it with her index finger.“Any idea how I can get in touch with Mrs. Clifford’s relatives?”

Chapter 26

Even though we’d struck out the first time, Dooley and I were once again on our way to the macaw, in a second attempt to make her talk. And I mean this in the most benign way possible, of course.

“I can’t believe Harriet and Brutus negotiated the mice retreat,” I said as we walked along and soon found ourselves on familiar ground once more.

“Yeah, they did a great job,” said Dooley.

“No, but I mean, it should have been us, Dooley, to create such a heroic moment, not Harriet and Brutus.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because we’re the heroes.”

“We are? I didn’t even know this.”

“Haven’t you noticed how we always come up with the missing clue, that oh-so-important piece of evidence that nails the perpetrator? Or how we are the ones to save Odelia from harm?”

“I hadn’t noticed, actually,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “I always thought we did this together. As a foursome, I mean. That it didn’t matter who got the credit.”

“Well, if you look at it that way…” Now I felt like a cad, of course. An egotistical cad. But Dooley was right. It didn’t matter who got the credit, as long as whatever we were working on got resolved, whether it be chasing a colony of mice from the basement, or solving an old crime.

“I think Harriet and Brutus are very clever,” said Dooley, rubbing it in some more.

“I think so, too,” I said. “But are they clever enough?”

He gave me a strange look.“Max? You’re acting a little weird.”

I licked my lips.“It’s because I don’t feel I’ve done anything substantial on this case. We talked to one witness, and struck out, we didn’t chase away the mice, and I can’t even fit through the pet flap.”

He smiled.“This is about the pet flap, isn’t it?”

“I guess it is,” I said with a sigh.

“You’ll fit through the pet flap again, Max,” he promised. “Just keep doing your daily exercises and before you know it you won’t get stuck when you try to come and go.”

His words warmed my heart. It was exactly what I needed to hear.“Thanks, Dooley,” I said. “You’re a true friend.”

“And so are Harriet and Brutus,” he reminded me, “and it doesn’t matter who solves what crime, or who finds what clue. We’re all in this together, Max, as a family. A team.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, a little shame-faced. Sometimes Dooley surprises me with his wisdom. And it’s in moments like this that I am reminded that we should never judge a book by its cover. Dooley’s cover might not be all that much to look at, but he has a big heart, and a keen intelligence when he decides to use it, and that’s what matters.

We’d arrived in Morley Street, and we both took a deep breath.

“This is it, Dooley,” I said. “We need to extract a confession now, you understand?”

“No, Max,” he said. “We just need to have a chat with a friend, and if she tells us something important, great. And if not, also fine.”

Damn, I thought as I stared at my friend. Who’d abducted Dooley and replaced him with Tony Robbins?

We moved between the houses and into the backyard and arrived at the same verandah we’d visited the day before.

Camilla was perched on the same spot, and when she saw us poking our heads through the window, she shouted,“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

“Hey, that’s what I’m supposed to say,” said Dooley.

“We’re not strangers,” I told the parrot. “We were here yesterday, remember?”

“Yes, we come in peace, good bird,” said Dooley. “We’re kindred spirits, all creatures of the Lord, and we wish you no harm whatsoever.”

The bird eyed us with its head cocked to one side, but at least she’d stopped mimicking a fire alarm.

“Remember we asked you about a skeleton buried in the wall of our basement?” I said. “Well, we know his name now. Boyd Baker. And we also know when he died and how.”

“Someone knocked him on the head and he didn’t recover,” said Dooley. “So they must have hit him pretty hard, and then they decided to bury him in the wall.”

“This happened fifty-five years ago,” I said. “So does that ring any bells? Any stories you might have heard about this guy?”

“Anything you can tell us will help us a great deal,” said Dooley. “We want to bring the murderer to justice, because that is what we do.”

“Yeah, well, the killer will probably be dead by now, but the relatives want closure,” I said. “His son and daughter are still alive, and they’ve wondered all these years what happened to their dad.”