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“For which I thank you guys,” said Harriet.

We’d arrived at the Weskits’ room and I had a flash of d?j?-vu. Once again we needed to get inside.

“Room service!” said Brutus suddenly.

We all looked up at this.

“Come again?” I said.

He pointed to the same cart Dooley and I had employed before, and repeated,“Room service. These rich and famous people never sleep. Instead they spend half the night ordering room service. So if we can sneak onto one of these room service carts while they’re being ridden into the room, we’re golden.”

“Are you quite sure about this?” asked Harriet after we’d been waiting in that hallway for fifteen minutes with not a room service person in sight.

I felt she was right to be impatient. The hotel seemed pretty quiet. The only person we’d seen was a man staggering down the corridor, giving us curious looks. He’d muttered, “Eight cats—what do you know?” but had still managed to enter his room.

“Sure I’m sure,” said Brutus, though he sounded a lot less sure than when he’d first made the suggestion. Problem was, neither of us had a better idea.

Another ten minutes later, though, the elevator dinged, and much to our elation a room service cart, pushed by a room service person, came squeaking down the corridor.

“Now!” cried Brutus. “Go, go, go!”

And so we all hopped onto the lower platform of the cart, nicely obscured by a sheet, and hoped we’d caught the right bus. Otherwise we’d be locked up in the wrong room.

The squeak-squeak-squeak of the wheels suddenly halted, a deferential knock sounded, followed by an equally deferential cough, and the door opened. Slippered feet appeared in our field of vision. They were pale and bony, and unfortunately—my knowledge of human legs is extensive but still limited to the few humans whose sticks for legs I’ve made an acquaintance with over the years—I had no way of knowing whether they were Laron Weskit’s or his wife’s, or indeed The Dieber’s or Jamie’s.

“Are those the right legs?” asked Harriet, wrestling with the same vexing question.

“I don’t know!” said Brutus, sounding panicky.

“We need to be sure!” she hissed.

“It’s all right,” said Dooley, and we all turned to stare at him, inasmuch as we were able to, considering we didn’t have a lot of space on that cart’s lower level.

“Is it Laron Weskit?” I asked.

“Trust me, we’re fine,” was the only thing he allowed himself to divulge.

The cart was wheeled in, and the door closed behind us. We were in the lion’s den.

I was too nervous to jump out from our hiding place, but not Dooley. The moment the door fell into its lock he slipped down from the cart.

“Dooley!” I said. “Wait!”

But I could hear Dooley’s voice clearly say, “It’s so great to see you again!”

Suddenly the veil was lifted and we found ourselves staring into the familiar face of… Grandma Muffin!

Chapter 27

Gran carefully listened to our story. We’d all taken a seat in the salon, while Dooley had jumped up on her lap and was purring contentedly while she caressed him. Dooley is, after all, Gran’s, and had probably missed her.

“I’m sorry for walking out on you like that,” said Gran. “But these people really drive me crazy sometimes. I know my show wasn’t the best it could be and all that, but it was something, and several people came up to me and told me how fresh and exciting they found it. Revolutionary, one man said. Just what we need in a world obsessed with youth and beauty—though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult. But Marge and Alec dismissed everything I said out of hand. And I don’t think that’s fair, so I wanted to teach them a lesson, and now here I am.”

“And here we are, too,” said Dooley happily.

“Do you have to pay for this room yourself, Gran?” I asked.

“No, as a matter of fact I don’t. Laron Weskit is paying for it out of his own pocket, and tomorrow morning we’re going to discuss the terms of my contract. And Charlie wants to discuss our duet. So you see? I’m not delusional. I have a talent, and at least these professional people appreciate it.”

“But you are coming back to us at some point, aren’t you, Gran?” asked Harriet.

“Yeah, we miss you,” said Brutus.

“Of course I’m coming back, but first I want to show the family what I can do. That dear old Gran has a lot more going for her than just good looks and devastating charm.”

“So can you do it?” I asked. “Can you smuggle us into the Weskits’ room?”

“Sure. But maybe not tonight. Let’s give it a shot first thing tomorrow morning. When they’re all downstairs for breakfast you can search those rooms to your heart’s content.”

“Thanks, Gran,” I said.

“Though I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish, to be honest,” she said. “Laron doesn’t strike me as a murderer, and neither does his wife. And as far as Charlie and Jamie are concerned, they’re the sweetest couple you could ever hope to meet.”

“So they’re not killers, either,” I said, nodding.