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“All I said was that Chase wants to have bigger muscles, and the only way to have bigger muscles is to subject those muscles to a lot of strenuous activity, like lifting weights. The heavier the weights, the more the muscles are taxed, and the bigger they grow in response. It’s simply biology.”

Dooley frowned and directed a curious look at my belly, which was neatly placed between my paws, and spread out a little beyond the boundaries of what is usually termed fashionable or beautiful.

“Is that why you have so many muscles on your belly, Max?” he asked. “Because you make it work so hard lifting all of that kibble?”

“Yes, Dooley,” I said dryly. “That’s exactly why.”

Of course Odelia had another laughing fit, which caused the car to swerve once more into the wrong lane. Lucky for us she’s an excellent driver, and managed to get back where the car belonged before colliding with other occupants of the road.

Before long, we arrived at the home of Ida Baumgartner, one of Odelia’s dad’s most fervent patients. In fact it isn’t too much to say she’s probably Tex’s biggest fan, seeing as how she’s in his office all the time, always discovering some new disease to suffer from.

“Best to be on your best behavior, Dooley,” I said. “Ida Baumgartner is a very sick woman. And we don’t want to send her to the hospital just by our mere presence in her home.” I directed a worried look at Odelia. “Are you sure she’s not allergic to cats?”

“I’m sure Ida is allergic to everything,” said Odelia, “but don’t let that stop you from poking around her place and gathering clues.”

And with these words, she got out of the car and Dooley and I followed suit.

I won’t conceal I was feeling a little jolt of excitement. It had been a while since we’d tackled a case together, and even though burglary isn’t exactly high on the list of high crimes, it was still a case, and therefore something to dig our teeth into.

Whoever had burgled Ida was now in our crosshairs. The game was officially afoot!

Chapter 12

Ida Baumgartner’s apartment was the picture of cleanliness and hygiene. From the moment we walked in, I couldn’t detect a single dust particle, or a germ, for that matter. Of course, the moment we did walk in she gave both me and Dooley the evil eye.

“Cats!” she cried, utterly dismayed. “Why are you bringing cats into my home?”

“I like to think they bring me luck, Mrs. Baumgartner,” said Odelia. “Also, they seem to have a knack for sniffing out clues. Just like dogs.”

Ida sniffed loudly.“Cats sniffing out clues. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” She sneezed and looked even more dismayed. “My allergies. Those beasts of yours are triggering my allergies.”

“Just let them take one look at the place where it happened,” Odelia suggested. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Ida looked unconvinced.“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. And why did your uncle send you? Why didn’t he come himself? Or is he too busy cavorting with Mayor Butterwick to bother about the crime wave that’s sweeping our town?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” said Odelia, who’s never been one for idle gossip. “So my father told me you owned a genuine Picasso?”

“Come on, Dooley,” I said. “Let’s take a quick look around, before Mrs. Baumgartner’s allergies really kick in and she kicks us out.”

“She doesn’t seem to like us very much, does she, Max?” asked my friend as we started our tour of the apartment.

“Some people are like that,” I said. “They don’t like cats.”

“I don’t understand. How can anyone not like cats?”

“I know, Dooley. I find it hard to understand, too, but there you have it.”

I couldn’t help checking underneath cabinets and couches as we traversed what I assumed was the living room, and much to my surprise I didn’t find any evidence of dust there either.

“Amazing,” I muttered.

“Did you find a clue already, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Will you look at how clean this place this? Not a dust bunny in sight. How does she do it?”

“Maybe whoever stole her Picasso also stole her dust bunnies?” Dooley suggested.

“I doubt it,” I said. “Dusty bunnies don’t sell for millions at Sotheby’s, as far as I can tell.”

“Millions? Did Mrs. Baumgartner own a painting worth millions?”

“According to her she did. Or at least that’s what she told Tex this morning.”

Odelia had been briefed by her dad before she set out on her trip to Mrs. Baumgartner. As a connoisseur on all things Ida Baumgartner, he was the best source of information where she was concerned, and Tex hadn’t disappointed, with his sensational story about the stolen Picasso.

We checked the living room and poked around in the kitchen, mainly to ascertain whether our reluctant host didn’t own a pet and kept a nice spread of pet food in the kitchen. Unfortunately she did not. So we soon doubled back and joined the conversation, which was in full force in an office off the hallway.