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“An accident is when it happens once,” Harriet argued, starting to wonder in whose corner Odelia was: hers or Brutus’s. “But this happened several times—six times, to be exact. And six times doesn’t qualify as an accident but more as something he’s been doing on purpose, just because he can.”

“I’m sure Brutus was simply too embarrassed to talk about his midnight mishaps. It is a little embarrassing for a proud cat like him to have to admit that he can’t hold up his pee. And so instead of being angry with him, I think you should have some compassion.”

“Compassion?” asked Harriet, as if the word was new to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that this isn’t something Brutus can do much about. It happens to humans, too, you know. When we get older, sometimes we simply lose the ability to control our bladders. And sometimes it leads to these little mishaps.” She patted Harriet’s head. “Just be gentle with Brutus, sweetheart. He’s a good cat, and you should be proud to call him your boyfriend.”

“Mh,” said Harriet, not convinced. “So what are you saying? That you won’t assign Chase and Rambo as my private bodyguards from now on?”

“I’m sure you weren’t the only target,” said Odelia, adding insult to injury with these words. “If you were, he wouldn’t have put you all in that chest and set it on fire, would he?”

She hated this kind of spurious argument, so she gave Odelia an unhappy look and turned away. She’d specifically asked Odelia because she figured women had to stick together in a man’s world, and all Odelia had for her were empty words like ‘compassion’ and ‘mishaps’ and vague promises about ‘chamber pots,’ whatever that was.

Fat lot of good that did her, she meant to say. And when she joined the others again, she vowed to find a different solution to her problem—one that didn’t involve that treacherous Odelia Poole.

What good was it to have a human if she wasn’t in your corner when it mattered?

Chapter 29

“Bellamy Butt Movers and Shakers? Yes, this is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and I’m working on a story about the death of Frank Butterwick. Mr. Butterwick had someone who worked for him that I’d like to speak to. And it is my understanding that you helped move him out of his apartment a couple of months ago.”

She gave the person on the other end of the line the name and address of Brett Cragg, and was gratified to hear that Bellamy Butt’s aptly named moving company had, indeed, moved Mr. Cragg out of his apartment. What she wasn’t happy about was that the address they’d moved him to was located in the great state of Ohio. They did have a phone number on record for the young builder, and she gratefully jotted it down.

Her next call told her that the number had been disconnected, though, which made her investigations into Charlene’s uncle hit another snag. And as she patiently waited for the tow truck to pick up her pickup, she wondered about her next course of action.

So she’d talked to Frank Butterwick’s former associate, the police had already talked to his current workers, and she’d tried to hunt down his very first worker and failed.

Where did that leave her? Exactly nowhere.

And she was just wondering where to go from here when the tow truck finally arrived and for the next ten minutes she watched as her pickup was being hauled away.

She’d already called her grandmother and asked her for a ride, and when the old lady drove up in Odelia’s mom’s ancient Peugeot, she was glad to finally be mobile again.

“You should do like me,” said Gran as she steered the vehicle in the direction of town. “You should start one of them Gofungus things. You’ll have a new car in no time.”

“I don’t think Gofundme is designed to help people buy themselves a new car, Gran,” she said. “Besides, I’m sure my pickup will be fixed soon.”

“That old thing? I’d take it to the junkyard if I were you.”

“The guy who came to pick it up said it was probably a faulty fuel pump. I’ll have the car back tomorrow already.” He’d also said she was extremely lucky that she didn’t end up rolling her stalled pickup straight into oncoming traffic and getting herself killed in a head-on collision, butshe wisely kept that bit of information to herself.

“Better get yourself a new set of wheels is what I say. That wreck you call a car is going to cost you an arm and a leg in repairs over the next couple of years.”

“Well, I happen to like that old wreck, and as long as I can keep driving it, I will.”

“You know what? As soon as these Gofunky people have collected enough money so I can buy myself that Escalade, you can have this car. How about that?” She tapped the wheel. “It’s still a pretty decent old thing. Pretty sure you’ll be able to get a couple thousand more miles out of it.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure Mom will be glad to have her car back.”

“Marge doesn’t need a car,” grunted Gran. “Besides, she’ll be a millionaire soon. She’ll be able to buy herself all the cars she needs.”

“Oh, that’s right. I didn’t even know Mom and Dad owned that land.”