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“I mean, be less like yourself.”

“And be more like you? Fat chance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means what you want it to mean.”

But before Scarlett could launch a sharp retort, the door swung open and an older man appeared. He was bald on top, with a fringe of white hair around the sides, had a round, friendly face, and a pronounced stoop.“Police?” he asked.

“Neighborhood watch,” Vesta said, conjuring up her best smile for the occasion.

The man frowned a little uncertainly.“I called the police, and they said they’d send someone to take our statements.”

“Well, they sent us,” said Scarlett sweetly, and walked right past the man, who blinked when he caught sight of her jiggling d?colletage, visibly suffering from a slight sense of vertigo.

“My son is chief of police,” Vesta explained. “And he’s asked us to look into the matter. With half the police force on vacation, and the other half otherwise engaged, he asked us to take a stab at the case.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Hodge, clearly not fully convinced. Then again, if you are a tax-paying citizen, you probably expect a real police person to show up when you need them, and not two old ladies and their cats.

When he caught sight of Harriet, though, Mr. Hodge’s eyes lit up with sheer delight. “Oh, what a gorgeous fur baby you are,” he said, and crouched down with a creaking of the knees, and tickled Harriet under the chin. He glanced up. “Are they yours?”

“Yeah, both of them,” said Vesta. “I like to take them along wherever I go.” She shrugged. “You never know what they’ll pick up. Cats are smart. A lot smarter than dogs, if you ask me.”

“Oh, I know,” said Mr. Hodge, getting up again with some effort. He gestured to a large painting in the hallway depicting a big orange cat with lively eyes and a wide grin. “I don’t know if you read my stuff, but I’m a cat person all the way.”

“Oh, you’rethat Mort Hodge!” said Scarlett. “The creator of Mort’s Molly!”

“You’re Mort’s Molly’s Mort?” asked Vesta, surprised.

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Mr. Hodge with a light chuckle. “So you see, you can bring all the cats you like. The more, the merrier!”

And on that cheerful note, they stepped into the house and Mr. Hodge closed the door.

Chapter 14

The house was nice, Brutus thought. High ceilings, large rooms, and so much space!

He sniffed the air, trying to detect whether there were any other cats or pets nearby, but to his surprise couldn’t pick up any sign of them. Mort’s Molly did not live there.

“You own a cat yourself?” asked Scarlett.

“No, unfortunately I don’t,” said Mr. Hodge. “My wife is allergic to cats and dogs. Very ironic, I know, for the creator of Mort’s Molly not to own a molly himself. But there you have it. I like to think I’m the owner of a fictional cat, and that’s good enough for me.”

Mrs. Hodge had joined them. She was a lively woman with a kind demeanor. A full head shorter than her husband, and dressed in a floral-pattern dress that showed off a well-rounded physique. Mrs. Hodge might be allergic to pets, Brutus thought, but she clearly wasn’t allergic to the good life. All in all she and her husband looked like a very lovely couple, and as Mort placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the temple, it was obvious they were a devoted one, too.

“So what happened, exactly?” asked Vesta. “My son said something about a safe being burgled?”

“Not the safe—it’s actually worse than that,” said Mort. “You better tell the story, honey.”

“I opened the door this morning when I heard the doorbell and was surprised when I found two individuals announcing they worked for the gas company. They immediately overpowerd me and shoved a rag or something into my mouth and tied my hands behind my back and walked me up the stairs into our bedroom and pushed me down onto the bed.” She had tears in her eyes. “I feared the worst—the absolute worst.”

“These men, did you recognize them?” asked Vesta, taking the lead as usual.

Mrs. Hodge shook her head.“I did not. Both of them were dressed in black from head to toe. Black leather jackets, black pants, black shoes, and a black mask to hide their faces. One was big and the other one small, though, so that might be important.”

“One big, one small,” murmured Scarlett while she tapped all this information into her smartphone, her tongue between her lips as she navigated the little keyboard with her inch-long gel nails.

“And then what happened?” asked Vesta.

“Well, they just left me there and walked straight into the next room, Mort’s old office, which we’ve turned into a storage space for some of his stuff.” She glanced at her husband. “They seemed to know their way around the house, which makes me think they must have been here before.”

“They didn’t bother with the safe,” said Mort with a frown of concern. “Instead they emptied out my big metal bookcase, which I keep padlocked.”

“What was in that bookcase?”