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“I saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel once, that explained how candy is made. It’s just sugar, flavorings, coloring and gelatin. And gelatin is made from animals.”

“Yuck.”

“It’s the skin, ligaments, tendons and bone shavings of pigs and cows and chickens.”

“Yuck, yuck.”

“And the weird thing is that Gran saw that documentary, too, and she was snacking on Garibo gummy bears all the while, and even afterward she didn’t stop eating them.”

“Did you explain to her she was eating sugared pigskin?”

“I did! And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“If you knew what they put in your kibble you’d probably never eat another bowl.”

I was afraid to ask but still felt compelled to.“Why? What do they put in cat kibble?”

“Meat leftovers,” said Dooley. “The skin, the fat, basically all the yucky stuff no one else wants.”

“Yuck.”

“Yeah, yuck.”

We were both silent for a moment, then I felt compelled to ask the inevitable question:“So if you know all this, why haven’t you stopped eating kibble?”

Dooley shrugged.“It tastes so good!”

Well, the same probably goes for sugared pigskin, aka gummy bears. These Garibo people make it taste so good that people eat it, no matter what’s in it.

“Why did Charlene just walk off in a huff?” asked Dooley.

“I think she thinks Uncle Alec insulted her,” I said.

“Oh? What did he say?”

“He said she doesn’t look as good now as she did twenty years ago. Or, more specifically, no one looks as good at forty-eight as they did when they were twenty-eight.”

“I think Charlene looks great.”

“I think so, too.”

“And she smells so nice.”

“She smells divine.”

I don’t know what perfume Charlene likes to wear, but it’s very refined and very nice.

“I don’t really care whether a human is twenty-eight or forty-eight or eighty-eight,” said Dooley. “As long as they treat me well I love them all the same.”

“Me, too,” I agreed.

“And as long as they keep the kibble coming.”

“That goes without saying.”

If only people were more like cats, the world would probably be a better place.

The security guard who’d caught Gran and Scarlett now came strutting up to us. “Mr. Gardner isn’t going to join us tonight,” he announced. “And neither is Mr. Garibaldi, his nephew. But they’re not going to press charges against your mother. Mr. Gardner did ask me to tell you that next time he won’t be so lenient. So please, sir,” he added, giving the Chief a pleading look, “put your mother and her friend on a tight leash?”

“I will,” said Uncle Alec, but I could see how he was crossing his fingers behind his back. And rightly so, I thought. If anyone told you they could keep Vesta Muffin on a tight leash, you can rest assured they would be lying through their teeth.

Odelia now approached the security guard.“Mr. Gardner’s nephew is the CEO, right?”

“He is,” said the guard a little guardedly.

“If I wanted to talk to him, how would I go about it?”

“You call his secretary and she’ll set up an interview,” said the man. “I gotta warn you, though, Miss Poole. Mr. Garibaldi is a hard man to reach. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll talk to me,” said Odelia.

“I don’t think so. He avoids the limelight, Mr. Garibaldi does. Doesn’t give interviews.”

“Then maybe he’ll speak to me,” said Chase, stepping to the fore.

The guard studied Chase for a moment, and I could see he saw in him a kindred muscled spirit, for a smile briefly creased his face.“He doesn’t talk to cops either.”

“And why is that?”

“Mr. Garibaldi was very attached to his aunt. And when she disappeared, and the police couldn’t bring her back, he took it very hard, sir. He blames the police—and the media,” he added with a glance in Odelia’s direction. “For the salacious stories published at the time.”

Chase nodded.“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” said the guard, who seemed to be the strong talkative type. “He hates reporters, and he hates the police.”

Gran, who’d joined us, now piped up. “Then he’ll want to talk to me. I don’t like reporters either, or cops, so at least we’ve got that in common.”

This seemed to amuse the guard.“But your son is a cop, Mrs. Muffin. And your niece is a reporter.”

“So? They may be family, but I don’t have to like them, do I?”

The guard could see her point, for he grinned.“Just like Mr. Gardner and his sister. They may be brother and sister but they hate each other’s guts like nobody’s business.” And feeling that he’d said enough, he bid us all good night, and returned to his guard hut, presumably hoping to catch more senior citizens armed with nail files and clippers.

Chapter 23

When we arrived home, and I ventured outside into the backyard for a nice few moments stretched out on the cool lawn, under the stars, to contemplate my fate and the day that had been, I saw to my horror that the inflatable pool, which had been expertly demolished by yours truly and Dooley, had been filled up with water once more.