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I gave this some thought. There was no doubt Dooley had made a valid point. Neither Harriet or Brutus had been cautioned by Odelia. Yet. So they were officially in the clear, able to admonish to their heart’s content. And frankly speaking Brutus could be very severe if he wanted to be, and so could Harriet. If I were a kitten and I saw Harriet or Brutus coming—or both—I’d be afraid. I’d be very, very afraid.

Bucked up by these uplifting thoughts, I discovered we’d reached the back of the small lodge. A pile of discarded and empty glass bottles was lying there, testament to the preference for alcoholic beverages of the lodge’s current occupant. Beyond the pile of bottles an ashtray rested on a bench, overflowing with weirdly shaped cigarette butts.

“Why do humans smoke and drink so much, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Beats me,” I said.

“They possess a tendency towards self-destruction, don’t they?”

“You can say that again.”

“They possess a tendency towards self-destruction, don’t they?”

“I didn’t mean literally repeat—oh, never mind,” I said. I’d spotted a tiny birdie sitting and singing in a nearby tree and padded over to take a closer look at this fluffy little friend.

On the whole, the relationship between cats and birds is fraught with a certain tension. Birds, as a rule, don’t like cats. Probably because cats, as a species, tend to eat birds. Not that I’m one of those cats, per se. Odelia taught us a long time ago that sometimes we need to sink the savage feline into the civilized feline, and has strictly forbidden us from ever taking a feathered life.

“Yoo-hoo, birdie,” I said now.

The bird glanced down in our direction, did a visible double take, blanched to the root of its downy gray feathers, and fluttered off as fast as its tiny wings could carry it.

“Too bad,” I said.

“What is, Max?”

“That birds take this instant dislike to us just because we’re cats.”

“It’s anti-cat bias,” Dooley agreed.

As far as I could tell, no other feathered creatures were anywhere nearby, and I was about to give up this fact-finding mission as a dud when I saw that a young woman came walking in our direction through a small patch of gray birch trees. There was a path there that led straight from the house to this lodge, and she was bouncing down it at a brisk pace. She vaguely resembled Jeb, and I wondered if she was in any way related to the actor.

When she came upon us, she smiled prettily.“Oh, hey, you two cuties. I’ve never seen you here before.” She crouched down next to us, and tickled me behind the ear, then rubbed Dooley’s head, then scratched me under the chin. In response, we both closed our eyes and started purring up a storm. Now here was a human to whom I took an instant shine. Pro-human bias, I guess. And we were still purring when Odelia rounded the lodge and came into view. When she saw us fraternizing with another human, she smiled.

“I see you’ve met my cats.”

“Oh, are these two sweeties yours? They’re so cute!” the girl said. Then she seemed to sober and rose to her feet. “You’re Odelia Poole, aren’t you?”

Odelia seemed surprised to be recognized.“Yes, I am. Have we met?”

“Not in person. I love your articles for the Gazette, and I’ve seen your picture.” She glanced around. “Um, I need to ask you a favor, Miss Poole.”

“Odelia. And you are…”

“Oh, sorry. How rude of me.” The girl thrust out a slender hand that was attached to a slim arm, which was connected to a willowy body. “My name is Fae. I’m Jeb’s daughter.”

“Oh, of course,” said Odelia, shaking the girl’s hand.

She was probably all of seventeen, or maybe even sixteen, and looked very young and very pretty. Striking large eyes and a pale heart-shaped face with high cheekbones.

“I know what you must be thinking,” said Fae. “My father did the most unspeakable thing. But I can assure you that he didn’t do what they’re accusing him of, Odelia.”

“He didn’t?”

The girl shook her head decidedly.“My daddy would never murder anyone. He couldn’t hurt a fly.” She took a deep breath. “Which is why I want you to find out who’s framing him for murder. I want you to find out and then I want you to tell the police who the real murderer is.” She took out her wallet before Odelia could reply, and pressed a small wad of green bills into her hand. “Consider this an advance for future services rendered. I’ll pay you whatever you want, but please, Miss Poole,” she said, and clasped Odelia’s arm, fixing her with a pleading look. “Please please please clear my father’s name?”

Chapter 7

Odelia didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know if…” she began.

“Oh, I know you’re not a private detective—not a licensed one, anyway. But I also know that you’ve helped the police solve countless murders, and that you’re very good at what you do. If there’s one person who can clear my daddy’s name it’s you, Miss Poo—I mean Odelia. So please, please, please, please, please take me on as your client?”

“Like you said, I’m not a detective, Fae,” said Odelia. “I’m a reporter, so…”