Purrfect Sparkle Read online

  But Gerald, whose face had adopted a pinched look, suddenly rose from the chair, ripped off the barber cloth and collar, and said, “I—I totally forgot but I—I have someplace I need to be. Right now!” And then he was hurrying for the door.

  “Gerald?” asked Fido as he stood there, frozen. “Gerald, where are you going?”

  “I’m sorry, Fido! Gotta run!”

  “You forgot your flyer!” Fido yelled after the man. But Gerald was gone, his excess hair flapping in the breeze.

  Buster turned to me. “See? This is what’s been happening, Max. People come in, get a whiff of Fido’s new project, and run out as quick as their legs can carry them.”

  “I see,” I said, and I did. This was indeed a lot more serious than I’d thought at first.

  “If this keeps up I will be out on the street,” said our friend. “And Fido will be out on the street alongside me. We’ll be living in a cardboard box in an alley and digging through dumpsters.”

  Fido, who’d sagged down on his chair again with a deep sigh, held up his scissors for a moment, then murmured, “Life is tough right now, sweetheart, but we’re not giving up—oh, no. People have a right to know the truth.”

  “And now he’s talking to his scissors,” said Buster, shaking his head in dismay.

  Clearly he was right: this called for an intervention. But what could we do? How could we drive this crazy idea from that poor man’s head? Frankly I didn’t have a clue. Like I said before, I’m not a shrink, so I don’t know how to remedy what must surely be some kind of fatal flaw in the mental makeup of the human species. But I couldn’t allow our friend to be kicked out of his own home because his human had gone cuckoo, so I placed a paw on Buster’s shoulder and said solemnly, “We’ll fix this, buddy. I promise.”

  “Why, thanks, Max,” said Buster, perking up considerably. “I feel better already.”

  “So we’re going on a trip around the world?” asked Dooley.

  “No, Dooley,” I said. “We’re definitely not going on a trip around the world.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “But what?”

  Well now that, of course, was the big question.

  5

  Vesta Muffin was seated in the outside dining area of the Star hotel, her usual hangout of a morning, taking in the human traffic on Main Street, as was her habit. Her eagle-eyed glances would have discomforted the objects of her inspection, if they’d known they were under observation. In spite of her advanced age, there was nothing wrong with Vesta’s eyesight, or her mind, which was as sharp as it had ever been—almost as sharp as her tongue, some of her detractors would have said.

  Next to her, her friend Scarlett Canyon sat enjoying her iced caramel macchiato with extra foam and chocolate sprinkles on top. She licked her lips and said, “Did you hear about Fido?”

  “Is he dead?” asked Vesta, perhaps with a touch too much eagerness in her voice.

  Lately exactly nothing had happened in her world, and frankly she was bored, and eager for anything to happen, even the death of a fine hairdresser like Fido.

  “He’s joined a cult,” said Scarlett, looking as pleased as the cat that got the cream that there was gossip she was aware of that her friend wasn’t.

  “A cult? What cult?”

  “Here. He gave me this when I went in to have my roots done last night.” She placed a flyer on the table and Vesta gratefully took it and gave it a quick perusal.

  “Flat Earth Society? What in God’s name is the Flat Earth Society?”

  “Exactly what it says: they believe that the earth is flat and anyone who says different is an idiot.”

  “Huh,” said Vesta, a small smile playing about her lips. “And Fido believes this crap?”

  “He sure does. He talked me through the whole thing last night. I would have left, but he’d already applied the dye.” She licked her lips again, only this time not for the purpose of sampling an extra helping of cream but reliving the scene. “He told me that I wouldn’t believe the number of people who fall off the face of the earth each year, and it’s all being hushed up by the government.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “He says that most deaths are actually attributed to people falling off the earth, and if only they’d tell people to watch out, a lot of casualties could be avoided. Birds, too.”

  “Birds?” asked Vesta, looking up from the flyer to take in her friend. Scarlett was dressed in a revealing red top of some kind of stretchy material, which hugged her impressive assets, and a miniskirt which accentuated her long legs. She might be Vesta’s age, but she looked one or two decades younger. That bright red hair had a lot to do with it, of course. And Botox—plenty of Botox.

  “Yeah, he says that a lot of birds go missing each year, because they fly past the point of no return, and then they can’t find their way back.”

  “Poor birds.”

  “So of course I asked him what’s beyond the earth, you know, if it makes birds get lost, and he says that the government knows, but they’re refusing to tell us. Afraid to cause a panic.” She nodded seriously as she took another sip from her delicious drink, then picked up one of the miniature cakes the Star hotel likes to provide its loyal customers.

  “So what’s so terrible that it might cause a panic?” asked Vesta, putting down the flyer and picking up her own drink, a nice big hot cocoa with plenty of cream on top and even a cherry this time, bless the server’s heart.

  “Fido says it must be something really, really terrible. Like monsters or something. And he says that armed guards make sure the monsters don’t come and eat us all.”

  “So if there’s armed guards, then why are people still falling over the edge?”

  “It’s a big world, Vesta. They probably don’t have enough guards.”

  “So monsters, huh?”

  “Yep.” Scarlett was grinning now, obviously enjoying her tale. “One day a long time ago they came crawling out of the deep and ate all of the dinosaurs.”

  “They ate the dinosaurs? Those must be some big-ass monsters.”

  “Uh-huh. So that story about the dinosaurs going extinct after a meteor hit is all baloney—at least according to Fido.”

  “No meteor but monsters,” said Vesta, nodding. “Gotcha.”

  “So when I was finally done, he gave me this flyer, and invited me to join his cult. He says the more people join up, the more pressure they can bring to bear on the world leadership to reveal the truth.”

  “About the people falling over the edge and the birds getting lost and the dinosaur-eating monsters.”

  “I told him I’d think about it.”

  “You know what we should do?” said Vesta as she yawned and stretched. “We should go to this meeting.” She was tapping the flyer.

  Scarlett stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Scarlett, I don’t know about you, but I’m bored. Nothing ever happens in this town, and if this keeps up I’m going to die of boredom. You do know that people can die from boredom, right? You see it happen all the time with the folks that retire. Three months later they’re dead. Worked all their lives, forty years on the job, and three months into their retirement, bam, they drop dead.”

  “You’re not retired, though. You still work at the doctor’s office.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a borefest, too. I want some excitement, honey. Something to keep my mind engaged. And this flat earth business is just the ticket. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “I don’t know, Vesta. It looks a little crazy to me.”

  “Of course it looks crazy. Because it is crazy. So why don’t you and I infiltrate this organization and find out what’s going on?”

  “Oh, I know what’s going on. A bunch of crazies getting together and driving each other even crazier than they already are. What surprises me, though, is how a guy like Fido would get involved in a thing like that. He never struck me as a nutte
r.”

  “That’s what we need to find out. If these people can snag Fido, who’s next? Pretty soon this whole town will be part of this cult, and then when the FBI comes knocking, we’ll be the ones to save the day. We’ll be like Deep Throat.”

  “What throat?”

  “Never mind what throat. Let’s do this.”

  “If you say so,” said Scarlett, dubiously.

  6

  Marge Poole was reading a book and was so engrossed by the exciting tale the author had spun that she didn’t even notice a customer had entered the library and was standing in front of her desk. Only when the person cleared her throat did she finally look up.

  “Oh, hey, Mrs. Samson,” she said. Margaret Samson was one of her regulars, and came in every week, sometimes even twice a week, to load up on reading material. Her genre of choice was steamy romance, which for a lady as aged as she was sometimes came as a surprise to those who saw her fill her little basket with her favorite books. “I have that book you asked me to look out for,” Marge said as she put down her own book and picked up a tome she’d put aside for Mrs. Samson. It was called Fierce Hunk, by Courtney Divine, and featured a picture of a young man with an impressive six-pack and a sort of smoldering look in his eyes.

  Mrs. Samson’s own eyes lit up. “Oh, goodie,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for that one. I do wish these writers would write faster, Marge. Can’t you tell them to write faster? It’s been months since Fierce Heart came out, and I just know I’ll have to wait months for Fierce Betrayal, the third book in the trilogy.”

  “I’d tell her if I knew her,” said Marge with an indulgent smile as she placed the book aside. From experience she knew that the old lady would load up on more reading material. One book was only going to keep her occupied for a couple of hours. She read a book a day, and sometimes even that wasn’t enough. “You could always write to her,” she suggested.

  “Write Courtney Divine?” asked Mrs. Samson, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “You mean like a letter?”

  “No, an email. Or you could even find her on social media, and get in touch with her that way.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Mrs. Samson dubiously. “She probably doesn’t want to be bothered.”

  “I’m sure she’d love to hear from such a loyal fan as yourself. Here, I’ll write down her email and you can go over to one of the internet computers and write to her.” She handed the old lady a piece of paper with the email.

  Mrs. Samson stared at it curiously and with a touch of reverence. “But… what do I tell her?”

  “Just tell her how much you love her books, and tell her you can’t wait for the next one to come out.”

  “Okay,” said the old romance addict. “I guess I can do that.”

  Marge watched her trot off in the direction of the bank of internet computers, and smiled. An avid reader herself, she could absolutely relate to Mrs. Samson, who considered the characters in the books she read almost as real as the people in her own life.

  She picked up the book she’d been reading and was soon engrossed in the story. It was about a woman of humble descent who met a sheikh and fell in love. Part one depicted their whirlwind romance, and he’d just proposed to her and she’d accepted and was rushing home to tell her mom and dad all about it and also to show them the diamond ring the sheikh had gifted her, containing a very precious and unique diamond called the Pink Lady.

  Just then, her phone chimed, and when she glanced over, she saw her daughter was trying to reach her. “Hey, honey,” she said. “I’m just reading the most amazing book. The Sheikh’s Passion. Have you read it?”

  “No, Mom,” said Odelia. “I’m with Uncle Alec right now, and we need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Wait—I’ll hand the phone to him.”

  There was a rustling sound, and then her brother Alec’s voice sounded in her ear. “Marge, I need to ask you a big, big favor.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Though if it’s about tonight’s menu, it’s fish. I already took it out of the freezer, and if we don’t eat it tonight it’s going to spoil.”

  “It’s not about the fish. It’s about a diamond.” He cleared his throat. “Have you ever heard about a diamond called the Pink Lady?”

  Marge blinked, then her eyes slowly traveled to the cover of the book on her desk. It depicted a very large and very pink diamond. “The Pink Lady?”

  “Yeah. It was a diamond that went missing thirty years ago. It used to belong to a sheikh’s wife—anyway, long story short, it disappeared, and now it’s turned up again. On the beach.”

  “Amazing,” she breathed, as she turned the book over and perused the back cover, where a picture of the author had been printed. It was a woman with thick curly blond hair, looking confidently into the camera. Her name was Loretta Gray, and The Sheikh’s Passion was her debut novel.

  “So the people that found the diamond took it to Thormond Linoski, the jeweler on Carmel Street, and now he’s afraid for his safety, and the safety of the diamond. And as long as we don’t know for sure who it belongs to, I was thinking that maybe we should keep it in a place no one would ever think to look.”

  “And where is that?”

  “You have a small safe in your bedroom, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, why don’t we put the stone there until we can figure out what to do with it?”

  “Why don’t you keep it at the police station? Don’t you think it’ll be safer there?”

  “This was actually your daughter’s idea,” said the Chief. “Wait, here she is.”

  “Mom?” said Odelia. “So Mr. Linoski has asked for extra security, but Uncle Alec can’t spare anyone right now, and so we were thinking that the best way would be for the diamond to be kept in a secret place.”

  “So why not the police station?” she repeated.

  “Wait, I’ll hand over Uncle Alec again.”

  “Marge, the police station is the first place thieves will look when they find out about that stone. And trust me, they will find out, since the parents of the little girl who found the stone have already been blabbing about it to anyone who would listen. It’s all over the news—they even gave an interview to WLBC-9 and everything.”

  “Okay, sure, if you think this is a good idea.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” said Alec. “I wanted to put it in the police station lockup but Odelia—wait, I’m passing the phone to her.”

  “Mom, I think we can’t afford for this stone to go missing again. The last time it took thirty years for it to turn up, and also, we don’t know how it ended up on that beach. Maybe the people who took it lost it and are now looking for it. And also,” she lowered her voice, “I’m not sure we can trust the people here.”

  “Here? You mean at the precinct?”

  “Well, there’s been an incident.”

  “What incident?”

  “I interviewed Mr. Linoski, and five minutes after I left two cops showed up and told him Uncle Alec had asked them to come and pick up the diamond. Only Mr. Linoski had a bad feeling, and told them the diamond had already been picked up and wasn’t at the shop anymore.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Marge, Alec again,” said her brother. “Look, I’m still looking into this—maybe it was some kind of misunderstanding, I don’t know. But for now let’s just play it safe and keep that stone where only we know where to find it, all right?”

  “If you think that’s best.”

  “What’s the combination of the safe?”

  “Oh, I have absolutely no idea. You’ll have to ask Tex.”

  “Mom?” said Odelia, taking the phone from her uncle again. “I’m going to pick up the diamond, and I’m taking it to your place, okay? And if anyone asks? We never had this conversation, and you’ve never heard of the Pink Lady.”

  “If you say so, honey,” said Marge, still feeling a little dazed by the coincidence. And as she placed down the phone and pick
ed up her book again, she continued reading with even more fervor than before.

  7

  We met up with Odelia while she was setting a course for the jeweler once more, and of course we quickly decided to hook our little wagon to her locomotive and see what she was up to.

  “Odelia, we need to talk,” said Dooley, adopting a serious tone.

  “Not now, Dooley,” said Odelia as she took large strides in the direction of Gems World, and when we looked up I think we both noticed she was looking exceptionally serious.

  “What’s going on?” I asked therefore. Our human is not one of those happy-go-lucky people, but neither is she a person who goes through life with a large chip on her shoulder, or even prone to the kind of moodiness and gloominess some of your more famous detectives seem to suffer from. Take your Sam Spade, for instance, or even your Philip Marlowe. Not exactly a pair of chuckle buddies. No, they’re tough fellas, sucking from cigarettes and talking through the side of their mouths and never happier than when giving some heavy a knuckle sandwich.

  “I’m sorry, you guys,” said Odelia, lowering her voice as her eyes flitted to and fro. “Best if we don’t talk right now.” She then whispered, “We’re taking the diamond to a safe place!”

  “Gotcha!” I whispered back, and allowed my own eyes to follow the same stroboscopic pattern set by my human. If the walls have ears, the same goes for streets. There’s always someone about with an unhealthy interest in a woman talking to her cats, and ready to take photographic or even videographic evidence of same. Ever since the advent of the smartphone, privacy seems to have become a thing of the past, and before you know it your every single move is documented on some Facebook page and shared by a bunch of strangers.

  “Mum’s the word,” I said, and mimicked zipping up my lips to give a good example.

  “Why is mum the word, Max?” asked Dooley. “I mean, I know mum is a word, but why is it the word?”