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  “Oh, well,” said Brutus, who didn’t seem overly concerned by the cheek of the cheese-eating little mite. “Live and let live, right? So maybe we should go back upstairs? I’m burning up down here. Place is turning into a sauna.”

  “I’ll get you!” Harriet cried, shaking her paw. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you, you stupid mouse!”

  The sound of laughter echoed through the basement, and this time, even though she tried to locate its source so she could jam her paw in and grab the miscreant, it could have come from anywhere. The mouse was right: it moved through the walls like a ghost.

  “Let’s go,” said Brutus again, “before we both melt.”

  Grudgingly, Harriet agreed. And they were moving up the wooden staircase to the door when it suddenly slammed shut. And when they tried to shove it open, they couldn’t!

  “Great,” said Harriet. “And now we can’t get out.”

  “Take that, cat!” the mouse shouted, and tiny little feet could be heard scurrying away from the basement door.

  “Did he do that?” asked Harriet. “Did he really lock us up down here?”

  “Looks like,” said Brutus. A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Clever little…” He swallowed the rest of the sentence when Harriet threw him a furious look. “Nasty critter,” he muttered instead, and hunkered down at the foot of the stairs.

  They’d have to wait it out, until Odelia found them missing, and decided to go look for them. Until then, they were prisoners down there.

  Prisoners of a mouse. How absolutely embarrassing was that?

  Odelia was glad to finally see Abe Cornwall arrive. The big guy with the mass of frizzy hair was panting as he lumbered down the stairs into the basement. “So what do we have here?” he asked, ducking for a low-hanging wooden beam and then again for the canoe Tex had once stored there and promptly forgotten about.

  “A body,” said Uncle Alec dryly. “But a very peculiar one.”

  “Oh, goodie,” said Abe, rubbing his hands as he caught sight of the skeleton.

  This was what Howard Carter must have felt like when he entered Tutankhamen’s tomb, Odelia thought. The coroner actually looked thrilled with this new assignment.

  He moved closer and eyed the body from top to toe. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Well?” said Alec finally, when the doctor had muttered as much as he seemed willing to. “What can you tell us about the poor bastard?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” said Abe. “In fact there isn’t anything I can tell you right now, apart from the fact that it’s a human being and not a dog or a cat.”

  “Yeah, well, I could have told you that,” said Alec. “But how long has it been here? And how did he or she die—and is it a she or a he?”

  “I’d say it’s a male, judging from the width of the pelvis, the shape of the jawbone and the length of the long bones, but to be absolutely certain I’ll have to take this fine specimen back to my lab and perform a series of tests on it.” He was actually rubbing his hands now, in obvious glee. “I’ll call in my team. They’ll be absolutely thrilled.”

  “So when will you be able to tell us something?”

  “Not soon, Alec,” said Abe. “Though of course I’ll do my best for you.” He suddenly frowned and moved in for a closer look, using a small penlight. “Will you look at that,” he murmured, and then they all moved in closer. The coroner’s light shone down into the space between the two walls, and hit something shiny and glittering located at the feet of the body. And as the coroner carefully lifted it from its hiding place, Odelia gasped when she saw what it was: a diamond brooch. Very large, and obviously very, very valuable… “Ta-dah,” Abe said with satisfaction, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.

  Chapter 6

  “So how are we supposed to find out who that body belonged to?” asked Dooley.

  “Good question, Dooley,” I said. “And I have absolutely no answer for you.”

  We were walking along the sidewalk, pretty much going where the wind led us. Odelia and Marge and Tex’s houses are part of a neighborhood of similar houses. Maybe not tract housing, necessarily, but since they were all built around the same time they all look similar in design and construction. Both Marge and Odelia’s houses, for instance, have a small entrance, that leads straight into the living room, a sitting room now mainly used to watch television and in the olden days where people entertained their guests.

  The living room is also the dining room, though not in Odelia’s house, since she usually eats in the kitchen, which is connected to the living room. Off the kitchen is the laundry room. Upstairs there are three more rooms and a bathroom: the master bedroom where Odelia and Chase sleep, and of course me and Dooley, though sometimes Dooley favors Grandma’s bed in the house next door. Then there’s the guest bedroom, which Odelia and Chase are converting to an office slash home gym, and then finally there’s a small room where Odelia stores a lot of her junk. It’s filled with all the stuff she can’t fit in the rest of the house. Oh, and there’s also a crawl space she calls an attic, and a basement, which apparently has become the home of a mouse or mice.

  We wandered idly through the neighborhood, trying to come up with a plan of campaign.

  “No animal is old enough to have witnessed the events that killed that person,” I said.

  “We don’t even know how old it is,” Dooley pointed out.

  “He must be younger than the house, though, or else how would he have managed to get stuck in its basement?”

  “How do you know it’s a he?”

  “Just a hunch. Only men are dumb enough to get stuck inside a basement wall.”

  “True,” Dooley admitted. “Harriet would never allow herself to be trapped like that.”

  “I think I once read that the oldest living organism on the planet is a fungus,” I said.

  “So where do we find a fungus to interview?”

  “Not sure. And I’m not even sure Mr. or Mrs. Fungus would want to talk to us. I hear they’re very private organisms.”

  We both lapsed into silence. This was a tough assignment Odelia had given us. One of those impossible missions Tom Cruise likes so much. Only Tom’s missions usually end up with him dangling from high-speed trains, skyscrapers or the outsides of airplanes. At least our mission didn’t involve that kind of hair-raising stunt. At least I hoped it wouldn’t. I’m not all that keen on hair-raising stunts, and I don’t think Dooley is either.

  We’d ambled along through the neighborhood without meeting a single fungus and decided to wend our way into town. There are always fellow cats to be found downtown, and maybe they’d be able to give us some ideas. Show us in the right direction.

  We took a left turn at the end of the next street and saw a very old cat lying in the window of a house. It opened one eye to give us a curious glance, then closed it again. Apparently it didn’t like what it saw, for it went on sleeping as if we weren’t even there.

  “How old do cats get, Max?” asked Dooley now.

  It was a point I’d often wondered about myself. “I honestly don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “Though I’m guessing very old. We’re very wise creatures, you know, and wise creatures usually get very, very told.”

  “I think so too,” Dooley agreed. “I once saw this documentary about how the Egyptians loved cats so much they thought they came from the gods, and we all know that gods can get very old indeed.”

  “I know, just look at their beards. Only very old beings have beards like that.”

  We’d arrived on the outskirts of downtown Hampton Cove and decided to go in search of the feline mayor of our town, a title worn with pride by Kingman, a voluminous piebald who likes to hold forth on Main Street, in front of his owner’s general store. When we arrived, Kingman was dozing on top of the checkout counter, while his human Wilbur Vickery was busy ringing up his customers’ purchases.

  I cleared my throat. “Hey, Kingman.”

  He ope
ned his eyes and yawned. “Oh, hey, guys. How’s it hanging?”

  Dooley looked at me, I looked at him, and then we both looked at Kingman.

  “How is what hanging?” I asked.

  “How should I know? It’s an expression.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. I’m not always hip to the finer points of the feline language, even though I am a feline myself. I wasn’t going to let that stop me from asking a most important question, though. “What is the oldest animal in Hampton Cove, Kingman?”

  He thought about his for a moment, then said, “I guess that would be Camilla.”

  “Who is Camilla?” asked Dooley.

  “Camilla is a bird, and not just any bird, mind you. Camilla is a macaw, and currently lives with her owner out on Morley Street. Why do you want to know?”

  “Marge found a body in her basement,” said Dooley.

  “Well, not a body,” I said. “A skeleton.”

  “A skeleton is a body, though, right, Max?”

  “No, a body is more than just a skeleton, a body still has all of its fixtures attached.”

  “The juicy bits,” Kingman confirmed. “A skeleton is a body without the juicy bits.”

  “Oh,” said Dooley, nodding. “You mean like a fishbone after we eat the meat?”

  “Yeah, exactly like a fishbone,” I said.

  “So a body, huh?” said Kingman. “Why is it that the Pooles keep stumbling over bodies everywhere they go?”

  “Not a body,” I said. “A skeleton.”

  “Same difference. It must have belonged to a human once, right? And that human is now presumably dead?”

  “I would think so,” I said. “I didn’t see the skeleton but I imagine it wasn’t jumping around and dancing the hornpipe.”

  “So who is it?” asked Kingman. “Anyone I know?”

  “Odelia seems to think it must have been there for a very long time, possibly many decades,” I said. “And now she wants us to figure out who it could have belonged to.”

  “Many decades, huh? Now I see why you want to find the oldest animal in town. Well, your best bet will be Camilla, though there are other, maybe even older organisms, of course. Mollusks tend to get very old, too.”

  “Mollusks?”

  “Sure. The oldest known clam lived to be over five hundred years.”

  “A clam, huh?”

  “I doubt whether a clam would be able to tell us a lot about the skeleton in Marge’s basement, though,” said Dooley, echoing my thoughts exactly.

  “Yeah, I guess you may have a point,” Kingman conceded.

  “Well, thanks, Kingman,” I said. “And if you find out anything else about the former owners of Tex and Marge’s house, you will let us know, right?”

  “Sure thing, boys,” said Kingman, and promptly dozed off again.

  “Kingman must have had a rough night,” said Dooley as we walked on. “He seemed more sleepy than usual.”

  “He was probably up all night chasing mice,” I said. “Kingman loves to chase mice.”

  “Most cats love to chase mice,” said Dooley. “We’re the only ones that don’t. Why is that, Max?”

  “Um, I guess we’re the only cats with a moral compass?”

  “I wonder if Harriet and Brutus have caught the mouse in Odelia’s basement.”

  “I’ll bet she has. Harriet seemed dead set on catching that mouse.”

  “Poor Mr. Mouse,” said Dooley, shaking his head in dismay.

  “Are you actually rooting for the creature now, Dooley?”

  “I am. We are all members of God’s great flock, Max, and I feel for that poor thing, with Harriet on his tail, trying to eat him at every turn. I’ll bet that poor Mr. Mouse is scared stiff right now, running for his life and wondering where the next attack will come from, and then, just before the final blow lands, looking into Mrs. Mouse’s eyes, and together gazing at all of their sweet little baby mice…”

  My heart sank at Dooley’s words. Poor Mr. Mouse. Poor Mrs. Mouse. Poor baby mice.

  “We have to save that mouse, Max,” he said. “What are those precious little baby mice going to do when Harriet and Brutus have brutally slain and eaten their mom and dad?”

  The picture Dooley had painted was so poignant I felt compelled to wipe away a tear. “I think it’s probably too late, Dooley,” I said. “That poor mouse has probably gotten it in the neck by now.”

  “That poor, poor Mr. Mouse,” he said in sad lament.

  Chapter 7

  “That horrible, horrible mouse!” Harriet was yelling as she stomped around the basement, furious.

  “Maybe we should preserve our energy,” Brutus suggested. “We could be down here for a long time.”

  “I can’t believe this. Imagine what the members of cat choir are going to say when they find out we’ve been bested by a stupid little mouse. They’re going to turn us into the laughingstock of Hampton Cove. They’ll make fun of us until the day we die!”

  “Speaking of dying,” said Brutus as he nervously glanced at the locked door. “How long do you think we can go without food or water?”

  “Oh, days and days and days,” said Harriet with an airy wave of the hand. “And even then we’ll find something to sustain us down here.” She glanced at the fungus-covered wall in the more dank part of the basement. “Do you think that’s edible? It looks edible.”

  Brutus shivered. “I don’t want to find out, do you?”

  “No, maybe not,” said Harriet. “Though it looks a lot like that chlorella Odelia likes to eat, or even spirulina, and that’s supposed to be very good for you. She says they’re superfoods, and superfoods are very beneficial to the health of your gut, Brutus.”

  Brutus took a hold of his gut. It felt very empty, but even then he wasn’t so far gone he was willing to eat mold from the walls. Something told him his gut wouldn’t like it.

  “And we can always drink our own pee,” said Harriet. “I could drink yours and you could drink mine. People have been known to survive that way,” she explained. “It was on the Discovery Channel last week.”

  “I thought you hated the Discovery Channel?” asked Brutus.

  “Oh, it’s all right. Tex loves to watch it, and Gran does, too, from time to time, and since us cats don’t have control over the remote, we’re forced to watch with them.”

  “There must be a way out of here,” said Brutus, searching around. “Some secret passageway or hidden door?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Brutus, but this isn’t like the kind of place Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys always end up in,” said Harriet. “No trap doors or secret passageways. There’s only one way in or out of this basement and that’s through that door.” Harriet sat down on the cold stone floor and heaved a deep sigh. “We’ve been had by a mouse, Brutus, and we probably have to learn to accept that horrible truth.”

  He took up position next to his mate and both sat there for a moment, contemplating what could have been, when suddenly a squeaky voice sounded from right behind them.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  They both looked in the direction the voice seemed to be coming from, and Harriet was the first one to discover its source.

  “Oh, hey, mouse,” she said.

  “You can call me Molly,” said the mouse.

  “A member of your family managed to lock us up down here,” Harriet explained, “and now we’re kinda stuck.”

  “That will be Rupert,” said Molly, a frown on her face, her tiny paws planted on tiny hips. “If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a million times: don’t mess with the humans or their pets. But does he listen? Of course not. He thinks he’s engaged in some sort of noble battle with our mortal enemy or something. Are you our mortal enemy, cats?”

  “I guess… we are, in a sense,” said Harriet. ‘”Or at least Odelia sent us down here to get rid of you, so there’s something very enemy-like to that.”

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble,” said Molly. “And if Rup
ert has given you trouble, my sincerest apologies. He runs a little wild, my Rupert does.”

  “Is he…”

  “My husband? Yes, he is. And also the father of my four hundred babies.”

  “Four hundred babies,” said Brutus, gulping slightly. “How about that?”

  “Four hundred is a lot,” Harriet admitted.

  “Yeah, they’re a handful,” Molly agreed.

  “Brutus and I can’t have babies, you see,” said Harriet. “We tried but it turns out our humans had him castrated and had me spayed, so now we can’t have kittens.”

  “We thought about adopting,” said Brutus, “but it’s such a hassle, with all the paperwork and the home visits and all, so we just figure, why bother, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’m not even sure I want to be a mother at this point,” said Harriet. “We live a very full and happy life, Brutus and I, along with our dear friends and of course the humans who graciously take care of us. So why have kids, I mean? We might regret the decision and then what?”

  “It’s not as if we can give them back,” said Brutus.

  “Well, technically we could,” said Harriet.

  “You mean…”

  “Yeah, we could always tell the adoption agency it didn’t work out and then they’ll probably find another family to place them with.”

  “But that’s not fair on those kids.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well, all I can say is that kids are a lot of work,” said Molly. “But it’s worth it.”

  “You think?” said Harriet, placing her head on her paws so she was closer to Molly’s level. “It’s very interesting to hear you say that.”

  “She hasn’t completely given up on her dream,” Brutus explained.

  “No, I haven’t,” said Harriet. “Though it took this conversation to realize that.”

  “Not for me,” said Brutus. “I’ve always known that about you, snookums.”

  “You have? That’s so perceptive of you, my turtle dove.”

  “You’re lucky in that you have a good partner,” said Molly. “A good partner is key. If I had to do this all by myself, I wouldn’t have done it. But with Rupert it works great.”