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“He sold his chain of clubs years ago. They still carry his name but they’re run by a group of investors. He gets some money for the use of his name and image, but less than you’d expect. And his videos stopped selling in the late nineties, earlies noughties. The home video market collapsed with the advent of the internet, and Randy completely missed the boat on that one. Too busy doing drugs to bother. Oh, he’s on YouTube now, but he was late to the party—too late. Other fitness gurus are riding that wave, not him. And also, he’s been down in the dumps these last couple of months, because of his pelvis operation.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Randy Hancock, the fitness legend, hasn’t done a fitness routine or fitness class… in years.”

Chapter 24

We’d only just entered the apartment of Randy Hancock’s manager when a smallish Siamese cat came stalking up to us and started hissing noisily.

“It’s all right!” I said. “We’re not here to stay. Just to pay a visit to your human and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Literally,” said Harriet, who regarded a bit of fluff the Siamese had lost with a critical eye.

“This is my home, cats,” said the Siamese. “So if you like your faces free of scratches I’d get out while you still can. I won’t be held responsible for the consequences!”

“Oh, cool it, cat,” said Harriet. “We don’t want to be here either, but our human dragged us along on this investigation so here we are. Now what can you tell us about Randy Hancock? And please don’t hold back on the dirt you can dish on the guy. He’s sweet on our human and we don’t like it one bit.”

The cat immediately stopped hissing, her interest piqued.“Randy Hancock? The fitness guy?”

“One and the same,” I said, glancing around. We’d left the living room, where Odelia was conducting her interview, and had followed our noses until we found ourselves in the man’s bedroom, where we’d encountered this very hostile Siamese. Then again, hostility is often par for the course with the Siamese of the species.

“How do you know Randy?” asked the cat, still continuing to be suspicious.

“He’s moved in with us,” I said.

“And having an affair with one of our humans,” Harriet added.

“He’s going to marry her unless we can stop the wedding,” Dooley finished.

“Marry your human!” said the cat. “Fat chance! Randy isn’t the marrying kind, cats.”

“Max,” I said, holding out my paw. “And this is Dooley and Harriet.”

“Freya,” said the Siamese reluctantly and eyed my paw with suspicion. “Look, Randy Hancock is the kind of guy who has affairs, but doesn’t want to be tied down. So if he’s managed to seduce your human, there will not be a marriage in his future.”

“His future? Her future, you mean.”

“Her? You mean your human is a woman?”

“Sure. Marge Poole. She’s actually my human’s mom,” I explained.

“Randy dating a woman,” said Freya with a slight grin, the first time she’d displayed any other emotion than sheer hostility. “Now I know you’re pulling my paw, Max. Randy Hancock might have become the go-to person for middle-aged ladies to lose some of that flab, but he’d never marry one of them, let alone try to seduce them.”

“Why?” I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

“Because Randy Hancock is gay, of course!” said Freya. “He has flings, not with women, but young men. Pool boys, waiters, masseurs, assistants—you name it, and he’s tried to make out with them. But women? Never. So your human is quite safe,” she concluded with that same grin still firmly attached to her furry features.

“I don’t understand, Max,” said Dooley. “What is she talking about?”

“Randy Hancock is gay, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Just like Lil Ran told us.”

“Oh, okay,” said Dooley, surprising me by not asking a bunch of follow-up questions.

“Do you know anything about a death threat Randy received?” I asked now, deciding to tackle the meat of our investigation.

“Death threat? Why would Randy receive a death threat? He’s the sweetest guy I know.”

“And the gayest,” Dooley added.

“Yeah, that, too,” said Freya with a curious glance at my friend.

“He received a video of someone injecting him with a lethal poison,” I explained. “And if he doesn’t pay this person ten million dollars, he won’t receive the antidote and he will die in three days,” I added, putting all the facts pertaining to the case in the Siamese cat’s possession, to do with as she pleased.

“Wow, that’s terrible,” said the cat. “Three days to live, huh? And Randy not having any money to pay off these people. Not a dime.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “I thought he was rich.”

“Randy isn’t rich. He’s broke. My human has been working for him for free for the last couple of months, hoping he’ll go back to being his biggest moneymaker, but I think we can all agree that’s not going to happen. Not at his age, at least, and in his condition.”

“What condition?” asked Harriet. “He looks fine to me.”