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“Yes, I did. It’s great,” said Kimberly, quickly plastering an ingratiating smile onto her face. “You know, I couldn’t help but overhear Odelia talking to this girl just now.”

“Girl? What girl?”

“Rose something. She was asking Odelia to investigate her father’s murder.”

“Rose Wimmer? Her father wasn’t murdered. He committed suicide last night.”

“Well, his daughter seems to think he was murdered. And she asked Odelia to investigate the murder. Offered her money and everything.”

“Well, that’s her prerogative, I guess,” said Dan with a shrug. “Odelia has been known to dabble in some amateur sleuthing from time to time. Guess the apple doesn’t fall from the tree. You do know her uncle is—”

“Chief of police. Yes, I know.” She grimaced. “It’s just that…”

The editor eyed her keenly.“Spit it out, young lady. I can see you’ve got something on your chest. What is it?”

“Well, isn’t all this amateur sleuthing as you call it bound to interfere with Odelia’s work for the paper? I mean, I don’t want to pry or anything, but she just left, presumably to investigate this murder business.”

Dan smiled.“I guess they teach you at journalism school that being a reporter is like being a regular employee, right? Put in your eight hours? Well let me tell you right now, honey, that that isn’t the case. If a story develops and requires you to hunt down some witness or lead, you will have to go aboveand beyond for the sake of your story.”

“But Odelia—”

“Just let Odelia be. She knows what she’s doing. Now did you arrange that interview with Mayor Butterwick for me?”

“Yes, I did, Mr. Goory,” said Kimberly, sobered by this rebuke.

“Dan, please,” said Dan. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he added, a clear sign that the meeting was over.

“Thank you, Dan,” she said, and returned to her desk. She sat there for a moment, thinking things through, then got up again, and surreptitiously moved past Dan’s office—the editor was reading his own work again, judging from his fruity chuckle, and didn’t notice her—and quickly moved into Odelia’s office.

She sat down behind the reporter’s desk, opened her laptop, and started to read.

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It was one of those lazy days where nothing much seems to happen, and Dooley and I were walking along the sidewalk, with no particular destination in mind, when we saw Odelia come stepping out of her office and hurrying off in the direction of Town Hall.

“Must be tough to be a reporter,” said Dooley, who’d observed the same phenomenon. “Always chasing some story or following up some lead. Stressful.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. Oftentimes Odelia will be working on a case and insisting Dooley and I tag along, but since she didn’t have a case to work on right now, we were off the hook and I didn’t mind one bit, I have to admit.

“It’s not good for her blood pressure, you know,” said Dooley. “Or her general wellbeing.”

“She’s fine,” I assured my friend. “Odelia is young and in great shape, thanks to all those workout sessions she puts in at the gym.”

“Still,” said Dooley.

“Still,” I agreed.

“It would probably be better for her health if she’d quit that stressful job and found some other, more relaxing job.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Zookeeper,” Dooley said immediately. “It’s very relaxing, spending all your time surrounded by animals. You feed the lion, then you clean out the lion’s cage, then you feed the elephant, you clean out the elephant’s cage. All that repetition is soothing.”

“Entering a lion’s cage doesn’t sound like a very soothing thing to do,” I said. “It sounds really dangerous. And therefore stressful.”

“Oh, no. These zookeepers are professionals,” said Dooley, who’d clearly been watching another Discovery Channel documentary. “They know how to handle these animals. And since Odelia is already familiar with handling her pets, I think she’d be perfect for the job.”

“You better tell her that,” I suggested with a slight grin. “In fact you better tell her tonight. She could apply as a zookeeper tomorrow, and leave the stress and strife of being a small-town reporter and writing articles on pumpkin patch hayrides behind.”

Dooley’s face lit up with a smile. “I will, Max. Thanks. I thought you’d be skeptical.”

“Oh, I’m not. And I’m sure Odelia will be thrilled.”

Just then, an old lady was trying to cross the road, but couldn’t because cars kept zooming past her at a high rate of speed, ignoring her feeble attempts to attract their attention and let her pass.

“Will you look at that,” I said, shaking my head. But I was speaking to thin air, as my friend had suddenly skedaddled. Skedaddled in the direction of the old lady. He was meowing loudly, and as she looked down, suddenly Dooley started to cross the street, putting himself in harm’s way beforeI could stop him!

“Dooley!” I cried. “Dooley, no!”