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“I guess so, but like I said, Mama would never leave without telling me. She simply wouldn’t.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course. I’ve called and texted—but she’s not picking up and not responding to my texts. Oh, Miss Poole, you have to find her. I’m so scared something bad has happened.”

“I will find her, Alicia,” she said, even as she wondered if she was making a promise she wouldn’t be able to keep. “Trust me.”

Chapter 5

Gran walked out of the house and closed the door behind her. As she passed us, presumably on her way to the office, she paused.“What’s going on here? Are you guys having a meeting?”

“Yes, we are,” said Dooley promptly. “We’ve just formed the first-ever Cat Committee for the Re-education of Canines, also known as the CCREC.”

“Crack? What crack?” asked Gran. “I don’t see no crack.”

“We want to teach dogs not to poo in the street,” Harriet explained.

“Yes, we want to re-educate dogs. Make them more like cats,” Shanille added.

Gran guffawed.“Good luck with that!”

“But, Gran, just look at it. Isn’t it a disgrace?” said Harriet, gesturing to the still steaming pile of dog dung.

Gran looked at the evidence of a dog’s bowel movement and frowned. “Who left that there?”

“I think it belongs to Rufus,” said Harriet. “Marcie and Ted’s new dog?”

“Not on my watch!” said Gran, and immediately stalked over to Marcie’s doorstep and mashed the bell with her finger.

“Your Grandma Muffin could be a most formidable ally,” said Shanille.

We watched on as the door opened and Marcie appeared. She’s a dark-haired slender woman of Marge’s age, and very sweet. “Oh, hey, Vesta,” she said. “So nice to see you.”

“What were you thinking, Marcie?” said Gran, shaking her head. “What were you thinking when you left that stinking heap of stinky doo stinking up my sidewalk?!” She pointed an accusatory finger at the turd.

Marcie looked past Gran and frowned.“That’s not mine.”

“I know it’s not yours. It’s your dog’s.”

“Impossible,” said Marcie. “Ted always picks up after Rufus. He would never leave our baby’s doo-doo just lying around for people to step in. No way. Nuh-uh.”

“My cats think it’s Rufus’s, and my cats are never wrong,” said Gran, and too late realized her faux-pas.

“How would you know what your cats think?” asked Marcie with a laugh. “Unless the rumors are true, and you Poole girls really can talk to your cats.”

“Never mind,” Gran grumbled, and executed a strategic retreat. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she muttered when she’d joined us on the sidewalk again. “Now Marcie will blab about it everywhere she goes. That’s the way she operates.” She stared at the heap of poo. “How sure are you that this belongs to Marcie’s dog, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Ten,” said Harriet immediately. “All excrement has a particular scent, and I needed only one sniff to know this particular pile belongs to Rufus.”

“Mh.” Gran directed a not-so-friendly look at Marcie’s house, where presumably Marcie was at that moment watching us from behind her curtains. “You know what? You cats just gave me a fantastic idea. A real scorcher.”

And without further explanation, she took off and left.

“So now what?” asked Brutus.

“Now we start our re-education campaign,” said Harriet. “And we begin with the culprit of this here eyesore.”

“You’re not serious,” said Brutus. “You’re going to try and re-educate Rufus?”

“Yes, I am,” said Harriet, “and so are you.”

“Ugh,” said Brutus, and I like to think that he spoke for all of us.

I mean, it’s one thing to engage in idle talk about the re-education of dogs and teaching them how to be potty-trained, but another to actually go out and do it. Dogs, you see, don’t take kindly to interference from cats, and Rufus is a big dog. A sheepdog. Those big and woolly ones? Sometimes I think there must have been a woolly mammoth among his forebears. I hadn’t really made Rufus’s acquaintance, apart from the occasional greeting across the fence, but if there is one thing a long life lived in Hampton Cove has taught me, it is always to steer clear of dogs, especially the really big ones.

We don’t bother them, and they don’t bother us. Peaceful coexistence if you will.

But Harriet was already on her way over, and so we followed. We couldn’t very well backtrack now, even though Shanille herself had suddenly turned a little thoughtful at this denouement.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Max?” she asked as we stepped into Marge and Tex’s backyard.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” I said, not mincing my words. “But you know what’s an even worse idea? To try and stop Harriet once her mind is made up about something.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Shanille. “Remember I tried to take away her solo spot on the choir? She hasn’t stopped bugging me about it since. I’m starting to think I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d simply let her keep it.”

“That’s generally the best way to deal with Harriet,” I agreed.

“Hey, you guys,” said Dooley, “do you realize that CCREC sounds like CRACK? Isn’t that funny?”

“Very funny, Dooley,” I said.