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“That’s scientifically impossible,” said Milo. “The human mind likes to make sense of the world by turning it into a perfectly ordered set of lists. Favorite foods. Favorite socks. Best boyfriends. Best kisses. You get the drift. So you must have a favorite cat, Odelia.”

“Well, I don’t, Milo. Now can you move? I want to get up.”

“Max is your favorite, isn’t he?” Brutus insisted.

“Oh, Brutus,” Harriet snapped. “Not again with this nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense when it’s true! Nobody blames you, Odelia,” Brutus continued. “Max is, after all, your cat. Dooley is Grandma’s, Harriet is Marge’s, I’m Chase’s, and Milo is this Aloisia person’s. So it stands to reason you would like Max the mostest.”

“That’s not even a word,” said Max.

“Yes, it is! And you be quiet, Max. I don’t want you to influence Odelia.”

They were all staring at her so intently it was slightly disconcerting. Something was going on here—she could feel it—but she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it. She had to admit that there was some truth to what Brutus was saying. She did like Max the most. And this probably was because he was hers and had been with her the longest. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love the others. She loved all of her cats, though right now they were scaring her a little. “Look, the human mind may work like you say it does, Milo, but my mind doesn’t.”

“It has to,” said Milo. “You’re human, so you have a human mind.”

“I don’t care, all right?” she said, now dislodging the cats. “I like all of you guys. I don’t have a favorite and that’s that.” A little white lie but she didn’t think cats could read minds. Or could they? Brutus was trying his best to do just that. But finally he relented.

“I believe you,” he announced seriously.

She laughed.“I’m glad you do. Now are you going to help me catch a killer today or are you going to poop all over the house like you did yesterday?”

“That was Dooley,” said Brutus immediately.

“But only because I’ve got worms!” Dooley cried.

Yep. Something was going on with her cats, but right now she had a killer to catch—and a grandmother and a father to reconcile—and an article on President Wilcox to write.

When she got downstairs, Gran was digging holes in the backyard with such a fervor she reminded Odelia of a gang of moles. She walked to the door.“Gran? What’s going on?”

Gran looked up with a resolute expression on her face.“I’m building a mausoleum.”

“A what?”

“Your father has decided to send me to an early grave so I’m building a mausoleum. And I hope he’ll spend the rest of his life staring at my tomb and remembering he was the one who put me there!”

And with these words, she dug her spade into the ground and returned to her grim endeavor.

Shaking her head, Odelia set foot for the kitchen. She needed coffee. Lots of it.

Chapter 30

Odelia and Chase were on the road again, only this time five cats rode in the back, much to Chase’s amusement.

“You’re the only one who treats her cats like dogs,” he said.

“That’s because they are almost like dogs,” she retorted. She cast a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw that the cold war still hadn’t thawed. Usually her cats kept up a pleasant chatter but today there hung a silence like the tomb between them. She didn’t know who was fighting with whom but it looked to her like they all had some kind of beef.

At least they’d come back last night with some valuable information. “So what have you got on those two men? One short, one tall—”

“Strawberry nose and mustache. I got it. So far nothing. It’s not exactly a very detailed description. Can’t you bring your source in and let them work with a sketch artist?”

She glanced back at Max, who shook his head.“Rabbits won’t like it,” he intimated.

No, the rabbits wouldn’t like to come in and talk to the sketch artist. “Nope,” she said therefore. “They won’t come forward, I’m afraid.”

“They? There’s more than one?”

“One rabbit is called Alfie, the other Victorine,” said Dooley helpfully.

“Odelia?” Chase prompted.

She shook her head resolutely.“I already said too much.”

“But why? Have you explained to them they could be helping to solve a murder?”

“They know but they still won’t come in. They—”

“Hate cats,” said Dooley.

“Have an issue with the police,” she said.

Chase was frowning.“I see. So they’re implicated somehow. Did they sell information to the killers? Give up the location of Dickerson’s safe? Are they members of his staff? No, I got it.” He nodded grimly. “They’re members of the Potbelly farm staff, aren’t they?”

“Bingo,” said Dooley. “He’s good, Odelia.”

“The rabbits aren’t staff, though,” said Max.

“But they work hard. Did you see that tunnel? Must have taken them ages.”

“It’s called a burrow,” said Milo. “Rabbits are master architects. Like ants.”

“Ants aren’t rabbits,” said Max.

“And how would you know, Max?” asked Brutus. “You’re not a scientist.”

“Max watches a lot ofDiscovery Channeldocumentaries,” said Dooley.

“I watch a lot of WWE. That doesn’t make me Hulk Hogan.”

“Oh, shut up, Brutus,” said Max.

“No, you shut up, Max!”