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“Who needs James Bond when you have that?” I said, pointing to Odelia’s phone.

He eyed it curiously.“You’re going tocall James Bond on the phone?”

“No! Every modern phone has a recording device built in.”

Now he was impressed.“Hey, that’s cool. You mean we’re going to spy on Milo?”

“Exactly! We are going James Bond on his ass.”

Just then, the cat I’d been hoping to see came waltzing in, cool as a cucumber.

“Hey, you guys,” he said. “How’s it hanging?”

“How is what hanging?” asked Dooley.

“It.”

“What’s it?”

Milo grinned.“If you have to ask, I won’t tell you.”

Dooley blinked. He wasn’t good at this kind of wordplay and it showed. I sidled up to Odelia’s phone while Milo wasn’t looking, and with a few swipes and taps of my paw pads fired up the recording function. “Oh, Milo,” I said sweetly.

“Mh?” said the cat, who was languidly stretched out on the couch, watchingAmerica’s Got Talent. Two kids were trying to induce three cats to play the Star-Spangled Banner on the xylophone. They weren’t doing a good job.

“You never told us how you really feel about Odelia,” I said, taking a seat next to him.

“I love her,” said Milo without missing a beat. “You should be proud to have landed a human like Odelia, Max. You, too, Dooley. Best human ever. My human will always be number one, of course, but Odelia is a close second.”

I was disappointed.“Isn’t there anything you don’t like about her?”

“Nothing,” he said decidedly. “She’s simply perfect. Best human any cat could wish for.”

“Don’t you think it’s disappointing that she plays favorites?” I asked.

“She doesn’t. She loves all of you guys equally. Just like a good parent should.” He smiled. “Not that she’s your mother, Max. I know she’s your human. But she’s as near to a mother as you can get. Don’t you agree, Dooley?”

“Um…” said Dooley, looking from me to Milo and back. “She’s not perfect,” he said finally. “She does have her faults. For one thing…” He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You can’t come up with a single flaw, can you?” said Milo, chuckling. “Of course you can’t. I’m telling you, Odelia is perfect and I love her to bits. And so do you, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, desperately trying to salvage something from this wreck. “Though I don’t like it when she snores. And sometimes when she thinks we’re not looking she picks her nose.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Dooley cried. “She totally does!”

“Every human picks their nose, you guys,” said Milo. “Now you’re just nitpicking.”

“Sometimes she smells funny,” I said.

“That’s okay. All humans smell funny.”

“She sometimes uses the same shirt two days in a row.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“She eats with her mouth open.”

“We all do, right? I mean, I know I do.”

“She burps! She totally burps,” said Dooley, now getting into the swing of things. “Especially when she drinks Coke.”

“Oh, heck, I wish I could burp,” said Milo. “That’s one of those human habits I’d love to try sometime.”

“She-she breaks wind!” I said, desperate now.

Milo yawned.“Look, I don’t know about you guys, but it’s been a long day. I think I’ll take a nap before I head out again. I’ve got cat choir tonight and I told Shanille I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And without waiting for a reply, he made himself comfortable on the couch and promptly dozed off.

I stole over to the phone, switched off the recording app, and stole back to the couch, to stare at Milo as he slept. Oh, he was clever. Too clever. But sooner or later he’d slip up. And then I had him.

Dooley was staring at me staring at Milo, shook his head, and walked out.

I had a feeling I was very quickly losing my wingman’s trust and admiration.

Chapter 44

Odelia parked her old Ford pickup in front of a nice little rancher.

“Far cry from Dickerson’s mansion,” said Chase.

“I guess theNational Star really does sell a lot more copies than theDaily Inquirer.”

“Or maybe Mr. Brettin likes to live in modesty.”

They got out and walked up to the front door. Chase, in his capacity as police officer, took it upon himself to ring the bell. Moments later, shuffling sounds on the other side of the door announced that they were in luck, and then Olaf Brettin appeared. He was casually dressed in jeans and a denim shirt.“Oh, hey, Miss Poole. So we meet again.”

“We do. This is Detective Kingsley, who is with the Hampton Cove Police Department. Can we step in for a moment?”

If the presence of a cop on his doorstep caused the tabloid editor concern he hid it well.“Oh, sure. Come on in. Is this about the Dickerson investigation?”

“It is,” Odelia confirmed, as they followed Brettin through a cozily appointed hallway—with a nice painting of a man on a horse—and into the living room, where more paintings of horses adorned the walls. There was also a white Stetson hanging from a peg, a clear sign Olaf Brettin was into the Old West.

“That yours?” asked Chase, admiring the hat.

“Yup. I like to wear it when I go riding,” said Brettin. “I got the boots, the vest and the belt buckle, too, if you’d like to see. I even got the neckerchief.”