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And as Grandma turned in for the night, happy with the damage she’d done, and Chase and Odelia moved to the back porch, to canoodle on the porch swing far from Gran’s watchful eye, and Brutus and Harriet moved into the backyard, presumably to do the same, I was stuck with Dooley spouting new and crazy conspiracy theories and other horror stories.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

This was my family. This was my home. And if this whole episode had taught me one thing it was that the things that don’t kill us make us stronger. Like the fleas. And like Diego. Or even a Deep State conspiracy that engages a Love Symbol in a white limo to harbor and foster giant killer fleas to wipe out all the cats in the country and possibly even the world.

I patted Dooley on the head.“I’m going to sleep now.”

“But the fleas!”

“I don’t care.”

“They’re here!”

“So be it.”

“But Max!”

I yawned. Put down my head. And slept.

Sleep came. And so did dreams. And guess what?

No fleas. Not even teeny-tiny little ones.

The flea episode? Was finally over.

8. PURRFECT SECRET

Prologue

Dick Dickerson slipped his feet into his red velvet slippers and groped around on the nightstand for his glasses. Fumbling a little to put them onto his face, he glanced before him confusedly. Why was he sitting up in bed in what felt like the middle of the night?

Picking up his phone, he saw it was only a little after three. Too early to get up. And then he realized what had awakened him: loud music blasting from the speakers downstairs.

He drew a hand through his grizzled mane, got up with a groan and put on the white boxing robe that Sylvester Stallone had worn on the set ofRocky IV, Dick’s favorite movie.

He moved out of his ornate bedroom, along his equally ornate hallway, down the no less ornate marble staircase, to arrive in his ostentatiously ornate entrance hall, where he only had to follow the music still blasting away to locate its source: his private study.

He couldn’t remember having left the music on. Then again, lately he’d had so much on his mind he probably could have. As usual he took a Sonata before laying down his head, then some Provigil in the morning, along with a line of coke and his usual Prozac tablet. The Sonata knocked him out pretty good, so he might not have noticed leaving the music on.

Then again, if he heard correctly this wasWhat Goes Around… Comes Around, the Justin Timberlake song. Not exactly Dick’s taste. He liked Michael Bubl?. He liked Michael Bubl? a lot. In fact Michael Bubl? was all he listened to lately.

With a sigh, Dick shuffled into his office, and that’s when he saw it: the door to his giant walk-in safe was wide open. Dammit! Anyone could have just walked in!

“Dick, Dick, Dick,” he muttered to himself. “You’re losing it, pal.”

Even though Doctor Mueller had told him to take it easy on the pills, and the coke, he couldn’t help himself. He needed a little pick-me-up from time to time, and he was a firm believer in the old saying ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ And since the coke hadn’t killed him yet, or the pill-popping or even the vodka, it stood to reason it was making him stronger, right?

He shuffled to the safe door and peered inside. Odd. He’d even left the light on.

Shaking his head, he shuffled into the steel contraption. The moment he had, though, he saw that there was something seriously wrong with this picture: the countless stacks of files he kept in there, neatly organized in alphabetical order… they were all gone!

His jaw dropped as he stared at the empty shelves. Only a single file folder remained. He picked it up, his hands trembling, and opened it. Inside, there was a single picture. A picture he immediately recognized, and which sent his blood pressure rocketing skywards.

He gulped as he held onto the wall to steady himself.

This wasn’t happening!

Just then, the giant steel door slammed shut with a thumping clang!

“Noooo!” he cried, pounding the door. But to no avail, of course.

And that’s when things started to get even weirder. And a lot scarier!

A strange odor suddenly permeated the small space. Dick wrinkled his nose as he took a sniff. It smelled like… poop.

Had he just pooped himself? No way. He wasn’t that far gone. He was only sixty-two, for crying out loud. And he didn’t have problems in that area. Yet.

And then he saw it: some species of sludge was pouring into the safe through a vent in the ceiling. He sniffed again. Yup. Definitely poop. Horrible, liquid, greenish poop!

And then panic really set in. The song, the picture, the poop.

Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening to him!

“Hey!” he screamed. “Let me out! I’ll give you the files! Just let me out of here!”

But of course no response came. This wasn’t a scare tactic. They had the files. They’d taken them along with all of the other secrets he’d assiduously collected over the years.

They weren’t here to scare him off or send him a message.

They were here to kill him. Drown him in poop.