4c392a139708e5efb30cc267dbb0c768

But then a knock at the door surprised them and when the door swung open and Dolores appeared, they both looked up with flushed cheeks and a guilty grin on their faces.

“All right,” said the policewoman with an eyeroll. “Guess I can come back later.”

And then she walked out and bought them another ten minutes or so, which was all they needed.

Chapter 14

“I’ve never met the President,” said Odelia as Chase steered the car through town.

“Me neither,” he intimated.

“I mean, any president. Not this one or any of his predecessors.”

He smiled and gave her a sideways glance.“You look excited.”

“Damn right I’m excited. We’re about to meet the frickin’ President!”

“You look hot when you’re excited.”

She blushed. It wasn’t the idea of seeing the President that made her feel all hot and bothered, but what she and Chase had done on top of Uncle Alec’s desk. Good thing he’d never know. Unless Dolores told him. Which she probably would. And everyone else in that precinct. Shoot.

“So what did he say?” she asked.

“You mean what did his Secret Service detail say?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They don’t like the idea.”

“He’s not a suspect. Did you tell them he’s not a suspect?”

“They don’t like the idea of the President being interviewed by cops, period—suspect or no suspect. They don’t like the story the media might spin this into.”

“He’s a friend of Dickerson’s. He was in town when the guy was murdered. We have to talk to him.”

“They know that. That doesn’t mean they have to like it.”

“Besides, it’s not as if the President can just go and steal a tanker full of duck poop from a duck farm, back it up to his friend’s house and kill him. The Secret Service would have noticed if he was traipsing around duck farms in the middle of the night.”

“I think we established that whoever is behind this hired a couple of pros.”

“Even so. The President probably can’t even order a Big Mac or chicken nuggets without everybody knowing about it and blabbing about it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re seriously considering the possibility that President Wilcox killed his buddy the media mogul,” said Chase. “But we have to start somewhere.”

And so they did.“I like this mobster for the murder. And the picture of the rose left at the crime scene? Probably has some kind of mobster meaning. Like the dead horse inThe Godfather. I mean, maybe the mob moved on from horses to pictures of horses. Or roses.”

“Sure,” said Chase with a grin.

“Did they find any fingerprints on that picture?”

“None. Nothing on that vault door, either, or anywhere else, for that matter. Like I said, these guys are pros. They wouldn’t make a rookie mistake like that.”

“Seems elaborate,” said Odelia, still thinking this through. “They could have just shot him. Why go to all the trouble of the duck poop thing? That just seems like… overkill.”

“Why aren’t your cats along for the ride?” suddenly Chase asked.

“Mh?”

“Your cats. They usually tag along on these things. Like a good-luck charm?”

Yeah, why hadn’t she brought Max and the others along? For some reason the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Probably because Max seemed upset about Milo and the others eating his food. She’d just figured he wanted to be left alone. People thought cats were simply animals, with animal reflexes and driven by animal instincts. But they were smart creatures—a lot smarter than most humans gave them credit for. And they were also very sensitive, and when they were going through the kind of adaptation Max was going through with Milo, maybe it was better just to leave them alone to deal with it in peace.

“I’ll bring them along next time,” she said.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Chase. “I don’t think the Secret Service would like it if we arrived with a bunch of cats in tow. They’d probably think they were Russian spies.”

They finally arrived at Lago-a-Oceano, President Van Wilcox’s expansive mansion. It was an impressive, sprawling structure, with several buildings apart from the main house, servants’ quarters, an old hunter’s lodge, and spreading grounds. It had a private beach where Van Wilcox was rumored to enjoy going for a swim, as did the First Lady Rima Wilcox, who hailed from Georgia and liked the privacy the mansion afforded her and her husband.

They announced their arrival to the burly Secret Service man at the gate, who eyed them stoically through glasses that obscured his eyes, spoke something into his wrist, then stepped aside as the heavy wrought-iron gate slowly swung open.

More burly men with sunglasses and dressed like Men in Black dotted the landscape, like garden gnomes on a front lawn, and Odelia swallowed away a lump of uneasiness.

“I hope they don’t shoot us,” she said as all eyes turned to them as they proceeded along the winding drive. “Do they also remind you of Agent Smith fromThe Matrix?”

“Don’t think about it,” Chase advised her. “Just keep your eye on the prize. We need to find out what the President figures happened to his friend.”

“Or former friend.”

“Exactly. All the rest is unimportant at this stage.”