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It was a full elevator car that rode up to the fourth floor of the Star, packed with both human and feline detectives, all on the hunt for this mysterious blonde who may or may not have been involved with Kirk Weaver and who might or might not be able to shed some light on the man’s death.

“I feel like I should be the one to run point on this one,” said Gran after a moment’s silence. “After all it was my cats that provided the telling clue.”

“Technically it was Mom’s cat,” said Odelia. “Since Harriet is the one who discovered the existence of this mystery woman.”

“And since Marge is my daughter, I should be the one to lead the investigation,” Gran smoothly interjected.

“Brutus is actually Chase’s cat, and since he was also present when this clue was discovered, he should probably be the one to deal with this new witness and potential suspect,” said Odelia, rubbing her boyfriend’s arm.

Chase, who didn’t seem eager to get in the middle of an argument between his fianc?e and his soon-to-be grandmother-in-law, wisely kept his tongue.

“I think I should be the one to ask the first question,” said Scarlett, “as it’s clear to me from the description that Norma Connors and I have a lot in common, and I feel we’ll immediately share a unique bond that will make her open up to me.”

“Oh, puh-lease,” said Gran. “Just because you both got the big boobies doesn’t mean she’ll confess to murder the moment she lays eyes on you, Scarlett.”

Scarlett sniffed, then said,“In the spirit of our newfound camaraderie I won’t dignify that dig at my boobies with a response, Vesta. I could have said that at least I have boobies, contrary to a certain flat-chested person I know, and that at least I look like a woman and not a man, but I won’t.”

Gran, who’d been silently grinding her teeth, looked as if she was ready to launch a verbal bazooka, but just then, and probably lucky for Scarlett, the elevator jerked to a stop, and the door zoomed open.

“We’re here,” said Odelia brightly, and hurried out.

“I think I should probably pose the opening question,” said Harriet as we all walked out. “After all, I was the one who talked to Samantha and found out about this woman.”

She had a point, I thought, but for one teensy tiny problem: I very much doubted whether our mystery blonde was one of those rare people who could talk to cats.

We all gathered in front of the door to room 425, and for a moment indecision reigned. Then, finally, Scarlett muttered,“Oh, for crying out loud,” and applied a firm fist to the door’s panel.

Moments later, there was a loud voice that shouted,“Coming. Just a minute!”

And then the door swung wide and a very perky-looking blond woman appeared. She was younger than I’d expected, with a halo of blond hair framing a lovely face, lit up by a welcoming and engaging smile. In fact she looked so pleasant I immediately discounted her as Kirk’s killer before I caught myself and remembered that sometimes the most horrific killers look just like you and me. Well, not me, perhaps, but probably you.

“Yes?” she said in a surprisingly soft and gentle voice. “Is this about the message of Jesus? Cause I already listened to your colleagues for two hours yesterday and even got a subscription to your magazine, just as they advised.”

“No, we’re not here to talk about Jesus,” said Gran, a little acerbically. “We’re all detectives, and we’re investigating the murder of Kirk Weaver, the cat whisperer. And we were hoping to have a word with you about the guy.”

“Oh, of course,” said the woman, and opened the door wide. “Come on in. And don’t look at the mess,” she added with a giggle.

We all stepped inside, and I wondered how a person as obviously gullible as this woman could have survived in life for so long. She hadn’t even asked for an ID or anything, nor asked the question why two old ladies, one of whom looked like an aged Fanny Hill, the other like Estelle Getty, and a burly stud-type male, along with a fair-haired reporter type, accompanied by no less than four cats, could ever be viewed as representingthe long arm of the law.

“My name is Chase Kingsley,” said Chase. “And I’m a detective with the Hampton Cove Police Department.” He produced his badge, which the woman awarded scant attention, and made the necessary introductions. “These are my civilian consultants Odelia Poole, Vesta Muffin and Scarlett Canyon, all helping me investigate the murder of Mr. Weaver.”

“Oh, and you brought your cats along,” said the woman, crouching down to pet me. Immediately, and quite involuntarily, I might add, I started purring. She really was the sweetest soul I’d encountered in a murder investigation in a while.

“Yeah, they’re mine,” said Gran, still adopting the same gruff tone she liked to use when interviewing a suspect.

“And mine,” said Odelia, not wanting to be outdone by her grandmother.

“You are Norma Connors?” asked Chase, clearly taking charge, and rightly so, I thought, as he was the only representative of The Law in this room.