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“Cat Whisperer with Kirk Weaver,” Allison supplied helpfully. She was pressing a tissue to her eyes and still looked shell-shocked. “He did private sessions, too. My Jasmine has been acting out lately, so I thought I’d invite Kirk to take a look.”

“Jasmine?” asked Scarlett.

“My sweetheart,” explained Allison, a little unhelpfully. And as if summoned, just at that moment a gorgeous white Persian came traipsing into the room, took one disdainful look at the dead man, and traipsed back out again, Kirk clearly not worthy of her attention.

“Jasmine never really took to Kirk, and he said her behavioral difficulties were too numerous to treat in a single session, so I ended up inviting him to stay with us for a while. He’s been here for the past three weeks, working intensively with Jasmine. And I think he’d just managed a real breakthrough when…” Allison sniffed and directed a sad look at her young niece. “Why?” she cried. “Why, Mia?”

“I don’t know,” said the young lady. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“You never liked him.”

“I didn’t dislike him.”

“You told me to get rid of him.”

“I told you he was after your money.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him!”

“Um, who are you, exactly?” asked Scarlett, interrupting this dialogue.

“Mia. I’m Auntie Allison’s niece.”

“My brother Freddie’s daughter,” Allison explained. “Freddie and Jackie are in Japan right now, and asked me to keep an eye on their little girl.”

Mia looked about twenty-five, so not exactly a little girl, Vesta thought. Obviously big enough to handle a knife and stab the celebrated cat whisperer to death with it. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Allison Gray was right. This was one fine mess her niece had landed her into. A big scandal would ensue, especially since Kirk was famous.

Suddenly Allison directed a pleading look at Vesta and Scarlett.“Please don’t tell anyone,” she said, quite surprisingly.

“What do you mean, don’t tell anyone?” asked Scarlett, also taken aback by this strange request.

“I actually asked you over to announce that you’ve both been selected to join the AAA, of which I’m the chairwoman. It’s a great honor,” she added, nodding seriously.

“Triple-A? I don’t even own a car,” said Vesta.

“And I don’t drive,” said Scarlett.

Allison pursed her lips.“Not Triple-A. The Agony Aunt Association. Founded in England in 1922, we launched the American AAA in 1932. Only the best advice columnists in the country are eligible for membership, which is by invitation only. We have a monthly newsletter full of tips and tricks, and once a year we hand out the Agony Aunt of the Year Award. It’s called the Aggie, and is considered a great honor.”

“I’ve heard of the Aggie,” said Scarlett, turning to Vesta. “I’d love to get one.”

“Well, I don’t care about the AAA or the Aggie,” said Vesta. “All I know is that a murder took place here and we need to call the cops.” She wasn’t entirely truthful, though. She had also heard of the Aggie, and in her heart of hearts had dreamed of winning it ever since she took the Dear Gabi job. Still, she couldn’t overlook the fact that there was a dead man at her feet, a decidedly bewildered look in his eyes.

“Please,” said Allison. “This will destroy Mia. And me, of course. My reputation…”

“Are you seriously asking us to let your niece get away with murder?” asked Vesta, flabbergasted.

“Not get away with murder, per se, but maybe we can make it look like an accident?”

“Yeah, maybe he fell on the knife and then rolled over on his back,” said Scarlett. When Vesta gave her a scathing look, she shrugged and said, “It’s possible. Unlikely, but possible.”

“I don’t believe this,” said Vesta, shaking her head.

“The Aggie is yours if you do this!” Allison blurted out.

“And what about me?” said Scarlett. “I’m a Gabi, too, you know.”

“We’ll hand out two Aggie awards this year! Or maybe you can share one!” The woman was wringing her hands now, clearly at the end of her tether.

“It’s going to diminish the title’s prestige,” said Scarlett, and Vesta groaned.

She then spotted tiny little red footprints leading from the dead man to the door, and decided to follow them. No way was she going to allow herself to get roped into a cover-up, but the Aggie award was still exacting its powerful appeal, and it didn’t hurt to talk to a witness about what exactly had happened here today.

She entered the next room which was, indeed, a bedroom, and saw that Jasmine had jumped up onto the window seat and was leisurely licking herself. The cat looked up when she entered and gave her a foul look.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Just checking something,” Vesta returned, and watched with satisfaction as Jasmine’s jaw dropped.

“You can understand me?” the prissy cat asked, visibly astonished.

“Sure I can understand you. Now tell me something—did you happen to see the murder of that poor Mr. Weaver?”

“I missed it,” said the cat tersely, still staring at Vesta as if she’d seen a ghost. “So it is true. There are actually people out there who can talk to cats.”