“A little ant,” Dooley explained. “He’s carrying a big load, and I wanted to help him out.”

“What’s going on?” asked Harriet, emerging from a nearby bush. “What’s with all the yelling and screaming?”

“The yelling and the screaming was Odelia,” I said. “Who probably has some new case she wants us to assist her on.”

“Dooley can’t assist her today,” said Brutus. “On account of the fact that he needs to help a little old ant cross the road.” He grinned and gave me a wink.

I rolled my eyes. Brutus has a habit of teasing Dooley from time to time, even though Dooley is probably the sweetest cat in the world. But then again, maybe that’s why he attracts Brutus’s mockery. It’s always the best ones who get scorn piled on top of their heads, isn’t it?

“I think Dooley is doing a great job,” I said. “Keep up the good work, buddy.”

“Thanks, Max,” said Dooley, pleased by this endorsement.

“Oh, please,” said Brutus. “If every ant needed the assistance of a cat they’d get lazy and would stop building their nests for themselves. It’s exactly this kind of struggle and strife that builds character, Max.” He balled a fist and shook it. “It builds backbone. So taking that away from your little old ant is doing it a disservice. It’s crippling him and making sure he won’t be able to get through life and challenge its hurdles and vicissitudes.”

“Gee,” said Dooley. “I didn’t think about it that way, Brutus. But I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t help this little ant but encourage it to carry its load all by itself.” He lowered his face to the ant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ant. Looks like you’re on your own. But not to worry. Brutus says it will build character and give you backbone.” He gave me a questioning look. “Do ants even have a backbone, Max? Do they have a spine?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. My knowledge of ants is very sketchy, I have to admit.

“Okay, I’m not telling you again,” said Odelia, suddenly busting through the kitchen door and walking out into the backyard. She stood there, her fists planted on her hips. “Lazy bunch,” she said, but she smiled as she said it, which softened the blow her words caused.

“I’ll have you know I’m not lazy!” said Harriet. “I’ve been thinking very hard about my next project, which is going to bring us all a lot of money, so that’s time well spent, wouldn’t you say?”

“And what project would that be?” asked Odelia.

“Too soon to tell,” said Harriet. “That’s why I was thinking so hard.”

“And what about you, Brutus?” asked our human. “What were you doing?”

“I was, um… also thinking hard,” said the big black cat. “In sync with Harriet, you know.”

“Thinking about the same project, huh? What about you, Max?”

“I was looking at a bird,” I said truthfully. I didn’t see a reason to lie about being lazy. After all, some of the greatest minds claim that being lazy causes fresh thoughts to pop into one’s head, and the best ideas come from their inventors being lazy and doing nothing.

“And you, Dooley?” asked Odelia.

“I was thinking about helping this ant,” said Dooley. “But Brutus said I shouldn’t, since it has to carry its burden all by itself, so it can build a backbone and deal with vivid tunes.”

“Vicissitudes,” Brutus corrected him.

Odelia’s smile widened. “Okay, what I wanted to ask you is this: do you think you’ll be able to drag yourselves away from your busy lives to assist me in a new investigation?”

“What investigation?” asked Harriet.

“A prince has been murdered at the Star Hotel,” said Odelia. “And hotel management has called it in. So Chase and I are going over there to take a closer look at what’s going on.”

“A prince has been murdered?” asked Harriet, her eyes sparkling. “Now that I have to see. I love princes,” she confessed. “They’re rich and handsome.”

“Not this one,” said Odelia. “This one is dead.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Harriet. “Princes always travel in packs. Where there’s one there are bound to be others.”

“Okay, so let’s go,” said Odelia, as she clapped her hands. “You know the drill. Talk to any and all pet witnesses you can find, and extract as much information from them as you can.”

She certainly made it sound easy, but I know from experience that some of these pets don’t want to talk to a couple of cats, others are too traumatized by the death of their humans to collect their thoughts and say anything useful, and still others are downright hostile and a menace to any cat with a healthy sense of self-preservation, which I pride myself to possess.

But since Odelia is the boss and we are her loyal pets, we did as she asked and abandoned our respective positions on the lawn to traipse after her. Moments later, we were en route to the downtown area where the Star Hotel is located. A boutique hotel that caters to a wealthy clientele, it sets the standard for any hotels eager to supply excellence of service to its guests. I’ve never actually stayed there, but I’ve been there plenty of times, as it seems to attract both the upscale clientele I mentioned but also the criminal element eager to prey on that same clientele. I guess wealth inspires envy and covetousness in people who don’t want to work for a living but simply relieve those who do of their hard-earned personal possessions.

We arrived at the hotel to see several police vehicles parked in front of the building. Kingman, whose owner runs the General Store, was looking at us from across the street, and so we waved at him. “Remind me to talk to Kingman when we’re done here,” I told Dooley.

“But why, Max? Do you think he has seen what happened?”

I shrugged. “He’s a potential witness, that’s all.”

Since Kingman likes to sit in front of the General Store, which is located directly across the street from the hotel, there’s always a chance he might have seen something—or someone.

“The killer won’t have come crawling out of the window, if that’s what you’re suggesting, Max,” said Brutus, who was in one of his vitriolic and acerbic moods today I noticed.

“He could have passed by the window,” I said. Many a killer will pass in front of the window of the room he has selected to satiate those murderous urges and will be seen from across the street. Though Brutus was right in suggesting that it was a long shot.

The elevator took us up to the third floor, where plenty of police activity was already taking place, with officers talking to any and all neighbors of the guest who had been killed. Before long, we arrived at the room in question, and when we entered, immediately came upon the dead person, who was lying just beyond the door, in the entrance hall.

Abe Cornwall, the county coroner, was crouched next to the man, studying him intently, trying to ascertain what had made him the way he was. The victim was a swarthy individual, I saw, and dressed in uncommon garb: a long flowing white robe and also a headdress that I hadn’t seen very often on the streets of Hampton Cove. He also had a perfectly coiffed little black beard that must have cost him plenty of time in the morning to make look just right. He was quite young, I thought. Late twenties maybe, or early thirties. Handsome, too.

“Looks like he was killed by two gunshot wounds to the chest,” said Abe as he pointed to two bloodied spots on the white robe. “This second one will probably be what killed him. It still took him a while to die, though, according to the couple who found him.” He looked up with a sparkle in his eyes. “He was still gurgling when they found him. Gurgling, Chase.” He pointed to the man’s face. “See the blood on his lips? Poor guy tried to call out for help.”

Chase made a face. “Caliber?” the detective asked curtly.

“I’ll know more when I dig out the slugs. But it’s a small caliber weapon.”

“Handgun?”

“Looks like it. But like I said, I’ll know more once I get this fella on my slab.”

“Who found him?” asked Odelia.

“A couple selling bug spray,” said Chase. “They were expecting a sales presentation and instead walked in on this. They’re in the room across the hall, waiting to be interviewed.”

“Bug spray?” asked Abe with a grin as he got up to his feet. “I didn’t know the good people from Abou-Yamen were in the market for bug spray. It’s just a lot of desert over there, right?”

“Even in the desert there are bugs, Abe,” said Chase. “There are bugs everywhere.”

“I’ve never been to Abou-Yamen, I’m sorry to say,” said Abe as he peeled off his plastic gloves. “From what I’ve heard it’s a beautiful country. And the climate is perfect, of course.”

“Too hot for my taste,” said Chase. “But then I’ve never liked the heat.” He glanced down at the victim. “But you’re right. It is a little odd that a prince from the kingdom of Abou-Yamen would meet with a couple of bug spray salespeople in a hotel room in Hampton Cove.”

“And be murdered for his trouble,” said Abe. He smiled. “One thing I can tell you right now, it wasn’t bug spray that killed him.” He gave Chase and Odelia a two-fingered salute. “I’ll have my report on your boss’s desk at my earliest possible convenience. Feel free to peruse it to your heart’s content. I find that it makes for excellent reading. But then I guess I’m biased.”