“I mean, Harriet and Brutus are Santa’s little helpers now, and you’re a famous pet detective. So where does that leave me, you know?”

“You’re my loyal assistant,” I said. “My sidekick.”

He smiled. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I am your sidekick, aren’t I? The cat that makes it all happen.”

“Absolutely. How else do you think I get these brainwaves if not because of you?”

“Someone has to provide the spark, Dooley,” Brutus explained. “Without a spark, nothing happens. And you’re the spark. So in a sense you could say that you’re the most important part of this whole process—the most important member of our team.”

Dooley teared up a little at that. “Gee, thanks, Brutus,” he sniffed. “I’ve never looked at it that way. I am the spark—the spark that sets off Max’s big brain. Without me, there’s nothing.”

“Exactly,” said Brutus, giving me a wink. “And don’t you forget it, buddy. Cause we’re all counting on you.”

CHAPTER 37

Tex had hauled the barbecue set out of storage and was happily dumping coals and accelerator fluid on the thing before using a spark to light it up, not unlike the way Dooley provided the spark that lit up my brain—if Brutus’s theory was anything to go by. In actual fact, anything could provide the spark that set my thought process in motion. Something I saw, heard, or read about. It was all grist for the mill, and since I couldn’t explain exactly how it worked, I didn’t even try. It’s not an exact science, and it would be hard for me to codify. For now, I was happy my brain was still capable of figuring things out and being of service.

Odelia seemed happy that the case had been put to bed, and so was the rest of the family. Charlene and Uncle Alec were happy that their guest had been able to return home after they had received word from the President’s office that the king of Abou-Yamen had promised that Rogelio was safe, and also the couple he held responsible for the famine that had ravaged his country. Carlos and Mindy would have to stand trial for their transgressions, one of the king’s demands in exchange for his promise that he wouldn’t try to get rid of them anymore.

Harriet had mostly stopped bubbling, though from time to time tiny bubbles still emerged from her ears. Vena had told Odelia that as far as she could tell, Harriet was fine and wouldn’t suffer any adverse effects from the insecticide Gran had subjected her to. The product itself had been removed from the shelves of every shop in the country after the video of Harriet had gone viral, as she had hoped. But instead of showcasing her talent as a singer, it had served as a warning. In other words, she had become a hero of the PSA, not the next Beyoncé. She still seemed satisfied that her likeness was being spread all across the country as the bubbling cat.

“Fame is fame, Max!” she told me. “It doesn’t matter what you’re famous for, as long as you’re famous.”

I could have told her that some celebrities are famous for being terrible people, and I wasn’t sure that was the way to go. But in her case, there was no chance of that. Harriet may be a diva, and a little too much to handle from time to time, but she is essentially a sweetheart and our dear, dear friend—and we all love her to pieces—bubbles or no bubbles. And in her new capacity as Santa’s little helper she had been instrumental in giving Vena’s pet gerbil Jevon some respite from his cage, with Vena promising to let him out more often, and also to get her kids to take a break from their video games and instead play with their pet a little more.

In other words: Harriet was in the business of spreading sweetness and light—and bubbles.

I rubbed my paws in happy anticipation as Tex started doling out those delicious nuggets to keep the party going, and as our humans all dug in and we savored the smell of the nice goodies we had been given, for a moment, nobody spoke as our stomachs kept us occupied.

“Okay, I have to ask this,” said Charlene, addressing Scarlett. “How do you do it, Scarlett?”

“Do what?” asked Scarlett as she daintily pronged a piece of chicken and took a bite.

“Looking as good as you do! What’s your secret?”

Scarlett smiled, and I got the impression it wasn’t the first time anyone had asked this question. “It’s all about moisturizing. You have got to keep moisturizing, Charlene, honey.”

“But I do moisturize,” said Charlene, “and still I don’t look half as good as you do, and I’m thirty years younger.”

“You’re probably doing it wrong,” said Scarlett. “Do you rub your face cream?”

“Sure. Rub it in so it is absorbed by the skin.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. You have to dab it on.” She demonstrated by placing her index and middle finger on her face. “See? Dab dab dab. Don’t rub. Dab. That’s the secret.”

“Dab,” said Charlene, nodding. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Should we also moisturize, Max?” asked Dooley. “So we look as good as Scarlett does?”

I smiled. “Even if we get wrinkles, nobody will notice, because we’ve got all of that fur, see?”

“Maybe that’s the solution for Charlene,” said Harriet. “Maybe she should grow fur on her face, then nobody will notice if she ages or not.”

“There are creams that make hair grow in odd places,” said Brutus.

“Maybe we should replace Charlene’s face cream with one of those,” said Harriet. “I’m sure she would be delighted.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she would,” I murmured. I could just imagine Charlene’s surprise when she woke up one morning to find her face covered in fur. She would not be happy.

“I dab all the time,” said Gran. “I’m an avid dabber. Always have been. And look at me. My face got more crevices than the Grand Canyon. So I call bullshit on your secret, Scarlett.”

“You’re probably not doing it right,” said Scarlett. “Here, let me show you.” She dug into her purse and took out a little tub of cream. “Demonstrate for me,” she said as she handed the little tub to her friend.

Gran shrugged and unscrewed the lid and dug her fingers in, taking a big wad of the stuff.

“That’s way too much!” Scarlett cried.

“I always put this much cream on my face,” said Gran.

“Well, it’s too much. Put some of it back. Put it back! Do you know how much this costs? It’s the same stuff Kylie Jenner rubs on her face!”

Gran put some of the stuff back and used the rest to start dabbing at her face.

“That’s not dabbing, that’s slapping,” said Scarlett. “You’re punishing your face!”

“How else is this cream going to go in?” asked Gran. “You have to drive it home!”

“You have to be gentle. Like a caress. Here, let me show you.” And she took a little bit of cream and started ever so gently dabbing it at her face. “Like an angel’s wings,” she explained.

“It’s gonna take forever that way,” Gran grumbled.

“It does take time,” Scarlett admitted. “But it’s worth it.”

“How long does your morning skincare routine last?” asked Charlene.

“Oh, about two hours?” said Scarlett.

Charlene gulped, Vesta’s jaw dropped, Marge goggled at the woman, and Odelia laughed.

“Crazy,” Gran determined as she shook her head and handed back the cream to her friend.

“If you want to look good, you have to put in the time. There’s no other way.”

“I don’t have that kind of time,” said Charlene.

“And nor do you need it, sweetheart,” said Uncle Alec as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re beautiful as you are.”