Charlene didn’t look convinced. “Maybe I should start getting up earlier,” she said.

“Me too,” said Marge. She turned to Scarlett. “Could you demonstrate your routine to me in detail? I would like to know how it works, exactly.”

“Of course. Why don’t I organize a girl’s night, and we can talk skincare all night long.”

“That sounds great,” said Charlene, looking much relieved.

“Exactly what I need,” said Odelia.

“But honey, your skin is perfect!” said Marge.

“Not so perfect,” said Odelia. “I found a blemish yesterday. Two blemishes, in fact.”

“I also found a blemish,” said Grace. “So count me in. You can’t start early enough,” she said when she found me staring at her.

“Oh, boy,” said Brutus. “Am I glad I’m not a human. Two hours to apply cream to your face in the morning, and maybe two hours at night to take it off again? What a drag.”

It certainly sounded like something I wouldn’t want to do. But then I guess humans are a little weird. They want to keep looking good until the moment they pass to the great beyond and will do anything to accomplish that. And more power to them. After all, it’s good to have goals in life. Aspirations. And if your aspiration is to look good, that’s fine with me.

“Do you think we should also spend two hours in the morning trying to look good, Max?” asked Dooley.

“I think cats have the advantage of looking good whatever they do, buddy,” I said.

“We’re gorgeous out of the box,” said Harriet. “It’s the way nature intended us to be.” She burped and a tiny bubble escaped her lips. “Oops,” she murmured.

“What do you do about skincare?” asked Uncle Alec.

“Me? Nothing,” said Chase.

“No lotions, creams, nothing?”

“Nope. Nothing at all.”

“Charlene has suggested I use a moisturizer,” said the chief. “She says I have dry flaky skin.”

“Not me,” said Chase. “My skin is flawless.”

“Lucky you,” said the chief with a touch of envy.

“It’s genetics. Nothing you can do about it. You can rub gallons of cream on your face and it won’t make one bit of difference. Scarlett won the DNA lottery, that’s all there is to it.”

“Better don’t tell that to Charlene,” said the chief. “She’s been on a cream binge lately, scouring the internet for the right cream to use on her skin and going through tons of the stuff.”

“Won’t help,” said Chase -. “Either you got great skin or you don’t.”

“If you say so,” said the chief, looking a little disappointed.

“What you need is a whiff of this,” said Gran, and took out a can that looked very familiar. And then I recognized it: it was that same bug spray she had used on Harriet! She proceeded to spritz some of it on her son and Chase, who sat there looking quite shocked.

“Did you just use bug spray on us?” asked the chief.

“It’s not bug spray,” said Gran. “It’s…” Then she checked the can. “Oh, shoot, you’re right. It is bug spray. Strange. I thought I’d gotten rid of the stuff.” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”

The chief and Chase both turned a little green around the nostrils, and as they got up, both looked faint. Bubbles were escaping their mouths and as they made a run for the house, I had a feeling that same nausea that had attacked Harriet now held them in its grip.

“What’s wrong with Chase and Alec?” asked Charlene.

“Oh, nothing,” said Gran as she quickly threw the can of spray under her chair. “Probably something to do with a case. I could have sworn that was hairspray,” she whispered to Scarlett.

“Why would you use hairspray on their faces?” Scarlett whispered back.

“I read online that hairspray is the secret to great skin.”

“Oh, Vesta,” said Scarlett with a sigh.

Dooley directed a look of concern at the house. “Do you think Uncle Alec and Chase will be fine? They both looked sick.”

“It’s just a little bug spray,” said Harriet. “They’ll live.” She produced another bubble. “Okay, so now you have to tell us all about the case, Max. This hotel manager. What was that all about, huh? Shouldn’t a hotel manager take care of his guests, not murder them?”

“Yeah, killing guests is not in the job description,” said Brutus.

“In the case of Garland McNerlin,” I said, “it wasn’t in his job description either. But apparently the man suffered from a serious gambling addiction and had accumulated a large debt that he couldn’t possibly pay off unless he sold the hotel, which he didn’t want to do. Remember the overdue bills piling up on his desk? The man was in debt up to his ears. And so the people he owed money to suggested a way of making his problems go away and put him in touch with the Abou-Yamen secret service, who were looking for a way to get rid of Prince Abdullah, whom they blamed for the calamity that had befallen their country.”

“And so Garland shot the prince?” asked Harriet.

“He did, yeah. To gain access to the prince’s room was a cinch for him as he could print a key card and not make it show up on the database. He also tampered with the CCTV by removing the crucial minutes he was in the prince’s room from the footage. All in all he perpetrated the perfect crime. And to top it off he placed the blame on the hapless bug spray people, with whom the Abou-Yamens also had a score to settle. Two birds killed in one stone.”

“And Rogelio?” asked Dooley. “Why did they try and kill that nice Rogelio?”

“Because Prince Abdullah wanted his inheritance back, and his rightful position in the monarchy. And so he was going to fight for his right to inherit, with Rogelio in his corner.”

“And the Abou-Yamens couldn’t have that?” asked Harriet.

“I think Prince Abdullah had created such a mess that the mere mention of his name caused the king of Abou-Yamen to have apoplexy. He hated his grandson so much he wanted him gone in the worst way possible, and every person associated with him.”

“Poor Rogelio. He should never have taken the prince’s call.”

“So Marjorie Collett?” said Brutus.

“Doesn’t exist,” I said.

“But how did you find out, Max?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, tell us all about that brainwave, Max,” said Dooley.

“I think the spark was the sausage,” I said.

Dooley seemed disappointed. “I thought the spark was me?”