And just when we were about to leave the room to look for those pet witnesses Odelia had mentioned, a fly flew in through the open window and settled on the wall next to the giant mock-up. And as it took in its likeness in polystyrene, it seemed not to like what it saw, for suddenly it burst out, “That is not how I look!”
Dooley gaped at the fly. “Norm, is that you?” he asked.
The fly seemed to notice us for the first time, for suddenly he cried, “Dooley! Max! Oh, it’s so great to see you guys!”
I would have said that a lot of hugging and backslapping followed, but unfortunately, flies are too small—or cats too big—to engage in that kind of friendly interaction. So instead, we simply sufficed by taking up position closer to our friend and expressing our surprise that we had just been talking about him and all of a sudden there he was.
“It’s such a pity to see you!” said Dooley.
“You mean serendipity,” I corrected him.
“That, too!” Dooley cried, happy to see our friend.
Over the course of our investigations, we’ve made so many great friends and met so many pets and other creatures that it’s always fun to see them again. And since once again we were faced with a mystery, Norm had arrived just in time.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked. “Except looking at this abomination, of course.”
“It belongs to that guy over there,” said Dooley, pointing to Carlos. “He has designed a bug spray that is lethal to bugs but safe for humans and pets, and so he wanted to demonstrate it to a potential client by using it on this mock-up fly.”
“I don’t think he was actually going to try and kill the mock-up fly,” I told him. “Since it isn’t a real fly, you see.”
“Of course it’s not a real fly,” said Norm. “It doesn’t even look like a fly!”
It certainly looked like a fly to me, but then what do I know? It’s like being a dog and figuring all cats look the same, and vice versa. I guess it’s the same with flies. To me, all flies look the same, even though they’re probably all different.
“A man was murdered,” I said in answer to Norm’s question. “And so it’s up to us to find out what happened.” I gave him a curious look. “You wouldn’t have a moment to spare, would you?”
“I thought you’d never ask. A nice murder mystery is just what I need. To take my mind off things, I mean.”
I was afraid to ask but did so anyway. “Take your mind off what things, Norm?”
“Trouble with the missus,” he said.
“I didn’t know you were married?”
“Oh, I am. Only now it looks as if I won’t be married much longer. It all started when I refused to condone her desire to start a family, you see.”
“You don’t want to start a family?”
“Of course not! I mean, fathering hundreds of kids? Who has the time? I’ve got my own ambitions. And you know what it’s like: the moment you start a family, you’re trapped. Trapped in the kind of drudgery that is death to a creative and enterprising fly like me. Anyway, when I told her I didn’t want kids, she blew her top. I had to get away, so I decided to take a tour around the block. And who would I meet? You guys! I’m telling you, it’s kismet!”
It certainly felt like kismet to me, and so we told Norm all about the murder inquiry that we had been tasked with. He immediately agreed to use his unique skill set to get us the information we needed to tackle this mystery. And as he flew off to talk to any witness he could find, we did the same. Without the flying part, that is.
I just hoped that we could put this case to bed real fast, for I was experiencing a pressing and urgent need to return to my backyard and finish doing what I was doing before Odelia came to fetch us, which was exactly nothing.
CHAPTER 4
Rogelio Hartshorn checked his watch, then took a final long drag from his cigarette and threw it on the floor, extinguishing it with the heel of his fine Italian shoe. “What’s taking her so long?” he muttered annoyedly. He’d been standing in front of Mitzy’s Tea Shoppe for so long he felt as if he was about to become a permanent fixture to this section of Hampton Cove’s downtown area. A living statue, in other words, though if it took much longer, he might just as well be a dead statue.
A white van slowed down and he glanced in its direction, hopeful that it would be the woman he’d been waiting for. Her name was Marjorie Collett, and for some reason she had told him to meet outside the tea shop and not in his office, where he mostly met new clients. When the van was almost level with him, a window was lowered and an automatic firearm appeared. And as he stared at the deadly contraption, it started spitting out bullets and hammering his surroundings. As he stood there, too shocked to react, the weapon was quickly withdrawn, the window raised, and the van sped off, with screeching and smoking tires.
For a moment he just stood there, then he checked himself for bullet wounds. He didn’t feel any pain, and his corpus seemed fully intact, so he let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.
Several people came hurrying up to him, to see if he was all right. He would have told them he was fine, but for some reason found that in the brief moments that the gun had spat out a series of bullets in his direction, he had lost his capacity for speech. When finally his vocal cords decided to report for duty once more, he breathed, “The police! We have to call the police!”
“Way ahead of you, buddy,” said a thickset man as he held up his phone. He then yelled into the device, “Yes, a drive-by shooting! On Grover Street! Better hurry and catch those gangsters!” The moment he had disconnected, he held up his phone once more. “I got the whole thing on my phone,” he told a still-stricken Rogelio. “I was filming that cute little statuette over there when this thing went down and so I got it all on film. Wanna see?”
And without waiting for Rogelio’s approval, he showed him the video he’d shot of the incident. All Rogelio could think was that he looked very pale and could do with some more time spent outside instead of in his office. The Bahamas, maybe, or Hawaii. The most miraculous thing, though, was that he was fine, even though an attempt had just been made on his life.
“How are you feeling?” asked a woman, giving him a solicitous look as she checked his body for bullet holes. “I don’t see anything,” she added, and Rogelio couldn’t help but notice there was a touch of disappointment in her voice, as if the carnage she had been expecting hadn’t been delivered and she personally blamed him for the lack of cooperation.
“I don’t think I’m hurt,” he announced as he checked the wall behind him and saw that it was riddled with bullets and had suffered plenty of damage to the brickwork.
“It’s almost as if they missed you on purpose,” said the man who had shown him the video.
“Impossible,” said the woman. “You’d have to be an incredible marksman to shoot around a person in such a way.”
“You’re probably both right,” said a third onlooker. “The AR-15 is a weapon that’s known for its accuracy. It’s very hard to miss, especially considering they fired off an entire clip.”
“Okay, so they were probably incompetent shooters,” the woman amended her statement.
“Incompetent or not,” said a fourth witness, “you, sir, are one lucky son of a gun.”
Rogelio let out a sigh of relief. “Extremely lucky,” he agreed.
Just then, a car pulled up at the curb, and a couple of police officers jumped out. One of them made a beeline for him and asked, “Was it you who reported being attacked, sir?”
