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“Locked up in the basement of the Buschmann house,” said Alec. “Or at least that’s what I think.”

“Who are you?” asked the voice, sounding distraught and annoyed at the same time.

“Alec Lip. Chief Alec Lip. Hampton Cove PD.”

“Oh, my God. They got you, too?”

“Yeah, looks like,” grumbled the chief, who wasn’t proud of being captured that easily. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Albert Balk, but everybody calls me Bertie. My wife cheated on me with a traveling salesman for Berghoff. She sent me to buy the latestCosmo and when I walked into the house, there she was. On the couch, buck-naked, doing the horizontal mambo with Hank.”

“Who’s Hank?” asked Elon, interested.

“The traveling salesman for Berghoff. My wife assures me the quality is top-notch.”

“I have Berghoff. I bought it for my mom when I won the lottery. Your wife is right. They’re really top-notch. My mom threw out all her old pots and pans. Only Berghoff from now on, she said. Which is all right by me.”

“Uh-huh,” said Bertie. “That’s great. So who are you?”

“I’m Elon Pope. I’m one of the youngest lottery winners in the country. I won three hundred million dollars and change.”

“Nice to meet you, Elon.”

“Likewise, Bertie. I’m sorry about your wife.”

“So what do you think will happen to us, chief?” asked Bertie.

“I have no idea, Bertie. All I know is that someone will come looking for us.”

“When?”

“Soon. With the three of us missing, search parties will be organized, and it won’t be long before they arrive at the conclusion that we’re right here under their noses.”

“And then they’ll come busting through the door?” said Elon with youthful enthusiasm.

“You bet,” said Alec.

“Unless they knock them out, too,” said Bertie, “and lock them down here with the rest of us.”

“No way,” said Alec. “My people are smarter than that.”

“Smarter than you, you mean?” said Bertie, and Alec had to admit he had a point.

“It’s probably a serial killer,” said Elon.

“What makes you say that?” asked Alec.

“I’ve seen it in a movie once. A serial killer collected women, and treated them really well, until he killed them. But then one of the women managed to escape, and led the cops to the guy’s hideout in the middle of the woods, and the rest of the women were all rescued, too. Except for the ones he had stuffed in his freezer, of course.”

“At least they found them,” said Bertie. “They may never find us down here.”

“Yeah, I sure hope they do before this big bearded guy stuffs us into his freezer.”

“Everything will be fine,” Alec felt compelled to say. “My deputy is a great detective, and his girlfriend, my niece, is also a fine sleuth.” As are her cats, he wanted to add, but he managed to stop himself before he did. It wouldn’t add to their faith in him if he indicated that his ownhope of being found rested almost entirely in the paws of a fat red cat with a knack for figuring out clues and hunting down obscure leads. And yet he found himself fervently praying that Max was in fine fettle, and already on the trail.

Chapter 13

Dooley and I had been scouring all of Clarice’s usual haunts but so far we hadn’t been able to track her down.

“Odd,” I said. “Usually she’s either at her favorite dumpsters, or out in the woods.”

“I don’t feel like going all the way out to the woods, though, Max,” said Dooley. “I don’t think I have the strength.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “We just ate a very nutritious and filling meal.”

“Still,” he said.

And he was right, of course. Even though we had both eaten our fill, I felt a hollow sensation in my stomach. Almost as if I had eaten a generous helping of nothing at all.

“I wonder what they put in that meat,” I said as we walked out of the back alley where Clarice can usually be found and returned to Hampton Cove’s main thoroughfare.

“I wonder what they put in any meat,” said Dooley, becoming philosophical.

We decided to pay a visit to our old friend Kingman, whose owner is also the owner of Vickery’s General Store, and who is usually well informed about the goings-on in our small town.

Kingman, a sizable piebald, was holding forth on the sidewalk, a crowd of fans and well-wishers hanging on his every word. And as usual most of those fans were female cats. Kingman is a very popular tomcat, if you hadn’t noticed. Not because of his looks, because he isn’t all that much to look at, but he has the gift of the gab, and never tires from spinning tall tales and dissing out yarns, often featuring himself in a star turn.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said now as we joined his group of groupies. At the sight of us, the hangers-on quickly dispersed. I guess our fatal attraction is no match for Kingman’s.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “So what’s new?”

“Max lost three teeth,” said Dooley. “And now he can only eat sludge for three weeks, until his gums are all healed up and he can chew solid food again.”

“Is that so?” said Kingman, carefully tucking away this little piece of information for later use. Very soon the story of my dental mishap would be all over town. I just knew it.

“Lost three teeth, huh? And how did that happen?”