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“The only daughter of the future king of England.”

“Yah.”

“Has fallen head over heels in love with Wilbur?”

“Yah. Pretty damn weird, huh? And even weirder? Just before this letter arrived, carrying the official letterhead of Buckingham Palace and everything, Wilbur had gone to see this psychic at the fair? And she’d told him he would meet a genuine blue blood soon and would marry into one of the mostfamous royal families in the world. So now Wilbur figures it was all meant to be.” The spreading cat sighed and placed his head on his paws. “I just hope I’ll get along with these Corgis. I hear they’re pretty tough little buggers.”

I’d met the Queen’s corgis, and I could confirm that they were, indeed, pretty tough, but since I didn’t think Wilbur stood a snowball’s chance in hell of getting hitched with the nonexistent daughter of Prince Charles, I didn’t even want to waste my breath telling him about this. Instead, I said, “So no news on Uncle Alec, I presume?”

“Nope. Haven’t seen the guy, and haven’t heard anything about this mysterious disappearance either, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Norm, who’d taken a seat on a loaf of bread placed behind the counter. “Don’t you dare, Norm,” he said warningly.

“Oh, hold your horses, big cat,” said Norm, taking flight again. “I wasn’t going to relieve myself if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know what you flies are like,” grunted Kingman.

“Well, I happen to be a clean fly,” said Norm. “And so I don’t simply relieve myself on any old object I come across.”

“Good for you,” said Kingman, and closed his eyes again, indicating our audience was at an end.

So we took our leave, and as we walked along, Dooley said,“Do you really think Wilbur will be moving to England soon, Max? And maybe become the next king?”

“No, I don’t, Dooley,” I said. “I think someone is playing a cruel trick on Wilbur, and I’d very much like to find out who is behind this letter from this so-called Princess Frances.”

“It’s true, you know,” said Norm. “I pick the places I do my business in or on very carefully. I have strict rules about that—rules I learned dandling on my mother’s knee.”

“Do flies dandle on their mother’s knee?” I asked, surprised.

“Oh, sure. And she never failed to tell me that the best way to earn the respect of my peers is to do my business where no one will notice. Like on black toilet seats. Or in people’s stews, or in a baker’s freshly prepared dough. Or on the hood of dark sedans. Or even in a cup of coffee. People never notice when I take a tiny dump in their cup of coffee, and I like to think it adds that little bit of extra flavor a nice cup of coffee needs.”

I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. Somehow I had a feeling that our newly formed friendship with Norm the fly was akin to dancing with the devil. Or worse!

Chapter 26

Vesta Muffin and Scarlett Canyon were seated in the outdoor dining area of the Hampton Cove Star again, their usual haunt when they weren’t trying to break into Town Hall, or planting bugs in mayoral homes.

“I think Charlene did it,” said Vesta now as she took a sip from her hot chocolate, a layer of foamy cream taking residence on her upper lip.

Scarlett stared at the phenomenon, then said,“Have you thought about shaving off that mustache of yours? If you want I can do it for you.”

“What mustache? I don’t have a mustache.”

“Yeah, you do. I would have a mustache, if I didn’t kill the sucker every week or so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vesta grumbled as she licked the foam from her upper lip and inadvertently touched a finger to the spot under discussion.

“Waxing is best, of course,” said Scarlett, taking a sip from her own flat white, to which she’d added a small helping of liquor from a flask she kept in her purse. After the events of last night she needed a pick-me-up. “Though you could try shaving, of course.”

“Let’s not get distracted here,” said Vesta. “Did you hear what I just said or not?”

“Yeah, now you’re peddling the theory that Charlene kidnapped your son. But why in heaven’s name would she do that?”

“Because she’s that kind of woman! Some women are nurturers, and others are kidnappers, and Charlene clearly belongs in the latter category. I think she wants my son to marry her, and Alec, who’s no fool, said no way in hell, and so she’s got him locked up in her basement until he cracks and in the meantime she printed the announcement in the papers to add pressure.”

Scarlett cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her friend.“You think Charlene is keeping your son locked up in her basement.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Like a serial killer.”

“Absolutely. She’s got that look in her eye.”

“I thinkyou’ve got that look in your eye, honey. The look that says you’re going bananas. And I’m blaming it on that mustache. Those hairs have probably penetrated your brain and are doing some serious damage up there.”

“What are you talking about?”