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“Well, that would be pretty cool,” I agreed.

A resolute look stole over Dooley’s features. “We’re going to have to find out.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

He nodded knowingly.“Sheep,” he said.

“Sheep?”

“Jesus loves sheep. Haven’t you noticed that in all the pictures Jesus is holding a sheep? So if Chase is Jesus I’ll bet he’s got a sheep stashed away somewhere. So all we need to do is find Chase’s sheep and then we’ll know.”

“I don’t know,” I said dubiously. Even though Dooley’s story seemed to make sense, I had the distinct impression there was a hidden snag. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I’m going to find that sheep,” said Dooley decidedly.

We moved in the direction Grandma, Marge and Uncle Alec had disappeared. Right now sheep were the last of our worries. We needed to find a pet belonging to Malcolm Buckerfield and we needed to find it pronto. I just hoped it was a cat and not a teacup piglet or Yorkie. Nice enough though they were, it’s always easier to converse in one’s own lingo.

We’d arrived at the back of the house, and I was duly impressed by the scene that greeted us: long tables had been set up, where administrating caterers dressed in white were placing dishes, cups and plates and the other paraphernalia of a garden party. I saw bowls of punch, trays of amuse-bouches and an outside bar where a snazzy-dressed bartender was practicing his cocktail-making skills. A DJ was spinning tunes at a low volume to the far end of the garden, where a dance floor had been set up. This clearly had all the makings of a great shindig, and the guests who were streaming in seemed to agree.

“Nice,” I said.

“A little inappropriate,” Dooley said with a disapproving frown.

“Why is that?”

“Malcolm Buckerfield was Chris Ackerman’s soon-to-be-ex-publisher, right?”

“Right.”

“Chris Ackerman died two days ago and here his publisher is holding a party. Seems indelicate to me, not to say downright unkind.”

Dooley had a point. It was indelicate. In fact it was suspicious. The man obviously was so happy that his most famous author had died that he was throwing a party to celebrate the fact.“You know, I hadn’t looked at it that way,” I said, “but you’re absolutely right.”

Dooley looked pleasantly surprised.“I am?”

“Yes.”

He nodded thoughtfully.“I think it’s the baptism. It’s made me more intelligent.”

I would have responded with a choice remark but at that precise moment I finally saw what we were looking for: a black-and-white striped cat slinking along the garden’s perimeter. “Target located, Dooley. Let’s move in.”

Dooley followed my gaze, then nodded determinedly.“On it, Max.”

As one, we moved in the direction of the feline. Judging from the way she locked eyes with me, she’d spotted us. Only when we reached her, she seemed coy, eluding us by quickly shifting back to the house, where once again she awaited further developments.

We changed course and made a beeline for the striped cat, only to watch her tiptoe off, this time jumping up onto a windowsill then gracefully draping her tail around her butt.

“She’s toying with us, Dooley,” I said.

“You’d think she doesn’t want to talk to us,” Dooley observed.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” I said, deciding that a little military strategizing appeared to be required here. We did as planned, but once again the wily creature escaped capture by jumping up onto a nearby drainpipe and quickly scooting upwards.

Dooley and I met at the foot of the drainpipe and stared up at the elusive cat. By then she’d reached the roof and sat staring down at us.

“She’s making fools of us, Max,” Dooley said.

And she was. As I explained, cats don’t smile, but this cat was clearly having fun at our expense. “There’s only one thing to do,” I said.

“I know,” said Dooley. “Let’s give up.”

“What? No! Let’s climb this drainpipe,” I countered.

Dooley checked the drainpipe, then glanced up, then down again at me.“No way, Max. We’re sick cats. We can’t be expected to perform a series of complicated acrobatics.”

“It’s not complicated. We simply climb this drainpipe and we’ll have her cornered.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Max.”

I decided to play my trump card.“What would Jesus do, Dooley?”

This made him think a bit.“I’m not sure. Maybe we should ask Chase.”

“Jesus would climb this pipe. I just know he would.”

Dooley didn’t look convinced.

“Fine,” I said. “ThenI’ll climb this pipe.”

And I did, fully expecting Dooley to follow my lead. Only when I’d reached the second floor and looked down, I saw that Dooley was still on the ground, staring up at me.

“I’m sorry, Max!” he cried. “I thought about it and I figure Jesus would stay put and look after his sheep.”

“Dooley!”

“Everybody knows sheep can’t climb, Max!”

Oh, for God’s sakes… I quickly scooted up that pipe, wanting to get this over with. And I’d finally reached the roof when I saw that the cat was patiently waiting near the chimney, this time giving no indication she was about to escape capture again.

“Hey, there,” I said suavely. “My name is Max.”