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Dooley seemed confused by all this talk of ones and two and threes. Then again, math has never been his strong suit, and neither has it been mine, I must confess.

Three fair felines came traipsing by at that moment, and giggled when Kingman held up his paw in greeting.

“See?” he said. “It just happened to me.”

“What happened?” I asked, mystified.

“I just fell in love! With three girls in one go.”

“You fell in love… with all of them?” I asked.

“Sure!”

I had a feeling that he’d fall out of love the moment the cats turned the corner. But then that’s Kingman for you. In that sense he’s not unlike his human, who also falls in and out of love like other people change their socks.

“So who do you think is the one for me, Kingman?” asked Dooley.

“I have no idea, Dooley. Isn’t there someone special with whom you’ve felt the spark?”

“What spark?”

“The spark! You know—that tingly feeling? Butterflies in your tummy?”

But Dooley continued confused.“I like butterflies,” he confessed. “They’re pretty. But I’d never want to eat them.”

“Of course not, Dooley,” said Kingman, giving my friend a kindly pat on the back. “And a good thing, too. I bet butterflies don’t like to be eaten, either.”

“So what’s eating Wilbur?” I asked, referring to the grumpy store owner.

“Oh, he’s worried about the store again. Some rich guy has been making overtures to him about selling the place.”

“What rich guy?”

“Joel Timperley? He owns the big mall over in Hampton Keys, and also a chain of supermarkets. And now he wants to lay his hands on the General Store and open a small version of his supermarket right here in this spot, which he reckons is prime real estate.”

“I know Joel Timperley,” I said. “We interviewed him earlier, about the murder of his bachelor friends.”

“His family owns Timpermart, and they’re rolling out a smaller version of their trademark giant supermarkets, designed to service the small-town shopper. The official line is that they want to revitalize Main Street, after they managed to destroy it by planting their Timpermarts and Timpermallseverywhere. The new project is called City Timpermart, and is like a miniature version of its big brother.”

“And is Wilbur going to sell?”

“Of course not. He told Timperley over his dead body. But he’s not the sole owner, is he? His brother Rudolph owns half, and since Rudolph’s singing career isn’t exactly taking off, he might be persuaded to sell his share.”

“Is he still in LA?”

“No, he’s touring. He joined a thrash metal band as their new lead singer. Last time we heard from him they were in Eastern Europe, and having a ball. Though they mainly play small venues, and not exactly making the big bucks.”

“I doubt whether he’ll ever break into the big time with thrash metal.”

“No, thrash metal isn’t exactly mainstream, is it?”

“Not unless Justin Bieber ventures into thrash metal.”

“So maybe Wilbur is the one for you, Kingman,” Dooley said, having giving the matter some thought. “He’s a bachelor, and you’re a bachelor, so you’re perfect for each other.”

“Oh, we are. We love living the bachelor life together, me and Wilbur,” said Kingman with a grin. “In fact we love it so much, I hope we’ll be together always.”

“And Max and I love each other, too, so we’re not bachelors, either.”

“That’s true,” I admitted. “I do love you, buddy.”

“And I love you, Max,” said my friend fervently.

“In other words, a real lovefest,” Kingman chuckled. He glanced around. “Where’s Harriet and Brutus, by the way? Haven’t seen those two lovebirds for a while.”

“Max sent them on a mission,” said Dooley. “They’re spying on Omar Wissinski, along with Scarlett and Gran.”

“Oh, you’re sending them on missions now, are you?” said Kingman, arching an inquisitive whisker. “I never thought I’d see the day those two would do your bidding.”

“They’re not doing my bidding,” I said. “We’re a team, and they’re performing a vital task by keeping tabs on one of our main suspects in the case.”

“Who are the other suspects?”

“A family named the Careens,” I said, and proceeded to bring Kingman up to speed on our investigation.

“I know the Careens,” he said. “Dominic Careen’s got quite the temper on him.”

“He does?” I asked.

“Absolutely. He was in here just last week, and when Wilbur informed him that he’d run out of Jonagolds, he kicked up a real fuss. Said it was a disgrace and even knocked over a couple of crates of oranges and then hit the wall so hard it left a big dent. I think Wilbur even decided to ban him from the shop for the time being—until he cools off.”

“Why would he get so upset over Jonagolds?” I asked musingly.

“He said something about them being his wife’s favorite apple.”

“Interesting,” I said. “If Dominic loses it over Jonagolds, I can’t imagine what he’d do when he discovers the identity of the man who killed his daughter.”

Chapter 20