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“Yeah, Allison loves her Eggies,” Scarlett was quick to add. “So,” she said blithely, “you girls can talk to cats. I always thought there was some truth to this rumor that’s been going around for years. So how does it work, exactly? And can you talk to dogs, too? And, more importantly, can you teach others? Me, for instance?”

Odelia stared at her grandmother in horror.“You told her!”

“She overheard me talking to Jasmine, all right?”

“Yes, I did. So can you teach me?” asked Scarlett.

“No, we can’t,” said Odelia. This was bad news. Even worse than the dead man upstairs. “It’s a gift, not something that can be taught.”

“Oh,” said Scarlett. “Too bad. I’ve always wondered what my Booboo was trying to tell me. I guess I’ll never know.” Then she perked up. “Unless you want to tell me?”

“We only talk to cats,” said Gran, not looking very happy. “Not dogs or whatever.”

“Too bad,” said Scarlett.

“But our cats can talk to dogs, and they can tell us what they said,” Odelia pointed out. “So if you promise not to tell another living soul about this—ever—I’ll drop by with Max one day and you can talk to your Booboo to your heart’s content.”

Scarlett smiled at this, then quickly adopted her usual blank expression again. Smiling led to wrinkles, and she didn’t want that. “It’s a deal,” she said. “Besides, I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. Your grandmother and I may not always see eye to eye, but I would never dream of getting her into trouble.”

“That’s just great,” Gran grumbled.

“Hey, you can be a little nicer to a fellow sleuth,” said Scarlett. “Especially since she just discovered your biggest secret and promised to keep it a secret.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Gran. “Now how are we going to prove that what Jasmine said is true, and that Mia is innocent?”

“There’s only one way we can prove that,” said Odelia. “By finding the real killer.” And so she crouched down next to Max and Dooley, who’d followed the conversation with rapt attention. “You guys, this is very important. We need to find out what really happened. So could you go upstairs and talk to Jasmine?”

“She already told me everything she knows,” Gran pointed out.

“Well, you know what cats are like,” said Odelia, glancing up at her grandmother. “Especially Persians. She may not have told you everything.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Gran admitted.

“So, Max and Dooley, please talk to Jasmine, and find out what else she knows, all right?”

“Of course, Odelia,” said Max, and both cats trotted off up the stairs.

“Amazing,” said Scarlett, shaking her head. “I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

Chapter 8

“We should have brought Harriet,” said Dooley. “She and Jasmine could have had a chat. Persian to Persian, I mean. She would probably have been able to drag the truth out of her a lot better than we ever could.”

I had to admit my friend made a valid point. Persians are notoriously difficult, and have a tendency toward feeling superior to any other species of cat, or pet for that matter. And I wasn’t sure if she would listen to us, or even deem us worthy of a response when we asked her a question. But we owed it to Odelia to try our best.

So it was with a sense of slight trepidation that I entered Jasmine’s lair, which apparently was the room belonging to the girl called Mia, and scanned it for the presence of the white-haired feline.

She saw us before we saw her, though, and asked, a little haughtily, I thought,“And what are you two doing here? This is my room, my house, and trespassers are advised to keep out or face grievous bodily harm.”

“Um, we’re here with Odelia Poole,” I said, as I glanced around, trying to locate the source of Jasmin’s voice. “She’s been called in to investigate the murder of Kirk Weaver, and to clear the reputation of your human. My name is Max, by the way, and this is Dooley.”

“You don’t look like detectives,” the voice shot back, and I glanced over to the window and finally saw the curtain move. I smiled.

“And what is a detective supposed to look like?” I asked as I approached the window.

“Not one step closer!” suddenly the cat’s voice cut through the room, and immediately I froze. “When I think of a detective I picture them as distinguished, debonair, and devilishly clever. You two look like a comedy duo. Like Laurel and Hardy.”

I rolled my eyes. I could already imagine which one of the comedy pair I was.“Look, I don’t care what you think detectives are supposed to look like. I’ll have you know that we’ve solved our fair share of crimes in this town, and if you let us we’ll solve this one, too, and make sure your human isn’t sent to prison. She didn’t kill Kirk Weaver, did she?”

“That’s what I told the old lady and I stand by my words,” said Jasmine. She emerged from behind the curtains, and next to me Dooley emitted an involuntary gasp.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice suddenly husky.