The Nose Knows (27 page)

Mrs. Wainwright was quick to agree. “Just as they should be. It must have been terrible for all of you. I can only tell you that I’d never do such a thing. I believe very strongly in honoring the confidentiality of the group.”

Well, she certainly said the right things. But as she spoke, I noticed her voice sounded younger than her body. Vocal cords age just as your body ages. Certain factors, like smoking, can make them age even faster. But even if people take very good care of themselves, their voices still age. It might be too subtle for a human’s ear to detect, but Mrs. Wainwright didn’t have the voice of a grey-haired woman in her seventies. Fearless looked at me. His head tilted to the side even more than usual. He, too, had heard something that didn’t match up.

I quietly walked over behind Mrs. Wainwright’s chair. Mom’s eyes were tracking me to make sure I behaved myself. Hey, I’m no rookie. I immediately lay down and acted as if I were going to take a nap.

Mom nodded her head. I knew she was thinking, “No need to worry about you.” Her attention went back on the group. I waited until I was no longer on her radar screen and then I stretched my way closer to Mrs. Wainwright’s chair.

There was a strong odor coming from her. I knew I’d smelled something like it before, but I didn’t have a clue as to what it was. Nor could I identify another odor. Another human had put it there. It was faint. This kind of odor occurs when someone hugs you and leaves a film of their scent on you. But the first stench was overwhelming everything else and I couldn’t get a fix on the more subtle one. I knew it too seemed familiar.

I got Fearless’s attention and motioned for him to mosey over. Of course, he understood my eyes darting back to Mom. He began to proceed very slowly. My whiskers twitched; Fearless can be so clever. He opted for the route
behind
Mom’s chair.

When he got within range, he stopped short. Fearless likes the smell of perfume, so I was certain it wasn’t the Chantilly that had stopped him. Apparently, the unknown strong odor coming from Mrs. Wainwright had repelled him too. He sat back on his haunches.

I carefully made my way over to him. You might have thought Fearless was licking my head, but in fact he was whispering, “Whoa, Spunky—
breath—
what’s that smell?”

I turned my head toward his ear so no one could hear my reply. “I’ve smelled it before, but I’ll be darned if I can remember what it is called. But I’m positive Mrs. Wainwright isn’t as old as she’d have us to believe.”

We were now on high alert.

Mrs. Wainwright explained that she’d started therapy because her son had committed suicide and she hadn’t been able to cope with the loss. She told the group her son had been almost fifty years old when he died. Fearless and I both knew that was a lie. Everything about her including, her scent, indicated she was in her mid-twenties.

Human bodies emit hormones, just like ours do, and an old human has a lot less potent hormones than a younger one. That’s why old people look more dried out. As their hormones decrease, cartilage dries up, skin dries out, and spit becomes thicker.

The problem with this woman was she looked old but she didn’t have an old scent. She had a young scent. I was beginning to dislike this woman.

But what we should do about it was another question. Mom would never understand if I suddenly growled or if Fearless walked over, lifted his tail, and sprayed her. We would just have to wait. But make no mistake, if that woman made one false move we were ready for her.

I positioned myself between Mrs. Wainwright and Mom. It looked like I was stretching out in a lovely sunspot right in the middle of the rug. In truth, I wasn’t about to be doing any dozing off. Something wasn’t right about this woman.

Fearless stayed behind Mrs. Wainwright’s chair. There was, however, one slight problem; cats on alert swish their tails. The tenser they are, the faster they swish. Bobby, of course, is ideally suited for undercover work. His little stub still swishes but it’s barely visible. Fearless, on the other hand, was well endowed. His tail was whipping back and forth. Mom was sure to notice the rapid tail movements, and she’d know he was stalking something. I had to get Fearless to stop swishing.

After several sighs and multiple yawns, I still couldn’t get Fearless to break his concentration on Mrs. Wainwright. I swear he was locked onto her so tightly that if she even reached in her purse for a tissue I was afraid he’d pounce.

I couldn’t walk over there without risking Mom getting annoyed, so I opted for the roll and whine. One quick roll, a very short whine, and then I stayed perfectly still. Of course, everyone looked in my direction. Seeing me lying so still, Mom assumed I wasn’t going to start any ruckus, so she said, “Spunky’s fine, everyone. Now, where were we?”

Of course, Fearless also looked at me. Once eye contact was established, communicating was easy. All I had to do was glance at his tail, then back at my own posterior as I repeatedly tucked my tail under my body. It only took three tries before he got the message and responded by sitting on his own tail. A sure-fire way to stop a cat’s tail from swishing is to have him sit on it.

The doorknob turned.

All eyes shifted to the door.

Mom had locked the door. It didn’t open.

Mrs. Wainwright immediately rose from her chair and headed to the door. “That must be my son, I told him to pick me up here.”

Mom started to rise as she said, “Mrs. Wainwright, please leave the door alone. He’ll have to wait for you downstairs.”

Too late; Mrs. Wainwright had already turned the knob and released the lock.

The door opened. At first, all I saw was a short, muscular man. Then my eyes shifted to his face. No doubt whatsoever, I knew that face. I knew those dark, cold eyes.

Mr. Johnson’s right arm reached behind his back. In an instant, all the smells made sense. There was no time to explain. I had to act.

I leaped toward Mrs. Wainwright.

Two growls and one bark gave Fearless all he needed to know—“Man, Enemy. Right arm. Now!”

I sank my teeth into Mrs. Wainwight’s ankle. She screamed.

Mr. Johnson turned toward the scream. Fearless flung himself with every claw fully extended. Mr. Johnson tried to protect himself by raising his right arm. Fearless landed and four sets of claws embedded themselves in the man’s forearm while Fearless sank his teeth into the upper arm. Mr. Johnson screamed.

In fact, everyone in the room screamed. In the midst of chaos, Mom didn’t have a clue what was going on, but I was certain that she knew neither one of us would have attacked so viciously if we hadn’t sensed great danger. Thank God this time she didn’t rely on her large human brain. Instead, she trusted her instincts and acted.

Mr. Johnson used his free hand to grab Fearless’s throat, and he started to squeeze the life out of him. When Mom saw him hurting Fearless, she didn’t care that Fearless’s claws and teeth were embedded in the man’s arm. This wasn’t about fairness. Fearless was in trouble.

She picked up her folding chair and used all her strength to slam it into the side of Mr. Johnson’s head.

He let go of Fearless’s throat and used his free arm to ward off the next incoming swing of the chair. Fearless released his teeth, took several quick breaths and then sunk his teeth and claws even deeper. He was now breathing rapidly through his clenched teeth, his cheeks puffing out. It was hard for him, but I knew as long as that cat was conscious he wasn’t about to let go.

Mr. Johnson’s left arm again jerked back to grab Fearless. Mom took advantage of the opening and whacked him again.

He fell to his knees. Mom ran to the door and pushed the intercom button three times. She turned back and violently swung the chair around, catching Mr. Johnson in the head again as he tried to get up off the floor.

Cynthia landed on top of Mr. Johnson and tried to pin him down, but he was too strong for her. She yelled for help.

John didn’t hesitate. He slammed his body into Mr. Johnson, knocking him back down. John and Cynthia combined their efforts, and this time they pinned him.

Meanwhile Mrs. Wainwright and I were doing a lopsided dance around the room as she tried her best to kick me with her other leg. I, too, had some unexpected help. Donny grabbed hold of her shoulders and pulled with all his strength.

“Don’t you hurt Spunky, you witch! Let her go or you’ll be sorry!”

I wasn’t about to waste any energy reminding Donny that it was my teeth that had hold of Mrs. Wainwright and not vice versa. The boy may have been confused, but he was doing just fine. I was proud of him—he’d become a warrior defending me.

Melanie stepped in, grabbed one of Mrs. Wainwright’s arms, and twisted it back. She leaned in close and growled, “You’d better stop, old woman, or I’ll break your arm!”

Mrs. Wainwright lost her balance and she fell on her rump. Now I was all over her. Nipping at her face, fingers, any part I could get at. She rolled into a fetal position.

I grabbed hold of her hair. I fell backwards with a mouthful of grey hair. I now knew the identity of the strong odor. It was spirit gum. Her wig had fallen off her head. I regrouped and was about to lunge again when Pete, the doorman, came barreling through the door with a baseball bat.

“Everybody stop!”

By then, Mr. Johnson had pushed John and Cynthia off him and was starting to get up.

Pete raised his bat and snarled, “Stop right there, mister, or I’ll smash your head like a watermelon. Don’t even think about it. You too, lady, just stay down there on the floor. Are you okay, Doc?”

From what I could see, he was asking the wrong person if she was okay.

Mom didn’t have a scratch on her.

Mr. Johnson, however, was bleeding profusely from his right arm and his nose, which was bent and swelling. I think the nose had taken the brunt of Mom’s last assault with the folding chair.

“Yeah, Pete, I’m fine. I just don’t know what happened. But we’re all okay.”

No one but me noticed Mr. Johnson slowly moving his left arm and again reaching behind his back. Luckily I did. One growl and a leap was all I needed. My teeth sank in just above his wrist.

Mr. Johnson screamed as my teeth cut into his flesh.

Mom screamed, “Spunky, stop it!”

Fearless understood my growl. He knew my attack was more than just an adrenaline rush. He ran around behind Mr. Johnson and saw what I had seen. In a flash, he leaped onto Mr. Johnson’s head and inflicted pain in as many ways as he possibly could. Mr. Johnson’s arms sprang up toward his head. I released his wrist, yanked the gun out of his waistband, and sent it sliding across the floor.

Now everyone knew why I’d attacked again. Pete quickly retrieved the gun and pointed it at both of them. “Okay, Doc, call off your attack animals.”

Mom and I simultaneously said, “Okay, Fearless, jump away—jump away now!”

Fearless was more than happy to comply with our request, but the man’s next scream told us that when Fearless pushed off from the man’s head he’d neglected to retract his back claws.

Isn’t it a shame that some cats don’t have any manners at all?

M
any hours passed before we were all back home. The police arrived and carted off Mr. Johnson and Mrs. Wainwright. They said they’d take them to the hospital first. The police had a hard time believing that a cat, a small dog, and a therapist had done all that damage.

They took Pete’s baseball bat with them. My guess is they thought their tests would prove we were lying and the bat had been the primary weapon. That’s what Pete thought anyway. He smiled as he handed the bat over to them, saying, “Go ahead, guys, knock yourselves out. But you’re wrong.”

The police wanted to haul Fearless and me to the pound. You know how nutsy people can get over an animal bite. Mr. Johnson was the one who broke in, had a gun, and was going to shoot us! He’s the one who should’ve been going to the pound!

Mom was not about to let them take us anywhere. Fearless was having trouble getting his oxygen level back to normal. His breathing was still too rapid for him to even speak to me. He squeezed his eyes once when I asked if he was going to be okay. I could stop worrying. Mom did not. She sat on the floor with him and gently stroked his back. “You’re going to be fine, boy. Just relax. No one is taking you anywhere but home with me. You were so brave. Relax. That’s a good boy. Relax. . . .”

The police could see from the tags we were wearing that Fearless and I were both current on our rabies vaccinations. That helped. Plus, everyone was telling the police what great heroes we’d been. It’s hard to haul away a hero. They finally gave in and ruled we could remain at home pending a judge’s review.

Of course, you know the decision to let us stay with Mom had absolutely nothing to do with my blatant attempt to pull at the heartstrings of the head investigator, Detective Finley. I nailed him as a pushover the moment he stepped into the room. One good whiff and I knew the man had a serious attachment to at least two German Shepherds and a Rottweiler.

I lay down next to Fearless with my head resting flat against my paws. I looked at Fearless and then, without raising my head, shifted my eyes to look up at Detective Finley. My brow was furrowed and my eyes were full of worry. I shifted my eyes back to Fearless.