Puss 'N Cahoots

something’s not right.”
    Paul observed, then said, “Wait and see. Got a whole lot of people here, honey.” They returned to the responsibilities of being host and hostess.
             
    As Joan briskly walked away, Booty, needing a breath of air from the hordes in his own main aisle and hospitality suite, stepped outside for a moment, although still surrounded by people. “Seen Miss Nasty?” he called to Joan.
    “She’s in Charly’s barn.”
    Now it was Booty’s turn to promise he’d be right back.
    No fool, Joan flipped open her cell and called the sheriff before she even reached the barn. This Shelbyville week had kept her on pins and needles. The hair rose on the back of her neck. She didn’t know why, but she trusted her instincts.
             
    Ward and Benny, who were putting up Shaq, had seen Harry, Fair, Joan, and Renata go by first. Then Joan came back up the hill. Now Joan was going back down, Booty trailing.
    “Benny, something tells me we’re in the ninth inning and it’s a tie game. Come on.”
    Benny double-checked Shaq and the other horse there, then both men headed down the path.
    Joan entered the barn. “Called Sheriff Cody. Said he’d be here in a minute.”
    “Good.” Renata seemed especially relieved.
    Carlos came into the barn, looked at everyone in surprise and weariness.
    Joan, always thoughtful, said, “Carlos, can we do anything for you?”
    He shook his head. To keep from crying—for he liked Charly, who was a good boss—he went into Frederick the Great’s stall and rubbed down the horse, who kept casting his big eyes up at Miss Nasty. The ignominy of carrying that monkey on his back grated on his nerves. As for Charly, Frederick could smell he was dead when he fell off and hit the ground. He wouldn’t miss Charly, for he worked him too hard. In fact, Frederick was rather glad he was dead.
    Booty came in, then Ward and Benny followed.
    The others looked at them but said nothing.
    Booty picked up the bottle of champagne. “Let’s drink to Charly’s recovery. He’d hate it if we let this go to waste.” He handed the bottle to Joan, but she politely declined.
    Harry, Fair, and Renata also passed.
    “I don’t think Charly’s health can be restored,” Renata claimed.
    “He’ll be fine.” Booty offered the bottle to Ward, who took a swig. “He’s tough as bad weather.”
    Benny then took a sip of the wonderful champagne.
    “He’s dead,” Renata said.
    “How do you know?” Booty didn’t want the mood to further plummet. He took a deep drink when Benny handed the bottle back. “Did you call the hospital? Actually, they wouldn’t tell you, because you’re not family.”
    “I just know.” She was beyond tears, feeling a bit numb.
    “Now, Renata, he’ll be fine. I know you’re mad at him and—”
    “What about me!”
Miss Nasty shrieked.
    “There you are, my pretty.” Booty pretended that he wasn’t mad at her.
    “ME, ME, ME, and I have this sparkle on my chest!”
    She crept down, her eyes on Pewter, but she kept just out of Booty’s reach. Bottle in hand, he coaxed her. “Good girl.” Then he saw the Baccarat fluted glass on its side. “That was dumb. Could have used the glass.” He picked it up and poured a little champagne in it before anyone could stop him.
    He held out the champagne glass to Miss Nasty to tempt her, but he had no intention of giving it to her. Being much faster and stronger than Booty imagined, she eagerly grabbed the glass with both paws and yanked it from his fingers. She gulped down half the contents, spilling the rest.
    “No!” Booty yelled. Then she hopped around in circles, defying the cats, just beyond Booty’s grasp or anyone else’s. They kept still, both out of horror and because she’d race up to the rafters again.
    She swaggered near Pewter.
“I told you I had the pin. What do you have? Worms!”
Shrieking with delight, she sped around the gray cat as Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Cookie tensed to grab her if they could.
    “Dungdot,”
Pewter hissed.
    “You were the dungdot. You looked lovely in horse poop. You should wear more.”
Miss Nasty spun around to dash into a stall to find a suitably large piece of poop.
    She spun smack into Spike, who had been silently creeping up behind her.
    “Hello, my pretty,”
he said with menace, echoing Booty’s name for her, as he pounced, both paws around the monkey, fangs sunk in her neck.
    She howled, her arms and legs, even her tail, standing