We were summoned to meet the Chief. Raffi, who had a cold, carried a box of tissues. Upon seeing his red nose, the Chief backed up her desk chair several inches and offered him a mask.
“Have you officially closed the case of the White House break-in, Detective?”
Raffi sneezed and translated my braying.
“There are two updates,” I replied. “The president has given a presidential pardon to Paisly, and Kiki has been released from the pound on condition that she meet with a counselor once a month.”
“It’s unlikely that a feral cat like Kiki will cooperate,” the Chief said.
Raffi sneezed again. The Chief put on hand sanitizer and waved her fingers before her face.
“Kiki is no longer a stray,” I smiled. “The gardener, Dale, has offered the tabby a home.”
Raffi blew his nose with a wad of tissues. One fell onto the carpet. The Chief looked away, horrified.
“You wanted to see me about a new case,” I ventured.
From her desk drawer, the Chief pulled out a bottle of chewable vitamin C tablets. She ate two in succession, and with orange teeth replied, “I’m not sure whether you are familiar with the series Yellowstone, but they require our services on the set.”
I restrained myself from dancing but brayed with exuberance. “I’m going to Montana!”
The Chief drew her lips together in a tight orange line. “It’s not a holiday, Detective,” she scoffed. “One of the stunt horses is refusing to act. Find out what’s wrong.”
There was a loud sneeze. “And take Raffi with you,” she added.
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