Murder Has Nine Lives by Laura Levine

I noticed an adorable pink ring, shaped like a hibiscus, flashing on her middle finger. What a perfect accessory for my trip to Hawaii!
    â€œThat’s such a cute ring!”
    â€œIt is, isn’t it?” She flashed it to and fro, making it twinkle in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “I picked it up for only ten bucks at Venice Beach.”
    Making a mental note to pop on down to Venice and do a little vacation shopping, I bid Nikki farewell and headed back to the soundstage.
    The first thing I saw when I got there was Deedee, talking on her cell phone—Prozac no longer in her arms.
    Where the heck was her “precious cargo”?
    Looking around, I groaned to see Prozac perched on the buffet table! When I raced over, I found her chowing down on some rare roast beef. Which, by the way, looked mighty fantastic.
    Thank heavens there was no one else at the buffet to witness her crime.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” I said, whisking her up in my arms and grabbing a cheese Danish while I was at it. “Mergfleflugaffleflillwhoppersofeffer?”
    Well, what I meant to say was, “Have you no willpower whatsoever?”
    But my mouth was full of Danish at the time.
    At which point Deedee approached.
    I gulped down the rest of my Danish and sputtered, “I thought you were supposed to be watching Prozac!”
    â€œSorry, hon. I had to set her down while I took an emergency call from a client. Pierre, my star parrot,” she gasped with all the angst of a Shakespearean tragedienne, “has mange!”
    I failed to offer her my condolences, fighting the urge to throttle her instead.
    â€œOh, dear,” Deedee now piped up. “Is that roast beef I smell on our princess’s breath? Has she been a naughty kitty and been raiding the buffet table?”
    â€œYes, I’m afraid she has.”
    â€œI hope she hasn’t ruined her appetite.”
    â€œYou and me both,” I muttered.
    â€œI’m sure our little trouper will pull through for us,” Deedee enthused. “I can tell by the determined look in her eyes.”
    Prozac had a determined look in her eyes, all right. She was now staring at the baked ham, determined to get a bite.
    But just then Dean strode onto the soundstage, followed by Camille with Desiree in her arms. Was it my imagination, or was the Panther buttoning one of the buttons on her blouse?
    By now Big and Bigger had done their job. The lights were set; the camera was ready to roll.
    â€œOkay,” Ian called out. “We need the ‘Before’ cat.”
    In my arms, Prozac’s tail thumped in annoyance.
    Don’t call me the ‘Before’ Cat! I happen to be the star of this commercial!
    I headed over to where Ian was standing at the chaise longue.
    â€œIn the first scene, we’ll have your cat spread out on the chaise, napping. She can do that, right?” Ian asked, treating me to what seemed like more than a hint of gin on his breath. Suddenly I wondered exactly what he’d been toting around in his Starbucks thermos.
    â€œAbsolutely, she can nap,” I assured him, praying Prozac would get over her snit fit about being the Before Cat and snooze on command.
    My prayers were answered.
    I set Pro down on the chaise, where, no doubt drowsy from all the roast beef she’d just sucked up, she instantly proceeded to stretch out.
    Before I even had a chance to whisper my knockout mantra ( Oh, Pro. Wait till I tell you about the miserable day I’ve just had… ) she was snoring like a buzzsaw.
    Big, the cameraman, wasted no time and zoomed in to get some footage.
    Nearby Deedee gushed, “Isn’t she fantastic! Such a natural!”
    â€œShe sure can snore,” Dean said, eyeing her in wonder.
    After Prozac’s triumphant portrayal of fat and lazy, Big and Bigger reset for the next shot: Prozac turning her nose up at Brand X.
    We moved to a large square of linoleum—on this