“Hung over, and still angry about the travesty that was the Best Newcomer award, but otherwise good,” Jess answers.
“Believe me, I wish it had turned out differently, too,” I say.
Viv gives me a sympathetic smile. “At least we won the food fight, thanks to your brother.”
I groan. “Don’t mention James. He could have been arrested.”
Jess grins. “But what a way to go down.”
“That’s true, I guess. Anyway, what’s up?” I ask them. “What did Boyd tell you?”
They look at each other meaningfully, and Viv responds. “Okay, so like we said, we ran into him at the hotel lounge. He was drinking a lot, and he didn’t seem all that happy about the award, but even apart from that, we could tell something wasn’t right about him.”
She looks at Jess, who picks up the story. “We got to talking to some of the Meowtagues—”
“Uh oh, they were there, too?” I ask.
“Yeah, but they were cool. We . . .” Jess looks a little guilty, “actually ended up having a lot of fun with them last night. The food fight seemed to kind of settle things between us.” She shrugs, and Viv nods, looking equally abashed.
I blink. “That’s unexpected.”
“I know, right?” Viv says. “So anyway, some of them were saying that they were suspicious of Boyd.”
I frown. “In what way?”
“Like maybe he wasn’t who he said he was,” Jess says. “Like he couldn’t tell them where he got Romeo or how old he is, and he wasn’t familiar with a few of the inside jokes.”
Viv jumps in. “Like, remember a few months ago when you posted a picture of Juliet with her paws on the wooden dagger, and then Boyd posted a shot of Romeo licking some liquid out of a little bottle?”
I nod. They’d been popular posts. Juliet hadn’t been in the mood for a photo shoot that day. She’d kept batting the dagger around, and I’d managed to get a shot of her with it between her paws for a second while she’d stared at it with huge eyes and an open mouth. Boyd must have put something tasty in the “poison” vial, because Romeo had been enthusiastically licking the end of the vial in the photo Boyd had posted.
Viv continues. “Well, someone asked Boyd what was in the vial. He floundered around for a few seconds, and then his shoulders sort of sunk, and he said he didn’t know.” She leans forward, her eyes wide. “I asked him how he couldn’t know. It was only a few months ago. And he said—”
Jess interrupts, imitating Boyd’s voice. “Because Romeo isn’t my cat.”
They sit back and let that sink in. Except, it doesn’t.
“I don’t understand. Boyd doesn’t own Romeo?”
They nod.
“Then who does?”
Viv arches an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t say.”
“It sounded like whoever it is wanted to stay anonymous, but they’re here, at CatFest,” Jess says.
I shake my head. “Why do that?”
Viv answers. “Who knows? He’s probably a creep.”
Jess says, “Also, if you can’t identify him, or her, I guess, then he’s harder to stop when he spams Juliet’s Instagram posts and sics the Meowtagues after you two. Although that might be more difficult after last night.” Jess winks at Viv.
“Why?” I ask.
Viv squints. “Well . . . we all agreed to call a truce in fair Verona.”
“Really?” I’m still struggling to wrap my head around the mystery of Romeo’s real owner, but this is big news, too.
“We decided we might as well keep the good vibes going after the con. By the end of the night, we’d figured out which Instagram accounts were whose and promised to be in touch. We’re all kinda friends now.”
The women glance at me as if I might be displeased, but instead, I smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Honestly, it’s a relief. All the bickering had been getting old. And now that Romeo had won the Best Newcomer award, there’s no point to it. The feuding had helped to build Juliet’s following, but it doesn’t matter as much now.
Viv downs the last of her coffee. “Anyway, we had all these amazing ideas flowing last night with the Meowtagues about how we could help give visibility to Juliet and Romeo. Maybe next year they could win the Best Furr-ends Award!”
Viv says, “Or even Most Cat-titude!”
I hold up my hands. “Let’s not go too wild. We don’t even know who this other person is.”
I’d love not to fight with Romeo’s owner, whoever it is, anymore. But I don’t think I can work with him. He’d stolen my idea, he’d been nasty, and now he’s hiding. He’s got to be a shady character.
Then again, it’s exciting to imagine the new scenes and sets we could create for Romeo and Juliet. The long-form videos, maybe even shared merchandise. Shared capital.
Maya would know the person’s real name. If she’s still meeting with me, I’m sure she’s meeting with him sometime today, too. I could ask her . . .
“I’ll try and find out who it is,” I tell them finally. They high-five each other.
“We’ll be at the meet and greet. Let us know what you hear,” Jess asks.
I nod and thank them again for all they’d done. They’re the best fans a tragic cat could have.
Walking back to the hotel, I wonder who Romeo’s owner might be. No obvious suspects come to mind. I’d think whoever it is would have interacted with me here at CatFest, if for no other reason than to toy with me.
A cat and mouse game, so to speak.
But I honestly can’t think of a soul I’d spoken to who seemed to harbor any ill will toward me here . . . with the possible exception of my brother. Boyd was even polite.
The only people I spoke to more than in passing were Jess, Viv, and Joe. And I know they’re not Romeo’s owners. I’m stumped, but I have to set it aside for now. Time to focus on this meeting. Maya is at a table when I arrive at the hotel restaurant. She stands and introduces herself.
“I recognized you from the award ceremony last night,” she says. “That was,” she shakes her head and laughs, “well, your sweet Juliet certainly has impassioned fans.”
I smile a little sadly. Not quite impassioned enough, it turns out, although I appreciate her saying so.
“I had no idea they would go to such lengths to show their—” I pause to think of the appropriate word, “affection for her. I’m so disappointed that she didn’t win, but,” I swallow hard and try to be magnanimous. “Romeo has a passionate fan base, too.” Even if his owner did sweep in six months ago and ride Juliet’s wave of popularity to the top.
A waitress comes by to take our order.
“We’re waiting for one more,” Maya tells her, “but I’m not sure he’s going to make it.” She looks at her phone. “He left me a voicemail, but I didn’t get it in time to return his call. Let’s just go ahead and order.”
She gets the buffet, so I do, too. It seems safest.
“Someone else is coming?” I didn’t realize she had invited anyone but me.