The Mysteries of Max Box Sets 3

by Nic Saint

  “Burt Goldsmith’s handler,” I said.

  “No, I mean the cat, not the dame.”

  “My name is Shadow,” said Shadow courteously. “I was Burt’s cat. Which means now I’m nobody’s cat.”

  “Oh,” said Harriet. “That’s so sad.” She turned to us. “Where have you guys been?”

  “Long story. Dooley ate some of Brutus’s pills and passed out.”

  “Brutus’s pills?” asked Harriet. “What pills?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” Brutus hastened to say. “Listen, they finally caught this Burt guy’s killer. Turns out some compelling dude killed him. And listen, listen,” he said when I made to interrupt him, “someone tried to kill Uncle Alec by sending him an exploding bottle. Him and some babe he’s seeing.” He snapped his claws, or at least tried to. “Um, name escapes me.”

  “Tracy Sting,” said Harriet. “That’s her over there, sleeping on that couch.”

  “Right,” said Brutus.

  I thought about this. “Now why would Philippe try to kill Uncle Alec?”

  “Philippe? Who’s Philippe?” asked Brutus.

  I was starting to feel a little tired. It’s exhausting to be the most intelligent cat in the room. “Philippe is Burt’s grandson. He killed his grandfather and now he’s trying to kill Uncle Alec and…” My eyes narrowed. “You said Tracy Sting and Uncle Alec are an item?”

  “An item?”

  “A thing. A couple. Like Rose and Jack from Titanic,” I said impatiently.

  “I like Rose from Titanic,” Dooley murmured wistfully.

  “I don’t know about that,” said Brutus. “All I know is they were caught with their pants down steaming up the windows of Uncle Alec’s car—we saw them, remember?”

  I gave Tracy Sting’s inert form a closer inspection. Brutus was right. This was the redheaded woman Uncle Alec was making out with in his squad car. And then I got it. “Philippe is taking out the competition.”

  They all stared at me. “Huh?” said Brutus.

  “Don’t you see? First Burt, now Alec, all the while making sure everyone thinks the Most Compelling Man in the World is responsible?”

  “Curt Pigott,” said Shadow helpfully. “He’s the Most Compelling Man in the World.”

  So it wasn’t a nursery rhyme. The police had actually arrested Curt Pigott for a crime he didn’t commit.

  “Why Alec?” asked Harriet. “That makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

  “It doesn’t. It only makes sense to a mind as warped as Philippe’s. He must have seen Uncle Alec and Tracy Sting and figured she was grooming him as the next Fascinating Man.”

  They all burst out laughing. All except Shadow. “Uncle Alec! Most Fascinating Man!” said Harriet. “You’re joking!”

  “It may sound like a joke to us, but it’s not a joke to Philippe. Alec represents his competition, and he won’t stop until he’s dead. You guys,” I said urgently. “We have to stop him!”

  “Stop who from doing what?” asked Dooley, still experiencing the effects of Vena’s treatment.

  “Stop whom,” Shadow corrected helpfully.

  “Huh?”

  “Not huh. Whom.”

  “Philippe,” I said, my head starting to swim a little. “Stop Philippe.”

  “You all heard Max,” said Shadow cheerfully. “Let’s stop Philippe.”

  “Stop what?” asked Dooley.

  “And why?” added Harriet.

  “And who?” said Brutus.

  “Whom,” said Shadow. “Whommmmmm.”

  Ugh. I’ll bet Hercule Poirot or Sherlock Holmes never had to deal with this crap.

  Chapter 34

  Odelia was dreaming of her grandmother joining her and Chase in the middle of the night and getting in bed between them, effectively erecting a physical barrier between the couple, peevishly telling them they needed to behave and stop all this annoying cuddling.

  She awoke with a start and for a moment felt disoriented, the world a strange place.

  She patted the space next to her. No Chase. She checked the foot of the bed. No cats.

  Odd. Where was everyone? Then the events of the past few hours came back to her. Dooley in hospital. The attempt on her uncle’s life. The arrest of the Most Compelling Man. Max telling her something—whispering in her ear.

  Had that been a dream? She could have sworn it was. Max was at Vena’s. With Dooley. Spending the night.

  So how come she vividly remembered him telling her that they’d arrested the wrong man? That it was in fact Philippe Goldsmith who was the real culprit? The one who killed his grandfather and tried to kill Alec and put the blame on Curt Pigott?

  The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She wasn’t convinced, though. She needed more proof than the whispered words of a cat in the middle of the night. She was certain now she’d imagined Max. Dreamed him. Which meant that this was her subconscious at work—whispering in her sleep—warning her—wanting her to act now.

  If Pigott was innocent, then whoever had tried to bomb Alec and Tracy was still out there—and could strike again at any moment. Which told her time was of the essence.

  She rubbed her eyes, and checked her phone. Three o’clock. Probably too late to call her uncle and ask him about Pigott’s interrogation. But not too late to call Chase. So she did.

  His sleepy voice told her he wasn’t at the police station interviewing Pigott.

  “Is Granny bothering you again?” he asked. “Do you need saving?”

  “Granny is probably sound asleep. I do need saving, though. From a hunch.”

  “A hunch.”

  “How did things go with Pigott?”

  “Denies everything. Lawyered up.”

  “Struck out, huh?”

  “We’ll get him to confess. Lean on him a little harder tomorrow.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m starting to think you can lean on him all you want, he’ll never break. Because he’s not the guy we want.”

  “I know, babe. I’m the guy you want,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  “And I’m thinking we need to look a little closer at Philippe.”

  “Your granny’s grandson? The Most Perfect Boy in the World? What makes you think so?”

  “A hunch.”

  “Uh-oh. I know your hunches, Poole. They’re freakishly accurate.”

  “Which is why I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Of course. I’ll come over and brave Granny.”

  She smiled. “Maybe later. First I want you to check something for me.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  Chapter 35

  “And that’s why I think time is of the essence,” I concluded my long speech.

  The members of cat choir all stared at me, and so did the members of the Most Interesting Cats in the World troupe. As usual, they’d been hanging out at the park, limbering up those vocal chords, and practicing their dance moves. So when we joined them, the last thing they expected was to be treated to the kind of explanation usually reserved for the final scenes of a Hallmark Movies & Mysteries Channel presentation.

  “You can’t possibly expect us to believe you,” said Princess, the first one to speak.

  “I do, actually,” I said.

  “Max is right,” said Shadow. “Philippe killed my human, and now he is after his next scalp.”

  “You’re biased,” said Princess. “I’m not listening to you.”

  “Of course she’s biased,” I said. “Her human was blown up. And now your human is in prison facing a life sentence for a murder he didn’t commit. How can you sit there and pretend to be fine with that? If Curt Pigott goes to prison your cushy life is over, Princess. You’ll spend the rest of your days at the pound. Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

  Princess gulped at this. “The pound?” she asked, her voice suddenly squeaky.

  “Where all cats go to die,” Dooley intoned gloomily.

  “I don’t want to go to the pound,�
�� Princess squealed, now only audible to dogs.

  “You’re not going to the pound,” said the Most Iconic Cat in the World.

  “There must be someone to take care of you when your human goes to jail,” said Fat Amy, the Sexiest Cat Alive. “Someone—anyone?” she added when Princess gave her a look of panic.

  “There’s Leo, Curt’s nephew, but he’s a terror. Hates cats. Hates me!”

  “Don’t worry, Princess,” said Beca, the Most Attractive Cat in the World. “I’m sure you can come and live with me. Bobbie will take you in.”

  “No, he won’t!” cried Princess. “Bobbie hates Curt’s guts. They all hate Curt’s guts!”

  “That’s true,” said Chloe, the Most Intriguing Cat in the World. “My human hates Curt. I heard him tell his mother that Curt going to prison is karma in action. And how he hopes to take over Curt’s position as Most Compelling Man in the World. He wants to snag Curt’s crown and become the Most Compelling Intriguing Man in the World. A real first.”

  “And don’t think Philippe will stop here,” I told them. “When he’s done with Chief Alec he’ll come after your humans next. He won’t stop until they’re all dead or in jail. And then he’ll be the Most Fascinating, Compelling, Intriguing, Iconic, Attractive and Sexy Man in the World and all of you will be at the pound, wondering why you didn’t try to stop him.”

  It was the kind of speech designed to rally the troops and stir them into action, and I could sense that I’d hit the right note this time. Cat choir, meanwhile, was still looking at me like a bunch of lookie-loos, unlikely to be of any help to us or our mission whatsoever.

  “And you,” I said therefore, pointing at Shanille and company, “how many times has Chief Alec saved your hides? How many times has he called the fire department when you were stuck in a tree? How many times did he reprimand your human when they weren’t treating you right? He’s a good man, and now he needs us to save him for a change. So how about it? Are you with me?”

  I would like to say that they reared up as one cat and yelled Yes! but unfortunately they did not. As I said before, cats are notoriously self-absorbed, and I’m afraid cat choir is no exception.

  “What’s in it for us?!” a raggedy tabby cried from the balcony—or, rather, a tree.

  “Yeah, why would we stick our necks out for some stupid human?” shouted another.

  “Free kibble for all!” suddenly piped up Brutus. “That’s right,” he added when all eyes turned to him. “If you help us out tonight there’s free kibble for all as your reward.”

  “Who’s gonna pay for that? You?”

  “Uncle Alec will be so happy with what we did for him that he’ll be happy to put on a feast to end all feasts,” said Brutus. “I know the guy and that’s just what he’d do.”

  “What kind of kibble?” asked a suspicious twenty-something old-timer.

  “Yeah, not the generic kind. I get enough of that at home,” said another.

  “We want prime brand kibble or we ain’t moving a paw!” cried a third.

  “These cats are driving a tough bargain,” said Brutus, blowing out a breath.

  Finally I held up my paws. “Prime brand kibble for all!”

  “Lifetime supply?” asked a cheeky little red cat.

  “Don’t push it, Brandon,” Brutus growled.

  “You cats should be ashamed of yourselves!” suddenly a voice rang out through the park. When we looked up we saw that Clarice had joined us. Perched high on a tree branch, she was looking down on cat choir, her fiery eyes shooting flame, her expression murderous.

  “Clarice,” said Shanille feebly. “What an honor.”

  Clarice is something of a legend in Hampton Cove’s cat community. Feared and admired. Her appearance now was akin to the return of Luke Skywalker. If Luke Skywalker were a battle-scarred old warrior, living in self-chosen exile on the edge of our world. Oh, wait, he is.

  “You weak, spineless, gutless bunch of sissy cats!” Clarice now thundered from her perch. “You shapeless blobs of self-indulgence! How dare you demand prime kibble in exchange for saving the life of the man who keeps this town running? The man who keeps the riffraff out? The man whose selflessness and sense of service is the stuff of legend? Whose commitment to Hampton Cove is the backbone of this community? Its very heart? You should be honored to serve the man who serves you. Not demand your pound of flesh!”

  “More like a pound of kibble,” piped up one cat, then ducked down his head shamefacedly when Clarice hissed in his direction.

  “You’re right, Clarice,” finally said Shanille. “My human would say the same thing. Shame on you, Father Reilly would say. Shame on you for refusing to help a man in this, his hour of need. We need to come together as a community now and save one of our own.”

  It wasn’t as effective as Clarice’s speech, but heads were bowed, tails were tucked between legs, and finally it was agreed we should do what it took to save Uncle Alec from certain doom.

  At least if I was right and he was, indeed, in mortal danger.

  Admittedly I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about that.

  I was almost sure, though. Let’s say ninety percent.

  Maybe eighty. Possibly seventy…

  Definitely fifty, though.

  Chapter 36

  Philippe Goldsmith pulled up his collar. In spite of the late hour he wasn’t absolutely convinced the streets were deserted. They should have been, but you never know with these sleepy little towns. Some old-timer might very well be up and about before dawn to walk his ratty old canine. Or some crusty old dame might be sitting at her window, cat in her lap, spying on the neighbors. Or a bird watcher, training his binoculars on a rare spotted owl.

  And so it was that he furtively checked left and right as he walked on, his head retreating and emerging from his collar like a particularly timid turtle’s. It didn’t help that he had night vision trouble. During the daytime he saw just fine, but as soon as the sun went down the world turned a little blurry around the edges. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted into the darkness that surrounded him.

  There. Was that a cat meowing? When he stopped and turned, he thought he saw a furry form scurrying behind a tree, ducking out of sight. Weird. He’d never seen so many cats since his arrival in town. It was almost as if this freaky little place sported more cats than humans. They should have called it Cat Cove instead of Hampton Cove.

  The weight of the cooler he was carrying hampered him in his progress. Not that it was particularly heavy, but the knowledge that at the slightest provocation its contents could blow him to kingdom come did much to make perspiration stand out across his hairline and drops of sweat to trickle down his spine.

  But it had to be done. His life’s work depended on it. He might not be his family’s pride and joy, like Burt had been, but he was slowly getting there. If only the old man hadn’t been so damn selfish. Wanting to keep going until he dropped—with never a thought to anyone but himself. But Philippe had taught the old coot a lesson he’d never forget. And now he needed to finish the job and show the world what a really fascinating man was capable of.

  He giggled nervously, then jumped when another cat scooted out in front of him, almost tripping him up. He kicked at it, but the horrible furry creature was too quick.

  He hated cats. Hated them with all the fervor of his being. Nasty little creatures. With their weird cat eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. And their sharp claws, ready to dig into your legs when they jumped onto your lap. Just like Shadow. At least she’d had the good sense to run off and drop dead someplace. Good riddance. And just when he was thinking about Shadow, suddenly he thought he saw her, sitting in a tree, staring intently.

  He blinked, but when he looked again, she was gone.

  He shook his head annoyedly. Damn those wretched eyes.

  He slunk along the sidewalk and halted in front of a row house.

  The lights were doused, as they should be. Alec Lip was sound asl
eep.

  He wondered if Tracy was in there with the corpulent chief. She’d better be.

  He snuck into the small patch of front yard, checked left and right again, put down the cooler and extracted the bottle from inside and placed it on the chief’s doorstep, precariously balancing it against the door. The moment the chief opened his front door, the bottle would topple and kaboom! Bye-bye Most Fascinating Man in the World Wannabe!

  He then retreated into the darkness across the street, but not before putting a note into the chief’s mailbox. The mailbox would take a hit from the explosion, but the note would remain intact inside the metal box. When investigators found the note, signed by the Most Iconic Man in the World, they would have another suspect to turn their attention to.

  Across the street from Chief Lip’s house was a small patch of park, perfect for dog walkers, and he settled down behind a shrub and checked his watch. An hour was all it would take for the nitro inside the Seis Siglas bottle to defrost and become active again. One hour.

  And as he prepared himself to wait, he became aware of those creepy night sounds all around him. As if nature was watching, and waiting, ready to pounce—just like he was.

  And then he saw them. Cat’s eyes, lighting up all around him. Dozens of them.

  He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the sensation of being watched.

  What did they want with him, these freaky cats? What were they waiting for?

  Then he shook off the crazy notion. Sure, cats were watching him. Of course they were. Cats were just a bunch of dumb creatures. They were probably pissed he was trespassing on their terrain. Hogging their nocturnal hunting ground. Scaring away the mice.

  “Shoo!” he whispered loudly. “Get away, you horrible creeps! Go on—get!”

  They didn’t move an inch, though. Just kept on staring at him, eyes unblinking and freaking him out in no small degree. Just what he needed. Bunch of cats getting on his nerves. He checked his watch again. An hour had passed. The time had come. And not a moment too soon. He got up stiffly and hurried over to the other side of the road.