The Mysteries of Max Box Sets 3

by Nic Saint

  A sneaking suspicion now entered my mind. The suspicion that Brutus and Harriet were right. That I really was that dumb and that ugly. I mean, why else was I still single while everyone else was involved with someone? The thought had never occurred to me before.

  And as I finally reached my destination, Wilbur Vickery’s General Store on Main Street, I looked around for Kingman, Wilbur’s plump piebald. To my elation he was right where he always was: holding forth to three female cats who hung on his every word.

  “Hey, Kingman,” I said by way of greeting.

  Then, to my surprise, the three females gave me a furtive glance then stalked off without even so much as a hello.

  “And hello to you, too,” I said as I stared after them.

  “Hey, Max,” said Kingman. “Are you feeling all right? You look a little… out of sorts.”

  “Did those girls say something about me?” I asked, still staring at the three females sashaying off, their heads close together and clearly sharing a tasty morsel of gossip.

  “Nope. Why would they?”

  “Just wondering,” I said, frowning to myself.

  “Did you hear about that murder case?” Kingman asked, changing the subject.

  “What murder case? What are you talking about?”

  “The National Star dude that got smothered in duck poop?”

  “Duck sauce?” I asked, figuring I’d misheard.

  “Duck poop, not sauce. Yeah, your human is all over that one. Went up to Dickerson’s house this morning to investigate, along with her beefcake boyfriend. I figured you’d have tagged along—you and that ragtag gang of feline detective friends of yours.”

  “They’re no friends of mine,” I muttered darkly, wondering why Odelia would be investigating a murder case without inviting me along. This was definitely a first. And then the horrible truth came home to me: hadn’t Milo said I was too possessive about Odelia? Too obsessive? Not allowing anyone else to even come near her? Odelia must have felt it. She must have felt the noose tighten around her neck and decided to take her distance. Investigate this murder case all by herself. Without possessive Max to cramp her style.

  Gah. Now I’d done it. I’d gone and made my human mad.

  Which could only mean one thing: she was getting ready to chuck me out.

  My eyes widened. Could it be… Could it be that she was grooming Milo as my replacement? Maybe he didn’t even belong to this Aloisia Lane woman. Maybe she’d gotten him from a friend, and she was going to keep him and train him and then she was going to kick me out! Maybe even hand me over to Aloisia Lane when she returned from Florida!

  “Max!” Kingman was yelling, and only now did I notice he must have been trying to catch my attention for a while now. “What’s wrong, Max? You don’t look like yourself, buddy.”

  I gave him a sad look. “I haven’t been myself for a long time, Kingman. Only it’s taken me until now to realize it.” And with these words, I slunk off. I didn’t know where I was going. Home? But where was home? Not with Odelia, that was for sure. And not with Marge or Vesta either.

  Home is where the heart is, the old saying goes. But my heart didn’t belong to anyone, Milo had made that clear to me. And suddenly a surge of gratitude swept through me. Milo was the only friend I had in this world. The only cat who’d told me the truth.

  The only cat who hadn’t lied to my face all these years.

  I passed a newsstand, and read the headlines about the ‘Don of Dung Dunged to Death,’ but they didn’t hold any interest to me. Someone else would have to catch the Don of Dung’s danged killer. Someone smart and cool and popular. Someone who wasn’t me.

  My days as a feline sleuth were over.

  Harriet watched as Dooley stalked into the house, assumed the squatting position, and produced a nice little turd, right there on Odelia’s new off-white IKEA rug, then proceeded to wipe his tush on the same rug, sashaying along while intently looking over his shoulder at his progression, as if admiring his handiwork—or rather his buttwork.

  She blinked, wondering what had gotten into the cat. Then she suddenly noticed that she was no longer alone. Milo had materialized right next to her and was shaking his head.

  “Sad, isn’t it?”

  “What is?” she asked.

  “Dooley. I didn’t want to tell you this before but he’s finally lost it.”

  “He is acting a little weird,” she admitted. “Why is he pooping on the rug?”

  “Nobody told you? Oh, the little guy is head over heels in love with you, Harriet, and this is his way of showing you.”

  “What?!” she cried, horrified.

  “Sure. He must have seen it on some Discovery Channel documentary, how some tribesmen in the Amazon rainforest smear their poop on trees as a token of their affection. Anthropologists say tribeswomen study that poop as an indicator of the health and vigor of the male, which greatly helps them in choosing the right partner so they can procreate. It’s all true,” he said, holding up two claws when Harriet gave him a look of horror. “So now poor, deluded little Dooley there thinks he can win your heart by spreading his stool around, in the hope you’ll figure his stool shows he’s a better potential mate than Brutus.”

  “Oh, my God, but that’s just ridiculous!” Harriet cried, aghast. “Has he lost his mind?”

  “Dooley’s mind was never a very powerful instrument to begin with,” said Milo, who seemed to know what he was talking about. “Which is why he’s fallen prey to this state of delusion. But not to worry,” he added, suddenly chipper. “I’m sure it’s just a phase. After all, Max passed through this awkward stage and he came out more or less unscathed, right?”

  “Max? Did he have this… stool phase?”

  “Oh, yes. Max has been head over heels in love with you for years, Harriet. Only now the pendulum has swung the other way, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Max hates you. It often happens with one who’s loved as deeply and as passionately as Max has. When that love isn’t reciprocated it turns into a violent, deep-seated hatred.”

  “Max hates me?”

  “Max loathes you with every fiber of his being. Just watch him when he thinks you’re not looking. You’ll see the rage in his eyes. The pure, unadulterated murderous loathing.”

  “I don’t believe this. Why has no one ever told me this before?” she demanded.

  “Because they didn’t want you to worry, Harriet,” said Milo, his voice dripping with compassion. “And then there’s the other thing. The violence.”

  “Violence?”

  “Oh, yes. Max has these violent tendencies. When provoked he gets quite dangerous. Cats felt that as long as you didn’t know how he felt about you, you couldn’t provoke one of his outbursts.” He touched her shoulder lightly. “I disagree. I feel that you have a right to know. And now that you do, and you’re properly warned, you can prepare yourself.”

  “You mean… stay away from him?”

  “Stay away, and in case you do need to come into contact with the madcat, don’t look into his eyes, don’t talk to him, don’t do anything that might trigger an attack.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, I’m glad someone had the courage to tell me. Thank you, Milo.”

  “Don’t mention it, Harriet.”

  They both stared at Dooley, who was now studying the brown smears on the carpet, sniffing them intently.

  “Mad,” said Harriet.

  “And sad,” Milo added with a sigh.

  Chapter 13

  “So what do you think, Chase?” asked Chief Alec, speaking from Chase’s phone.

  “No, what do you think, Chief?” asked Chase.

  He could see Tracy Sting behind the Chief and an amazing view of the mountains the couple were currently hiking through. They were lucky they had reception.

  “Yeah, we asked you first, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia. She waved at Tracy, who smiled and waved back. A striking redhead with trim, athletic physique, she was a can-do wo
man who looked even more can-do with her sunglasses, hiking jacket and hiking boots.

  Even Alec looked ready to tackle those mountains—and enjoy a nice crackling fire once they got back to their lodge or cabin. The rotund chief looked like he’d lost some weight, and his bushy brows suddenly looked a lot less bushy, as if he’d—gasp!—trimmed them. Everything to impress his date. In fact Alec looked years younger—a marked effect.

  “Look, I don’t have all the details, all right?” the Chief was saying. “Just what you told me. As far as I know Dickerson had a ton of files in that safe of his. In fact he was famous for having dirt on pretty much everyone who was someone and he kept it in that safe.”

  “The safe was empty,” said Odelia.

  “Not completely empty,” said Chase. “There was one file and one picture.”

  “Yeah, a picture of a rose,” said Odelia. “Ring any bells?”

  “None,” said Chief Alec. “But maybe you can start by looking at the usual suspects.”

  “Which are?” said Chase.

  Alec frowned. “Um… Dickerson was rumored to be a close friend of the President but they’d recently fallen out over something. No idea what. You’d have to ask him.”

  “The President as in the President?” asked Odelia.

  “Yup. So if I were you I’d start there. And then there’s the professional aspect.”

  “Like a mob hit,” said Odelia.

  “Dickerson got in bad with Yasir Bellinowski.”

  “The Russian mobster?” said Chase.

  “Alleged,” said Alec. “At least that’s what I heard. So I would pay him a visit. Maybe there was something in that vault Bellinowski wanted so bad he was prepared to kill for it.”

  “It does have mafia written all over it,” Odelia agreed. “With the duck poop and all.”

  “You need to follow up about that theft at the Potbelly farm. Whoever stole that tractor and that tanker is your guy. Catch him, and catch the person who ordered the hit.”

  “Good luck!” Tracy said, moving into view again and giving them a wave.

  “Thanks,” said Odelia. “We’ll need it.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. You guys are the best damn sleuths I’ve ever had,” said Chief Alec with a grin. “And the fact that I only have to pay one of you makes it even better.”

  “Ha ha,” said Chase. “Very funny.”

  “Take good care of my uncle for me, Tracy,” said Odelia. “He’s the only one I’ve got.”

  “Oh, I’ll take very good care of him,” Tracy assured her. “In fact I already am.”

  “She is,” said the Chief with a happy grin, his face rotund and his cheeks flushed.

  “I don’t think I want to know,” said Odelia with a laugh.

  And on the image of the Chief and Tracy kissing, the connection cut out.

  “They look happy,” said Chase.

  “They look more than happy,” said Odelia. “They look like they’re in love.”

  Chase had placed an arm around her waist. “You mean they look like us?”

  “Something like that.”

  He kissed her deeply, and she almost dropped her phone, which he took as a good sign. Looked like he still had it. But then he wrenched his mind back to the investigation. They were holed up in the police station, where they’d decided to consult with the Chief and get his input. Now, though, they needed to follow up on his instructions and go and talk to the President. Gulp.

  “Do you think the President will even talk to us?” asked Odelia, whose mind had landed on the same topic.

  “I hope so. He was a close friend of Dickerson’s.”

  “Until they fell out over something.”

  “We need to find out what that something was.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  They were seated side by side at the Chief’s desk, so close together they were cheek to jowl. And since he was in the vicinity, Chase closed his lips on hers and for the next five minutes or so Dick Dickerson, the President and any possible mob connections between the tabloid mogul and this Yasir Bellinowski were the farthest thing from his mind.

  But then a knock at the door surprised them and when the door swung open and Dolores appeared, they both looked up with flushed cheeks and a guilty grin on their faces.

  “All right,” said the policewoman with an eyeroll. “Guess I can come back later.”

  And then she walked out and bought them another ten minutes or so, which was all they needed.

  Chapter 14

  “I’ve never met the President,” said Odelia as Chase steered the car through town.

  “Me neither,” he intimated.

  “I mean, any president. Not this one or any of his predecessors.”

  He smiled and gave her a sideways glance. “You look excited.”

  “Damn right I’m excited. We’re about to meet the frickin’ President!”

  “You look hot when you’re excited.”

  She blushed. It wasn’t the idea of seeing the President that made her feel all hot and bothered, but what she and Chase had done on top of Uncle Alec’s desk. Good thing he’d never know. Unless Dolores told him. Which she probably would. And everyone else in that precinct. Shoot.

  “So what did he say?” she asked.

  “You mean what did his Secret Service detail say?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They don’t like the idea.”

  “He’s not a suspect. Did you tell them he’s not a suspect?”

  “They don’t like the idea of the President being interviewed by cops, period—suspect or no suspect. They don’t like the story the media might spin this into.”

  “He’s a friend of Dickerson’s. He was in town when the guy was murdered. We have to talk to him.”

  “They know that. That doesn’t mean they have to like it.”

  “Besides, it’s not as if the President can just go and steal a tanker full of duck poop from a duck farm, back it up to his friend’s house and kill him. The Secret Service would have noticed if he was traipsing around duck farms in the middle of the night.”

  “I think we established that whoever is behind this hired a couple of pros.”

  “Even so. The President probably can’t even order a Big Mac or chicken nuggets without everybody knowing about it and blabbing about it.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think we’re seriously considering the possibility that President Wilcox killed his buddy the media mogul,” said Chase. “But we have to start somewhere.”

  And so they did. “I like this mobster for the murder. And the picture of the rose left at the crime scene? Probably has some kind of mobster meaning. Like the dead horse in The Godfather. I mean, maybe the mob moved on from horses to pictures of horses. Or roses.”

  “Sure,” said Chase with a grin.

  “Did they find any fingerprints on that picture?”

  “None. Nothing on that vault door, either, or anywhere else, for that matter. Like I said, these guys are pros. They wouldn’t make a rookie mistake like that.”

  “Seems elaborate,” said Odelia, still thinking this through. “They could have just shot him. Why go to all the trouble of the duck poop thing? That just seems like… overkill.”

  “Why aren’t your cats along for the ride?” suddenly Chase asked.

  “Mh?”

  “Your cats. They usually tag along on these things. Like a good-luck charm?”

  Yeah, why hadn’t she brought Max and the others along? For some reason the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Probably because Max seemed upset about Milo and the others eating his food. She’d just figured he wanted to be left alone. People thought cats were simply animals, with animal reflexes and driven by animal instincts. But they were smart creatures—a lot smarter than most humans gave them credit for. And they were also very sensitive, and when they were going through the kind of adaptation Max was going through with Milo, maybe it was better just to leave them alone to deal with it in peace.

  “I’ll bring t
hem along next time,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” said Chase. “I don’t think the Secret Service would like it if we arrived with a bunch of cats in tow. They’d probably think they were Russian spies.”

  They finally arrived at Lago-a-Oceano, President Van Wilcox’s expansive mansion. It was an impressive, sprawling structure, with several buildings apart from the main house, servants’ quarters, an old hunter’s lodge, and spreading grounds. It had a private beach where Van Wilcox was rumored to enjoy going for a swim, as did the First Lady Rima Wilcox, who hailed from Georgia and liked the privacy the mansion afforded her and her husband.

  They announced their arrival to the burly Secret Service man at the gate, who eyed them stoically through glasses that obscured his eyes, spoke something into his wrist, then stepped aside as the heavy wrought-iron gate slowly swung open.

  More burly men with sunglasses and dressed like Men in Black dotted the landscape, like garden gnomes on a front lawn, and Odelia swallowed away a lump of uneasiness.

  “I hope they don’t shoot us,” she said as all eyes turned to them as they proceeded along the winding drive. “Do they also remind you of Agent Smith from The Matrix?”

  “Don’t think about it,” Chase advised her. “Just keep your eye on the prize. We need to find out what the President figures happened to his friend.”

  “Or former friend.”

  “Exactly. All the rest is unimportant at this stage.”

  She gulped some more when the number of Agent Smiths seemed to increase the closer they got to the mansion. “I think they’re multiplying. Just like in The Matrix.”

  “Keep your cool, Odelia. This will all be fine.”

  “That’s what you think. You’re the cop. I’m the reporter. Everyone knows the President eats reporters for breakfast.”

  “He does not.”

  “He hates us. He hates us all.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t.”