The Mysteries of Max Box Sets 3

by Nic Saint

  At that moment, though, the whoop of a police siren sounded nearby, and soon cops were descending on the scene.

  “We better get out of here,” said Odelia. “Before the riot police starts busting heads and breaking bones.”

  “They better don’t break my bones or I’ll sue them for millions.”

  “Your son heads the police department!”

  “Never let sentiment muddle your thinking, honey. I saw that on Mary Poppins.”

  They both moved to the side, and watched as Uncle Alec’s troops returned order to the mob scene. Chase spotted them on the edge of the crowd, and sauntered over.

  “What’s this I hear about some dude telling people he’s Chris Ackerman’s son?”

  “Better ask him yourself,” said Gran. “We tried to interview him but there was no getting through those nasty reporters. Oh, and before you ask, he’s one of the people I identified this morning. You’ll find his sketch in your files.”

  “His name is Aldo Wrenn,” said Odelia. “Only now he calls himself Aldo Ackerman.”

  “Whenever a celebrity dies there’s always a rash of these bogus claims,” said Chase. “Remember when Prince died? Over seven hundred people claimed to be his siblings.”

  “I could have been Prince’s sister,” said Gran. “What?” she added when Odelia gave her a piercing look. “I’m not saying I am his sister. Just saying I could have been.”

  “What makes you think you and Prince were related?” asked Chase, genuinely curious.

  Promptly Gran lifted the leg of her colorful track pants to display a bony white calf. “Just look at my legs.”

  Chase looked at Gran’s leg. “N-nice,” he said in a slightly choked voice.

  “I should think so. These are some princely legs. I’ll bet Prince’s sister has legs just like these and so does his momma. And then of course I’ve got a voice just like Prince.”

  “You do?” asked Chase.

  “You don’t have to be beautiful. To turn me on,” the old lady began to sing in a reedy voice. It sounded nothing like Prince, but she was shaking that leg, and batting her eyelashes like a pro. A pro pole dancer, though, not a pro singer.

  Chase suppressed a smile. “That’s pretty awesome, Mrs. Muffin,” he said finally.

  “Just call me Vesta. I think it’s time we got on a first-name basis,” she cooed, placing a hand on Chase’s bicep while she recuperated from her impromptu dance routine.

  Chase had the good decency to blush. “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  Uncle Alec walked over, and Odelia was happy to see he came bearing gifts in the form of Aldo Wrenn—or Ackerman. The moment she and Gran had discovered Aldo was the seventh person Big Mac had identified, she’d shot off a message to her uncle. And a good thing, too, considering Aldo’s impromptu press conference had almost gotten out of hand.

  “I think we better hold this conversation at the station, son,” said Alec.

  “Why? What did I do?” asked Aldo.

  “First off, you managed to disturb the peace. Second…” He nodded to Odelia. “You were seen at this here library last night, just before Chris Ackerman was killed. So I’m gonna want a statement from you about that.”

  “That wasn’t me! I swear!”

  Chapter 28

  “Yeah, that was me,” said Aldo, sounding a lot less cocky than before. Then again, being dragged into a police station instead of CBS This Morning will do that to a person.

  Odelia watched on from the next room.

  “I’m having déjà vu,” said Gran. “It feels like we’ve been here before.”

  “We’ve been here before,” said Odelia.

  “How do people do this? Sit in that tiny room all day talking to dirtbags?”

  “We don’t know if he’s a dirtbag yet.”

  “He looks like a dirtbag.”

  “With nice teeth.”

  “With great teeth.”

  “So why were you at the library last night?” asked Uncle Alec. Next to him, Chase was drumming his fingers on the table, scrutinizing this new addition to Chris Ackerman’s family.

  “Look, I just wanted to talk to him, all right? I mean, can you blame me? I just found out he was my dad. I wanted to get to know the guy. Create a bond, you know.”

  “You mean, go fishing together? Watch a ball game?”

  “Yeah! Exactly!”

  “So why does Angelique Ackerman swear up and down you’re not Chris’s son?”

  “Of course she would say that. Especially now that my father is dead and she stands to inherit.”

  “You know what I find weird about this?” said Chase. “That you waited to come forward until now. The day after your alleged father died. Doesn’t that strike you as odd, Chief?”

  “It strikes me as extremely suspicious is what it strikes me as,” Alec agreed.

  “I tried to get in touch with Chris before yesterday. In fact I tried to get in touch with him many times. He stonewalled me. Only wanted to connect through his lawyers. So I did. I patiently laid down the facts again and again. How Chris had an affair with my mom twenty-three years ago. How nine months later I was born. How my mom swears Chris was the father but never told me before because Chris had broken her heart and she didn’t want anything to do with him. And how she finally decided to come forward last year, when she was diagnosed with cancer and told she only had months to live.”

  “So how is your mother now?” asked Uncle Alec.

  “She’s fine. In remission.”

  Chase was shaking his head and smiling. He obviously didn’t buy it.

  “It’s all true!” cried Aldo. “Ask her. She’ll confirm everything. The affair, the pregnancy, the whole thing.” He leaned in. “Look, all I wanted was to meet my dad.”

  “And did you? Meet him?”

  Aldo looked away. “Yes, I did.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  “He said to get the hell out of there and never show my face again.” He clenched his jaw. “He said a lot of other stuff that I won’t repeat here. Suffice it to say it didn’t go well.”

  “So you flew into a rage and plunged his fountain pen into his neck,” Chase supplied.

  “No! Of course not. Why would I kill my own father? I told him I’d give him some time to think about it and I’d be in touch. He said that if I ever approached him again he’d get a restraining order. So I just left. But…”

  “But what?” asked Uncle Alec.

  “I did something I probably shouldn’t have.”

  “You killed him.”

  “No! How many times do I have to say it? I didn’t kill my father. I grabbed a hair from his cardigan and tucked it into my pocket. Then when I got to the hotel I put it in a plastic baggie and now I’m having it tested against one of my own for a DNA match.” He tapped the table with his finger. “Chris Ackerman was my father and I’m going to prove it.”

  “Nasty business,” commented Gran.

  “Angelique isn’t going to like it,” Odelia said.

  “She’s going to blow her top is what she’s going to do.”

  Odelia thought Gran was right. Just now that Angelique stood to inherit a nice chunk of change here came this kid who, if he was right, could throw a big wrench in the works.

  “Do you think he’s our killer?” she asked.

  “Nah. He looks too cute to be a killer.”

  “I thought you said he looks like a dirtbag?”

  “I changed my mind. I think he’s the real deal.”

  Odelia had that impression as well. Still, it was plenty suspicious that Aldo would show up today and not sooner. Almost as if he’d been waiting for his father to die. Unless he was his father’s killer, and now he was here to claim his prize. Like in Game of Thrones, where chopping off a king’s head and then snatching his throne was the fashion du jour.

  Not that Aldo had chopped off his father’s head. He may have made a start, though, by plunging in that pen.

  “This case is getting more c
omplicated by the minute. So many suspects!”

  “Don’t complain. It’s better to have too many suspects than not enough.”

  “But how do we know who did it?”

  “Intuition, honey,” said Gran. “A real dick knows.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t use that word, Gran.”

  “What, dick? What’s wrong with calling a spade a spade? I’m a private dick and so are you. We’re dicks together. Now if you could drive me home my shows are about to start and you know I can’t miss those, dick or no dick.”

  Chapter 29

  Tex Poole had just seen his last patient of the day and blew out a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, and he wasn’t feeling at his best after a long and sleepless night. First his wife’s Author of the Month evening had gone so horribly, terribly wrong, then they’d had to stick around while the police did their thing, and then once they’d arrived home Marge had been in no fit state to go to bed so they’d stayed up talking and sipping cups of chamomile tea, which was supposed to work wonders on a strained nervous system.

  He’d have preferred to give his wife a Xanax or a Valium. Or a Klonopin or an Ativan. Or maybe something a little stronger. But Marge wasn’t one for popping pills. She preferred a more naturalistic approach. She believed in homeopathy, Bach Flower Remedies and aromatherapy. Every morning she did her yoga exercises, and from time to time she visited a reflexologist, a shiatsu guy and an acupuncturist. She’d recently even taken up mindfulness.

  All in all, she was a doctor’s worst nightmare. Then again, she was also his wife, and he loved her, so whatever she did was just fine by him. As long as it didn’t endanger her health or her overall wellbeing, which of course these placebo methods wouldn’t.

  And Tex had just gotten up from his desk and picked his jacket from the coatrack in the corner of his office when a knock on the door surprised him. He’d had to make do today without Grandma Muffin at the receptionist’s desk. The old lady had gotten it into her head that she wanted to become a detective and her first case was Chris Ackerman’s murder.

  Tex strode over to the door and opened it. To his even greater surprise he found Chase Kingsley standing on the mat. The stalwart detective eyed him apologetically.

  “Tex,” he said. “I hope I’m not intruding. I saw there were no patients so I figured…”

  “Yeah, no, come on in, Chase,” said Tex, jovially clapping the other man on the back. “So what can I do for you?” he asked once they were both seated. “Something ailing you?”

  “Physically I’m in fine fettle,” said Chase surprisingly. “It’s actually your daughter I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Tex drew both eyebrows up into his white fringe. A man with a great head of hair, he was the epitome of the country doctor. Hale and hearty and bluff, he was both kindly and knowledgeable. On top of that he genuinely liked his fellow man and woman and was always ready to do his little bit to improve their lot in life—be it medically or otherwise.

  Chase’s response threw him for a loop, though. He’d always viewed Chase as the perfect son-in-law and the perfect mate for his daughter. In fact he’d been thanking his lucky stars on a daily basis ever since Chase had entered their lives. And now this?

  “Odelia? Is there something wrong with my daughter, Chase?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing is wrong, sir. Nothing at all. It’s just that…” Chase rubbed his square jaw, looking sheepish. “The thing is…” He cleared his throat. “The fact of the matter is, sir…”

  “Oh, please cut the ‘sir’ thing, son. We’ve known each other long enough now for you to call me by my Christian name.”

  “Yes, Tex,” said Chase dutifully.

  Tex waited patiently. He’d had patients who were so reluctant to talk about their ailments that it took him almost the entire allotted time to drag it out of them. Chase looked like he was going to need even more than that. “So? Just spit it out, son,” he said finally when no more information seemed forthcoming.

  Chase steeled himself. “I’m just going to come out and say it, sir—Tex. The thing is, I like your daughter a lot… Tex. In fact I love her. Love her a whole damn lot. And what I wanted to ask you, sir, is this…” He cleared his throat noisily. If he’d had a hat, he would have turned it over nervously between his fidgety fingers.

  Oh, darn it, Tex thought. This was it, wasn’t it? This was that scene you saw in the movies. Where the future son-in-law asked his future father-in-law for the hand of his daughter in marriage. The fresh-faced freckled youth would preface his remarks with a few well-meant ‘gee whizes’ and ‘oh, gollys’ and pepper them with a few ‘aw, shucks’ when finally his future dad-in-law gave his blessing. At which point cigars would be brought out and both men would smoke a fat gasper while gazing fondly off into the horizon.

  Tex rearranged his avuncular face into an expression of solemnity befitting the occasion. “Ye-es,” he said slowly, knitting his fingers on his desk’s blotter.

  “The thing is, sir—Tex…” Chase halted, then started again. “The thing is that Odelia and I were moving in a direction I thought… And then her grandmother moved in and…”

  Tex nodded. He knew exactly where Chase was coming from. Marge’s mother had been the bane of his existence for many, many years. In fact she was the one person who sometimes made him doubt his calling as a man devoted to stop people from dying.

  “And now I don’t know how to proceed,” Chase said, lifting his arms in a gesture of confusion.

  Tex finally saw all. This man hadn’t come here to ask for his blessing. He’d come to seek some fatherly advice on how to woo Odelia. Grandma Muffin’s shenanigans had torn these two lovebirds asunder and now it was up to Tex to put them together again. Chase’s dad had died years ago, so he had no other father figure to turn to other than Tex. And Tex was happy to take on the role—in fact he was honored—even touched to the verge of tears.

  “Chase,” he said in his warmest, most gregarious manner, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

  Chase shifted forward on his chair. He looked eager. “Yes, sir—I mean, Tex?”

  “This secret has the power to unlock the heart of any Poole woman.” Except Vesta, but that was because she was a Muffin, not a Poole. And because she didn’t have a heart.

  “Yes?” said Chase, hanging on Tex’s every word now.

  “This is the method I used to woo and win Odelia’s mother’s heart, and this is the method you, if you choose to accept the mission, can use to win over my little girl’s heart.”

  He choked back a tear. A sudden image of Odelia dressed in white striding down the aisle on his arm had suddenly flashed through his mind. “This is what you need to do.”

  Chase was practically falling from his chair, his ears pricked up, his eyes wide.

  “One word,” said Tex. “Serenade.”

  Chase stared at Tex. Tex smiled at Chase. When the cop didn’t speak, Tex threw his arms wide. “You have to serenade her, son! Go old school. Head on over to Odelia’s house at the stroke of midnight, take up your position under the balcony, and belt out your finest ballad. I’d suggest Frankie Avalon’s Venus. Worked like a charm for me. Marge loved it.”

  Grandma Muffin had loved it a lot less. Marge had still been living at home at the time, and Tex had gotten mixed up about whose window he was under. Gran had poured out her chamber pot on top of Tex’s head, later claiming she’d figured he was a cat in heat.

  Which of course he was.

  “A ballad,” said Chase dubiously.

  “A ballad,” said Tex, smiling winsomely.

  “There’s only one problem, Tex. I can’t sing.”

  “Neither can I, but that didn’t stop me. Look, son. If you’re going to win my daughter’s heart, you’re going to have to make a bold move. Trust me, women love men who make bold moves.”

  “Do they also love men who make total, utter fools of themselves?”

  “They do, they do,” said Tex, though he kinda do
ubted it. “I’m sure you won’t make a fool of yourself, though. Sing.”

  “What?”

  “Sing. Pick any song and let me hear what you’re capable of. Judging from your speaking voice I’m pretty sure you’ve got a nice baritone. Women love a nice baritone.”

  When Chase didn’t make any attempt to burst into song, Tex switched on the small radio that was located next to his desk. As luck would have it, the unforgettable Sam Cooke was singing.

  “Try it,” said Tex kindly. “Sing along with the maestro.”

  Hesitantly, Chase yowled, “She was only sixteen, only sixteen…”

  “Mh,” said Tex, folding his hands in front of his face and tucking in his chin. “Let’s pick another one. Odelia is not sixteen, after all.”

  “What about my voice?” asked Chase eagerly. “Do you think it holds up?”

  Tex decided not to go there. Your kindly music teacher knows when to refrain from criticism and turn up the encouragement instead. He changed channels on his small radio and Neil Sedaka’s voice filled the room.

  Dutifully, Chase sang, “Oh! Carol, I am but a fool.”

  “Nice,” Tex coached. “Try to focus on the melody. Yes, that’s it.”

  “If you leave me I will surely die,” Chase warbled, switching from his impersonation of an asthmatic sheep to that of Walter the singing French Bulldog.

  Tex winced, though he tried not to show it. It was clear that Chase would never get past the first auditions for The Voice or American Idol. “That’s great, Chase,” he said finally, clapping his hands encouragingly. “I’ve heard enough.” That, and his ears were bleeding.

  Chase gave him an expectant look. “Do you think I’ve got what it takes, Doc?”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” said Tex. “Odelia will love it. Love it!” More likely she’d take pity on the poor sap and kiss him to end the torture, both his and hers. He smiled at the tough cop. “Though you might want to choose a different song. Something more attuned to my daughter’s musical sensibilities.”

  “She likes Ed Sheeran,” said Chase with enthusiasm.