by Nic Saint
“There’s only one part about this whole sordid business I regret,” said Gran.
“What’s that?” asked Marge.
Gran threw up her arms. “That I didn’t get to film the grand finale! Those bastards took away my phone!”
“I’m sure plenty of people caught the whole thing on video,” said Uncle Alec. He clapped Chase on the shoulder. “For one thing, they sure as heck caught our rising musical star Chase on tape. Ed Sheeran, watch out!”
“Thanks,” said Chase. “I kinda enjoyed being the decoy.”
“It sure delayed the Ackermans until our team was in place to break down the door.”
“Too bad I didn’t catch the big performance,” said Odelia.
“You saw the private performance,” said Chase, smiling. “Which was the better one of the two.”
Only now did Odelia realize she was missing something. She looked around. “Where are my cats?”
“Right there,” said Chase, stepping aside.
And there they were indeed: Max, Dooley, Brutus, Harriet and… Big Mac. Sitting on the sidewalk and smiling up at her. They were a sight for sore eyes.
“Oh, my babies,” she said, crouching down. They all jumped into her arms. “You caught the bad guys—you saved my life—what would I do without you?”
Chase laughed. “It’s the weirdest thing. Almost as if they can understand what she says.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gran snapped. “Cats don’t talk. Everybody knows that.”
“No, of course not,” he said, his smile vanishing. “You’re right.”
“Dumbass,” Gran grunted.
“Ma,” said Uncle Alec warningly.
“Just welcoming the kid into the family,” said Gran, and pinched Chase’s cheeks.
Epilogue
“So what did you tell Chase when you went to warn him?” asked Odelia.
“Simple. I told him I had a feeling you were in trouble,” said Marge.
“But how did you explain I was at the hotel?”
Marge took a deep breath, darted a quick look at Chase, who was assisting Tex with the barbecue as usual, then explained quietly, “I told him I’d once seen a documentary about whales being able to feel their babies were in trouble even though they were miles away. I said the same thing applied to mothers and their kids. I said I could sense you were in trouble and I had a hunch you’d had a hunch about the writer’s son and ex-wife.”
“Seems far-fetched,” said Odelia, taking a bite from her hot dog. “He believed you?”
“Oh, he did. Immediately. You’ve got a good man there, Odelia. He’s a keeper.”
They moved off and Dooley glanced up at the sky. It had been a week since the stunning events at the Hampton Cove Star and the world hadn’t ended, which clearly puzzled Dooley.
“Trust me, Dooley,” I said now. “The world isn’t going to end. I mean, at some point it probably will, but not this week. Not even this year or even this decade.”
“You think so, Max?”
“I know so. So you can stop worrying.”
“And stop nagging us,” Harriet muttered.
“So how about those spots of yours?” I asked Brutus.
“You’re not going to believe this but they’re gone!” said the black cat. And to prove he wasn’t lying, he pressed his chest into my face.
“Nice,” I muttered.
The four of us were seated on the swing on Marge and Tex’s back porch. Tex was officiating the barbecue, aided and abetted by Chase, Uncle Alec was recounting the story of how Angelique and Trey Ackerman had been charged with murder, and Gran was messing around with her phone, checking the footage she’d shot in the course of the investigation.
“You know? You really outdid yourself this time, Max,” said Brutus.
“How is that?”
“I still don’t get how you had that sudden brainwave that led you to figure out what happened.”
“I told you. It was the plastic hamburger. I suddenly remembered Big Mac going on and on about how the pizza guy wasn’t a real pizza guy because he didn’t smell like one. So that plastic burger got me thinking. What if Big Mac was right? What if the pizza guy wasn’t a pizza guy? What if it was the killer pretending to be a pizza guy? Which meant he would have ditched the outfit as soon as he got the chance. So if only we could find it—”
“We’d find the killer,” Brutus said. “Pretty clever, buddy.”
“Max followed the pizza boxes,” said Dooley. “Just like Aurora Teagarden.”
We all laughed. Dooley was right. The pizza boxes had led us to the killers.
“The real hero is, of course, Big Mac,” I said. “He’s solved the whole thing.”
We all looked in the direction of the big red cat, who was gobbling down the hamburger patties Tex kept feeding him. Finally, he waddled over in our direction. He was too big to jump up onto the swing, so he stayed where he was, then heaved a soft burp.
“And? How do you like the taste of a real burger?” I asked.
Big Mac shook his head sadly. “It’s not the same, you guys.”
“But these are real burgers—not the junk food you usually eat.”
“Yeah, but junk food tastes so much better,” said Big Mac. “Honestly? There’s no comparison. No offense,” he added for Tex’s sake.
“He can’t understand you,” said Harriet. “Only Odelia, Marge and Vesta can.”
“Weird. What about the buff dude?”
“Nope. Chase doesn’t understand us either.”
“Or the sheriff?”
Harriet shook her head. “Only the women in this family speak feline.”
“Huh. Too bad. Would be so easy if the whole world could understand us.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” said Clarice, who’d joined us. She’d been coming and going these last couple of days, trying to get accustomed to having her own home. I had a feeling it wouldn’t last, though. Once a feral cat, always a feral cat. Odelia had tried to domesticate her once before and it hadn’t worked. Then again, Clarice probably wouldn’t be the same if she became like the rest of us. That was part of her appeal. And the reason I liked her.
“What are you guys talking about?” she asked now.
“Humans,” said Big Mac.
“Oh, don’t get me started on humans,” she growled, darting a cold look at the humans gathered in the backyard. At that moment Odelia offered Clarice a piece of raw burger. She swallowed it down whole. Odelia laughed and fed her another piece.
“These humans aren’t so bad,” said Big Mac.
“I guess not,” said Clarice grudgingly.
Clarice and Big Mac stalked off, to gobble up some more burger, and Brutus and Harriet followed their example, only to abruptly change course and disappear through the hedge into the next garden. Brutus probably wanted to show Harriet his lack of spots.
“Do you think Clarice will be part of the gang from now on, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Pretty sure she won’t. She’s a street cat, Dooley. What’s more, she rules those streets.”
“I don’t get it.”
“We think Clarice should be saved from her dumpster-diving ways but that’s not how she feels about it. She’s free out there, the queen of the urban jungle. Sometimes I think it’s she who pities us, and not the other way around. Pities our sedentary, domesticated lives.”
“I don’t get it,” Dooley repeated.
“Have you never wanted to roam the streets as a wild cat, Dooley? Not knowing whether you’re going to find food or not, but happy with every morsel you do find? Give those old hunting instincts free rein? Become wild and free once more, like our ancestors?”
Dooley stared at me. “Is this a trick question?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered if there’s another world out there? A world beyond the safety of our houses, our backyards, the humans who protect and feed us, even this town?”
He chewed on that for a moment. “Actually, no,” he said. “I think we’re
blessed, Max. Only sometimes we lose sight of the fact. We forget how lucky we are. And it takes events like the ones that transpired last week to bring that truth home to us. It takes Brutus almost dying from his spots and Odelia and Gran almost being shot and the sky almost falling down on us and the earth opening up and swallowing us whole to remember how lucky we are.”
I stared at him. “You figured that all out on your own?”
He leveled a funny look at me. “I’m not as dumb as I look, Max.”
“I guess you’re not,” I agreed.
“The thing I’ve realized this past week is that I’m probably the luckiest cat alive,” he said musingly. “I have the best humans, who love me very much—one of them is Jesus, even though I still haven’t found his sheep—I have the best buddies, in Harriet and Brutus. But most of all, I have the best friend in the whole wide world. You, Max. I love you, buddy.”
“I… love you, too,” I said, surprised. My eyes were suddenly moist. I wiped at them.
“Darn cold,” Dooley muttered, wiping at his own eyes.
“Yeah, darn cold,” I said, sniffling.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then Dooley held up his fist.
I bumped it.
Boom.
THE END
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Excerpt from Purrfect Obsession (The Mysteries of Max 10)
Chapter One
I was lying on my back in the backyard, languidly gazing up at the clouds slowly drifting past my field of vision. My paws were dangling wherever they might, my tail was drooping, and it wasn’t too much to say that all was well in this best of all worlds.
Some would have called it the calm before the storm, but they would be cynics. This wasn’t the calm before the storm. This was the calm after the storm, as there had been rain overnight, and the grass was still soggy and drops clung to Odelia’s roses’ petals.
Next to me, my best friend and co-feline Dooley lay in the same position, also idly gazing up at the sky. There was apprehension in his gaze, though, his usual response to looking at that big slice of heaven up above. His eternal fear is that a piece of this heaven might one day come crashing down on us. And no matter how many times I’ve assured him that this is simply impossible, there’s no way to dissuade him from these erroneous ideas.
“I don’t know, Max,” he said now, shaking his head.
“What don’t you know?” I murmured, my eyes drifting closed. There’s only so much to look at when you’re gazing at the sky. It’s blue and all looks pretty much the same to me.
“I don’t know about this lying around, doing absolutely nothing.”
“It’s what us cats do best,” I said. “We lie around doing nothing.”
“But it just feels... wrong, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
“This ... “ He gestured at the sky. “And this...” he added, indicating the smooth lawn that was our favorite hangout spot on a sunny day like this—especially after a nice storm.
“I don’t get it, Dooley,” I said lazily. “Please elaborate.”
“I just don’t understand how you can lie around while there’s so much to be done.”
“Nothing needs to be done,” I said, my eyes now having closed completely, my head slumping to the side. I felt a power nap coming on, and nothing Dooley said was going to prevent me from enjoying it tremendously.
“There’s probably murder cases to be solved.”
“Not a single one.”
“Or-or missing humans to be found?”
“Nobody’s gone missing as far as I know.”
“Dangerous diseases to be fought? Pests to be eradicated? Threats to be thwarted? Max! We can’t just lie around here while who knows what is happening all around us!”
“Oh, just relax, Dooley,” I muttered, on the verge of tumbling headfirst into sleep.
“Relax! How can I relax when... when…”
But at this point I’d finally found sleep, or maybe sleep had found me? At any rate I’d become blissfully oblivious of Dooley’s ramblings. There’s only so much angst one can stomach. And it was with extreme reluctance that I pulled myself from the depths of a super slumber when a sharp voice interrupted a sweet dream about a new addition to cat choir, a tabby tease who wasn’t merely blessed with great pipes, but was quite the looker to boot.
“Max! Wake up! Something terrible has happened!”
It was Harriet, who’s a member of our posse. Immediately, I was up and ready for action. When Dooley is yammering on about all sorts of imaginary threats, I’m not bothered. That’s just par for the course. But when Harriet does the same... it means something’s up.
“What’s wrong?” I didn’t even bother rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It’s one of the advantages of being a cat: there’s never any sleep that needs to be rubbed. One moment we’re practically comatose, the next we’re shifting into high gear, all at the drop of a hat. Or the flash of a white whisker, as in this case. That’s millions of years of evolution for you.
“It’s Odelia,” said Harriet, a strikingly pretty white Persian. She was slightly panting. With my keen detective’s eye, I could tell she’d been running. Or was under duress. Or both.
“Odelia! What’s wrong with Odelia?” Dooley practically yelled.
Odelia is our human, and in that sense pretty much our raison d’être one could say. I know, I know. Cats are supposed to be these independent creatures, unattached and unfettered. Don’t let our stoic and aloof look fool you, though. We do care about our humans, and we don’t like it when something bad happens to them. That’s why I was ready to skip sleep and follow Harriet without a moment’s hesitation, and so was Dooley.
“What happened to her?” I asked, already fearing the worst.
“Just hurry,” said Harriet, and sprinted ahead of us at a high rate of speed. We tore through the backyard, tore through the small strip that separates Odelia’s house from her neighbors, and tore out across the front yard. Ours is a corner of the world where people still enjoy living in houses that are detached, semi-detached or even attached. No apartments for us, and a good thing, too. I wouldn’t enjoy being an apartment cat.
We were out onto the street and Harriet still showed no signs of slowing down. Already I was breathing heavily. I’m a cat built for cuddles, not for speed. Some people call me portly, but they’re wrong, of course. I’m big-boned is what I am. A matter of genetics.
“Where are we going?” I managed between two stertorous intakes of breath.
But Harriet didn’t even bother to respond. It just confirmed to me how grave the situation really was. Usually she’s the chatterbox of our small clowder of cats, and the fact that she hadn’t uttered more than a few words told me this was bad. Very bad indeed.
She tore around the corner and I could tell we were heading for the park, the very place I’d been dreaming about only moments before. Oh, how long ago this now seemed.
“I don’t like this, Max,” Dooley intimated.
Well, I didn’t like it either, but at that point I was too winded to respond. Into the park Harriet zipped, and Dooley and I followed, still going full tilt. We almost bumped into her when she abruptly stopped, and then we just stood there, me panting, she squinting.
“There,” she said finally, pointing with her fluffy white tail.
I looked there. And I didn’t see a thing.
“What are we looking at?” I asked therefore, scanning the horizon for a sign of a bleeding and grievously harmed Odelia, most probably on the verge of expiration.
“There!” she repeated, this time pointing with her paw.
And that’s when I saw it. Dooley must have seen it too, for he drew in a sharp breath.
It was Odelia, only she wasn’t bleeding. Worse, she was lo
cking lips with a man.
And this man was not—I repeat this man was NOT… her boyfriend Chase Kingsley.
Chapter Two
“Max?” asked Dooley, his voice croaky and weird. “What’s going on?”
“Can’t you see what’s going on!” Harriet replied in my stead. “That’s our human down there, being treacherous!”
Treacherous was not the word I would have used. As far as I know humans are not a monogamous species. Not unlike cats—though some cats have been known to be loyal to their mate until their dying day. Harriet is not one of those cats, so I found her indignation highly hypocritical. I didn’t mention this, though, for Harriet’s claws are as sharp as her tongue, and I wasn’t looking for a lashing of either. Still, I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Odelia to cheat on her boyfriend. I’m not an expert on human love, but I’d had the impression true love was involved in this particular pairing of a reporter and a local copper.
“Max! What’s going on?!” Dooley practically wailed.
“I think what’s going is that Odelia, being human and therefore flawed, is making an error of judgment,”’ I said carefully. Dooley is not one of your tough cats. He’s sensitive, and situations like these are something he should be shielded from, not encouraged to witness.
I directed a reproachful glance at Harriet, who should have known better than to subject Dooley to this kind of sordid scene. Of course my glance went right over her head.
“She’s enjoying it,” said Harriet now.
And she was right. Odelia clearly was enjoying this romantic interlude with one who was not her chosen mate.
“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, not taking this well. “I don’t like this at all.”
“I don’t like it either,” I intimated, “but such is life, Dooley. Sometimes the people we think we know best surprise us. And not always in a good way.”
Just then, a third person approached Odelia and the unknown male, and spoke a few words. The effect of these was immediate. Odelia extricated herself from her kissing partner and got up from the picnic blanket on which she’d been sitting. She stood, hands on hips, while this third person, another male, seemed to explain something to her. Possibly giving her pointers on her kissing technique.