The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33

by Nic Saint

  Fido’s backyard is just a small strip of city garden, but the man who likes to work wonders with people’s hirsute appendages has done his best to make it a gorgeous plot of floral delight. A riot of color greeted us, and there was even a pergola, also bedecked with an abundance of flowers. A wrought-iron bench had been placed next to a gurgling, burbling little fountain, and it was as if we’d suddenly gone from the hustle and bustle of midtown to an oasis of peace and quiet. I mean, we could still hear cars hooting and tooting in the distance, but the greenery and the colorful splendor made me feel right at home. There was even a tiny red-chested bird tweeting away to its heart’s content, not a care in the world. He probably was aware that both Dooley and I have signed a strict no-bird-eating policy, and so has Buster, who appreciates all creatures under the sun.

  “Here, you guys,” suddenly Buster’s voice sounded, and when we both trotted over, we found our friend lounging in the sun, next to a birdbath, where more birds were enjoying a feathery good time, dipping their little beaks into the crystal-clear water.

  “Nice to see that at least one cat doesn’t think birds’ only purpose is to serve as food for cats,” said Dooley, a touch of rancor in his tone that I’d never heard there before.

  Buster gave my friend a wide-eyed look of shock. “What did you just say, Dooley?”

  “Kingman just propounded his world view,” I explained. “He seems to feel that there’s an order to the natural world, with cats near the top, and other species near the bottom. Birds, I’m sorry to say, don’t feature very high on Kingman’s list, except as food for cats.”

  “I would never eat a bird,” said Buster earnestly, as he placed a paw on his furry chest. “Never, never, ever! I love birds—and not as a source of nourishment, either.”

  “Me, too,” said Dooley. “I think birds are the best. They can fly and they look so nice.”

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked as both Dooley and I took a load off and settled in next to our friend. I like the sensation of grass tickling my belly, and it was tickling my belly now to a great degree. I also like the smell of grass, and I don’t mind admitting I was soon chomping down on a few blades. It helps with my digestion.

  “Things got a little hectic out there,” said Buster. “A woman dropped by with two great, big dogs, and the moment they saw me they started chasing me around the shop. So Fido figured it was probably safer for me back here than out in front.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why some dogs think it’s okay to pick on the little guy like that.”

  “Some dogs are bullies,” I admitted.

  “We’re actually here because of our investigation, Buster,” said Dooley, who clearly felt we’d spent enough time chit-chatting and needed to get down to business. “A snail asked us to look into the death of his human’s boyfriend, and we were hoping you could tell us some more.”

  To his credit, Buster neither burst out laughing nor gave us a look of abject disgust. The only thing he said was, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. The only chatter I’ve picked up these last couple of days has revolved around this Lord Hilbourne character and his visit to Hampton Cove. It seems everyone and their grandmother can’t stop speculating about the man, though truth be told the grandmothers are mainly wondering if he’s single and if he’d be interested in dating their granddaughters.”

  “Is Lord Hilbourne still single?” I asked, for it was something I’d been wondering myself, to be honest. Okay, all right. I may be a first-rate sleuth, but I’m not above spreading some lowly gossip and neither is Dooley.

  “Uh-oh,” said Dooley. “Odelia has just gone to meet the guy, and she specifically told us not to come.” A look of concern had come into his mild hazel eyes. “That can only mean one thing, you guys.”

  “What?” asked Buster, having that breathless air about him that your true spreader and receiver of gossip often gets.

  “That not only is Lord Hilbourne still single, but that our Odelia is susceptible to the man’s charms.”

  “Nonsense,” I said immediately. “Odelia would never, ever cheat on Chase.”

  “Not even with an English lord?” asked Buster. “I don’t know, Max, but Fido has been busier than ever this week, and practically all of his clients have been women wanting to look their best for the big ceremony at Town Hall this afternoon. Secretly they all seem to hope they’ll be able to snag the man’s attention and that before long he’ll whisk them away with him to his ancestral castle to live the life of the lady of the manor.”

  “Not Odelia,” I insisted. “She loves Chase. They’re getting married on Saturday!”

  “She wouldn’t be the first woman who’s suffering from those pre-wedding jitters and whose eye is turned by a handsome young royal,” Buster pointed out.

  “First off, Odelia is not suffering from pre-wedding jitters,” I said. “And secondly, Lord Hilbourne is not a royal. Or is he?”

  “I bet he’s the Queen’s cousin,” said Buster. “Twenty-first in line to the throne or something, which are odds good enough to make quite a few of our local ladies spend a fortune on a new hairdo and a new dress.”

  “And Odelia is suffering from pre-wedding jitters, Max,” said Dooley. “Or why else has she been kicking us both off the bed lately?”

  “That’s true,” I admitted. “She is nervous, but that’s normal. Odelia hates all the fuss that is involved with her upcoming wedding. She told me so herself. She’d much rather have a small wedding—just her nearest and dearest. Not this big production her wedding has turned into.”

  “Is it true that the Mayor is going to give a speech?” asked Buster eagerly.

  “I guess so,” I said. “She is the bride’s uncle’s girlfriend, after all.”

  “Poor Odelia,” said Buster. “Looks like she wants to get married, but doesn’t want to go through the ordeal of having to stand in front of the entire town and say ‘I do.’”

  “She’ll be fine,” I said. “Chase will get her through it. And so will her mom and dad and Gran.”

  “Buster, do you think that there’s a natural order to the universe, with some species that are higher and others that are lower?” asked Dooley now.

  “Of course not,” said Buster. “It’s like Fido always tells me: there’s people with hair and people with no hair, and lucky for him there’s more of the former than the latter.”

  Chapter 13

  Odelia had just entered the Star hotel when her attention was drawn to two familiar figures seated in the lobby, talking animatedly and with wide gestures of the limbs. She smiled and walked over.

  “Hey, Gran,” she said. “Scarlett. What are you doing here?”

  The question was moot, of course. When not spending time at her dad’s doctor’s office, Gran liked to sit in the outside dining room of the Star with Scarlett. Watching the world go by and doing some intense people-watching. It was all part of the activities of the neighborhood watch the two friends were a part of. In fact as far as Odelia could ascertain the watch was pretty much an excuse for these two elderly ladies to stick their noses where they didn’t belong, and spend their time prying into other people’s affairs. At one time there had been four members of the watch, but ever since they’d kicked out the male members for lack of cooperation only Gran and her friend remained.

  “What are you doing here?” Gran countered immediately, then a keen look came over her. “You’re going to interview that English lord, aren’t you? Say, mind if we tag along?”

  “Tag along? Why?”

  “There’s something we need to find out.”

  “Lord Whatshisname is suspected of hiding a girl of ill repute in his suite,” Scarlett explained. “And the hotel staff would like to know what he’s planning to do with her before hotel management finds out.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Odelia. “I don’t know. Lord Hilbourne’s rider specifically stated I had to come alone for the interview. No pets and no—”

  “We’re not pets, though, a
re we, honey?” said Scarlett. “Look, I promise we’ll be very discreet.”

  “Discreet is our middle name,” Gran agreed.

  Odelia’s grandmother and her friend were anything but discreet. Then again, if this Lord Hilbourne really was hiding a girl in his suite, she didn’t see the harm in bringing two members of the neighborhood watch along with her to make inquiries. “Look, just make sure you don’t do anything to get me kicked out,” she said, finally relenting.

  “We’ll be quiet as church mice,” said Gran.

  “Quieter even,” Scarlett said, judging from the look on her face well pleased, which was the exact same look a cat wore after he’d spotted a mouse. Well, any cat except Odelia’s own cats, which were too kind-hearted to bother with catching mice. They’d rather make friends with the critters. Or with snails, apparently.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “I don’t want to be late. He only gave me twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes! How are you going to conduct an entire interview in twenty minutes?” asked Gran as they hurried through the hotel lobby, their feet sinking into the plush carpet, and proceeding in the direction of the elevator.

  “Plenty,” said Odelia, who was a seasoned reporter and could extract a front-page article out of twenty minutes’ worth of conversation. As the elevator rode up, she asked, “Have you found out anything new about the Potato Guy?”

  “Potato Guy,” said Scarlett with a laugh. “Is that what you’re going to call him in your newspaper?”

  “Not exactly,” said Odelia with a smile. “His real name is Bob Rector, and according to Max and Dooley he was recently kidnapped. His girlfriend paid seventy-five thousand dollars in ransom money for his safe release, but all she got back was his body, shot through the chest and dumped in a potato truck.”

  “That’s more than we knew,” said Gran, cutting a quick look of surprise to her co-watch member.

  “Yeah, I had no idea he’d been kidnapped,” said Scarlett. “Who’s the girlfriend?”

  “Evelina Pytel.”

  Gran whistled through her teeth. “The queen of party supplies. I know Evelina. Seventy-five thousand is chump change for her. And you say she paid and they still shot the boyfriend?”

  Odelia nodded. “Looks like a kidnapping gone wrong to me. Now all we need to do is find out who kidnapped Bob and why they killed him, even though the ransom was paid. Though I have to say that Max and Dooley’s source seems convinced Bob arranged his own kidnapping so he could lay his hands on the money.”

  “Really,” said Scarlett, arching a perfectly stenciled eyebrow. “Who’s the source?”

  Odelia swallowed. “Evelina’s pet… snail.”

  Both ladies’ eyes went wide as saucers. Luckily the elevator had jerked to a stop and the door opened before Odelia had to explain the finer points of this peculiar new friendship that had formed between two cats and a snail.

  A young woman with a clipboard was waiting for them when the elevator door opened. She was wearing glasses and a look of professionalism. “Odelia Poole?” she asked. She then frowned at the two older ladies. “And you are…”

  “My two assistants,” Odelia hastened to explain. “Vesta Muffin and Scarlett Canyon.”

  The woman’s eyes traveled the length of Scarlett’s body. As usual, Gran’s best friend was dressed to impress, with an ultra-short skirt, fishnet stockings, and a crop top that did much to emphasize her sizable bust.

  “Um… I’m not sure…” said the woman, glancing down at her clipboard.

  “It’s all right,” said Gran. “We’ll be quiet as church mice.”

  “Quieter!” Scarlett added cheerfully.

  The woman blinked and nodded, then walked them to the door of the Presidential Suite and gave it a gentle tap. The door opened and a young man with sizable sideburns tapering to a point at the corners of his mouth and a narrow face stood in the door. “Your two o’clock, sir,” said Clipboard Girl, and the guy gave a curt nod, then walked away. “Remember, you’ve got twenty minutes,” said the girl, and closed the door behind them.

  The suite was impressive. The walls were all velvet wallpaper with a flower motif, and the carpets were even more sumptuous than the ones downstairs in the lobby. The room they were in was only one part of the multi-room suite but it was lavish enough, with a salon that looked both opulent but also cozy. “Please take a seat,” the young man with the funky sideburns said. He gestured to an overstuffed sofa and took a seat himself. “I hope this won’t take long. I have a busy afternoon, and I need to get ready.”

  “I only need a few minutes of your time,” Odelia assured the man.

  He gave a serious nod and placed an arm across the back of the sofa and balanced a leg on his knee, showcasing a black patent leather brogue and orange Burlington socks.

  “A bold choice,” said Gran, indicating the man’s socks.

  He glanced down at the vestimentary fashion statement and displayed a slight smile. “If I have to wear conservative clothes the least I can do to offset them is my choice of socks,” he said. “I have them in every available color. And you are?”

  “Vesta Muffin,” said Gran. “I’m Odelia’s grandmother.”

  The man’s noble brow furrowed. “Grandmother. I didn’t know you American reporters liked to bring your grandmothers along on your interviews. And who are you?” he asked, addressing Scarlett. “Miss Poole’s aunt, I presume?”

  “I’m Vesta’s friend,” said Scarlett. “Though Odelia has always considered me an honorary aunt.”

  “Auntie Scarlett,” said Gran with a grin. “Now those were the days.”

  “Is it true that you invited a girl up here last night?” asked Scarlett, earning herself a reproachful flash of the eyes from Odelia and blithely ignoring it.

  The young man shuffled a little uncomfortably in his seat. “And what if I did?”

  “She didn’t come out this morning and the hotel staff is worried something might have happened to her,” said Scarlett, whose definition of ‘quiet as a church mouse’ was a very unorthodox one.

  The young man grinned. “They can relax. She didn’t leave. In fact she’s still in my bed, right now, fast asleep. Though we did share breakfast together.”

  “Oh,” said Scarlett. “So when the cleaner came in…”

  “Oh, God,” said Lord Hilbourne, his eyes raking the ceiling in a look of exasperation. “I should have known she was up to something when she insisted on changing the sheets. Well, she was hiding in the closet at that point, obviously. You see, she snuck in here through the service elevator, courtesy of a very open-minded night receptionist—though I’m inclined not to give him that generous tip I promised now that apparently he’s blabbed all over town about my recent conquest.”

  “You do know that she’s a lady of pleasure, don’t you?” asked Gran.

  “And I can assure you she earned the moniker.” He turned to Odelia. “What is this? Are you all members of the local League Against Moral Turpitude? If I’d known you were going to make such a big fuss about this I wouldn’t have come to Hampton Cove.”

  “I can assure you we don’t care one way or the other what you do in the privacy of your own suite,” said Scarlett. “Though we did wonder what happened to the girl.”

  “Do you want proof of life?” asked the young man. “I can give you proof of life.” He swiftly got up.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Odelia hastened to say.

  “Cody!” Lord Hilbourne bellowed. “Come out here a moment, will you? There’s some people here who think I murdered you and flushed your body parts down the toilet.”

  He seemed to think the whole thing was extremely entertaining.

  The door to what Odelia presumed was the bedroom opened, and a smallish young woman with an abundance of dark curls stuck her head out. She looked sleepy. “What is it?” she asked. Then, when she caught sight of the three guests seated on the sofa, she uttered a startled cry and immediately retracted her head and closed the door.


  “See?” said Lord Hilbourne. “I didn’t kill her. In fact she has assured me she’s enjoying my company to such an extent she would like to stick around a little while longer.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Odelia, feeling mortified now. If her editor found out that this was the way she’d conducted this very important interview, there would be hell to pay.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “I should have known that I wouldn’t be able to get away with this. People talk, and especially the staff at small hotels like the Star.” He took a seat again and draped his languid form across the sofa. “Now please tell me you have more questions for me—and not merely a burning desire for me to prove I’m not an ax murderer.”

  Odelia directed a scathing look at her grandmother and Scarlett, who both shrugged and gave her their best look of absolute innocence.

  Chapter 14

  “So maybe we exaggerated,” said Harriet as she surveyed the four empty bowls, positioned neatly in a row. Even the few kernels of kibble that had fallen by the wayside in the process of eating had been snapped up, and the part of the kitchen devoted to the cats’ dietary needs was now so neat and clean it looked as if a cleaner had dropped by to give it a good once-over.

  “Do you think Max and Dooley will notice we’ve eaten all of their food?” asked Brutus sheepishly.

  They’d first emptied out their friends’ bowls at Marge and Tex’s place and then, when they got bored sitting at home waiting for their humans to show up, had moved over to Odelia’s home and finished the job there.

  “Of course they’ll notice,” said Harriet. “So you’ll do well to stick to the story, all right?”

  “The story?” asked Brutus, who’d already forgotten what excuse he’d dreamt up for this culinary carnage.

  “That the dogs snuck in and ate everything.”

  “What dogs?” asked Brutus, who liked to get his lies nailed down in all their stark specificity. Someone who was good at lying had once told him that the secret to a good lie is the telling detail, and it had stuck in his head ever since.