by Nic Saint
“Fair enough,” said Harriet, much sobered.
They were both silent for a moment, then Shanille said, “So how do you want to play this?”
“I say we go to Max and tell him that we reconciled.”
“Did we reconcile, though?”
Harriet gave her frenemy a warm smile. “Of course we did. Shanille, you know there’s no one I love to fight with more than you.”
“Aw, do you really mean that?”
“Absolutely. You’re my absolute favorite nemesis in the world.”
“And you’re my favorite nemesis.”
“But maybe we won’t tell Max about that part, all right?”
“No, I don’t think he’d understand.”
Somehow, though, Harriet had a feeling that he would.
Epilogue
“Okay, so spill, Max,” said Harriet. “Tell us how you figured it out, cause I gotta be honest with you—I do not understand anything!”
“Me neither,” Brutus grunted.
“It’s those two girls,” said Dooley.
“What two girls?”
“Jaime and Marje. They pulled my tail and they pulled my whiskers, and then they pulled my ears and poked my belly, and so I said no more. No more babies. So no more stork either. Isn’t that right, Max?”
“Absolutely, Dooley,” said Max, “though I don’t think that’s what Harriet was talking about.”
“Oh.”
“Odelia!” said Gran. “You have got to explain what happened, cause I don’t understand a thing!”
“Me neither,” Uncle Alec grunted irritably as he nursed a cold brewski.
We were in Marge and Tex’s backyard, with Tex manning the grill as usual, and providing us all with those delicious nuggets of grilled meats and veggies we all love and adore so much. Okay, so some of them were medium rare while others were rare, and still others were overdone, but let’s not nitpick. The fun of a barbecue is not the quality of the food, but the quality of the people present, right? And the quality of those present was nothing to be caviled at: the entire Poole clan, of course, expanded with Charlene and Scarlett. And on the cat side there was of course myself, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus.
“Okay, so what do you want to know?” I asked.
“Everything!” said Harriet. “Just take it from the top, Max, and don’t skip anything!”
“Fine,” I said. “So Franklin Harrison had come to the end of his rope, right? And he knew there was no way for him to redeem himself. His dad had cut him off, and had cut him out of his will, and so he was effectively stuck. Now you have to remember that this was a man who hadn’t worked a day in his life, and he didn’t intend to start working for a living now. And so he decided there was only one way out of this: by getting rid of his twin brother and making it look as if he was the victim. That way he could take Marvin’s place, and suddenly the bad twin had become the good twin, and he had the world at his feet again. I don’t have to explain to you that Franklin is not a good person. Never was.”
“He probably squished ants when he was little,” said Dooley.
“Only problem was,” said Odelia, who was telling the same story but to the human audience, “that he needed a fall guy, right? Someone to blame the murder on. And who better to blame than that loser Joshua Curtis, who’d been hounding him ever since he’d been foolish enough to start something with Melanie Myers? So Franklin set up a meeting with Joshua at the Parker Street house and arranged the rendezvous for eleven forty-five on the night of the murder, so making sure that the house wouldn’t have burnt down completely, and that Marvin’s body would still be more or less unblemished.”
“See, he didn’t want the police to have to check the victim’s teeth,” I explained.
“Because that would have been a dead giveaway,” said Odelia. “They’d have known the victim wasn’t Franklin Harrison but was in fact Marvin Harrison. This was also the reason he made sure his brother’s lower torso and arms were seriously burned—he wanted to make sure that no fingerprints could be lifted from the dead person.”
“He’d already left by the time Joshua arrived, sneaking out the backdoor and through the vacant lot next to the house. He was seen leaving by Vanda Dibble, but that couldn’t be helped. And then to make sure that the fire department would get there on time, he called 911 himself and masked his voice with a voice changing app. He then drove straight across town to Joshua’s house and planted the jerrycans in his garage. He knew the way, since he’d been there before to steal a glass from Joshua’s kitchen, hoping it would contain the man’s fingerprints. He then placed his own fingerprints, added some Rohypnol mixed with a little water, and made sure to plant the glass at the scene.”
“But,” said Gran, “how could he be sure that his brother would die from smoke inhalation? Wasn’t that leaving things to chance?”
“It was,” said Odelia. “Which is why he killed Marvin somewhere else.”
“He actually killed his brother in that old shed we saw on the family domain, Dooley,” I said. “Remember how that was partially burned out? He arranged to meet his brother, drugged him, then set the shed on fire and waited until Marvin was dead from smoke inhalation. Then he removed him from the shed and transported him to Parker Street, where he arranged the scene to make it look as if Marvin had been killed in the fire.”
“It’s a miracle Vanda Dibble didn’t see him arrive at the scene,” said Marge.
“Oh, I’m sure she did,” said Odelia. “She saw what she figured was just another drug dealer arrive, and unload what she assumed was a big shipment of drugs. She didn’t report it to the police, since she’d reported that kind of thing so many times before, and she’d lost faith in the police department.”
“Raiding that place was on my list,” Uncle Alec muttered. When Charlene rubbed his arm, he added apologetically, “It’s a long list.”
“I know, honey,” said the Mayor. “And you are understaffed. And I will make sure you get more people so that this sort of thing won’t happen again.”
“So he killed his brother, and then what?” asked Tex, who’d joined them at the table, tongs in hand, allowing the meat on the grill to sizzle merrily—though perhaps a touch too long.
“Well,” said Odelia, “now he had to take his brother’s place and pretend to be him. Now you can fool the people who only know you superficially, but it’s a lot harder to fool your own family.”
“I think Franklin’s mom figured it out almost immediately,” I said, “but he told her he and Marvin met and Marvin died in a freak accident, and he was too late to save him.”
“And how did he explain that he’d decided to take his brother’s place?” asked Brutus.
“That’s where Ruth made a big mistake,” I explained. “She should have called him out on that, but she didn’t. And it’s understandable, of course. Franklin had always been her favorite son—the son she loved the most, even though he was the most mischievous one. And I think she was so happy to see him return to the bosom of the family that she decided to overlook the ruse. Maybe she even thought it wasn’t such a bad idea, seeing as how Marvin’s death would have meant a great disruption for the business side of things, since her husband would have adamantly refused to accept Franklin suddenly taking over at the helm of the company.”
“And then Herbert Harrison suddenly and conveniently dies,” said Chase.
“I don’t think that was an accident,” said Odelia. “I think Franklin killed his dad. Pushed a pillow down on his face and smothered him. He hasn’t confessed to that yet.”
“But he will,” Chase grunted.
“But why?” asked Harriet.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “The old man must have realized that Franklin had taken the place of his brother, and he wasn’t going to accept that. He also must have suspected that Franklin killed his brother—he knew what kind of man his son was. So Franklin decided to end things for the old man, and grab the reins of the family business free and clea
r.”
“How horrible,” said Marge, shaking her head.
“Yeah, he’s a real piece of work,” Odelia agreed.
“So what about Francine Ritter?” asked Gran. “Why did he try to kill her?”
“Because she recognized her husband the moment she saw him. She wasn’t fooled. And he knew that would happen, which is why he refused to see her. But then they happened to meet on the street, and that was it. Francine knew it was him, and quickly put two and two together, and decided to use the opportunity to finally make him pay. And he promised he would, until he decided he wouldn’t—and tried to kill her.”
“God,” said Scarlett. “What a terrible business.”
“But how did you find out, Max?” asked Harriet. “How did you figure it out?”
“Well, two things,” I said. “First there was the shed, and then there were the slippers.”
“The shed and the slippers? That sounds like a Disney movie.”
“So when we visited the Harrisons we saw that little shed that was half burned down. At first I thought this must have happened a long time ago, but then Jane—she’s the pony who used to belong to Francine’s girls—told me how the gardener was such a marvel. How he always kept the place looking so immaculate. So it got me wondering why a gardener like that would tolerate that decrepit old shed? And of course he didn’t. That fire happened a couple of days ago, when Franklin murdered Marvin. And then he decided to have it torn down to remove the evidence, and build a pagoda in its place.”
“And what about the slippers?” asked Brutus.
“One of the maids had expressed her bewilderment at how she put Franklin’s slippers on one side of the bed at night, and how in the morning she always found them on the other side. A man can change identities, but he just might forget on which side of the bed the twin he murdered used to get up in the morning.”
“But how did you know he was going to try and kill Francine Ritter?”
“I remembered how frightened Franklin had looked just after meeting Francine on the street. I’d figured at the time he was afraid that now he’d have to pay her the child support his brother owed, but why would a man of such wealth be afraid of a measly sum like that? No, he was scared, all right—scared because he knew that Francine had recognized him, and that as long as she was around, his secret would never be safe.”
“And so he tried to make sure she’d never talk again,” said Brutus, nodding.
“What a story,” said Harriet. “And what a good thing you figured it out in time, Max. Or else those two girls would be orphans now.”
“Francine and her girls are going to move in with Ruth Harrison, by the way,” I said. “She’s finally realized that her former daughter-in-law didn’t have a bad influence on Franklin, but that Franklin was actually the debilitating influence in her life.”
“So Jane is going to have her friends back?” asked Dooley happily.
“Yes, Dooley,” I said with a smile. “Jane will finally have her friends back, and Ruth will finally get to spend more time with her granddaughters—in fact she’ll be spending all of her time with them, as she’s looking for a CEO to run the business from now on.”
“See?” said Gran. “I knew that Joshua was innocent. Odelia’s clients always are.”
“Joshua was never my client, Gran,” said Odelia, pressing her point again. “I’m just a reporter, and reporters don’t have clients. We only have stories to pursue.”
“Well, this sure was one hell of a story,” said Marge. “Anyone more potato salad?”
And while Marge ladled more potato salad onto everyone’s plates, Charlene gave Uncle Alec a little shove. “Well?” she said when he didn’t react. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to say?”
“Um…” said the Chief, scratching his scalp. “Well, I’m afraid I’ve acted like a fool, Odelia. I thought you were hampering my case, while in fact you were solving it. So…”
“That’s all right, Uncle Alec,” said Odelia magnanimously. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Actually I’m the one who should apologize to you, Chief,” said Chase. “Even though you told me not to, I kept feeding Odelia information from the investigation.”
“I knew you did,” Uncle Alec grumbled. “But that’s all right. If you hadn’t, Francine Ritter would be dead right now, and Joshua Curtis would still be in jail—an innocent man.” He sighed deeply. “Maybe I’m getting too old for this stuff.”
“Nonsense,” said Charlene curtly. “You just need to learn to listen to your niece. She’s a smart cookie. But since the apple doesn’t fall from the tree, you’re a smart cookie, too, all right?”
“More like hardtack,” he said with a grimace.
“And you owe me an apology, too, by the way,” said Gran. “Scarlett and I did the right thing trying to get rid of that evidence, isn’t that so, Scarlett?”
“Um, not too sure about that, Vesta,” said Scarlett.
“Yeah, not too sure about that either,” said the Chief with a not-so-apologetic look at his mother and her friend. “Next time you pull a stunt like that I’m keeping you two overnight. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Alec,” said Scarlett meekly.
“Yes, Alec,” Gran said, equally meekly, after getting a full dose of her son’s irritation.
“So how is cat choir?” asked Odelia as she joined us, and came bearing gifts in the form of a few little prize nuggets of meat she’d saved from total annihilation for us.
“Cat choir is just grand,” said Harriet. “Shanille and I have made up, and Max has decided to let us into his new cat choir, isn’t that right, Max?”
“Yeah, but you know the conditions, Harriet.”
“What are the conditions?” asked Odelia with a smile.
“No more fighting!” said Brutus and Dooley in unison.
“Sounds like a great idea,” said Odelia, and gave us all cuddles and kisses, then whispered into my ear, “You did great, Max. And what’s even better: you made me look good, too. So thank you for that.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Odelia,” I said. Which was absolutely true.
“We make a great team, don’t we, buddy?”
“Yes, we do.”
Suddenly Dooley raised his eyes, and started saying, “Shoo! Shoo! We don’t want you here, stork! Shoo!”
“That’s not a stork, Dooley,” I said. “That’s a pigeon.”
“Oh, phew,” he said, and sank down onto the porch swing again, not meeting Odelia’s eye.
“Dooley, for the last time, Chase and I are not going to start a family just yet. Okay?” She gave him an extra cuddle. “You guys are my family. And right now you’re all I need.”
And wasn’t that the best endorsement any cat could hope to get from their human?
Dooley leaned over to me and whispered, “Do you think I should take down that ‘Stork, go home!’ sign now, Max?”
“Yeah, I think that’s probably a good idea, Dooley,” I whispered back.
Purrfect Ruse
The Mysteries of Max - Book 33
Chapter 1
Look, don’t get me wrong: I enjoy a murder even less than the next cat, even though it isn’t necessarily my own species who’s affected by this tragic loss of life. But when the only cases coming Odelia’s way are spouses wanting to catch their other spouses in the act of cheating on those selfsame spouses—the first spouses, not the second ones, if you see what I mean—life becomes pretty dull and monotony soon reigns supreme.
Dooley, though, didn’t seem to mind all these people being cheated upon—or is it cheated on—from finding their way into Odelia’s office. But then again, Dooley watches a lot of daytime soaps, and eighty percent of the storylines on these soaps are exactly the cheating kind of stuff. The other twenty percent is probably illegitimate children suddenly popping up out of the blue, which frankly speaking is the same thing.
So it was with a sigh of relief that I greeted the next person en
tering our human’s office at the Hampton Cove Gazette. She was a large woman with red-rimmed eyes, clearly suffering from some acute or life-threatening trouble. Immediately I assumed murder, which just goes to show how warped my mind has become after having spent the formative years of my life in Odelia’s presence and that of her cop husband, her cop uncle and her neighborhood watch grandma. And it was with bated breath that I pricked up my ears as the woman took a proffered seat and launched into her tale of woe.
“My Chouchou has gone missing,” she lamented.
“Murder,” I told Dooley, my friend and housemate who was lounging right next to me in the cozy little nook of the office Odelia had reserved for us. “Just you mark my words, Dooley. Chouchou is this woman’s husband and he’s been brutally butchered.”
“Strange name for a husband,” said Dooley.
“Who is Chouchou?” asked Odelia, not missing a trick. She had looked up from her computer where she’d been busily typing up a report of her recent visit to the town library, where a recital by some local children’s orchestra had taken place.
“My sweet baby,” said the woman, sniffling and pressing a Kleenex to her eyes.
“Not a husband, a kid,” I corrected my earlier statement. “Bad business, Dooley. A child killer on the loose.”
“Strange name for a kid,” was Dooley’s opinion.
“And when did Chouchou go missing?” asked Odelia.
“Last night,” said the woman, waving a distraught hand in the general direction of the street. “She usually goes out at night but by the time I get up in the morning she’s always lying at the foot of the bed, sleeping peacefully. Only this morning she wasn’t there!”
“Does your daughter always sleep at the foot of the bed?” asked Odelia with a curious frown. It isn’t up to her to judge people, so she never does, but she couldn’t hide her surprise at this strange way to spend a night.
“Oh, but Chouchou isn’t my daughter,” said the woman. “She’s my little gii-ii-ii–rl!”