The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33

by Nic Saint

  “Okay, let’s just calm down for a moment,” said Uncle Alec, “and think this thing through. Look, I know for a fact that Tex has got nothing to do with this, because, as I just said, the man is a computer illiterate.”

  “Says you!” Mr. Kramer shook his head. “The gall of the man. And to think he was in my shop yesterday, picking out a new kitchen, along with his wife and his mother.”

  “His mother?” asked the Chief, looking up.

  Mr. Kramer nodded. “Yeah, some white-haired little old lady in a blue tracksuit. She was the one calling the shots.” Just then, his phone chimed, and he picked it out of his pocket. “Steve, yeah, shoot!” He listened for a moment, then frowned and said, “You did? But that’s great! Yeah, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He disconnected, still frowning, and said, “Looks like my IT guy has managed to break through the malware or whatever they planted on my computers. And now he’s saying the attack did not come from Tex Poole.”

  “Look, Tex Poole doesn’t know diddly about computers, all right?” said Uncle Alec, not for the first time, “So I can tell you with absolute certainty that whatever happened, the man wasn’t involved.”

  The Kitchen King thumped the desk with his fist. “I’m still pressing charges!”

  “I thought your IT guy said that Tex didn’t do it?” said Chase.

  Fred Kramer frowned again. “Yeah, I don’t get that.” And as swiftly as he’d entered the office, he walked out again, then turned and said, “I’m still pressing charges!” and after that parting shot, he was gone.

  Dooley and I jumped down from the windowsill to see what happened next, and where this irate furniture king was going, and as we followed his progress from the building, we saw that he got into a nice black Tesla and took off at a dizzying speed. And just as he drove out of the parking lot outside the precinct, a little red Peugeot came zooming in, also driving very fast, and occupying a much larger swath of road than was necessarily awarded it, based on the road markings.

  The upshot, of course, was that the little red Peugeot, coincidentally chauffeured by Grandma Muffin, sliced a nice long strip of black paint off Fred Kramer’s Tesla.

  Chapter 16

  “You scratched my car!” said the guy. He looked like a turtle, Vesta thought, with his square bald head and his weird neck. He also looked angry. “You’re going to pay for this!”

  “Hey, aren’t you that Kitchen King?” asked Scarlett. “Fred Kramer? I love your commercials, Mr. Kramer.” She started to sing, “I’m on a mission—to give everyone a swell new kitchen—you won’t miss a thing—when you buy a kitchen from the king.”

  “I was in your shop yesterday,” said Vesta, who’d also recognized the guy now.

  Mr. Kramer frowned, and for a moment two different sentiments seemed to engage in a tug of war inside his bosom: the desire to please a potential customer on the one hand, and the desire to squash the person who’d scratched his nice car. Then the salesman in him seemed to get the upper hand, and he forced something approaching a smile on his face and said, “I remember you. You were with your son-in-law Tex Poole, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” said Vesta. “In fact we were going to drop by again, but not until we talked to the cops first. Did you know that someone tried to break into your computer last night?”

  Mr. Kramer’s eyes narrowed. “So they told you about that, did they? Tex Poole broke into my computer last night and wants me to pay him a million dollars!”

  Vesta shared a quick look with Scarlett.

  “Actually Tex did no such thing,” said Scarlett. “My nephew is a computer nerd, and he was showing off last night. And he just happened to come upon this break-in into your company’s computer, and he actually managed to prevent it.”

  Mr. Kramer looked from Vesta to Scarlett. “You two broke into my computer?”

  “No. We stopped someone from doing exactly that,” Scarlett explained.

  Alec and Chase had also walked out of the station and now joined the discussion.

  “Bad scratch you’ve got there, Mr. Kramer,” said Alec.

  “She did that,” the Kitchen King growled, pointing a stubby finger in Vesta’s direction.

  Vesta saw that there was another scratch and a dent across the hood of the car, so she said, “You really should learn how to drive more carefully, Mr. Kramer.”

  “Never mind that,” he growled. Then he seemed to remember once more what they’d been discussing before Alec had stuck his big nose in. “So who broke into my computer—Tex Poole or you?”

  “Listen carefully, Mr. Kitchen King,” said Vesta. “Last night we were goofing around, and we just happened to discover that some hacker was trying to break into your company’s computer system, see? And guess what? We stopped the attack!”

  Chase suppressed a grin, as Alec cut a tired glance in his mom’s direction. “You are the hacker?”

  “Me! A hacker! As if! No, Scarlett’s nephew likes to think he’s something of a computer nerd, and last night he just happened to be showing off all the things he can do with a computer—you’d be amazed by the stuff that’s possible these days.”

  “I’ll bet,” Chase muttered.

  “And so we got to talking about these recent ransomware attacks, see?”

  “What recent ransomware attacks?” asked Alec. “I don’t know anything about any recent ransomware attacks.”

  Vesta ignored him. “So he told us to pick a target—any target—and he’d demonstrate how it’s done.”

  “You did what?!”

  “And since we’d been shopping at Mr. Kramer’s very nice emporium yesterday afternoon, I said, just for a lark, why don’t you try to hack into the Kitchen King? And you know what? He did!”

  “And it was then that he discovered that some other hacker was actually busy carrying out just such a ransomware attack!” said Scarlett.

  “Can you imagine?” said Vesta.

  “Oh, but I can,” said Chase, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “And so he asked us what he should do, and of course we told him to stop the attack, if he could, and that’s what he did.” Vesta now stood beaming at Fred Kramer. “And so what do you say to that, Fred? We actually saved your company!”

  “Then how come I got a message this morning when I booted up my computer that unless I pay one million dollars in bitcoin my systems would remain on lockdown?” asked a still irate-looking Fred Kramer, his turtle neck now a nasty color purple.

  “My nephew explained all that,” said Scarlett. “He said it might take a while before everything is cleared up. He managed to stop the attack, but certain remnants of the virus will still be on your system. Your IT department should be able to deal with that.”

  “Well, they did,” Fred admitted reluctantly. “I just got a call from my IT guy and he said it looks like things are clearing up.”

  “Well, now you know who to thank for that,” said Vesta, patting the big man on the back.

  “I still don’t get why the name Tex Poole popped up,” said Fred mulishly.

  “Because we were working on Tex’s wi-fi when it happened,” Vesta explained.

  “Yeah, my nephew doesn’t like to use his own wi-fi when he demonstrates that kind of stuff,” Scarlett added.

  “Now I wonder why that is?” Chase said with a grin.

  “Look, maybe we can discuss all this over dinner,” said Vesta now. “What do you say, Fred? Dinner at our place tonight? We’ll thresh this whole thing out, and then we can talk turkey.”

  “Turkey?”

  “The kitchen remodel! What better way to celebrate this new and beautiful friendship that has just sprung up between us than to sit down for a nice dinner and talk kitchens!”

  “Mh…” said Mr. Kramer, and glanced at that nasty scratch on his car again.

  “We saved you a million dollars, Fred!” Vesta exclaimed, patting the man on the broad back again. He didn’t seem to enjoy the process, though when she mentioned the millio
n dollars she’d saved him, his initial frostiness seemed to melt away to some extent.

  “Myes,” he finally conceded. “It certainly looks that way.” He frowned before him for a moment, then finally said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to you about that dinner, Mrs…”

  “Muffin. Vesta Muffin. And this is Scarlett Canyon. You can write our names large in the annals of Kramer Kitchen Kreation. If it hadn’t been for us, you might have gone belly-up today, Fred—remember that,” she added with an admonishing wag of the finger.

  Still unconvinced, Fred got into his car, then took off. And as they stood staring after the Kitchen King’s departure, Alec said with an exaggerated sigh, “Ma, what am I going to do with you, huh?”

  “Thank me, for one thing. I just got us all free kitchen remodels, sonny boy.” She pointed from Chase to Alec to Scarlett. “You get a new kitchen, and you get a new kitchen, and you get a new kitchen.” She smiled. “Not bad for one night’s hacking, huh?”

  “Oh, God, help me,” Alec muttered, the ungrateful cad.

  Chapter 17

  Odelia had missed all the fun: by the time she arrived at the precinct, her grandmother and Scarlett had left, and so had the Kitchen King. But as she sat in her husband’s office, and he related the incident, she couldn’t help but smile at her grandmother’s shenanigans.

  “I think she just wanted to find a way to bring the price down on that kitchen remodel,” said Chase, “and so she tried to break into the company computer to change the quote and discovered someone else was also trying to hack into Kramer’s outfit. So she saw an opportunity and took it.”

  “It all sounds typical Gran,” Odelia had to admit. “But also very illegal, right?”

  “Not unless you get caught,” said Chase, “and clearly she managed to talk her way out of it. Though judging from Fred Kramer’s response, I very much doubt whether a free kitchen will be in the cards.”

  “Gran did save the man a million dollars in bitcoin.”

  “Yeah, she did. Talk about a lucky coincidence. Now what did you want to ask?”

  “If you’ve got any news on that bum in the woods case?”

  “The bum in the woods case. Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “I guess so,” she said with a smile.

  “Well, I just had a meeting with your uncle, which I’m sure your cats will be able to tell you all about, as they were up to their usual spying tricks, and the conclusion is that we know exactly nothing. The guy is a complete John Doe.”

  “But who killed him? And who buried him out there?”

  “As far as I can tell, the only viable suspect we have so far is your Karl Bunyon.”

  “He’s not my Karl Bunyon, Chase.”

  The burly cop shrugged and dragged his hands through his shaggy mane. “He was right there when it happened, babe. Maybe John Doe saw him release those cats and Karl got scared and decided to get rid of the guy—with this custody battle hanging over him, and the prospect of losing his kids, maybe he simply panicked and shot the man.”

  “It’s a possibility,” she had to admit.

  “He doesn’t strike me as a killer, though, so for now we’re pursuing other avenues.” He picked up an Unidentified Person poster of which he had a whole stack on his desk, and said, “We’re distributing these now, and launching an appeal through local TV stations, hoping someone recognizes our Mr. Doe and gives us an ID. Because it’s hard to catch a killer if you don’t even know the name of the victim.”

  Suddenly Odelia’s phone dinged and she looked down. “Well, what do you know?” she said. “Looks like we’re invited for dinner at my parents’ place tonight. And they’re proud to announce they’ve got a very special guest of honor.”

  Chase laughed. “Let me guess: Fred Kramer?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Looks like Vesta will get her free kitchen remodel after all.”

  “Collars! Get your collars!” Vesta was yelling.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Scarlett.

  “Of course it’s a good idea! With all these catnappings, everybody wants a collar with inbuilt tracker. Collars! Get your collars! Never lose track of your precious pet again!”

  They were in Town Square, where Vesta had dragged an entire box full of tracking collars. She’d found them in some dime store over in Happy Bays. And Scarlett had to admit they were selling like hotcakes. Already they’d sold a dozen, and word was clearly spreading for more and more pet owners were showing up to buy the gadgets.

  “Vesta!” Father Reilly cried as he came hurrying up on his bike. The parish priest looked excited at the prospect of buying a collar for his cat. “Are you sure these work?” He was fingering a collar that looked as if it had gold thread woven through the material.

  “Absolutely,” said Vesta. “These are top-of-the-line quality, Francis. All you need to do is slap one of these babies on Shanille, activate the device, and you’ll be able to track that sweet puss wherever she goes.”

  The priest nodded. “How much?”

  “For you? Fifty bucks—a real bargain!”

  Scarlett eyed her friend narrowly, but Vesta pointedly ignored her.

  “Listen, Vesta,” said Father Reilly as he took out his wallet, “I want back in.”

  “Back in what?” asked Vesta as she accepted a crispy fifty-dollar note.

  “The watch! I’m hearing so many good things about you—and Scarlett, of course,” he added with a nod in the latter’s direction. “I want to do my part to keep our community safe, the way you and Scarlett have so valiantly been doing. So what do you say?”

  “Let me think about it,” said Vesta as she handed the priest his collar.

  Father Reilly’s face lit up with a smile. “Great. You won’t regret this, Vesta. I’m highly motivated to go out and fight crime again. Oh, and while you’re at it, consider taking Wilbur back, too, will you? I know he’s raring to go.”

  Vesta nodded, and they watched Father Reilly get back on his bike and ride off.

  Scarlett turned to her friend. “Fifty bucks! Are you serious?”

  “Safety comes at a price, Scarlett.”

  “You just sold one to Fido Siniawski for twenty bucks!”

  “It’s called inflation.”

  “You bought those collars for a buck apiece!”

  “So? I want to buy us a new car for the watch and cars don’t come cheap, you know. Collars! Get your collars! Keep your pets safe from the Hampton Cove catnapper!”

  Scarlett shook her head. “You’re something else.”

  Vesta grinned. “Thanks for the compliment. Now don’t just stand there—sell some collars before word gets out that the catnapper’s already been caught!”

  That night, Odelia sat down for dinner with not only her own family, but also Hampton Cove’s resident Kitchen King and his wife, the lovely Mrs. Grace Kramer, formerly known as Grace Bunyon, though Odelia decided to keep that information to herself, as she didn’t think Mrs. Kramer would enjoy being reminded of the time she went through life as the wife of Karl Bunyon.

  Mom and Gran had done their utmost to put an impressive dinner on the table, and their guests were suitably impressed with the French onion pork chops, green beans with almonds and caramelized onions and the homemade creamed potatoes. And for dessert there was peach cobbler and chocolate gooey butter cookies. Fred Kramer was as suave and garrulous as he was in the TV spots that had made him and his company famous, and he and his elegant wife Grace made the perfect dinner guests.

  Fred was extremely grateful that Gran and Scarlett, who was also present, had saved his business from ruin, as he now called it. He’d talked things over with his IT department people, and it turned out that Scarlett’s nephew had indeed been able to thwart the attack by being in the right place at the right time and doing the right thing.

  “I’m sorry for doubting you, my dear Mrs. Muffin,” said Fred now as he put down his utensils after having eaten his fill. “When my
IT guy told me that Tex Poole was behind the attack, and then you told me that whole story, I wasn’t sure who to believe! But it’s pretty obvious to me now that you saved me a heck of a lot of grief.”

  “And a lot of money!” said Gran proudly.

  “A million dollars,” said Grace Kramer, shaking her red curls in astonishment. “Were you really going to have to pay that amount of money, darling?”

  “Yeah, looks like,” said Fred ruefully. “Turns out these ransomware attacks are becoming more and more frequent and more and more sophisticated, and the people behind it are really good. So it’s almost inevitable that either you lose access to your entire computer system, and start from scratch, or that you pay through the nose.”

  “And if you do pay, what guarantee do you have that they’ll give you back access to the computers?” asked Marge.

  “Apparently these people are crooks but they’re also savvy business people. They know that if they don’t do as they promise, people will stop paying. So they actually are true to their word, as strange as it may sound.”

  “Do all companies pay?” asked Marge as she poured Mr. Kramer some more wine.

  “From what I can tell, many of them actually do, Mrs. Poole.”

  “Yeah, it’s true,” said Chase. “Plenty of small business owners are attacked and many don’t even report it to the police anymore. I think the numbers are staggering, in fact.”

  “But who’s behind all these attacks?” asked Odelia, intrigued by this story, and vowing to write an article about it in a future edition of the Gazette.

  “Well, mostly these cybercriminals operate from abroad,” said Uncle Alec, who was, of course, also present—he never missed an opportunity to put his feet under the table at his sister and brother-in-law’s place. “Eastern Germany and Russia mostly. In other words, tough to get our hands on them.”