Purrfect Murder (The Mysteries of Max Book 1)

by Nic Saint

  “As if!” cried the old lady. “I’m doing him a favor. My time is precious, and I’m a regular saint for devoting so much of it to your dad.” The customer dropped a book and Gran jumped. “Jeez! Wanna give me a heart attack?”

  It was obvious this whole murder business had rattled her. “You know this killer will never harm you, right, Gran?” she asked.

  “Tell that to the coroner when they haul my body from a cesspit.”

  She laughed. “That will never happen.”

  Gran glared at her. “Oh? How are you so sure?”

  She shrugged. “I just know.”

  “Been talking with Max again, have you? Did that cat give you a clue?”

  “Not yet, but he’s out there, trying to figure out what happened.”

  “Leave it to the cats to solve this crime,” she grunted. “They’re a darn lot more capable than that worthless uncle of yours.”

  For some reason, Gran had never been convinced of Uncle Alec’s crime-solving capabilities, and she didn’t mind reminding him of that. She’d always hoped her son would go into politics and become the next mayor of Hampton Cove. That way she could brag to her friends. In her eyes, being a cop was nothing to brag about, apparently.

  “I’m sure the Chief is very capable,” Odelia said, taking up her uncle’s defense.

  “And I’m sure he’s not. Or that beefcake he’s hired to do his dirty work.”

  “Beefcake? You mean Chase Kingsley?”

  “I don’t know what he’s called. I just call him Captain Beefcake, on account of the fact that the looks like one of them male models you always see prancing around on the beach.”

  The image of Chase prancing around on the beach suddenly flashed before her mind’s eye. She was sure from what she’d seen that the man was all lean muscle, and the image wasn’t one she wanted in her head right now.

  Gran eyed her closely. “You’re sweet on the guy, aren’t you? Figures.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  But Gran wagged a finger in her face. “Let me give you a piece of advice, missy: Captain Hottie Beefcake is trouble with a capital T. Take it from me.”

  Gran just might be right for a change, she thought ruefully. If those strange jitters in her belly were anything to go by, she was in big trouble.

  Chapter 20

  Dinner was served exactly at seven, with the entire Poole clan pitching in. Before dinner, Odelia had slipped over to her place to freshen up a little, and saw that the two cats lay passed out on the couch. They didn’t even stir when she breezed past and then hurried out again. In fact they looked completely bushed, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Usually they slept during the day and spent all night out and about. Today they’d snooped around all day, and were exhausted. She gave them a gentle stroke, and then left with a smile. She’d talk to them tonight, and see if they’d been able to come up with anything.

  She’d opted for linen pants and a black blouse, applying minimal makeup. She refused to go all out, not wanting Detective Kingsley to think she was dressing up for his sake. She didn’t want to reward the man’s arrogance.

  They’d prepared a simple meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and veggies, with a side salad, and when their guests finally arrived, the table was set. Before dinner, aperitifs were in order, as Odelia’s dad—and Gran— liked their preprandial drink. When the doorbell rang, and Mom went to open the door, drinks were served even before Uncle Alec and Chase walked in.

  Alec, who knew his way around his sister’s place, accepted his usual martini from Dad, who then offered one to Chase, who politely declined.

  Odelia, looking on from the kitchen entrance, couldn’t help but notice the detective looked even more handsome than that afternoon. He’d put on a crisply fresh white cotton shirt, snugly fitting jeans low on narrow hips, and his dark brown hair curled across his brow in a sexy sweep. The man could have been an advertisement for a brand of jeans, or an advertisement for whatever. With a muscular frame like that, she’d definitely buy whatever he was selling, and she was pretty sure other women would feel the same way.

  Speaking of other women, it didn’t escape her attention that the moment Chase walked into the living room, both Mom and Gran lavished their attention on him. Shaking her head, she picked up her own drink—flat water—and joined her dad and uncle out on the deck. They were already engaged in a conversation about the murder case, with Uncle Alec discussing some of the medical aspects of the case, and Dad providing his professional opinion.

  Out in the yard, she saw Harriet languidly enjoying the lowering sun rays, licking her snowy white fur, while a new cat she’d never seen before, looked on. The newcomer was black as night and looked gorgeous. This, she assumed, was Brutus, and the reason Max and Dooley were in such a tizzy. She could see why. A prime specimen like this walking into their lives and stealing the attention of the only female in their small band of three, it was bound to upset the delicate balance that had existed all their lives.

  “Black and white. Nice combo,” a sonorous voice spoke behind her. She knew Chase was referring to the cats, but he might as well have been talking about them, with her black blouse and his white shirt.

  She squinted at the cats, who only had eyes for each other. “Is it just me but does that big, black cat look like it’s about to pounce on poor Harriet?”

  “From where I’m standing it looks like he’s trying to figure out what makes her tick,” Chase said. Turning, she noticed he was clutching a drink, something amber in a tumbler. So either Gran or Mom must have persuaded him to adhere to the Poole house rules and accept an aperitif after all.

  “Oh?” she asked. “So he doesn’t strike you as a lecherous creep?”

  He grinned and took a sip from his drink. “Nope. He strikes me as a cat who’s in way over his head, and doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into.”

  Now it was her turn to smile. “That’s what you get when you transport a big-city cat to a small town. They tend to underestimate the locals.”

  “Yeah, you just might be right about that,” he grunted. “Though the same can be said for the locals. They tend to completely misjudge newcomers. Assign them all kinds of qualities they don’t remotely possess.”

  “And what qualities might that be?” she asked sweetly. “Arrogance? Pigheadedness? Refusal to accept the status quo?”

  “You seem to forget that the newcomer has a distinct advantage.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The advantage of the outside view. A fresh set of eyes on a situation that may look all too familiar to those who grew up in this town, and might miss the obvious staring them in the face.”

  She looked up sharply. “Why do I get the impression we’re not talking about that nasty cat of yours?”

  “Nasty?” he asked with a chuckle. “There’s nothing nasty about Brutus.”

  “He’s been terrorizing my cats,” she said. “Muscling in on their territory and—” She gestured at Harriet “—persecuting their poor, helpless friend.”

  “That Persian doesn’t strike me as helpless,” he said. “On the contrary, she seems to enjoy the attention. In fact she downright revels in it.”

  “I think she’s simply intimidated. She probably can’t wait to get away from him but is scared he might become aggressive if she makes a move.”

  Now it was his turn to frown. “I’ll have you know that Brutus has never in his life needed to resort to strong-arm tactics to get a female’s attention.”

  “Well, he’s not in the big city now, is he? He’s in Hampton Cove, where cats are different and might not respond to him the way he’s used to.”

  He laughed. “You’re damn right about that. This place is like nothing I’ve ever seen. For one thing, in New York reporters don’t investigate crime.”

  “Well, out here they do, so you better get used to it, Detective.”

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

  She stared at
him in surprise. Was he finally seeing things her way?

  “Have you interviewed any more suspects?” she asked.

  “If I had I wouldn’t tell you,” he said simply.

  So much for seeing things her way. “I thought as much. Good thing Uncle Alec keeps me informed, otherwise I’d never be able to nail this killer.”

  “Now look here, Miss Poole…”

  “No, you look here, Detective. I’m going to catch this killer before you even sniff out your first clue. That’s the way we do things down here.”

  “And I’ll have you know, Miss Poole, that you’re in way over your head here. Catching killers is police business, and reporters like you should stick to what they’re good at: writing about mermaids and children’s library wings.”

  In spite of herself she had to smile at that. Dan must have posted her articles on the site after she left. “So you’ve been reading my stuff, huh?”

  “I have,” he admitted. “I need to soak in the atmosphere so I had to start somewhere. Alec suggested I start with the Gazette and take it from there.”

  “You forgot about the opening of the new flower shop on Bleecker Street,” she said with a grin. “Possibly some of my best writing to date.”

  “You are a great writer,” he admitted. “Which is why you should stick to that, and make sure you keep out of harm’s way.”

  “Are you threatening me, Detective?” she asked, her frown returning.

  “No, but the killer might, if you get too close.”

  “So you’re admitting I’m getting close to solving this case, huh?”

  “I’m admitting that you’re not trained to deal with a murderer on the loose, and I’d feel a lot better when you leave the sleuthing to Alec and me.”

  They were at a standoff, and stood staring at each other, tension rising. But then Gran stepped in, holding up a tray of hors d’oeuvres and offering one to Chase. “Hors d’oeuvre, Detective Kingsley? I made them myself.”

  He finally broke eye contact. “Thanks,” he said, popping one into his mouth.

  “Has Odelia been bothering you, Detective?” Gran asked, darting a censorious glance at her granddaughter.

  “She’s been making a case for inserting herself into my investigation.”

  “Oh, she keeps doing that,” said Gran, clucking her tongue. “She keeps inserting herself where she shouldn’t. That’s the nosy reporter type for you.”

  “Gran,” said Odelia warningly. If even her own flesh and blood was turning against her, how could she ever hope to best this overbearing cop?

  “What?” asked Gran innocently. “I was just apprising Detective Kingsley of all the facts pertaining to the case. If he’s going to live and work in this town, it’s important he gets the lay of the land.”

  “And I, for one, am mighty grateful for that, Mrs…”

  “Muffin. Vesta Muffin,” said Gran. “I’m a widow, you know, so if you invited me over for dinner, nobody in town would talk.” She twiddled her ring-free hand in front of Chase, frivolously batting her eyes. “Free as a bird,” she said with a sound that was probably supposed to be a seductive purr but came out like a lascivious growl.

  Oh, God, Odelia thought. If Gran was going to throw herself at Chase, the cop’s opinion of her family would sink even lower.

  “Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Muffin,” said Chase. “That’s very kind of you.” He was looking slightly bewildered at this unexpected come-on, but Odelia wasn’t liking him well enough to come to his aid. If he thought he could handle killers and murderers so much better than she could he would have no trouble handling a septuagenarian with an overactive libido.

  Which reminded her of something. She gestured at the two cats out in the yard. “Is that cat of yours fixed, Detective?”

  “Why do you ask?” he asked, visibly glad for the change of topic.

  “Because it’s the law. Cats are supposed to be spayed or neutered.”

  “Are you afraid Brutus might sow his wild oats?” he quipped with a twinkle in his eye.

  “I don’t care about his oats. I’m simply concerned that our new law officer is already breaking the law, one day after arriving in town.”

  “Brutus is fixed,” said Chase with a shrug. “So your precious Persian has nothing to worry about.”

  “Actually she’s my precious Persian,” said Mom, joining them. She was carrying another tray. “Finger food, Detective Kingsley? I made it myself.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Poole.”

  “Marge, please.”

  “You’ve got a lovely home here, Marge. And a great family,” he added with an appreciative nod at Odelia and Gran. Faced with three generations of women, it was obvious the cop was enjoying the attention, and the food, though he kept eyeing Gran a little warily as she sidled up to him.

  “I like your guns,” she said, licking her lips.

  “My… guns?” asked Chase, automatically feeling for his absent holster.

  “Do you work out a lot?” she continued, making her point clear.

  “Oh, those guns,” he said. “Um, yeah, I like to hit the gym a couple times a week. Matter of trying to stay in shape in case I need to chase a bad guy.”

  “I can see how that might be important for a cop,” Gran said, and made a tentative gesture in the direction of Chase’s bicep, but restrained herself at the last moment. “Are you a meat-eater, Chase?”

  “Yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact I am. Why, is this a vegan household?”

  “No, of course not,” said Mom. “Just the idea. Though Odelia has gone through a vegan episode lately, haven’t you, honey?”

  “Ever since she broke up with that no-good loser Sam Scurf.”

  “My eating habits got nothing to do with Sam,” she said, mortified. She so didn’t want to discuss her dating life—or the lack thereof—in front of Chase.

  “Who’s this Sam?” asked Chase interestedly.

  “He was a crook and a loser,” Gran eagerly supplied. “She even brought him home once, and next thing we knew he’d embezzled half a million dollars from Armstrong & Tillich Bank. They caught him, though, and threw his ass in the slammer. But then Odelia always had lousy taste in men.”

  She glared at her grandmother, but the old lady ignored her. “She once dated a cop, you know. Appalachian. Until Alec discovered he was wanted in a dozen states and had supplied false credentials.” She shook her snowy white head. “Always dating the bad guys, our poor Odelia.”

  Odelia raised her eyes to the heavens, praying that Gran would lay off already, but the stories seemed to amuse and entertain, for Chase asked, “Any other known criminals she dated?”

  “Oh, plenty, but if I told you I’d have to kill you,” Gran said with a grin, and then she did attach herself to Chase’s arm and gave his bicep a squeeze. “Oh, my. How much did you say you curled, Chase?”

  “I, um…”

  Even Mom now seemed to see the warning signs, for she swept in and took Gran into the house. “Let’s freshen up a little before dinner, shall we?”

  “I don’t need freshening up,” Gran sputtered. “I’m fresh as a daisy.”

  Chase seemed relieved at the removal of his stalker, and nodded at the house where the two women disappeared inside. “She’s a feisty one, that grandmother of yours.”

  “Feisty and horny,” said Odelia before she could stop herself. She slapped a hand in front of her mouth, mortified. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  Chase laughed, and she watched as twin dimples appeared on his cheeks. They made the already outrageously handsome cop look even more irresistible, and she admonished herself that after dating all the ‘bad guys’ of her past, like Gran had indicated, she didn’t need to add another one to the list. The others might all have turned out to be crooks, but she had the distinct impression Chase Kingsley might give them a run for their money.

  “Dinner is served!” Mom called out at that moment, and just in time, too, for Odelia had run out of things to say without making a to
tal and utter fool of herself. Dinner at the Pooles had always been a demonstration in humiliation for her when there were men around, and tonight proved no exception. She just hoped they’d make it through dinner without Gran throwing herself at Chase, or providing a play-by-play of her granddaughter’s disastrous dating life or both.

  Chapter 21

  Chase didn’t stay after dinner, no matter how much Gran would have wanted it. He claimed he still had work to do, and Odelia wondered if he was referring to the Frey case. She’d wanted to pick his brain, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to allow her to do so. She tried to turn the conversation to the murder, but Chase had brushed off all her attempts, much to Uncle Alec’s amusement, who’d taken his new protégé’s cue and also decided to keep this dinner Frey-free. Usually he enjoyed discussing ongoing cases over dinner, but apparently tonight he’d decided not to talk shop in front of Chase.

  She just hoped this wouldn’t be the new normal, or else she’d have a lot less stuff to write about in the paper.

  Chase quickly excused himself, and when Uncle Alec and Dad settled themselves on the couch to watch a football game, she suddenly felt an uncharacteristic fatigue sweep over her. All this trudging around today had made her long for a good night’s sleep, and after finishing the wash-up with Mom and Gran, who both couldn’t get enough of gabbing about Chase, she bade her family goodnight and returned home.

  She checked on Max and Dooley, but they were still passed out, and she decided not to disturb them. Tomorrow was another day, and they could resume their sleuthing efforts with renewed vigor. She was out like a light before her head even hit the pillow and may or may not have dreamed of handsome hunky cops warding off nosy reporters from their investigation.

  The next morning, she drove to the office and parked her car. After checking her emails, she decided to walk down to the police station. She needed to check that laptop, to see if there were any clues to other enemies Frey might have made. When she arrived, she was surprised to find Chase already there. He was seated in front of Frey’s laptop, intently staring at the screen, his hulking frame dwarfing one of the chairs in the evidence room. The rest of the evidence was spread out across the table, and when she walked in Chase didn’t look up. Instead, he growled, “Morning, Miss Poole.”