by Nic Saint
Kris patted his grandson on the cheek and tsk-tsked. “Still good old Chaser, huh?”
“No! We just met, Grandpa. There’s simply no—I mean, we haven’t—the thing is…”
“Nobody is chasing anyone away, Kris,” I said. “We’re simply taking it one step at a time.”
“As you should,” said Kris with a waggle of his remarkably white beard. He slapped his thighs. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my big show! Santa’s in town!”
As he walked off to his bedroom, I noticed a box of Cohibas on a side table. When I opened it, I noticed several cigars were gone, and printed on the side of the box was a stamp that indicated the box was the property of Thornton Fifth Avenue. I shared a smile with Chase. Another mystery solved.
CHAPTER 15
T he whole town was gathered in Town Square, around the huge Christmas tree. All around us the Christmas market was in full swing, with stalls having been set up all over the place, selling eggnog, glühwein, hot chocolate, and treats like gingerbread, bugle cones, Christmas tree brownies, candy canes, s’mores and a lot more. There was one stall where Wilbur Vickery sold Christmas trees, for people late to the party, but since they all looked a little worn-out, no one was buying what he had to sell.
“So where is this newfangled Santa?” asked Gran, who was shivering in her wool coat, her head drowning in a thick knit cap with Christmas motif. “If he’s not here soon I’m gone!”
“He’ll be here,” I said, hugging myself to get warm.
Snowflakes were gently fluttering down, covering Hampton Cove in a soft blanket of white. Chase was right by my side, a glass of glühwein in his hand—mulled wine with cinnamon—and so were my parents, Uncle Alec, and pretty much all of Hampton Cove. They all wanted to see the new Santa, so turnout for this traditional Christmas feast was great, which must have pleased the council and the Mayor, who were officiating the festivities. Even Dan was here, even though he’d told me he was going to sit this one out—a one-man boycott.
Outdoor heaters had been set up here and there, and people were taking turns getting warmed up before returning to their vigil in front of the tree.
“That tree is the ugliest tree I’ve ever seen,” said Gran, expressing the opinion of many.
“It’s not a real tree,” I told her. “It’s just made to look like one.”
“Well, they sure didn’t succeed. It doesn’t even look like a tree, just a giant clothes hanger.”
She was right. It was a giant clothes hanger. As if IKEA had decided to make the world’s biggest clothes hanger in some kind of Guinness World Record attempt and had created this.
“I’m sure it’s good for the environment,” said Mom. “Trees are not supposed to be used for decorative purposes and thrown away once Christmas is over,” she added when Gran cast her a scathing look.
“It’s tradition,” Gran snapped. “You don’t mess with tradition.”
“I think it’s not so bad,” said Dad. “If you squint a little it almost looks like a real tree.”
“If I squint a little you almost look like a real man,” said Gran, “but that has never fooled me!”
“Hey, that was uncalled for,” said Mom.
“A real man would have filed a complaint with the council just like I told him to,” said Gran. “And not weaseled out.”
“I didn’t weasel out,” said Dad. “I just didn’t see it as a priority. Besides, the Mayor personally assured me that he was going to take all the suggestions into consideration when deciding on next year’s celebration.”
“I like it,” said Chase. “It’s… art.”
“Some art,” Gran growled. “I suppose it’s European. French, probably. Like the Eiffel Tower. Another monstrosity.”
“The Eiffel Tower is not a monstrosity,” I said. “It’s romantic.”
“It’s a giant metal tower! There’s nothing romantic about it!”
“Well, I think it is. And I would like to visit Paris once—spend a romantic weekend there.”
Chase gave me a smile. “Oh, you would, would you?”
“Sure. Strut along the Champs Elysées, sit on the bank of the Seine. Visit Montmartre.”
“We’ll have to do that sometime,” said Chase, hugging me close. I took a sip from his glühwein. Pretty good.
“So what does this grandfather of yours look like?” asked Gran. “Probably some doddering old nutcase with a fake beard, huh?”
“Actually he looks exactly like Santa,” I said. “Even more than Dan.”
“Just make sure Dan doesn’t hear you say that, honey,” said Mom. “He’s still your editor.”
“Well, it’s true,” I said. “Kris is a much better-looking Santa than Dan ever was.”
“He is, isn’t he?” asked Chase. “He could actually be the real Santa.”
“Sure he is, Chaser,” I said with a grin.
He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t call me that. I stopped chasing girls away a long time ago.”
“I kinda like it,” I admitted. “As long as it’s all the other girls you chase away, not me.”
“You have my word on that,” he said, pressing a kiss to my lips.
And then the moment had finally arrived. The Mayor mounted a makeshift stage in front of the big Christmas tree—that wasn’t a tree—and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen. Dear fellow Hampton Covians. It is my honor and my privilege to introduce to you the new Santa of Hampton Cove. The moment you’ve all been waiting for. Here is… Santa!”
With remarkably sprightly step, Kris climbed the stage and waved at the crowd. There was a momentary hush when he appeared, then everybody started clapping and cheering.
“Hey, you were right,” said Mom. “He is the perfect Santa. Well done, Chase.”
“Oh, thanks, Marge,” said Chase, though it wasn’t really his credit to take.
“Not so fast!” a voice suddenly rang out, and we all watched as Dan Goory walked onto the stage and joined the Mayor and the new Santa.
“Oh, for the love of Mike!” said the Mayor. Then he reached out a hand like a traffic warden. “Now wait a minute, Dan. We talked about this.”
“I want to make an announcement!” Dan insisted, ignoring the Mayor. He unfolded a piece of paper, then placed his half-moon glasses on his face.
“You must be Dan,” said Kris, and walked up to his predecessor with outstretched hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yeah, well,” muttered Dan, staring at the offered hand for a moment, not knowing what to do. Then, finally, he took it and shook it. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, too, Kris.”
“Only good things, I hope,” said Kris with a laugh.
“I wanted to ask you a few questions, Kris,” said Dan, a little stiffly.
Uh-oh. Dan stared out across the crowd of hundreds, all watching him intently. Right in front of him, a bunch of kids stood gaping up at the stage, drinking in his every word. He turned to Kris.
“Have you had a great trip from the North Pole, Santa?”
A collective sigh of relief could be heard, and Kris said, “Ho ho ho. I had a great trip, Dan!”
Dan stuffed his prepared speech back into his pocket and said, “I would like to officially welcome Santa to Hampton Cove. And wish him all the best! Long live Santa!”
And, like an umpire, he held up Santa’s arm. Kris patted the previous Santa on the back, and said, “Thanks, Dan. I’m very happy to be here, and I’m touched by your hospitality.”
Dan nodded. “You really are a great Santa, Santa, and I hope when you do your rounds tonight, you will think of me, too.”
“Oh, I most certainly will, Dan. At least…” he winked at the kids in the first row. “If you’re on my Nice list!”
Dan smiled indulgently. “I’m sure I am, Santa. I’m sure I am.”
“I’m not so sure,” Gran muttered. “Can we go home? All these Santas are creeping me out.”
And thus ended the introduction of Kri
s Kingsley as Hampton Cove’s new Santa. When I got home, Max and Dooley were nowhere to be found, but by the time I returned to stuff their stockings with goodies and treats, they were both on the rug again, looking exhausted and cold. Just as I was stuffing Dooley’s sock, Max opened his eyes. I placed my finger against my lips and gestured at Dooley, who was the baby in the Poole cat menagerie, and still believed in Santa. Max nodded and smiled happily, then went right back to sleep. I had no idea what they’d been up to, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d tried to catch a glimpse of Santa. I could have told them they were about to meet Santa in the flesh, as Mom had invited Kris to spend Christmas with us tomorrow. At least when he was done with all the activities the council had planned for him.
And as I lay my head on my pillow, Chase snuggled up to me.
“Finally,” he muttered. “I thought you’d never get back, Miss Spume.”
“Had to get the cats their Christmas treats, Mr. Chaser,” I said, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.
“You really love those cats, don’t you?”
“I do,” I admitted. “They’re my babies.”
“So you still want me to sneak out of here undetected before dawn?”
“Yes, I do.” I wanted Max and Dooley to get used to the idea of Chase moving in, and something told me that might take some time.
“The things I do for love,” murmured Chase.
“Love?” I asked, a ripple of excitement trembling through me.
But the big, burly cop had fallen asleep again. Love. Now if that wasn’t a Christmas miracle.
THE END
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EXCERPT FROM PURRFECT CRIME (THE MYSTERIES OF MAX 5)
Prologue
Donna Bruce was a woman profoundly in love with herself. From personal experience she knew there was no other person as amazing as she was. She was smart, successful, beautiful, and, above all, she was kind to humans, children and dogs, which cannot be said about everyone. She was a giver, not a taker. In fact she gave so much she often wondered if people appreciated her enough.
Her kids, for instance, could probably love her more for all the sacrifices she had made. For one thing, they’d pretty much ruined her figure. After the twins were born, something strange but not very wonderful had happened to her hips. They’d never looked the same again. And when she saw what breastfeeding did to her boobs, she’d vowed never to fall into that horrible trap again.
She now carefully tucked her golden tresses beneath the pink shower cap, wrapped the white towel embroidered with her company’s crest—a nicely rendered tiara—around her perfectly toned and tanned body, and stepped into the sauna cabin. She had the cabin installed only six months ago as a special treat to herself when donna.vip, the lifestyle website she’d launched a decade ago, had topped 200 million in revenue.
She languidly stretched out on the authentic Finnish wood bench, took a sip from her flute of Moët & Chandon Dom Perignon, and closed her eyes. She’d just done a conference call with her CEO and now it was time to relax. Later today she had a session with her private fitness coach scheduled, and to top it all off she was going to treat herself to a healing massage as well. Time to get pampered!
And she’d just reached that slightly drowsy state she enjoyed so much when a soft clanking sound attracted her attention. She opened her eyes and saw through the slight haze that filled the cabin that there was someone moving about outside.
She frowned, wondering who it could be. Her housekeeper Jackie wasn’t coming in until ten, and the rest of the staff knew better than to intrude on her alone time. It was hard to make out the person’s face, as the one small window was all steamed up. With a grunt of annoyance she got up and wiped her hand across the glass to look out. And that’s when she noticed something very disturbing: the person was wearing a mask of some kind. One of those silly Halloween masks.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she called out.
But the intruder just stood there, unmoving, staring at her through the black mask that covered his or her entire face.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Answer me at once!”
When the person didn’t respond, she shook her head and took a firm grip on the wood door handle, giving it a good yank. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, knowing that these sauna doors could be sticky, but to no avail. And that’s when she saw that someone—presumably the masked person outside—had stuck a long object through the door’s handle, blocking it. It was her long handle loofah, the one she’d intended to take into the sauna with her.
“Hey! This isn’t funny!” she cried, tapping the pane furiously. “Open this door right now!”
And that’s when the masked figure reacted for the first time by raising a hand and pointing a finger at her, cocking their thumb and making a shooting gesture. And in that exact moment, she became aware of an odd sound that seemed to come from somewhere above her head. A buzzing sound. She looked up in alarm, and when she saw the first dozen bees streaming into the sauna cabin, she uttered a cry of shock and fear.
She rapped the window again, more frantic this time. “Let me out! Why are you doing this to me?! Just let me out of here!”
More bees fluttered into the cramped space and soon started filling it. There must have been hundreds, or maybe even thousands! And as they descended upon her, she felt the first stings. She started swatting them away with her towel, but there were too many of them, and for some reason they seemed drawn to her, whipped into a frenzy by some unknown cause. And as she stumbled and fell, desperately flapping her hands in a bid to get rid of the pesky insects, she soon succumbed. Her final thought, before she lost consciousness was, “Why me?!”
Chapter One
Having spent most of the night outside, looking up at the stars and commenting to Dooley on their curious shape, attending a meeting of cat choir in the nearby Hampton Cove Park, and generally contemplating the state of the world and my place in it, I was ready to perform my daily duty and make sure my human Odelia Poole got a bright and early start on her day. I do this by jumping up onto her bed, plodding across Odelia’s sleeping form, and finally kneading her arm until she wakes up and gives me a cuddle. This has been our morning ritual since just about forever.
When I finally reached the top of the stairs, slightly winded, a pleasant sound emanating from the bedroom filled me with a warm and fuzzy feeling of benevolence: Odelia was softly snoring, indicating she was in urgent need of a wake-up catcall. So I padded over, and jumped up onto the foot of the bed. At least, that was my intention, only for some reason I must have misjudged the distance, for instead of landing on all fours on the bed, I landed on my butt on the bedside rug.
I shook my head, happy that no one saw me in this awkward position. With a slight shrug of the shoulders, I decided to try again. This time the result was even worse. I never even cleared the bed frame, let alone the mattress or the comforter. Like an Olympic pole vaulter who discovers he’s lost the ability, I suddenly found myself facing a new and horrifying reality: I couldn’t jump anymore!
“Hey, Max,” a familiar voice sounded behind me. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, Dooley?” I grumbled. “I’m trying to jump into bed!”
He paused, then asked, “So why are you still on the floor?”
“Because…” I stared up at the bed, which all of a sudden had turned into an insurmountable obstacle for some reason. “Actually I don’t know what’s going on. The bed just seems higher now.”
“A sudden weakness,” Dooley decided knowingly. “It happens to me all the time.”
“Well, it doesn’t happen to me,” I said, scratching my head. Yes, cats scratch their heads. We just make
sure we retract our claws, otherwise it would be a fine mess.
“You probably need food. Did you have breakfast? When I don’t have my breakfast I feel weak. Do you feel weak?”
I gave him my best scowl. “I feel fine. And for your information, yes, I did have my breakfast. The best kibble money can buy and a nice chunk of chicken and liver paté.”
“Wow, what happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?”
“I thought Odelia only got you the cheap stuff? Why did she go out and splurge all of a sudden?”
“I guess she felt I deserved it. I have been helping her solve murder case after murder case lately.”
“Me too, but I didn’t get any special treats.”
“You have to file your complaint with Gran, Dooley. She is your human, after all.”
Dooley’s Ragamuffin face sagged. “Gran has been too busy to notice me lately.”
“Too busy? Why, what’s she been up to?”
“Beats me. She’s been receiving packages in the mail. A lot of them. In fact Marge and Tex are pretty much fed up with her. Seems like they’re the ones who have to pay for all those packages.”
Perhaps now would be a good time to make some introductions, especially for the people who haven’t been following my adventures closely. My name is Max, as you have probably deduced, and I’m something of a private cat sleuth. Since Odelia is a reporter and always in need of fresh and juicy stories, I’m only too happy to supply them. My frequent collaborator on these outings is Dooley, my best friend and neighbor. Dooley’s human is Vesta Muffin, Odelia’s grandmother who lives next door. Dooley is my wingcat. My partner in crime. Between you and me, Dooley is not exactly the brightest bulb in the bulb shop, so it’s a good thing he’s got me. I’m smart enough for the both of us.
“Why don’t I give you a paw up?” Dooley asked now.
“I don’t know…” I muttered. I glanced behind Dooley, making sure he was alone. If we were going to do this, I didn’t want there to be any witnesses.