The Mysteries of Max BoxSet

by Nic Saint

  “Look, this is what I do, Mom,” she said. “And I’m sure that whoever this killer is, isn’t going to come after me.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked her mother, worry etched on her features.

  “Call it a hunch. This killer isn’t a serial killer. It’s someone pushed too far by Frey. Someone who decided enough was enough. Whoever this is, isn’t going to kill again, I’m sure of it.”

  “Unless you get too close,” said her mother, looking fearful. “And then they will lash out, simply to keep you from discovering the truth about them.”

  “That’s not gonna happen. You know me. I’m always very careful.”

  “I wish you’d just leave all this business to your uncle Alec and this nice young policeman, honey. They can protect themselves. They’re trained to.”

  She saw she would never be able to convince her mother, so she decided to change the subject. “Any idea how to convince Hampton Cove that Chase Kingsley is innocent of the crime he’s been accused of?”

  Her mother frowned at this. “Convince? Why, there’s nothing to prove. Anyone can see he’s a perfectly nice young man with impeccable morals.”

  “Not everyone is as welcoming and perceptive as you, Mom.”

  She would have used the word ‘naive,’ but that was a little harsh.

  “I’m sure that once they get to know Chase, those rumors will go away.”

  “I very much doubt it.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Mom said breezily as she got out of the boat. A customer had caroled out a loud ‘Yoo-hoo!’

  Odelia didn’t share her mother’s optimism. She thought that the moment the story hit the town that Chase Kingsley was a convicted criminal, they’d petition the mayor to get him fired. And if enough people signed that petition, the mayor and Uncle Alec would have no choice but to let him go. Even though until a couple of hours ago she’d believed herself that Chase was a bad person, she now saw that a gross miscarriage of justice had taken place, and that if it wasn’t rectified, this business would haunt him for the rest of his life. And even though the man was as stubborn and pigheaded as anyone she’d ever known, he didn’t deserve that.

  With a sigh, she got up and climbed out of the boat. A little girl had run up and was eyeing her a little timidly. Adults usually didn’t go and sit in the children’s boat. She gave the girl a sweet smile and handed her the troll she’d been holding. “The boat is all yours, honey,” she said. “Knock yourself out.”

  She watched how the girl and her sister hopped into the boat and started playing with the trolls, then picked up a book and started reading. She smiled, wondering if one day her own kids would be sitting there, with her watching on. She firmly put the thought out of her mind. Until she met the right guy, that wasn’t a prospect she liked to dwell on.

  She returned to the front of the library, and was greeted by Gran, who’d been rummaging around between the bookshelves, replacing returned books. She used a small cart to do it, which was now empty. For the occasion she was wearing a long, black coat, claiming there was a draft in the library, and she needed to protect herself. With pink hair peeping from beneath a lime-green knit cap she’d placed on her head, she looked like an eighties punk rocker.

  Though the weather was warm, Gran rarely left the house without one of an extensive collection of bonnets. She claimed that the winds blowing in from the ocean were worse in the summer than in winter, and that she had to protect herself against catching her death.

  “So? Did you catch that killer?” asked Gran.

  “Not yet, but I’m getting closer.”

  “You better catch him soon. This place ain’t safe with that monster on the loose.”

  “I’m sure he or she isn’t going to attack anyone else, Gran,” she promised.

  “How would you know? You’re not a killer,” snapped her grandmother. “They might as well be prowling the streets as we speak, looking for their next victim.” She shivered. “I wouldn’t like to cross paths with that beast.”

  “You won’t,” she said.

  Gran glanced at the late customer who was still browsing. She was the mother of the two girls now happily ensconced in the children’s boat.

  “I wish they wouldn’t come in five minutes before closing time,” Gran grumbled. “Don’t they know we’ve got more important things to do?”

  “Like what? Playing Scrabble with Dad?”

  Lately, Gran and Dad had discovered a mutual fondness for Scrabble. Gran might bitch and moan about Dad, claiming he worked her like a dog, but secretly she liked her son-in-law. She now spent her mornings helping him out by picking up the phone and guiding traffic in the waiting room, and in the afternoon helped out Mom at the library while Dad was on his own.

  “I like Scrabble,” she said. “Sue me.”

  “I think you like Dad,” she teased. “And Scrabble is just an excuse to spend more time with him.”

  “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 rew
ard 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 s
ound 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.