The Mysteries of Max BoxSet

by Nic Saint

  For the occasion, Odelia decided to outfit us all with tracking devices. She’d gotten those online a while back, after watching a documentary about a research team following a bunch of cats around for a couple of nights, to see what they were up to. Track their nocturnal wanderings around the small town where they lived. So Odelia had bought us trackers so she’d know where we were at all times. Combined with a panic button, we could send her a signal, and she could come and find us wherever we were holed up.

  It was a neat system, and we’d tested it out around the house but had never used it on a mission before. She quickly outfitted the four of us with trackers and panic buttons, both attached to our collars, and then we were all set. I had to hand it to Odelia: when she got mad, she got even. It would be a lesson for Veronica George: never mess with a small-town reporter.

  Odelia dropped us off at the house where Veronica lived with her mother, and parked her car around the corner. If she was right, and the woman was still involved with that lowlife drug dealer, it wouldn’t be hard for us to catch the two of them together. Then all we had to do was press our buttons.

  When the four of us trudged up the driveway, we were almost flattened by a Mercedes GLS driving off and spraying us with gravel. I caught a glimpse of the driver and thought it just might be Veronica, which meant we’d already lost her. Luckily Harriet had jumped to the other side of the car and said, “It was Bryony Pistol. I recognized her from the pictures.”

  Hand it to Harriet. She’s a regular Star, US Weekly and People reader.

  “Great. Let’s hope her daughter decided to stay home,” I said.

  The four of us followed the driveway, which led around the house, and found ourselves in a large flower garden extending into a pool area similar to Johnny’s, only smaller. Stretched out on a pool chair was a young woman reading a copy of Star, the cover announcing lots of ‘Stars Without Makeup.’

  “That’s Veronica!” hissed Harriet.

  She was dressed in a pink bikini, sunglasses perched on her nose, and looked bored. So we hunkered down in the bushes, and took turns watching the pop singer’s daughter. Being a private investigator is all about the stakeout, Odelia had once told me, and this prolonged vigil proved her right.

  Soon it wasn’t just Veronica who looked bored, but us, too.

  “So you still believe a conspiracy of escorts killed Johnny?” Dooley asked Brutus.

  “Right,” I said with a smile. “The Australian boy toy conspiracy. I’d almost forgotten about that.”

  “I have to admit Odelia’s theory is pretty sound, too,” said Brutus, idly toying with a beetle. “And it fits right in with my boy toy conspiracy theory.”

  “Toy boy,” murmured Harriet, who’d closed her eyes.

  “Whatever,” grunted Brutus. “That’s the difference between a true detective like myself and amateurs like you and Dooley, Maxie. A true detective comes up with new theories all the time, then checks them against the facts and either discards them or expounds on them. Is it possible a conspiracy of Australian boy toys killed Johnny? Sure. Do the facts bear out this theory? They might, if Chase had been allowed to carry on his work.”

  I frowned. “So what you’re saying is that there’s a conspiracy to remove Chase from his job to prevent him from uncovering the truth?”

  “A conspiracy to protect a conspiracy,” said Dooley. “My mind is officially blown.”

  “Look, this Veronica chick and that drug guy conspired to remove Chase from the investigation to protect the conspiracy of Australian boy toys.”

  “Do you know how crazy that sounds?” I asked.

  “That’s your problem, Maxie, baby. You don’t have what it takes to be a truly great detective. You lack imagination.”

  “So we’re conspiring to end the conspiracy that’s designed to protect the conspiracy,” muttered Dooley. “Wicked.”

  “See?” asked Brutus. “Your buddy Dooley gets it.”

  “You’re so clever, Brutus,” said Harriet. “The smartest cat I know.”

  “Sure, sure,” he said. “C’mere, babe.”

  And before long they were exchanging kisses, Harriet giggling wildly.

  “Oh, please kill me now,” Dooley sighed.

  Because I didn’t want to watch Brutus and Harriet, I stared out at Veronica instead, but as far as I could see nothing was happening with her. She’d picked up another magazine, this one promising to expose Kim Kardashian’s beauty secrets, and from time to time she picked up her phone and tapped the screen, presumably texting her friends.

  “How long is this going to take?” asked Brutus, when he and Harriet had tired of their frolicking.

  “See, this is the reality of being a true detective,” I told the black cat. “Waiting around for hours and hours, hoping something will happen.”

  “And hours and hours,” said Dooley.

  “Booooring,” Brutus grunted. “What about some action? A car chase?”

  “There are no car chases in a detective’s life,” I said. “This isn’t Die Hard, Brutus, and you’re not Bruce Willis.”

  “Did you know I was named after Bruce? True story.”

  “You were named after Brutus,” I said. “Not Bruce.”

  “Brutus, Bruce, same difference.”

  “There is a difference. Brutus was a Roman senator who conspired to kill Caesar, while Bruce is an actor known for—”

  “Shush,” said Brutus.

  I reared up. “Don’t shush me, Brutus.”

  “Shush,” he repeated, and gestured at Veronica. I looked over and saw that she’d gotten up, texting furiously, and was walking toward the house.

  “Something’s happening,” Brutus said.

  “Very astute of you.”

  “Probably went to fetch another magazine,” muttered Dooley.

  But when Veronica didn’t return it was obvious something was up.

  “We have to see what’s going on,” I said. “Which means taking a closer look.”

  “Why don’t we send in a volunteer?” Brutus suggested. “I mean, if the four of us all go over there together it will look suspicious, right?”

  In spite of myself, I had to agree he had a point.

  “All right. I’ll go,” I said.

  “No, I’ll go,” he said. “It’s my human that needs saving, so I should go.”

  “Yes, but I know how to sneak up on someone without being seen.”

  “And I don’t?” he scoffed. “I’m the best sneaker-upper around, buddy. Just watch me sneak.” And before I could stop him, he was off and away, sneaking toward the house, doing his best to keep his belly low to the flagged terrace, his tail down and his ears flat. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

  “Doesn’t he look wonderful?” gushed Harriet. “A true detective.”

  “Not really,” said Dooley.

  Harriet turned on him. “What’s with all the criticism, huh? You can’t say one good word about Brutus, while he’s the most wonderful cat I know.”

  “So of all the cats you know, he’s the best?” asked Dooley, annoyed.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Greater than all the cats you’ve ever known? Cats you’ve lived with all your life? Cats like Max… and me?”

  She hesitated, but then said, “Brutus is different.”

  “Oh, I’ll say he’s different.”

  “See?” she said. “Again with the criticism. You’re my friend, Dooley, so why can’t you simply be happy for me? Happy that I found my soulmate?”

  He shrugged. “I am happy for you.”

  “You don’t sound happy.”

  I grinned when Dooley made a face behind Harriet’s back. Then I returned my attention to Brutus, who’d now reached the house and was sneaking inside, still staying low, even though anyone could spot a black cat against white pavement. Suddenly he popped his head back out and waved us over frantically. “We better get over there,” I said, quite needlessly.

  “She’s leaving!” he cried when we’d jo
ined him.

  I darted a look inside, and saw he was right: Veronica, now talking animatedly into her phone, had pulled on jeans shorts and a crop top and snatched a small clutch from the table before walking out of the living room.

  We quickly hurried out and followed the driveway back to the front of the house, just in time to see a taxi pull up and Veronica get in.

  “What do we do now?” asked Harriet, panicking.

  “Relax, toots,” said Brutus. “We just press this nifty button and warn Odelia that our target is on the move.”

  “She’ll never get here in time,” I told him. “One of us has to follow that cab.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Brutus. “Just like Bruce, right?”

  But while we were holding a strategy meeting, the taxi was already pulling away, so in a spur of the moment kind of thing, I broke into a run.

  “Hey, where are you going?!” Brutus cried.

  While the car picked up speed, I jumped up onto the trunk, then onto the roof, and grasped the antenna and held on for dear life.

  “Press that button!” I yelled, since I couldn’t reach it now.

  “Maxie, baby!” cried Brutus. “Don’t let go!”

  Well, that was certainly my intention. Maybe Brutus was right after all. Sometimes being a true detective is a little bit like being Bruce in Die Hard.

  The taxi took us to the outskirts of town, and soon I saw where we were going: the strip mall where Rubb’s health food store was located. He pulled up right in front of the now closed shop, and Veronica got out of the cab.

  Relieved we’d finally stopped moving, I managed to crawl down from the roof. My hair was a mess, and I think I’d swallowed more bugs than the windshield on a sixteen-ton truck. If this was what it was like to be Bruce, Brutus was welcome to him.

  Veronica checked left and right, and then, to my surprise, disappeared inside the shop, which seemed to be open for business after all. But then, as I watched, an unseen hand quickly turned the sign from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed.’

  Since I couldn’t follow her inside, I decided to walk around back. I soon found that the backside of these shops was even dingier than the front, and when I’d finally located the one that belonged to The Vitamin King, I selected an oil drum for my own and hopped on top of it. Grimy windows looked out across a junk-littered, weed-infested patch of yard, and I didn’t see much at first. But then, as I pressed my nose up against the pane, I saw I was just in time to witness the teary reunion scene between the two lovers. Bingo.

  I smiled. So much for a restraining order. There was little restraint when Veronica threw herself into Rubb’s arms and kissed him passionately.

  Chapter 23

  Odelia had parked her pickup around the corner from Bryony Pistol’s place while her feline detectives did their thing. During the long wait, she’d sat in the backseat, working on her article, pecking away at her laptop. It all fit. Veronica must have heard from her mother that Johnny was going to divorce her and marry Jasper, and she must have decided she had to do away with her father to make sure his large fortune came her way one day, and not Jasper’s. With the help of her lover, she’d planted that vial, and had somehow managed to get Jasper’s prints on it, to cast the blame on him.

  She’d also made sure there was absolutely nothing to connect her to Rubb, even going so far as to file a restraining order and make sure she wasn’t seen with him. Which meant she and Rubb must have devised this plan months ago. When she moved to Hampton Cove, Rubb had simply done the same, quickly becoming Johnny’s go-to guy for everything drug-related.

  What an utterly devious couple, she thought bitterly.

  When the signal came, she jumped, and stared at her smartphone screen. The signal was confusing: three dots were stationary in front of the house, while a fourth dot, Max’s, was moving at a fast clip. She decided to pick up Harriet, Dooley and Brutus and then follow Max to wherever he was going.

  The moment she stopped in front of the house, Brutus, Harriet and Dooley all started yelling simultaneously. The gist of it was that Max was now clutching to a taxi for dear life, while it carted Veronica away.

  “Follow that cab!” Dooley finally managed. He turned to the others. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “Good for you,” said Brutus, hopping into the pickup. He appeared disgruntled, and probably annoyed he wasn’t the one clutching that cab.

  So she followed that cab, and it took her to the strip mall and the health food store where she and Chase had caught Rubb the day before.

  When she drew near, she saw that the small dot indicated that Max was at the back of The Vitamin King, so she parked her car and carefully made her way over there, the three cats in her wake, like a regular Nancy Drew.

  “This is so exciting!” cried Harriet.

  “Yeah, like being in an action movie,” grunted Brutus.

  The stores all had small paved backyards, where the owners collected garbage and smoked a cigarette while on a break. It didn’t take them long to find the backyard that belonged to Rubb’s business, especially since a large red cat was perched on an oil drum and peering in through the window.

  “Hey, Max,” she whispered, sneaking up to the ginger tabby.

  Max gave a violent start, and practically toppled off the drum.

  “You scared the bejesus out of me,” he growled. Then he gestured to the window. “They’re in there, and they’re showing very little restraint!”

  “Great,” she said, glad that her hunch had proved correct. She slowly craned her neck, her smartphone at the ready, and saw that Max was right: the kissing couple were obviously very happy to see each other. She quickly snapped a few shots, figuring she’d blur out the nekkid bits later in Photoshop. Readers of the Gazette didn’t like their stories X-rated.

  “Gotcha,” she muttered.

  The three other cats now also joined Max on that oil drum, and this proved to be their downfall. Literally. The oil drum suddenly pitched, and then clattered to the ground with a terrible clanking sound. Uh-oh. She ducked down immediately, but too late. The window above her was pushed open, and Donovan Rubb’s perfectly bearded face appeared. When he caught sight of her, he shouted, “You again!”

  She gave him a cheery wave from her vantage point. “Hi, there, Donny.”

  But instead of returning her greeting, he suddenly latched onto her smartphone, which she was clutching in her hand, and gave her a push.

  “Hey! That’s mine!” she yelled as she fell backward.

  “And now it’s mine!” he yelled back, and then disappeared.

  She quickly scrambled to her feet, but by the time she was at the window again, Rubb was gone, and so was Veronica. Great. She lost them.

  “This is so déjà-vu!” she groaned.

  She retraced her steps, four cats on her heels, but when she arrived at her car she saw that Rubb was already straddling his trusty red Ducati—probably fresh from the police impound—and Veronica was wrapping herself around him on the pillion. They were going to make a run for it. Of course.

  She raced to her pickup, but by the time she was behind the wheel, the Ducati was already speeding away. She held the door for the four cats, who piled in behind her, and then she slammed the door, shoved the car in gear and was off behind the fleeing Bonnie and Clyde.

  As she raced after the Ducati, her mind flashed back to the previous day, when she’d gone through this exact same experience, only with Chase by her side. And suddenly she felt a little melancholic. Whatever his faults, Chase was a great cop, and he would be missed in this town. No, she had to admit, actually she’d miss him. How crazy was that?

  Just like the day before, Rubb took the road through town, and once again, she lagged behind, dodging pedestrians and making sure she didn’t clip anybody while he simply zigzagged through traffic and was soon a blip on the horizon. Once she’d cleared the city limits, she picked up speed, pushing the aged truck to its limits, and had soon caught up with the Ducati.

&nb
sp; “Pull over!” she shouted when she came up next to the couple.

  “Never!” Rubb shouted back.

  “Back off, bitch!” Veronica screamed.

  She gritted her teeth, resisting a strong urge to send the bike into the ditch again, but then soon found she didn’t have to, as Brutus suddenly launched himself out of the passenger window and latched onto Rubb’s face, his claws finding purchase on the hipster dealer’s beard!

  Rubb screamed a very unmanly scream when suddenly he found his vision impaired by ten inches of black cat and his face used as a pincushion. The Ducati sailed straight into the ditch, sending Rubb and Veronica flying.

  Odelia brought her pickup to a stop and quickly jumped out to assess the damage. To her surprise, she saw that Brutus was still stuck to Rubb’s face, like the Facehugger from Alien, refusing to let go. Both Rubb and Veronica were howling, though Rubb’s howls sounded a little muffled.

  “I think you can let go now, Brutus,” said Odelia, and the cat did, immediately starting to lick his paws to remove the stench of human.

  “Yippee-ki-yay, asshole,” he said with a Cheshire grin.

  Chapter 24

  It was a pity Chase wasn’t there to outfit Veronica and her drug dealer boyfriend with a nice set of handcuffs, but since they both looked pretty banged up, and Rubb’s Ducati looked like a total loss, Odelia didn’t think they’d skedaddle this time. She sat cross-legged across from the couple.

  “So what about that restraining order, huh?” she asked Veronica. “Looks like it didn’t restrain you from going near this freak.”

  “Hey, that’s Mr. Freak to you,” grunted Rubb.

  She’d retrieved her phone from the dealer, who now sat spitting out cat hair and checking his face for puncture holes. She leafed through the snapshots she’d taken of the couple.

  “Pretty hot,” she said as she held out her phone so they could have a peek. “I wonder what my uncle will say when he sees these. Oh, I know. He’ll say that the two of you planned the murder of John Paul George together. Who was the brains behind the operation? I’ll go out on a limb here and say that it was you, Veronica. The doting daughter?”