The Mysteries of Max BoxSet

by Nic Saint

  “I can’t arrest you. I’m not a cop.”

  “You sure act like one. And your uncle seems to consider you his deputy. Did you tell him about me?”

  She shook her head, living through this entire scene like a dream. She’d never been threatened before, and definitely not been on the verge of being shot before, and her preservation instincts were decidedly slow to respond to this crisis. “I honestly didn’t know you killed Johnny,” she said now.

  Bryony shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You know now, so I can’t let you live.”

  “But why did you kill him?”

  “And here I thought you were so smart. The man was going to divorce me. After all those years he was going to leave me and marry that fool Jasper. After I spent a fortune and my entire life turning him into a star he was going to give me a measly annuity. Not even a lump sum but a paltry allowance.”

  “You could have gotten a lawyer and gotten a better deal.”

  “I couldn’t. We signed a prenup.”

  “In Johnny’s favor? I thought he was the pauper and you the rich girl?”

  Bryony shifted the gun to her other hand. “Nicely put. And you’re right. I was rich and Johnny was poor, which is exactly why my father demanded we sign a prenup. Unfortunately I neglected to include a clause that would grant me a portion of moneys earned during our marriage, only that we’d both get back what we’d put in.”

  “Which for you was your entire fortune, right?”

  “Wrong. I never invested anything. My father did, on my request. Upon divorce, I get back exactly what I put in: nothing. And Johnny gets to keep what he made throughout our marriage. Very unfair, but there you have it.”

  “So he was going to leave you with an annuity? That seems harsh.”

  “It was. Since his career was in decline—or in a state of rigor mortis, to be exact—and he spent every cent he owned on his very expensive hobbies, his fortune had dwindled. He’d effectively blown most of my money and his.”

  “So these songs he’d recorded—”

  “Were for his comeback record. Which he hoped would put him back on top. There was still a nice chunk of change left, but he was keeping it.”

  “And so you decided you needed to kill him now or lose out forever.”

  She smiled. “You are a great reporter, Miss Poole. Yes, Johnny called me to the house a couple of weeks ago, and said he wanted to marry Jasper. Make things official between them. He wanted a divorce. He said he’d always take care of me, and offered me the annuity scheme.” She shook her head. “I was livid. After spending the best years of my life and my family’s fortune on this man, he was going to fob me off with a few alms? No way. So I decided to get rid of him before the divorce, and salvage what I could from this mess.”

  “And get rid of Jasper in the process.”

  “Of course. I never liked that horrid little man. Jail is too good for him.”

  “So how did you do it?” She needed to buy time. Time to find a solution.

  “Well, I thought long and hard about a way to kill the bastard. It’s not easy to kill a person and get away with it if you’ve never done it before.” She sounded bemused now, as if the entire murder proposition had been nothing but an intriguing puzzle to her. “I thought about an overdose, which would have looked plausible, but Johnny was always very careful about his dope. The idea came to me when I was in Australia. Some news segment about a boy who’d been bitten by the world’s deadliest spider. As luck would have it, they invited me to visit the reptile center and that’s where I got the venom.”

  “But how did you get Jasper’s fingerprint on the vial?”

  She waved a hand. “I’d seen that on a crime show. I used a piece of tape to lift Jasper’s prints from a wine glass when I was over at Johnny’s house, and attach them to the vial. It was actually a lot easier than I thought.”

  “Clever,” said Odelia.

  “Yes, the plan was very straightforward and easy,” said Bryony, “which told me it was the right thing to do. Now all I need to do is get rid of you.”

  “My uncle will come looking. He’ll know what you did.”

  “I don’t think so, hon. I’ll just get rid of your car and the body and your uncle will simply think you skedaddled.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Well, you’re going to.” She raised the gun. “Please lie down, Miss Poole. I don’t want any blood on my curtains. I like my murders nice and tidy.”

  Chapter 28

  Bryony took careful aim, and it was obvious she knew how to handle a gun. Odelia had done as instructed and was now lying on the tarp, awaiting the end. She thought about rushing the woman and slapping that gun from her hand, but Bryony was no fool. She kept her distance. Besides, chances were that the moment she made a move the woman would shoot anyway.

  “Don’t do this, Bryony,” she said. “You’re going to get caught. You may have gotten away with Johnny’s murder, but you won’t get away with this.”

  “Oh, yes, I will,” said Bryony with a strangely stilted smile. “I’m getting the hang of this, you know. It’s true what they say about murder. Once you’ve made your first kill, the next ones are so much easier.”

  “The next ones? You’re not thinking about killing again, are you?”

  “Of course. Do you really think I want to see my daughter marry a drug dealer? When I kill Mr. Rubb I intend to inflict as much pain as possible. Serves him right for dealing my husband drugs and seducing my only daughter. Now close your eyes and say a prayer. This is the end of the line.”

  “Just what I was going to tell you,” a voice suddenly sounded behind Bryony. “Drop it!” the voice added sharply, “Or I drop you!”

  When Odelia opened her eyes, she saw that Chase was standing in the doorway, pointing a very large gun at Bryony, who’d whirled around. The moment she caught sight of the large cop, she uttered a cry of dismay, and instantly dropped the gun. Not such a cold-blooded killer after all.

  “Odelia, are you all right?” he asked, giving Bryony’s gun a kick.

  “I’m fine,” she said, getting up. “I was just taking a nap while Bryony here told me the story of her life.”

  “You’re under arrest, Mrs. Pistol,” Chase grunted, and quickly and efficiently outfitted Bryony with a pair of handcuffs.

  “How did you get here?” asked Odelia, surprised and extremely relieved.

  “After you left I thought about what you said. All that stuff about not giving up. So I decided you were probably right. I figured I might as well try to get Veronica to sign a written confession fingering the Commissioner. When I arrived I saw your car parked out front, and the gate wide open. And when I looked through the window, I saw Mrs. Pistol here brandishing her gun.” He gave Bryony a grim look. “Before you kill people you might want to close the curtains.”

  “Beginner’s mistake,” muttered the woman, looking extremely annoyed.

  “You got here just in time,” Odelia said. “Another minute and she would have put a hole in me.”

  “I figured as much when I saw you lying on that piece of plastic.”

  Just then, Odelia’s phone beeped and she took it out.

  “What is it?” asked Chase.

  She smiled. “Um… is it all right if we take a little detour before we drop Mrs. Pistol off at the police station?”

  He looked puzzled. “Why? You want to go for pizza?”

  “Just a small errand I have to run. But a very urgent one. Let’s go.”

  He shook his head. “You’re speaking in riddles, Poole, as usual.”

  “Probably the reporter in me. Now let’s get moving before it’s too late.”

  She drove first, with Chase following right behind her, Bryony safely tucked in the backseat. She followed the flickering dot on the screen, and soon saw they were heading to the Writer’s Lodge. Huh? What was Max doing out there? She drove at a healthy clip, and soon the two cars were roaring up the hill, the wheels of the two pickup trucks tack
ling the rutted dirt road and spraying up a cloud of dust. The road meandered and narrowed until they reached the small parking space right below the ridge where the Writer’s Lodge was located.

  She saw that two other cars were already parked there: a silver Mercedes and a burgundy BMW. She cut the engine and got out of the car, Chase joining her. He was staring at the Mercedes. “NYPD plates,” he grunted.

  She smiled, starting to see what was going on here. “Surprise, surprise.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you up to, Poole?”

  “Let’s wait and see,” she said, and set foot for the steps that led up from the small parking space to the lodge. She wondered where Max and the others could be. Probably in the shrubbery behind the lodge. So she made her way over there, and when she arrived, saw she hadn’t been mistaken: Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus met her behind the lodge, right next to the verandah where Hetta Fried, the Lodge’s owner, had installed the Jacuzzi.

  She crouched down next to the cats, scratching Max behind the ears. She wasn’t going to talk feline now, with Chase looking on, but pricked up her ears when Max said, “Better take out your camera,” and pointed at the lodge.

  She looked over, and saw a man and a woman enjoying the Jacuzzi.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Chase whispered. “That’s Commissioner Necker. And Malka Putin. Talk about a déjà-vu.”

  And as they approached the verandah, she saw the couple were doing things no married man and woman should do, at least not to the ones they weren’t married to. With a grin, she took out her phone and started snapping pictures of the adulterous couple, adding a short video for good measure.

  “I have a feeling Commissioner Necker will be a lot more amenable to finding a solution for your problems than before,” she whispered to Chase.

  “Let’s go and say hi,” Chase said.

  “Wait, don’t!” she hissed, but he was already walking up the two wooden steps to the verandah and pushing open the screen door.

  When the startled couple looked up in dismay, he said, “Hi there, Commissioner. Remember me?”

  “What the hell, Kingsley!” cried the Commissioner, descending beneath the bubbles. “You’ll pay for this!”

  “Not this time,” Chase said, and when Odelia popped out from behind Chase’s broad back, she flashed the Commissioner and Mrs. Putin her best smile and showed them her smartphone.

  “Chase and I were out hiking in the woods, when we just happened upon you two love birds. So I decided to snap some shots. And a little video.”

  “Who are you?!” demanded the Commissioner, his face reddening.

  “My name is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette and, as it happens, I’ve got an entire front page to fill in tomorrow’s edition.”

  “Oh, Christ,” muttered the Commissioner.

  “This is all your fault!” cried Mrs. Putin. “I told you we should have booked a hotel!”

  “Nobody ever comes out here!” yelled the Commissioner.

  “Apart from a cop and a reporter, you mean?”

  “Look,” said Chase now, “I have absolutely no interest in exposing your little affair to the world, which is what I told you the last time, remember?”

  “I remember,” said the Commissioner, glaring at Odelia’s smartphone.

  “But you wouldn’t listen, would you? And then you kicked me out.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” grumbled the portly cop. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to clear my name,” said Chase.

  The Commissioner looked surprised. “That’s all?”

  “Of course it’s not all,” said Mrs. Putin, a round-faced woman with platinum hair. “They want money, can’t you see? How much do you want?”

  “Shut up, Malka. Let me handle this.”

  “Look, I’ve got a hundred bucks right here,” said the woman, reaching for her purse, which was right next to the bubble bath.

  “Just let me handle this, all right?” cried the Commissioner.

  “I don’t want any money,” said Chase now, shaking his head disgustedly. “I just want to clear my name. I want you to go on record and—”

  “Done,” said the Commissioner. “Whatever you want, son. Anything. Just don’t print those pictures, will you? They would ruin my career.”

  “What about me?” asked Mrs. Putin. “What about my reputation, huh? It’s always me, me, me. You and my husband are just the same.”

  “Just shut up for a minute, will you? I’m handling this.”

  “That’s what you said the first time,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “Look, Chase, I’ll clear your record, all right? I’ll talk to this girl—what’s her name, ahm…”

  “Veronica George,” Odelia supplied helpfully.

  “That’s all right,” said Chase. “Odelia already made arrangements with Miss George, and Mr. Rubb.”

  “She did?” asked the Commissioner, surprised. “You’re some reporter, Miss…”

  “Poole. Odelia Poole.”

  He frowned. “The name sounds familiar. Why does the name sound familiar?”

  “Perhaps because Donovan Rubb called you to complain about being arrested?” she asked. “At which point you pressured the mayor into getting Chase fired. Again.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, looking appropriately contrite. “Look, all that stuff wasn’t my idea in the first place, all right?”

  “Oh, now you’re blaming me?” asked Mrs. Putin. “Nice. Real nice.”

  “I’m blaming your husband, that’s who I’m blaming. Boyce set this up.”

  “Look, I don’t care who set up whom,” said Chase now. “All I care about is that my name is cleared and that you put an end to those rumors.”

  “Sure, sure, Chase. Whatever you want, son. I’ll get you your job back, I’ll even throw in a nice promotion and a nice big fat pay raise, all right?”

  Odelia looked at Chase. Being reinstated as an NYPD detective was all Chase had ever wanted. But it would also mean leaving Hampton Cove, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She was surprised when she heard him say, “That’s all right, Commissioner. I’m fine out here in Hampton Cove.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the Commissioner.

  “He said he was sure, didn’t he? Now delete those pictures already.”

  “Can you just shut up for one minute? I’m handling this.”

  “You can’t even handle your way out of a paper bag,” she grumbled.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Chase now. “I like it out here. A lot less hassle.”

  “Suit yourself,” said the Commissioner. “If you want Hampton Cove, Hampton Cove is what you get. I’ll talk to the guy in charge here, um, what’s his name…”

  “Chief Alec,” Odelia supplied.

  “That’s right. I’ll tell him to take you back. Now about those pictures…”

  “I think I’ll hang on to those for now,” Odelia said. “Just until I’m sure you’re keeping your end of the bargain.”

  “Oh, I’ll keep my word,” said the Commissioner. “I’ll get you sorted out.”

  “That sounds great, Vernon,” said Chase, and Odelia was surprised Chase was on a first-name basis with the Commissioner. He’d never told her.

  “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I should never have made that damn deal.”

  “Especially since you knew damn well I wasn’t going to talk,” said Chase.

  “It wasn’t just me,” said the Commissioner. “When Boyce found out…”

  “I understand,” said Chase. “It’s all about politics, right?”

  “It is,” said the Commissioner with a shake of the head. “Back when your father and I were still walking the beat, me as a rookie and he as the seasoned vet, things were different. Once you get to my level, it’s all about politics, son.” He eyed Chase ruefully. “I’m sorry. I’m going to set the record straight.”

  Chase nodded once, and then promptly turned around and wa
lked away.

  “I’m just gonna, um…” Odelia said, and then quickly followed Chase.

  “You’re not gonna let that guy off the hook so easy, are you?” cried Malka Putin. “He’ll talk, I told you. All cops talk. Jabbermouths, the lot of them.”

  “Not Chase Kingsley,” grunted the Commissioner. “And now will you just shut up for once and listen to me?”

  Odelia smiled to herself as she rounded the lodge. Those two made a great couple. They should have their own show. She quickly caught up with Chase.

  “How did this happen?” Chase asked when she fell into step beside him.

  “How did what happen?”

  “How did we get out here just when the Commissioner and Malka Putin were holed up in there?” He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you with the NSA? CIA? FBI? Did you put a tracking device on Vernon’s car or something?”

  She laughed as they reached the clearing and descended the few steps to the parking lot. “Yes, I used a tracker, but no, I’m not with any agency.”

  “How did you plant a tracker on Vernon’s car?”

  She wondered how much to tell him, then decided the less he knew the better. He’d never believe her, and would probably think she was nuts.

  “I put a tracker on Max, as he has a habit to wander off and get lost. A tracker and a panic button, actually. So when he triggered the alarm I knew we better come out here and get him before he started to panic.”

  He stared at her. “So you had no idea Vernon would be here?”

  “Nope,” she said, trying her darndest to keep a straight face. “Complete coincidence. Pretty amazing, huh?”

  He shook his head. “You’re something else, Odelia Poole, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Yes, they have, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”

  “Well, you are,” he said, leaning against the truck while he studied her intently. “So you’re saying your cat just so happened to be out here when Vernon and Malka Putin were going at it, and he just so happened to trigger the alarm, putting you in the perfect position to snap those shots?”

  “Yep,” she said blithely. “That’s cats or you. They will amaze you.”