Purrfect Swing (The Mysteries of Max Book 34)

by Nic Saint

  “So they deleted a bunch of emails, huh?” said Father Reilly. “How strange.”

  “Yeah, all my emails from last year,” said Odelia. “And when we asked the Hampton Heisters they claimed it wasn’t them. They could be lying, of course.”

  And as she explained what else had been deleted, suddenly I had what is commonly termed a brainwave, and for a moment I was lost to the world. A persistently ringing phone brought me back. It was Odelia’s phone, and after she’d listened for a moment, then hung up, she said, in a somber tone, “That was Chase. Carl Strauss just died.”

  “Carl is dead?!” Gran exclaimed.

  Odelia nodded. “Chase is going to pick up Erica Barn for questioning. This is a murder investigation now, and if those Hampton Heisters are right, and they’re innocent, then Erica is our most likely suspect.”

  “Odelia?” I suddenly piped up.

  Odelia glanced down in my direction.

  “Could you do me a favor?” I asked, and gave her a look of much significance…

  She frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

  But before I could explain to her what I wanted her to do, suddenly Scarlett cried, “Who’s that?!”

  We all looked where she was pointing, and saw that Frank Beaver was back: Hampton Cove’s fearless vlogger was looking in through the window, and filming us!

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Gran shouted, and before the guy could stop her, she’d yanked open the window and was grabbing him by the lapels and wrestling him down to the ground!

  Four watch members were upon the guy in seconds flat, and as he whimpered and squirmed, he was being turned on his stomach, and professionally outfitted with plasticuffs I didn’t even know any of the watches possessed!

  “I got these at Walmart,” Wilbur said proudly.

  “I get mine online,” Gran announced as she neatly secured the guy’s feet.

  “And this was a present from my hairdresser,” said Scarlett as she showed us a can of mace, then made to press down on it to release a stream of the liquid into the man’s face.

  “Stop!” said Odelia.

  “Why?” asked Scarlett. “This man is a home invader. We should treat him as such.”

  “Please don’t hurt me!” our vlogger now cried. He already looked a lot less cocky.

  “That’s what you get when you interrupt a meeting of the neighborhood watch,” said Dooley.”

  “Two neighborhood watches,” I said.

  Gran had taken out her shotgun, Father Reilly was wielding a stun gun, while Wilbur brought out a very large revolver and was waving it in front of the vlogger’s face.

  “Please let me go!” the vlogger cried helplessly.

  “I think we’re going to keep you for a while,” said Gran. “Maybe lock you up in the basement.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he’s just the vanguard,” Wilbur growled. “So where are the other home invaders, huh? Talk, sonny boy—or eat lead!”

  “I’m so sorry!” said the vlogger.

  “Hey, isn’t this the guy you told me about?” asked Gran, addressing her granddaughter. “The one who’s been filming you and threatening to expose your secret?”

  “What?!” Scarlett exclaimed, taking a firmer grip on her can of mace.

  “What secret?” asked Wilbur.

  “Never mind what secret,” Gran snapped. “This man has been following my granddaughter around and filming her every move. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t secretly film her taking a shower, the dirty little pervert.”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself, young man,” said Father Reilly, his finger on the button of his stun gun. “Shame on you!”

  “I’m sorry,” said the guy. “Please don’t lock me up in the basement. I’m claustrophobic!”

  “Don’t I know you?” asked Scarlett suddenly. “Aren’t you Franka’s kid?”

  “You know my mom?” asked the guy tearfully.

  “Your mom does my nails. She’s great.” She now wagged a finger in the man’s face. “If you ever post a video of Odelia in the shower, I’m going to tell your mom—is that understood?”

  “Please don’t tell my mom. Please don’t,” he sniveled.

  “I remember you now,” said Father Reilly. “Little Frankie Beaver. You once released a mouse in church during Sunday Mass, didn’t you? I never told your mom about that.”

  “Please,” he whimpered.

  “Now first you’re going to show us your cloud account,” said Odelia.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  “And you’re going to delete all of those videos—every single one, while we watch.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll delete them right now.”

  And so for the next half hour, while we watched, Frank Beaver deleted video after video of Odelia and especially of her interactions with yours truly and my friends.

  30

  Ellie arrived at the big house and sincerely hoped she would find herself alone with Carl. Ever since he’d sent her that message, she’d found herself a little on edge. To be invited to the house of a famous celebrity is always a little nerve-racking to say the least.

  She parked her bicycle out in front and walked up to the front door, then gave it a tentative knock. But when no response came she pushed and discovered it was open.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she made her way in—like any intrepid reporter would.

  “Mr. Strauss?” she called out. “Mr. Carl Strauss?”

  No answer came, deepening her bewilderment, but also strengthening her resolve. The whole thing was so odd. One moment the guy had been in hospital, having sustained serious injuries, and the next he was messaging her. Then again, she knew that nowadays doctors could perform miracles, so she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  She entered the house and found herself in the man’s study. Near the door, a golf club lay, so she picked it up. She felt the weight in her hand. It felt good. In fact she felt good. Powerful. She took a practice swing or two, the club making a pleasant swooshing sound.

  “In here!” suddenly a voice called out.

  Taking a firmer grip on the club, she passed through the door and into the man’s office. He was seated with his back to her, looking out through the window at the grounds outside, where he’d constructed a miniature golf course all to himself.

  She slowly approached the figure behind the desk. Her heart was racing, her breathing shallow and a little ragged. This was it. This was the moment.

  Then just as she raised the club high, about to let it descend upon the pro golfer’s head, suddenly the man turned around in his swivel chair and… wasn’t Carl at all!

  She was staring at Chase Kingsley, Odelia Poole’s husband!

  “Surprised, Ellie?” asked the cop.

  From behind her, hands gripped her arm, and wrested the golf club from her fingers. And as she was still reeling from the shock, she saw she was suddenly surrounded by police officers: Alec Lip was there, but also Odelia Poole, and at least three more officers.

  “I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Ellie,” said Chief Lip.

  “But… I-I just came here to do an interview,” she said, thinking fast.

  “I don’t think so,” said Chase. “You came here to bash Carl Strauss’s head in—just like you did the other night. Only this time you wanted to make sure you’d finish the job.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is Carl? What’s going on?”

  “Only one person could have answered Carl’s message to ‘Zoe,’” Odelia explained. “And that’s Carl’s attacker. So the moment you showed up here, we knew it was you.”

  “Zoe? Who’s Zoe? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, this is crazy.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Chief Lip growled. “You knew perfectly well that Carl was a man who liked to set up dates with girls—especially girls he found on his favorite dating app Spindler. So all you had to do was to set up a profile in the name of Zoe, and make sure you added enough point
s of attraction so that Carl would swipe right, and you had him. Only the night you showed up here to confront him, you didn’t hit him hard enough. And so Carl survived. Or should I say—your father survived?”

  Ellie pursed her lips, and a cruel smile appeared on her pretty face. “You seem to know everything, Alec.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Chase. “When did you find out that Carl Strauss was your father?”

  She shrugged. Looked like the game was up. She didn’t know how they’d found out, but it was obvious they had her. “I found his letters in my mom’s nightstand one day, and read them all. She’d told me my dad was a journalist, and had disappeared on an assignment in Alaska, and I always believed her. Little did I know my real dad was famous playboy golfer Carl Strauss. I have to say I almost threw up when I found out that my mom had been one of his early conquests, and I was the product of their fling. I tried to get in touch with him, of course, but he refused to see me—or acknowledge me.”

  “So you decided to pursue a different avenue.”

  “I never wanted to hit him, you know—I actually got the idea last week, when I saw the two of you at the golf club,” she said, addressing Odelia. “I’d started spying on him, you know. I just couldn’t help it. He’d become like an obsession. And you looked so chummy I suddenly saw in a flash what I needed to do: kill the man who fathered me but refused to acknowledge me, and prove to the world I was his legitimate daughter so his estate would pass into Mom’s hands, and eventually into mine, and make the famous Odelia Poole take the fall. So the moment you returned your clubs, it was a cinch to grab the one you used, and then use it on Carl. I knew the police would automatically assume the club was his, and when they found your fingerprints, you’d go down for murder.”

  “You tried to frame me?” said Odelia. “But why?”

  “Typical that you wouldn’t remember,” she scoffed. “I wrote you an email last year, offering you an exclusive interview with the daughter of Carl Strauss. Only you weren’t interested. In fact you were so not interested that you didn’t even bother to write me back—that’s how so not interested you were in my life and what I’d been through.”

  “I honestly don’t even remember you wrote me,” said Odelia. “And besides, I’m not that kind of reporter, Ellie. I don’t write stories about Carl Strauss’s alleged offspring.”

  “Well, you should have, then maybe Carl wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. He’s still in the hospital, isn’t he? This whole charade—your little show…” She gestured to Chase and to the contingent of cops. “This was clearly just a ruse to get me here—to trap me.”

  “Carl is dead,” said Chase. “He died this morning.”

  Ellie gulped. “He died? My dad died?”

  “Yes, he did. And so you’re now being arrested for murder, Ellie.”

  A smile suddenly creased her face. “So I get what I want after all. My mom is going to inherit.” She took a piece of paper out of her pocket. “When I was with Carl that night, I yanked a hair from his rotten head, and had it sent to a lab to check my DNA against his. Guess what? It came back positive. So it’s official. I’m Carl Strauss’s daughter. Yay me.”

  “Oh, honey, why did you do it?” said Odelia. “You’re so talented. You could have done anything.”

  “Don’t give me your crocodile tears,” said Ellie harshly. “If only you’d written to me, none of this would have happened.” She pointed an accusing finger at the reporter. “You did this. You killed Carl. Not me. I was just the hand that held the murder weapon. But you took a swing at the guy when you decided I wasn’t good enough to talk to.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I get hundreds of emails. I can’t possibly reply to all of them.”

  “So it was you who broke into Odelia’s office, was it?” asked Chase.

  “Yep, that was me. I decided I better get rid of that email before you remembered—fat chance, I know, as you had no idea who I was when we met at my school. And then when I was in there I deleted an article on the Hampton Heisters to cover my tracks. I knew you’d think the Heisters were behind that break-in, and you wouldn’t look further.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Odelia. “I’m sorry for not answering your email. But killing your dad isn’t the way, Ellie.”

  Ellie shrugged. “It felt good. Taking a good big whack at that bastard’s head? It felt really good. Especially after I’d just told him I wasn’t Zoe, his hot date for the night, but his own flesh and blood. Do you know he actually wanted to give me money? He was reaching for his wallet to give me fifty bucks for my trouble when I hit him, the idiot.”

  “Ellie Pack,” said Chase, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Carl—”

  “Ellie Strauss,” Ellie interrupted him. She raised her chin. “My name is Ellie Strauss.”

  Epilogue

  The scene was familiar by now: the weekly Saturday Poole family barbecue. Only the setting was a little different: Odelia and Chase’s backyard instead of Marge and Tex’s, since their own backyard was still a minor construction site. Tex was at the grill, though, whipping us all up some delicious goodies. But what made it really special was that the guests of honor were… Brutus and Harriet.

  It had taken some convincing to get them both there, but now that they were, suddenly Odelia got down on one knee, as if proposing marriage, and said, “Brutus, I owe you an apology. In fact I think we all owe you an apology, sweetie.”

  “You do?” said the big cat, looking a little startled by this sudden attention.

  “Yes, we do. We’ve dragged you from one adventure to another, and we never even asked you if you wanted to be part of it. You were subjected to all kinds of less-than-pleasant circumstances and were forced to submit yourself to plenty of dangerous activities that would have made any cat raise the alarm a long time before you did.”

  “It has been a very eventful time for me,” said the butch black cat, glancing around.

  “And so we would like to offer you a formal apology, and we hope you will accept it in the spirit offered: heartfelt. And we’d also like to ask you to please come home.”

  “Yes, dear Brutus,” Marge chimed in. “Please come home again.”

  “It’s not been the same without you,” Gran added.

  “You’re… serious?” asked Brutus, gawking a little.

  “Absolutely,” said Odelia. “And if you do decide to come home, I can promise you that from now on you don’t have to take part in any activity you don’t like. You can sit out every single investigation I ever get involved with in the future.”

  “Or my neighborhood watch activities,” Gran added.

  “You can simply stay here and have the kind of peaceful and wonderful life that you deserve, my sweet Brutus.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, a little goggle-eyed.

  “So what do you say, Brutus?” asked Gran. “Will you give this family another chance?”

  “Yeah, please give us another chance, sweetheart,” said Marge.

  “And don’t become a dog,” Dooley added. “Dogs aren’t as much fun as cats.”

  Brutus grinned at this. “I was never going to be a dog, you guys. I was just kidding about that. I mean, seriously? Me? A dog?”

  “You had me fooled, Brutus,” I said. “You really did.”

  “Hey, thanks, Max. Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “So what do you say?” asked Odelia.

  “Who wants a sausage!” Tex yelled. “Nice and juicy sausage anyone?”

  Uncle Alec held up his hand in a tentative gesture, and promptly a sausage was coming his way. It landed on his head with a dull splat, and sizzled for a moment on his bald pate before landing on his empty plate.

  “Oops,” said his brother-in-law. “I really thought I nailed it this time.”

  “You did,” the Chief said acerbically as he gently touched the sore spot.

  “Okay, I’ll come back,” said Brutus. “How about you, tootsie roll? Do you want to come home with me?”
>
  Harriet rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask! I like Rufus, I really do, but have you noticed that dogs… smell? No, really, they do. And then there’s the fleas, of course.”

  “What fleas?” asked Marge. “Rufus doesn’t have fleas.”

  Harriet cast a suspicious look in my direction. “He doesn’t?”

  “Of course not. Marcie and Ted take pride in the fact that Rufus is the best-groomed dog on the block.”

  “Is that so?” said Harriet, and narrowed her eyes at me.

  I pretended not to notice, and instead gratefully accepted the piece of sausage Odelia placed in front of me.

  “So tell us, Max,” said Odelia. “How did you figure out that Ellie was the culprit?”

  “Well, I suddenly remembered that a girl wrote to you last year, announcing she was Carl Strauss’s illegitimate daughter, and suggesting an interview. You even told me the Gazette wasn’t Hampton Cove’s National Enquirer and how you decided not to respond.”

  “You remembered that, huh?” she said, looking a little shamefaced.

  “I did—only I’d forgotten the correspondent’s name, of course, but then when you mentioned that all of your emails from last year had been deleted, the story suddenly popped into my head again. And so I just wondered: what are the chances?”

  “Lucky for me I keep a duplicate mailbox on my laptop,” said Odelia. “And lo and behold: Ellie’s email was right there, in the contingent she’d tried to delete.”

  “And so when you told us that Carl had died, I asked you to hold off on announcing his death. At least long enough until we could set a trap for Ellie—which she neatly walked into when you sent an invitation to ‘Zoe’ knowing only the killer would react.”

  “Such a shame,” said Dooley. “She seemed like such a nice girl.”

  “I think the fire she set at her school should have told us something about what kind of person she is. She has a vengeful streak that in this particular case turned homicidal.”

  “I still can’t believe she tried to frame me,” said Odelia.