The Mysteries of Max BoxSet Read online

  The Mysteries of Max

  Mysteries of Max Box Set 1

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  The Mysteries of Max Box Set 1

  Purrfect Murder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Purrfectly Deadly

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Purrfect Revenge

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Purrfect Heat (The Mysteries of Max 4)

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  The Mysteries of Max Box Set 1

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  Purrfect Murder (The Mysteries of Max 1)

  There’s something special about Max. He may look like your regular ginger flabby tabby, but unlike most tabbies, he can actually communicate with his human, reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette Odelia Poole. Max takes a keen interest in the goings-on in their small town, by snooping around with his best friends Dooley, a not-too-bright ragamuffin, and Harriet, a gorgeous white Persian. Their regular visits to the police station, the barbershop and the doctor’s office provide them with those precious and exclusive scoops that have made Odelia the number one reporter in town.

  But when suddenly the body of a bestselling writer is discovered buried in the last Long Island outhouse, and a new policeman arrives in town to solve the murder, it looks like things are about to change in Hampton Cove. Detective Chase Kingsley doesn’t take kindly to nosy reporters like Odelia snooping around his crime scene or interviewing his suspects. And to make matters worse, he’s got a cat of his own in Brutus, a buff, black bully, who, just like his owner, likes to lay down the law. Soon Brutus isn’t just restricting access to the police station, but he’s putting the moves on Harriet, breaking up the band.

  Now it’s all Odelia, Max and Dooley can do to try and solve the murder, in spite of Detective Kingsley’s and Brutus’s protestations, and show the overbearing cop and his bullyragging feline how things are done in Hampton Cove. Will Odelia find the killer before Detective Kingsley does? And will Max prevent Brutus from moving in on his territory and taking over the town? Find out in Purrfect Murder, the first book in the new Mysteries of Max series.

  Purrfectly Deadly (The Mysteries of Max 2)

  When famous eighties pop star John Paul George is found floating facedown in his pool, Hampton Cove’s premier sleuthing tabby Max and his feline friends are on the case. Soon they’re chasing leads and following clues, helping their human Odelia Poole, reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, solve the murder.

  Meanwhile, new cop in town Chase Kingsley has his own problems to deal with. An old scandal threatens to get him kicked off the force. And even though Odelia and Chase don’t always see eye to eye, she decides to help him clear his name, even if it means keeping Chase’s cat Brutus, Max’s self-declared nemesis, in town.

  Soon Max is up to his whiskers in drug dealers, boy toys, disgruntled ex-wives and even more drug dealers, all while competing with Brutus for the title of Hampton Cove’s one and only ‘true detective.’ Will the feline sleuths save the day? And will they finally get a taste of John Paul George’s famous cat pâté? Find out in Purrfectly Deadly, the second book in the humorous cat mystery series The Mysteries of Max.

  Purrfect Revenge (The Mysteries of Max 3)

  Blorange tabby Max and ragamuffin Dooley are on the case again. This time a world-famous reality star has been found murdered in her own bed, and it looks like the crime just might be terror-related. The Kenspeckles, stars of the well-known reality show Keeping Up with the Kenspeckles, are in town to film a new season of their show, so the case soon turns into a complete media circus, with the Kenspeckles insisting the entire investigation is filmed for their show.

  Odelia Poole, Hampton Cove’s premier reporter, teams up with Detective Chase Kingsley to catch the killer, but with cameras filming their every move, and every Kenspeckle a suspect, they’re not making a lot of progress. Good thing Odelia’s cats Max and Dooley can sneak around undetected, tracking leads and hunting clues. But first they have to pacify Shana’s French Bulldog Kane, who just might be in possession of the clue that breaks the case. And they have to outsmart Chase’s black tabby Brutus, who has his own reasons to find the killer.

  Will Max and Dooley solve the case? Or will Brutus beat them to it? And will Dooley finally get to first tail with Harriet? Find out in Purrfect Revenge, the third installment in the funny cat mystery series The Mysteries of Max.

  Purrfect Murder

  The Mysteries of Max - Book 1

  Chapter 1

  I lifted one eyelid and grunted approvingly at the sun bathing the room in its golden hue. It was eight o’clock in the morning, so high time for an extended nap, but first I needed to see my human off to work. As usual, Odelia had a hard time throwing off the blanket of sleep and facing the world. She was still in bed, even though her alarm clock had gone off, and I’d alerted her to the fact that a new day was dawning by meowing plaintively and as loud as I possibly could, pawing the wardrobe door in the process. She’d thrown a throw pillow at me, so I knew she’d gotten the message.

  It wouldn’t be long now. Odelia might hate getting up in the morning, but eventually she inevitably does, so I stretched and rolled over onto my back.

  I have to admit I really lucked out when I was selected by Odelia to become her pet eight years ago, when she picked me out of the litter and decided I was a keeper. Odelia is not only one of the nicest and most decent humans a cat could ever hope to get, but she’s also very generous when it comes to distributing the kibble and other goodies. She keeps my bowl filled to the rim, and frequently adds a tasty wet food surprise to the mix.

  My n
ame is Max, by the way, and as you might have guessed I’m a feline. A male feline. Some of my friends call me fat, but that is simply a vicious lie. I’m big-boned. All the tabbies in my family are. It’s genetics. And, just like my brothers and sisters, I’m blorange. A blend of orange and blond.

  Today was going to be a special day. I could feel it in my bones. Yes, my big bones. But it wasn’t merely my intuition. Harriet, the white Persian belonging to Odelia’s parents who live next door, told me last night that a new cop had moved to Hampton Cove. And if she hadn’t told me I would have found out for myself, for there was a new cat on the block. A nasty brute aptly called Brutus. Black as coal, built like Tom Brady, and with evil green eyes, Brutus barged into our midnight meeting in Hampton Cove Park last night, announcing he was now in charge of all the public spaces in Hampton Cove, on account of the fact that his owner was a cop. Delusions of grandeur was what I called it, and in response Brutus demonstrated the sharpness of his claws by stripping a nice piece of bark from my favorite tree.

  Not a cat you want to rumble with, in other words. And if his owner was made of the same cloth, the town of Hampton Cove was in for a rough ride.

  “Hey, Max,” Odelia’s voice rang out as she descended the stairs.

  “Over here,” I said, giving her a wave from my position on the couch.

  She plunked herself down next to me and gave my belly a tickle. She was still dressed in pink PJs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand while she rubbed my belly with the other. In response, I purred contentedly.

  Odelia is slim and trim, with shoulder-length blond hair and big eyes the color of seaweed that always sparkle with the light of intelligence. She grimaced when a ray of sunshine hit her face. “Wow, too much too soon.”

  “Not really,” I said. “Sun’s been up since before seven, sleepyhead.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in,” she said, getting up with a groan. “I was up late last night working on a piece about that sinkhole on Hayes Road.”

  She shuffled into the kitchen and started up the coffeemaker while I tripped after her, then hopped onto one of the kitchen counter stools so we could continue our conversation. Oh, didn’t I mention it? Odelia belongs to that rare kind of human who can actually converse with cats. Not that she’s Doctor Dolittle or something, but she comes from a long line of women with a strong affinity with the feline species. As far as I understand it, her foremothers were witches, at a time when being a witch was a surefire way of getting burned at the stake. And even though that witchy streak has diminished over the generations, the women in her family can talk to cats, and do so to their heart’s content. Odelia even claims her ancestors used to turn themselves into cats and back. No idea if that’s true but it’s pretty cool.

  I glanced at my bowl, and saw it was still half full, which was better than half empty, so I returned my attention to Odelia, who was pouring cornflakes into her own bowl. Yikes. How she can eat that stuff, I don’t know.

  “Did you hear the latest?” I asked, draping my tail around my buttocks.

  “No, what’s that?”

  “There’s a new cop in town.”

  This seemed to interest her, for she looked up from her cereal. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, some hotshot that calls himself Chase Kingsley. Used to work for the NYPD.”

  “The NYPD? So what’s he doing in Hampton Cove?”

  I shrugged. Yes, cats can shrug, though it’s hard to notice with all the hair. “Beats me. All I know is that people are saying he might succeed Chief Alec.”

  Odelia frowned. “That’s impossible. Uncle Alec is only…” She frowned some more. “Actually I have no idea how old he is.”

  “He’s older than your mother,” I supplied.

  “Yeah, but not old enough to retire, surely.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wants to take early retirement.”

  “I’ll have to ask him,” she said, making a mental note of this.

  Odelia works for the Hampton Cove Gazette as a reporter, and I give her the odd scoop now and then. Since us cats are pretty much all over the place, I’ve been able to provide her with a steady stream of breaking news over the years, ranging from that rat infestation at Dough Knot Bakery, to the milk spill at the dairy farm. Cats were all over that one, as you can imagine.

  This has given Odelia’s career quite a boost, and given her the reputation of a hard-nosed reporter. Her editor often asks her where she gets her information, but she’s been diligently protecting her sources—moi. If word ever got out that her sources all have whiskers, a furry tail and a propensity for licking their own genitalia, she’d probably be front-page news herself.

  “I should probably do an interview with this Chase Kingsley.”

  She took a tentative sip from her coffee and perked up. It’s something I’ve never understood about humans. How they can drink that horrible brew. I’ve jumped up on this kitchen counter once or twice to have a lick at the stuff, and I can’t get over the terrible taste. I’ll take a piece of chicken liver every time.

  “You should. I hear he’s one of those hunkishly handsome guys.”

  She looked up at this. “Hunkishly handsome?”

  “And single, if the word on the street is to be believed. At least that’s what Harriet told me.” I shook my head disgustedly. “Probably one of those playboy types who goes around hitting on every woman in sight.”

  “I’ll bet he’s not,” said Odelia, taking the next seat.

  “Oh, yes, he is. If Harriet is mooning over Chase Kingsley you can rest assured he’s the playboy type. She’s always falling for that kind of guy.”

  “She can’t fall for that kind of guy,” said Odelia, making a funny face. “Harriet is a cat, Max. Cats don’t fall for humans. It’s simply not possible.”

  “Oh, yes, they do. Cats fall for humans all the time, only not for the same reason humans fall for other humans. When we fall for one of you it’s because you provide us with a great home, great food and great cuddles.”

  “And why does Harriet think this Chase Kingsley provides all of that?”

  “Because he’s got a cat of his own. A nasty brute called Brutus. I met him last night and he’s a real piece of work. And if his owner is anything like him, we’ve got another thing coming in this town. Do you know what he told me?”

  She took a swig from her coffee. “What?”

  I lowered my voice. “He only eats meat. No kibble. Can you believe it?”

  She laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re jealous, Max.”

  “Hey, I’m the least jealous cat in this town.”

  “Why does eating meat make Brutus a bad cat?”

  “Because… who gives their cat only raw meat? It’s simply not done!”

  She nodded. “Who’s got the money, right?”

  “Exactly. You certainly don’t.” If this came across as a barb, I didn’t mean it. I totally get how Odelia can’t afford to feed me filet mignon every day. Not on a reporter’s salary.

  But if I expected her to be offended, I was mistaken. Instead, a keen look had appeared in her eyes. “Do you think this Chase Kingsley is rich?”

  “I doubt it. A cop? Rich? Highly unlikely.”

  “Maybe he comes from money?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, honey. If he did, either Brutus or Harriet would have told me. The guy’s a genuine blabbermouth, and so is Harriet, as you well know.”

  “Know what?” asked a voice from the door.

  Chapter 2

  Oh, crap. That’s the problem with cats. They tread so softly you never hear them coming until they’re already upon you.

  “Hey, Harriet,” I said when the white Persian strode into the kitchen. As usual, she was looking haughty, her nose in the air. I swear she thinks she’s the Queen of Sheba or something. Or the Queen of Hampton Cove, at least.

  “We were just saying how well-informed you always are,” said Odelia.

  Nice save. “Yeah, how you always seem to
know everything about everybody,” I added sweetly.

  She smiled at this. You might be surprised that cats can smile, but they can. Again, it’s the hair. It obscures many of our facial tics. “It’s true,” she said complacently. “I do know everything about everybody all of the time.”

  “Max was just telling me about this new cop in town,” said Odelia.

  “Chase Kingsley,” she said, nodding. “He’s a dreamboat.”