Purrfect Cure (The Mysteries of Max Book 38) Read online

  Purrfect Cure

  The Mysteries of Max 38

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Books

  Contents

  Purrfect Cure

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Purrfect Cure

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  It was the fur-fect solution

  All I ever wanted in life was to be able to enjoy my daily naps, my daily dose of kibble and spend quality time with my friends. But lately Hampton Cove, the small town I like to call home, seems to have become the kind of crime-infested borough you hear so much about in the news. Take last week for instance. First a dead body was found in the field located directly behind our house, and then a girl was kidnapped nearby—all in the space of twenty-four hours!

  And then of course there was the drama that really gripped, since it struck very close to home indeed: Tex, my human’s dad, discovered a distinct thinning of the hair on top of his head. Immediately he set out for a potential cure to remedy this unmitigated disaster, and thus set off a series of events that will have tongues wagging for a long time to come.

  Prologue

  Angel Church had been walking along the road home for what felt like an eternity. She was a little unsteady on her feet after a night out with the girls. She would have driven her car home, but her friends had confiscated her keys. A precaution, since she was clearly a great deal over the limit. And since they, too, had imbibed more alcohol than was probably advisable, they’d taken a cab home. They’d offered to share, but she said she’d walk home—the fresh air would do her good.”

  And so now she was gingerly navigating the one-mile distance back to the cozy little apartment where she lived with her mom, located in a leafy suburb of Hampton Cove, her small town. On any other night she probably would have felt a tinge of concern to be walking home alone in the middle of the night, but one of the side effects of replacing one’s blood with alcohol is that all sense of self-preservation goes flying out the window.

  “Where are my keys?” she muttered to herself. The girls had taken her car keys, but had they also taken her house key? She couldn’t remember. She vaguely became aware that she had a minor weight dangling from her left arm, and when she glanced down saw to her surprise that a small purse was attached to that particular appendage. “Huh. How about that?” she murmured vaguely. At least a small portion of her mind was still functional, and determined to see its owner and proprietor home safe and sound.

  An unusual sound reached her ear and she jerked her head up. It seemed to come from a nearby tree. It was one of those sounds one isn’t accustomed to when spending most of one’s life surrounded by the hallmarks of civilization, such as there are: the noise of cars and other motorized vehicles, and if asked she would have said it sounded like…

  “Will you look at that. It’s an owl. Hello there, Mr. Owl. I hope you’re having a hoot!” She collapsed in giggles at her own amazing wit. “A hoot! Get it, Mr. Owl!”

  The owl abruptly stopped hooting, as if it didn’t think the joke was all that hilarious.

  Angel was still snickering under her breath at her own brilliance when suddenly a bright light lit up the night, and she glanced back to see what was going on.

  A car had approached, and was driving at some distance behind her, the headlights blindingly bright. She held a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sudden glare, and also to protect her brain from this unwelcome intrusion. The organ was still, after all, trying to make its human stay upright and functional, and this introduction of a car into the situation compelled it to recalibrate.

  “Car,” Angel muttered as she wondered why it wasn’t passing her as it should. Instead it kept on driving at a snail’s pace, following about thirty feet behind, high beams on.

  “Hey, you can pass,” she bellowed to the car’s invisible driver as she gestured wildly to get a move on and make the world return to the peace and quiet of that gentle night.

  But the driver, whoever he or she was, seemed to enjoy this silly game, and made no move to speed up.

  For the first time since she’d set out on her trek home, Angel experienced a tinge of alarm. It niggled at the part of her brain that wasn’t yet fully soaked in alcohol, and it caused her to frown and consider her options. Option A: do nothing and pretend that the car wasn’t there. Option B: run into the woods and hide. And option C:… This was where unfortunately she drew a complete blank. There were always three options. That she knew from experience. So why could her hardworking brain only come up with two?

  And then her body decided to make the decision for her, and abruptly veered right and disappeared into the woods at a modest little trot. It wasn’t a fully-fledged ‘I’m being chased by a chainsaw-wielding maniac and I have to run for my life’ kind of thing but more of a ‘I have no idea what the heck I’m doing and I hope that when I wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache I won’t remember this harrowing episode.’

  Unfortunately for her, whoever the person in the car was had parked the automobile and was now in hot pursuit, as the crashing sounds through the brush behind her and the snapping of twigs and fallen branches clearly indicated.

  “Oh, dear,” said her brain. “I think we’re in big trouble here, Angel. Run, girl—run for your life!”

  Unfortunately Angel’s coordination wasn’t what it usually was, and so after suddenly arriving at and stopping short of tumbling into what looked like a small pond, she momentarily just stood there, uncertain of her next course of action. And this is when whoever was chasing her finally caught up with her. And when she turned and looked at the person, the eerie light of a full moon lit up her persecutor’s features, and it was a testament to the soundness of her faculties that even in her state of inebriation she still realized this wasn’t a good sign: the person was wearing a mask!

  Uh-oh.

  Unfortunately for her she never saw the club as it whizzed through the crisp night air and hit her right on the foggy noggin. And then the world suddenly turned as dark as her attacker’s outfit, as if someone had flicked the light switch. And Angel knew no more.

  1

  Dooley had been watching one of his favorite programs on television with bated breath, when all of a sudden he became aware of screams reaching his highly attuned ears. The screams seemed to come from the vicinity of the backyard, and so he reluctantly allowed his attention to be drawn away from the shenanigans of the Aztecs when confronted with Hernán Cortés, to focus on the sounds of distress instead.

  “Max?” he said.

  “Mh?” said his friend, who was napping happily on the couch right next to him.

  “Did you hear that?”

>   “Hear what?” asked Max, who wasn’t the kind of cat who allows anything to intrude upon the perfect nap, whether it be the fate of the Aztecs or a person in jeopardy.

  “I think I heard screaming.”

  Max opened one lazy eye to take in the TV show as it was unfolding for an audience of one. “When an entire population is slaughtered by a bunch of marauding Spaniards eager to lay their greedy hands on your gold I think you’d scream too, Dooley.”

  “But it didn’t come from the TV. It came from somewhere outside.”

  Max frowned, and this time directed his own finely-tuned ears to turn like antennae and search for the sounds of distress Dooley had picked up.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Max muttered at first. Then, as his frown deepened, and so did his concentration, he amended his earlier statement. “No, you’re right. There’s definitely someone screaming.”

  “Do you think we should go and take a look?” asked Dooley. He really wanted to know what would happen to those poor Aztecs when confronted with that bloodthirsty Cortés.

  But Max had other ideas. “Let’s go,” he said curtly, and like only a feline can, immediately he was wide awake and ready for action, springing from the couch.

  What a cat, Dooley thought as he followed his friend out through the pet flap. One minute he’s resting peacefully, oblivious to the world and its troubles, and the next he’s ready to help a human in need.

  “It seems to come from back there,” said Max as they emerged into the bright sunlight and tried to get their bearings. He was gesturing to the field located behind the house, and Dooley followed the big blorange cat as he zoomed through the backyard belonging to their humans, through the hole in the hedge, and finally out on the other side, where whoever owned that piece of land had allowed it to lie fallow and turn into an amateur rainforest. Brambles and nettles had grown high, and so had thistles and other weeds.

  Still following their keen ears, they soon arrived at a small clearing, where a bench had been placed by some unknown hand, right under the oak tree that dominated this part of the landscape. A swing had been attached to the strong branches of the gnarled old tree, and from that swing a child was now swinging, crying out in happy exultation as an older child pushed the swing and made it go ever higher.

  “So where’s the emergency?” asked Dooley, looking around for the person in jeopardy.

  “I think this is she,” said Max, gesturing to the little girl on the swing. “Kids,” he said, shaking his head with an obvious lack of enthusiasm at the young of the human species.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” said Dooley. “I really thought someone was in danger.”

  “She is,” said Max as they watched the kid go higher and higher. “This is not going to end well,” he predicted, and both cats sat there for a moment, at the edge of the small clearing, their eyes keenly following the kids’ every move. And then the inevitable finally happened: the swing swung too high, the girl was sent flying and took a hard landing. Lucky for her the landing spot was covered in weeds, and she simply rolled to a full stop out of sight, and judging from her loud giggle the ordeal hadn’t been painful in the least. On the contrary: this clearly had been the designated outcome of the game from the start.

  “Humans,” said Max, “are bad enough, but human children are the absolute worst.”

  Dooley listened carefully, for when Max spoke, he often allowed nuggets of pure gold to roll from his lips, which Dooley absorbed without delay. He knew from experience that he still had much to learn, and felt fortunate and grateful that he got to do so at the feet of the master, a wise cat like his best friend Max.

  “Looks like she’s okay,” said Dooley when the kid emerged from the undergrowth, and grinned infectiously. Her dress looked like it might need urgent repair, but she was fine.

  The older kid, who presumably was her brother and had managed to instigate his sister’s spectacular liftoff, looked less than excited when she immediately said, “Again!”

  “No, Lisa,” said the boy. “We need to go. Mom will wonder what’s taking us so long.”

  “Again!” the little tyke demanded, and stomped the ground for good measure.

  The brother sighed, and said, “Okay, one more time, but this is the last one, okay? After this we’re going home, before Mom and Dad come looking for us.”

  The girl screeched a happy screech, which was painful to Dooley’s sensitive ears.

  “That’s what I heard!” he said, happy that the mystery was finally solved.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Max.

  They watched as the girl mounted the swing, and moments later the game resumed.

  “She’s going to break her neck one of these days,” said Max, and judging from the small measure of glee with which he spoke these words, the prospect was not disagreeable to him.

  And they were just about to turn back and resume their homeward trek, when from that same undergrowth suddenly a small creature emerged. It looked very familiar, and when it spoke up, Dooley was happy to discover it was their friend Fifi from next door.

  “Fifi!” said Dooley happily. Even though by all rights he should return home and discover what Hernán Cortés was up to, he was a sweet and garrulous cat, and never more happy than when chewing the fat with his friends, whether they be cats or, as in this case, a small and friendly Yorkshire terrier.

  “Hey, Max, Dooley,” said Fifi as she came tripping up to them. She was licking her lips, a clear sign she’d just taken nourishment.

  “So what’s going on with you?” asked Max indulgently. He might not like kids, but he was clearly fond of Fifi. “Shouldn’t you be in your own backyard instead of wandering around in this jungle?”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said Fifi. “Kurt doesn’t know I’m out.”

  Kurt Mayfield was Fifi’s owner, a retired music teacher and something of a grouch. If it’s true that dogs take after their owners, Fifi’s sunny disposition certainly blew that theory out of the water.

  “I buried a bone,” Fifi announced now, looking slightly shame-faced, as if confessing some major transgression.

  “Good for you,” said Dooley. He’d heard of this strange habit of burying bones. He had no idea why dogs did this, but he was a broad-minded cat, so he decided not to comment.

  “And as I was burying it, I discovered something pretty cool,” the Yorkie continued, her shamefacedness quickly replaced by pretty excitement. “Wanna see?”

  “Oh, why not?” said Max. “My perfect nap is ruined now anyway.”

  They followed Fifi further afield, and soon came upon what looked like the wreck of an old car. A couple of tires had been dumped there, and also an old fuel tank, rusted through and quite devoid of fuel now.

  “An old car,” said Max. “Nice find, Fifi.” He didn’t sound all that impressed, and Dooley didn’t blame him. He wasn’t really into car wrecks himself either. Hard to see the attraction.

  “No, not the car,” said Fifi. “Come on. It’s right over there.”

  And that’s when they came upon what looked like a pile of bones that just lay there, surrounded by old rags and such.

  “Look at this,” said Fifi happily. “A treasure trove of bones! And they’re all mine!”

  “Um…” said Max as he took in the scene. “Did you put these here, Fifi?”

  “Oh, no. They were right there when I got here. Some other dog must have dug them up and then forgot all about them. Lucky me!”

  “Have you touched them?”

  “I touched the one I just buried.” She hesitated, then pointed to a spot where the earth had recently been disturbed and said shyly: “Over there. But don’t tell anyone, will you?”

  “Of course not,” said Dooley, who had no interest whatsoever in old bones.

  “I’m going to bury the rest, but it’s a big job, so I was trying to come up with a plan of campaign,” Fifi happily prattled on. “I think I’ll bury each bone separately, or maybe I could dig a big hole and bur
y all of them together at once. What do you think, Max?”

  “I think you better leave everything exactly the way you found it, Fifi.”

  Fifi’s face sagged. “But why?”

  “Because I think these bones are human bones, and humans usually don’t appreciate it when someone messes with their remains. They’re very touchy about that sort of thing.”

  At this, both Dooley and Fifi subjected the pile of bones to a little more scrutiny than before, and that’s when Dooley saw it: “You mean these bones…”

  “Used to be a human being—when that human being was still alive, that is.”

  “And those rags…”

  “Their clothes—or what’s left of them.”

  Dooley gulped a little, and suddenly he thought he had a good idea how that whole Aztecs versus Hernán Cortés story had ended: with a pile of bones!

  2

  Tex was looking in the bathroom mirror and inspecting his mop of white hair with a frown. “Honey,” he said when his wife Marge came walking in from the bedroom.

  “Mh?” said Marge distractedly as she picked up a wet towel and gave it a sniff.

  “Do you think I’m getting thinner on top?”

  Marge glanced over to the mirror. “I don’t think so. Why? Have you been losing hair?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Tex as he took a handheld mirror and held it behind him so he could inspect the back of his head. “It looks thinner to me. Or it could just be the light.”