The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 Read online

  “He doesn’t have any abrasions or contusions,” said Tex musingly, “and it does look as if he’s been the victim of a seizure, just as you say.”

  “Is he dead?” asked Johnny.

  “No, he’s still breathing, but we do need to get him to a hospital immediately. I can’t do a lot for him here, I’m afraid.”

  “Can you take him to a hospital?” asked Jerry.

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” said Marge, and immediately disappeared from the room.

  “They’ll want to know how he got here,” said Johnny.

  “Maybe you can say you found him lying by the side of the road?” Jerry suggested.

  But Tex shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry, fellas.”

  Jerry and Johnny sighed deeply. “Better tell them the truth?” Johnny suggested.

  “Yeah, I guess there’s nothing else for it,” his colleague agreed.

  “They’ll throw us in jail again,” Johnny warned.

  “Then so be it,” said Jerry. “At least we will have saved a life tonight.” He then cast a reproachful look at his friend. “But why did you have to take that watch and that laptop…”

  “For safekeeping, Jer!”

  “Just keep telling yourself that.”

  “No, I’ll keep telling the cops,” Johnny corrected him.

  Marge re-entered the room. “The ambulance is on its way.” She directed an apologetic look at her two guests. “And my brother, too, I’m afraid.”

  “You’ll put in a good word for us, won’t you, Marge?” said Johnny. “You can be our character assassination.”

  “Character witness,” Jerry corrected him.

  “I’ll tell him what you told me,” said Marge. “The rest is up to you, I’m afraid. And I really hope you’ve told me the truth and have left nothing out.”

  With a sheepish look on his face, Johnny reached into his pocket and brought out a very nice-looking large watch. It was a gold watch and looked very expensive. It also looked a lot like the watch Charlene Butterwick had given Lord Hilbourne that afternoon, along with the key to the city. Then he reached into his backpack and took out a laptop. “Here,” he said and handed both to Marge. “I just thought I’d hold onto them for Mr. Fauntleroy. Just for safekeeping, see.”

  Jerry turned to Tex, and held out his hand. “Thanks, Mr. Marge. Thanks for everything.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mr. Marge,” Johnny added, and both men shook Tex’s hand.

  Then they turned and walked down the stairs, looking very much like two men walking toward a firing squad.

  Chapter 34

  It was a most baffling mystery, Odelia had to admit. Not one she’d ever been faced with before. On the face of it things appeared open and shut, but when you dug a little deeper it was anything but.

  She was ensconced in her uncle’s office, along with the big man himself, and Chase. Johnny and Jerry had been locked up in the pokey, which probably was like their home away from home now, and Lord Hilbourne was still in the hospital, after being taken there by an ambulance from Odelia’s parents’ home of all places. The story didn’t add up, though. If Wim Bojanowsky and Suppo Bonikowski were to be believed they were nothing but innocent bystanders to this whole thing, the victims of a brutal attack by ex-cons Johnny Carew and Jerry Vale, who’d targeted Lord Hilbourne, presumably in an attempt to kidnap the man and extract a handsome ransom from his relatives.

  But the way Johnny and Jerry told the story, an entirely different picture emerged. One where Bojanowsky and Bonikowski were the bad guys, who’d attacked Hilbourne.

  But why? And how had the man been rendered unconscious, a state he still at present hadn’t woken up from.

  “I don’t get it,” said Chase, summing up the state of affairs to a T. “Either we believe the story Carew and Vale are telling us, and we arrest those two cousins, or we believe the cousins and we charge Carew and Vale.”

  “Frankly I’m inclined to believe the cousins,” said Uncle Alec as he leaned back in his chair, which creaked dangerously as he shifted his large bulk around.

  One of these days that chair was finally going to give up the ghost and collapse.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Odelia. “Mom seems to believe Johnny and Jerry. She feels they may have finally got their life on the rails again and have turned over a new leaf.”

  “So why did they try to steal the man’s laptop and watch?” asked Uncle Alec.

  “There’s some confusion there,” said Chase. “The watch seems to have belonged to Lord Hilbourne, while the laptop was actually the possession of Suppo Bonikowski.”

  “But I thought Bonikowski said that the watch was his?” said Odelia.

  “Actually this is the watch Charlene gave Lord Hilbourne yesterday. Part of the keys to the city thing,” said Uncle Alec. “So it can’t possibly have belonged to Bonikowski.”

  “This is all very strange,” said Odelia. “Plenty of little things that don’t seem to add up. For instance, if it’s true that Vale and Carew attacked Hilbourne then why didn’t the doctors find any external signs of physical trauma? And how did he suffer that aneurysm?”

  “Yeah, I called his sister over in England,” said Chase, “and she confirms that her brother has never been the victim of a seizure or anything of that kind before.”

  “No hereditary diseases?” asked Odelia. “He could have suffered a stroke and Johnny and Jerry could have tried to revive him.”

  “Which doesn’t explain all that blood in Hilbourne’s hotel room,” said Uncle Alec. “And yes, the blood was his. We checked.”

  There was a moment’s silence as they reflected on this.

  “Frankly I’m stumped,” Chase said, and he spoke for everyone.

  “Did you get all that, Max?” said Dooley.

  “Yeah, I got it,” I confirmed.

  The two of us were conveniently perched on the windowsill outside Uncle Alec’s office, where we had a good overview of the goings-on inside, and could listen in on the conversation.

  “Chase says he’s stumped,” said Dooley. “And the others look stumped, too.”

  “I know, Dooley.”

  “So the English lord is still in the hospital?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “In a coma.”

  “I know, Dooley. I’m right here. I heard the same conversation you just heard.”

  “Do you think the English lord will die, Max?”

  “I don’t know, Dooley. Let’s hope not.”

  “I think this whole thing has got something to do with the keys to the city, Max.”

  “How so?”

  “It can’t be a coincidence that this man received the keys to the city and the same night he collapses and is now in a coma and about to die.”

  “Mh,” I said, a little dubiously.

  “There must be something in this key, Max. Some substance that is very dangerous to people. Something that can kill.”

  “Dooley, like I told you before, the key to the city is not a real key. It’s all symbolic. Hampton Cove doesn’t even have a gate. So why would anyone need a key to get in?”

  “Oh, right,” he said, giving this some thought. “Well, something must have happened, and I’ll bet it’s got something to do with this key ceremony.”

  “Sure, Dooley,” I said with an indulgent smile at my friend. He might not be the world’s greatest private eye, but you couldn’t say he didn’t have a lot of imagination.

  The conversation inside Uncle Alec’s office seemed to have wound down, and so we jumped down from the windowsill, and decided to head into town, to dig a little deeper into this most baffling business. Someone somewhere must have seen something, and if they had, we’d figure out what it was before the sun went down on another day.

  Chapter 35

  This thing needed threshing out, but as everyone knows it’s very hard to thresh out anything on an empty stomach, so it was my intention to return home and tuck into a good helping of kibble before I tried to
put my brain to work tackling this problem.

  And as we passed by the General Store, I caught sight of Kingman, who was beckoning us over.

  It was with some reluctance that I heeded his call. As you may remember, last time we’d come face to face with Kingman we hadn’t parted amicably. Kingman had made some disparaging remarks about your new friend Mr. Ed and I’d made it clear to him that I didn’t agree with his limited worldview. And since we’d skipped cat choir last night, because of circumstances beyond our control, we hadn’t had a chance to patch things up yet. So maybe now presented such an opportunity?

  Kingman wasn’t alone: he was accompanied by Shanille, a frequent visitor to the spreading piebald. Shanille is Father Reilly’s cat, and also cat choir’s conductor.

  “Well,” said the gray tabby the moment we joined the twosome. “What have you two got to say for yourselves?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “You knew how important last night’s rehearsal was, and yet you decided not to show up. So you better have a damn good reason—”

  “Or a doctor’s note,” Kingman added helpfully.

  “We were otherwise detained,” I said a little stiffly. The day Shanille and Kingman were going to start dictating how I spent my evenings was the day hell froze over.

  “Even Harriet didn’t show up, and you know how important it is that she nail that solo.”

  “Harriet was detained as well,” I said, still proceeding frostily.

  “We were called to a murder scene,” Dooley explained. “Only the murder hadn’t been committed yet. In fact it’s still in the process of being committed.”

  Shanille frowned. “I don’t understand. If a murder is in progress, why are you wandering around here and why aren’t you out there, trying to stop it?”

  “We can’t stop it,” said Dooley. “Everything is being done to stop it but so far they’re not succeeding.”

  “You talk in riddles, Dooley,” said Shanille. “Please explain yourself.”

  I didn’t feel like explaining myself, and I was about to advise Dooley not to explain himself either, but of course my friend is much too soft-hearted and was already blabbing away to his heart’s content.

  “Lord Hilbourne was attacked last night and then kidnapped. And by the time he got to the hospital he was in a coma. So he may die or he may live. Right now things are touch and go. But if he does die, Uncle Alec already has the likely murderers locked up, even though they say they didn’t do it. Or they won’t do it when or if it ever happens.”

  “Huh,” said Kingman, as he turned to me, looking for confirmation that Dooley’s tall tale actually held any veracity.

  I nodded, and said in a grave tone, “Unfortunately Dooley is telling the truth.”

  “So… Lord Hilbourne is in mortal danger?” asked Shanille.

  “I blame the key to the city,” said Dooley, nodding seriously. “I’ll bet there’s something in that key that’s toxic, and touching the thing—probably when the key came into contact with Lord Hilbourne’s skin—some toxin or little-known poisonous alloy was introduced into his bloodstream, and now he may not live to enjoy his key.”

  “The key to the city is not a real key, Dooley,” said Shanille.

  “That’s what I keep telling him!” I cried.

  “Well, it is a real key,” said Kingman. “An ornamental one. It doesn’t open any doors or anything. But the key he got is real. And a very nice one, too, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Who told you this?” I asked, not really trusting Kingman’s judgment after the whole ‘Mr. Ed is an inferior being’ discussion.

  “I heard it from Wilbur, who kept grumbling all day yesterday to anyone who would listen that he’s never received a key, even though he’s lived here all his life and he’s done a lot more for this town than any stupid blue blood import from England.”

  “So it’s a real key,” I said, “but Lord Hilbourne didn’t actually touch it, did he? I mean, it’s probably like when you win a medal? It’s safely locked inside a box or frame?”

  “No, it’s an actual key that’s presented on a little velvet cushion,” said Kingman. “You can hang it around your neck or hang it on your wall or whatever you want to do with it.”

  “See?” said Dooley. “He must have hung it around his neck and its deleterious effect is slowly killing him.”

  I smiled, and so did Kingman and Shanille. None of us had been aware that Dooley knew a big word like deleterious.

  “Look, Max,” said Kingman now, “I feel like I owe you an apology. I said some things about your friend the snail that I probably shouldn’t have. I don’t know why I said it, but if I could, I’d take it back in a heartbeat. All creatures are valuable on God’s green earth.”

  “You certainly had a change of heart,” I said, surprised by this sudden about-face from one whom I thought was particularly entrenched in his views.

  “I had a long talk with Shanille last night,” said Kingman. “When you guys didn’t show up I guess I figured you were boycotting cat choir on purpose, because you were upset with me. And I don’t blame you if you did. Shanille made me see the light.”

  “All creatures are God’s creatures,” Shanille intoned. “From the lowly worm to the mighty lion, we’re all equally important in God’s great plan.”

  “Amen,” Kingman murmured.

  “Thank you, Shanille,” I said, gratified at Kingman’s sudden reversal. “You know, I was a little upset yesterday, but that wasn’t why we skipped cat choir. Like Dooley explained, we happened upon the scene of the attack on lord Hilbourne—or at least the immediate aftermath. And after that we witnessed the surrender of Johnny and Jerry, though now they claim they’re innocent, and were actually merely trying to save Mr. Hilbourne’s life.”

  “A likely story!” said Kingman. “Those two are as crooked as Wilbur’s right big toe, and that’s the way they’ll always be.”

  “Not true, Kingman,” said Shanille. “Criminals are creatures of God, too, and so—”

  “Now you’re taking things a little too far, Shanille!” Kingman cried. “I accept that a worm is a creature of God, and a slimy snail, too, but criminals like those two? Never!”

  “And yet they are, Kingman.”

  “You’re wrong!”

  “Kingman, you are a stubborn old ass!”

  “I’m not an ass. I’m a cat!”

  “You’re a cat and an ass!”

  It was at this moment that Dooley and I decided to be on our way. Somehow I had a feeling this discussion could last quite a long time, and frankly I had some thinking to do.

  Chapter 36

  We arrived home to find that our bowls, which I was looking forward to emptying out… were empty! Devoid of food. Filled with nothingness.

  “Max?” said Dooley as he surveyed this rare and disturbing phenomenon. “Our bowls are empty.”

  “I know, Dooley. I have eyes. I can see.”

  “But… why are they empty? They weren’t empty this morning when we set out on our fact-fighting mission.”

  I didn’t even bother correcting him, as the sight of a complete dearth of food had affected me greatly. You see, I am what you might call a solid cat, in that I have a lot of solid mass to carry around with me. But to accomplish this feat I need to feed that mass at regular intervals, otherwise I start shedding those pounds, and I start to feel weak and miserable. I know, it’s an affliction, and one I try to bear with all the fortitude I can muster. My very own cross to bear, if you will.

  “I don’t get it,” I murmured. “Unless…” I glanced around, and suddenly became aware of soft snickering sounds coming from nearby. They were originating from Odelia’s pantry, and as I walked over and carefully pushed open the door, I found myself gazing into the cheerful faces of… Harriet and Brutus!

  “Gotcha!” said Brutus.

  “Oh, Max, you should have seen your face!” said Harriet, almost collapsing with mirth.

  “You stole our food
?” I said, shocked that they’d do this to me—to us.

  “We didn’t steal it,” said Brutus. “We just hid it.” And he gestured behind him, where two perfect piles of kibble lay.

  I stared at the piles, and understanding dawned.

  “Oh, you guys,” I said, trying to be a good sport about this latest stunt the twosome had pulled. I wasn’t laughing inside, though. In fact it was probably nearer to the truth to say that I was crying. Well, maybe not crying. More like a soft whimper, if you will.

  What can I say? I like food, and when people mess with it, I get upset. Very upset.

  “You guys are so funny!” said Dooley, who clearly doesn’t suffer from the same affliction. “Hilarious! Aren’t they hilarious, Max?”

  “They are,” I said dryly, then studied the pile of kibble, and discovered that it was wet. As if someone had chewed it.

  “Someone has chewed on my kibble,” I announced with distinct distaste.

  “Of course. We had to move it,” said Brutus.

  “So why is it wet?” I insisted.

  “Max,” said Harriet with an indulgent grin. “How do you think we moved it? With our paws?”

  She and Brutus waited a moment until the penny dropped, and when finally it did, I made a face. “Yuck,” I said.

  “We took it into our mouths,” Harriet explained for Dooley’s sake, for he was still clueless. “That’s how we carried it over there. Just a few kernels at a time.”

  “It took us at least half an hour,” said Brutus.

  “You guys!” said Dooley. “Funny!”

  I didn’t think it was all that funny. In fact I thought it was disgusting. I don’t like it when people touch my food, you see. I like it fresh and crisp and straight out of the bag, not chewed up by other cats. I mean, how would you feel if McDonald’s served you a Big Mac but the guy behind the counter put it into his mouth first and gave it a good nibble?