Purrfect Murder (The Mysteries of Max Book 1) Read online

  “Trouble in paradise?” asked Harriet sweetly. Too sweetly for my taste.

  “I can’t move in with that Nazi furball, Harriet,” I said, shaking my head nervously. “I can’t live with the monster bully spawn from hell!”

  “I told you, he’s not a bully, Max. Brutus is simply a stickler for discipline. Just like his human, I would imagine. They’re both cops, Max, not bullies.”

  But I wasn’t fooled. Last night Brutus had sprayed all over my favorite tree, just to taunt me. When I complained, he pointed out that Hampton Cove Park and its trees were part of the public domain, and as such off limits to cats that weren’t law enforcement like him. If I wanted to mark a tree as my own, I would have to do it in my own backyard, not the park. It was an awfully narrow interpretation of the Hampton Cove penal code, I felt, if cat spraying was even in the code, as Brutus seemed to suggest.

  “He practically chased us out of the park last night!” I cried.

  “He did nothing of the kind. He simply pointed out that we’re not supposed to view the park as part of our personal territory.”

  “He said I should stick to my backyard if I want to mark my territory!”

  “Well, isn’t your backyard big enough for you? And if you’re so desperate for space you can pee in my yard, too, Max. All right? Mi jardin es su jardin.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” I grumbled. Or actually I did. It meant that from now on, this town wasn’t ours anymore. Brutus had taken over.

  “Hey, you guys,” a voice spoke from the living room. “Where are you?”

  I rolled my eyes again, and Harriet had to suppress a giggle.

  “Over here, Dooley!” I called out, then heaved an exasperated groan.

  The Ragamuffin came waddling up. “Oh, hey,” he said, his usual stupid grin plastered all over his stupid face.

  Dooley is Odelia’s grandmother’s cat, and he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. In fact he’s probably the dumbest cat for miles around, which hasn’t stopped him from securing himself a place in the Poole clan’s hearts and minds. He’s a big, beige, fluffy hairball, and seems to have gotten it into his head that I’m his best friend and wingman. Probably because he lives next door, and is in here all the time. In that sense Harriet, Dooley and I are one big, happy family. Or at least that’s how Dooley sees it.

  “What were you talking about?” he asked now.

  “The new cat in town,” I said before I could stop myself.

  Dooley’s eyes widened. “There’s a new cat in town?”

  “Brutus,” Harriet said. “Remember from last night? We met at the park?”

  “He told you not to rub yourself against your favorite tree,” I added.

  “Oh, that Brutus,” he said, his face clearing. “What about him?”

  “Harriet seems to think he’s something special,” I said. “While I think he’s the second coming of Satan, Lucifer and the Prince of Darkness combined.”

  Dooley shivered. “I thought he was way intense.”

  I gestured at Dooley. “Thank you, Dooley. Brutus is intense.”

  Harriet didn’t agree, of course. “Perhaps it’s because he has taken on so much responsibility. That kind of pressure can weigh on a cat.”

  “What responsibility!” I cried. “He’s just a stupid cat!”

  “He does have great fur, though,” said Dooley.

  I turned to him. “What?!”

  “That’s raw meat for you,” said Harriet, a little enviously.

  “He gets raw meat?” asked Dooley, surprised.

  “Only raw meat,” I agreed grudgingly.

  “No wonder he’s so incredibly buff and fit!” said Dooley.

  “He is buff and fit, isn’t he?” gushed Harriet. “He’s simply dreamy.”

  “He’s a musclebound moron,” I grumbled. “That’s what he is.”

  “Who is a musclebound moron?” asked Odelia, stepping into the kitchen. She’d showered and dressed and looked cute as a button in a flowery summer dress that revealed quite a bit of cleavage and a lot of leg. My jaw dropped. If this was the way she was going to meet Chase Kingsley I might as well welcome Brutus into our home now. The guy would fall for her like a ton of bricks. I just knew he would. No one could resist my human when she was all fresh-faced and cute as a button like this.

  “Brutus,” I said, in a last-ditch effort to stop this terrible ordeal from taking place. “Like his master, he’s a musclebound idiot addicted to meat.”

  “You can’t be addicted to meat,” Dooley laughed. “It’s an essential component of a well-balanced diet. And what’s essential can’t be addictive.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grunted. “Thank you, Dr. Phil.”

  Dooley blinked confusedly. “Who’s Dr. Phil?”

  “You guys better behave,” said Odelia as she snatched her clutch from the counter and strode to the sliding door that led into the backyard. She closed it. “Oh, and could you find out whatever you can about Chase Kingsley?”

  Now it was my turn to blink confusedly. “Anything?”

  “Sure. The more I know about him, the better… for my article,” she concluded lamely.

  I saw an opportunity here. An opportunity to dig up some dirt on this new supercop, so I nodded. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

  “Great. See you later, guys.”

  “See you, hon,” said Harriet.

  “See you, Odelia,” said Dooley.

  I didn’t say anything. I was thinking hard how to stop my human from hooking up with Brutus’s human and making my worst nightmare come true.

  We watched Odelia walk out the front door, then return five seconds later to grab her sunglasses from the hallway credenza, then return again to grab her smartphone, give us a goofy grin, a cheery wave, and pull the door shut.

  “Oh, don’t look so glum,” said Harriet.

  “You would look glum if you were about to be kicked out of your home.”

  “Brutus won’t kick you out of your home.”

  “He will, too. First he kicked me out of the park, now he’ll kick me out of my house. The cat’s a genuine natural born bully.”

  “He’s not. He’s simply… a natural born leader.”

  “And what does that make me? A natural born loser?”

  Harriet merely grinned.

  “Oh, I can see what’s going on here,” I said. “Odelia is hooking up with hot new cop, and you’re hooking up with hot new cat. Is that it?”

  She shrugged and sashayed in the direction of the pet door. “Time for my beauty nap, boys. See you later.” And with a swish of her tail, she gracefully disappeared through the door and was gone, leaving me alone with Dooley.

  “So who’s this Dr. Phil?” Dooley asked after a pregnant pause.

  “Oh… just go away, Dooley.”

  Chapter 3

  I resisted the temptation to take a long nap on my favorite blanket, the one Odelia had put on the couch to protect it from my habit of digging my nails into any soft tissue I encountered. I needed to check out this cop character first. If this guy decided to put the moves on my human and foist Brutus on me, I needed to stop him dead in his tracks before that happened.

  So I bade goodbye to Dooley and waddled out the pet door and into the backyard. After sniffing at a couple of trees, just to make sure no one had dared trespass on my domain, I set out along the road, slowly making my way into town. It didn’t take me long to reach the police station, which was just around the corner. I knew it as the place where cops liked to gather to snack on glazed donuts and coffee before starting their job of catching bad humans.

  Not that there are a lot of bad humans in Hampton Cove. In fact it’s probably the most peaceful town on the North Shore. Apart from your occasional rowdy tourist collapsing on the beach or wrapping his car around a tree, it’s a pretty peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.

  I hurried across the road, narrowly being missed by a speeding car, past the doctor’s office where Odelia
’s dad Tex works, and the library, where her mom works as a librarian, and finally reached town square, with the giant clock the mayor had installed a couple of years ago and which has proved such a hit with locals and tourists alike, and then I was homing in on the police station. A squat one-story building, it sported the letters ‘Hampton Cove Police Department’ above the entrance. Behind those double doors, Dolores sat, presiding over the vestibule and always ready to take note of any complaint the citizenry might have. Since technically I wasn’t part of the citizenry, and couldn’t very well waltz in through the front door, I walked around back instead, and headed straight for the window of Chief Alec’s office, where I’d picked up many a private conversation over the years.

  I hopped up onto the windowsill and once again praised Chief Alec’s good sense always to leave the window open a crack. Someone must have told him once that fresh air was good for him, and I could only agree wholeheartedly.

  One peek inside the office of the good chief told me that I’d hit the jackpot. He was in there with a hunkish male I’d never seen before. His long limbs stretched out languidly, his athletic body casually draped across the chair, he was listening to Chief Alec intently. He was definitely a handsome guy. He had one of those square jaws and chiseled faces that were all the rage with the ancient Greeks. A lock of dark brown hair dangled down his brow, his hair a little too long for a cop, which gave him a rebellious look.

  His white cotton shirt was stretched taut over bulging chest muscles, and his arms were all biceps and triceps and his belly was perfectly flat, unlike the beer belly Chief Alec had going for himself. If I’d had to venture a guess, I’d have pegged the guy in his early thirties, and never had the words ‘ruggedly handsome’ been a better description for any human male. Odelia was definitely in trouble, if my limited experience was anything to go on.

  I hunkered down and pricked up my ears, hoping to find confirmation that this guy was, indeed, Chase Kingsley, and not simply a tourist filing a complaint about a stolen wallet, or a traveling salesman badgering the chief.

  “So what do we know so far?” the guy was saying.

  “I just called the ME’s office,” said Chief Alec, “and they told me they’re expecting the results from the autopsy sometime this morning.”

  The chief, a mainstay in this town for over thirty years, was the embodiment of law and order. He was also a very large man, easily twice as big as the man seated across from him. Everyone knew him as a kind-hearted, fair-minded police officer, never one to throw his weight around. He liked to settle disputes with a smile and a kindly word, ever the courteous diplomat.

  And then it dawned on me. Autopsy? Had someone died? I turned my antennae-like ears toward the window, my eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “Good thing Adele Pun found the body. The poor guy might never have been found otherwise,” said the one I assumed was Chase Kingsley.

  “You’re right about that, Chase,” grunted the chief.

  Bingo! I stared at Brutus’s owner, and couldn’t resist uttering a growl.

  “That body was never meant to be found, and if the Pun woman hadn’t gone snooping around, the killer would have pulled off the perfect crime.”

  I blinked. Killer? Crime? Oh. My. God. They were talking murder!

  “So how did Adele Pun discover the body?” asked Chase.

  The chief barked a curt, humorless laugh. “Well, that’s a writer for you, Chase. They will go sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

  At this, the chief directed a long, lingering look at me, and I froze. Not that I minded too much. Chief Alec was Odelia’s uncle on her mother’s side, after all, and I was pretty sure he was aware of his sister and niece’s secret.

  He looked away again, and continued his story. “She says she was taking a dump a couple of days ago and suddenly started wondering where the product of her bowel movements went. Curious, she went and got herself a flashlight, to examine the bottom of the well, and shone it down into the abyss where generations of Hampton Covians have done their thing.”

  “You should have been a poet, Chief,” remarked Chase dryly.

  “Thank you. Imagine her surprise when she discovered a laptop sticking out of the tranquil surface of the brown pool below. Being a writer, holed up at a writer’s lodge, she naturally wondered what that laptop was doing there.”

  Chase made a disgusted face. “Don’t tell me. She retrieved the laptop?”

  The chief grinned. “She most certainly did. Though I have no idea how she did it. I imagine she used a shovel or a rake or something. Then she put the garden hose on it and dumped it into a bucket of salt for three days.”

  “And what? It booted up?”

  “It sure did. Just goes to show those cheap Korean laptops are a lot sturdier than you’d give them credit for. Reminds me never to spend two thousand bucks on a computer ever again.”

  “And that’s how she discovered it was Paulo Frey’s laptop.”

  “Yes, sir. None other than the elusive Mr. Frey.”

  “The missing writer.”

  “The missing writer,” the chief agreed.

  I almost fell off the sill at this point. Paulo Frey was a famous novelist who’d gone missing some time last year. He’d been in the habit of renting the Writer’s Lodge once a year, a fixed-up old cabin in the woods on the edge of Hampton Cove. It was popular with writers, as there were no distractions out there, and they could work on their masterpieces undisturbed. There was even an old-fashioned outhouse, which for some reason seemed to appeal to the writing classes. Many a writer confessed they got their best ideas while seated on the john and allowing nature to run its course. Weird but true.

  Paulo Frey had been one of those writers who felt they could only write a decent novel while ensconced at the Writer’s Lodge, pecking away at his laptop. Until he’d mysteriously vanished. The owner of the lodge—Hetta Fried—a patron of the arts—had assumed he’d simply skipped town, but when he hadn’t shown up in New York, his relatives had sounded the alarm.

  The cabin had been thoroughly searched, but Paulo hadn’t left a trace, so no foul play was assumed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t pulled a stunt like this before. Once he’d upped and left and had shown up six months later in Zimbabwe, living quietly in a hut in the jungle, trying to cure a severe case of writer’s block. He was one of those eccentric writers, the ones they make movies about with Johnny Depp in the lead.

  “So Adele notified the police,” said Chase.

  “She notified me,” the chief acknowledged. “At which point we decided to take a closer look at that outhouse.”

  Chase shook his head. “That must be the last outhouse on Long Island.”

  “It may very well be,” the chief agreed. “It’s garnered a lot of praise from writers. Supposed to give them ideas. Kinda like a wishing well. You drop in a nickel and you get to make a wish. Only here you drop in something else.”

  “So when did you get the idea to dredge the well?”

  “Well, at first we figured Frey had simply hurled his laptop into the pit in a fit of rage or something. Which would fit with the writer’s block theory.” The chief shifted his bulk, making his chair creak dangerously. “But after poking around in there for a bit, something else came bobbing up.” He fixed Chase with a knowing glance. “An arm.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah. So we called in a cesspool pumping service and found—”

  “Paulo Frey.”

  “Along with all of his stuff, stuffed into three Louis Vuitton suitcases. All packed and ready to go… nowhere. Looks like whoever killed him wanted to make it look like he skipped town, while he was stuffed down there all along.”

  “I wouldn’t like to be the ME on this one,” said Chase, wrinkling his nose.

  “You said it,” said the chief, shaking his head. “This is one messy business.”

  “When will you know more?”

  The chief checked the clock over the door. It was one of those
clocks that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a classroom. “Shouldn’t be long now. We don’t get a lot of homicides here, so they’ve given this their highest priority. I’m expecting a call before lunch.” He patted the desk. “So what about it, Chase? Are you ready to work your first Hampton Cove homicide case?”

  Chase grinned. “Throwing me in at the deep end, huh, Chief?”

  “Best way to learn, buddy.”

  “What better way indeed?”

  At this point in the conversation, I hopped down from the windowsill and landed gracefully on all fours on the flagged floor. I’d heard enough. A genuine homicide! In Hampton Cove! This was a scoop that needed to be on the front page of the next edition of the Hampton Cove Gazette. Pronto! And who better to break the story to our loyal readership than star reporter Odelia Poole herself? This would cement her reputation as the town’s best-informed reporter. Wait till I told her about this. She’d be over the moon.

  And wait was exactly what I had to do, for as I made my way to the street, I found my passage blocked by a stocky, burly black cat with evil green eyes. Brutus!

  “Snooping around, are we, Max?” he asked in a sneering manner. At that moment he suddenly reminded me of Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter’s nemesis.

  Oh, God. This was exactly what I needed right now. Not!

  “Step aside, Brutus,” I told the cat. “This is none of your business.”

  But Brutus didn’t make a move to let me pass. Instead, he walked right up to me and got in my face. “If anyone is getting involved in stuff that isn’t his business, it’s you, Max. I saw you, you know, spying on Chief Alec and Chase. So that’s how you do things in this town, huh? You’re Odelia Poole’s personal spy. I knew there was a reason she was always getting the best scoops. And now I know her secret. Wait till I tell Chase all about this!”

  A chill suddenly settled around the base of my spine. “How are you going to do that, Brutus? You can’t talk to your human like I can talk to mine.”