Purrfectly Royal (The Mysteries of Max Book 13) Read online

  “Oh, my God,” said Marge.

  “Right?” said Angela.

  “Did Tessa show this to Dante?”

  “She wanted to, but I told her not to. If he’s in cahoots with this stone-pusher, he won’t be happy that his little scheme was thwarted, not to mention that his associate was caught on film. Better to wait and see what he’s up to next. If he’s behind this whole thing, we want to catch him red-handed.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “Tessa told her not to mention the incident to anyone.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Marge. “This is terrible, Angela. Tessa must be terrified.”

  “Honey, why do you think I want to get over there lickety-split? My little girl is all alone, not a single ally in her corner. Well, except for her cousin.”

  “Her cousin?” asked Odelia.

  “Yeah, her real cousin. Nesbit spent his gap year in London, fell in love and married the girl of his dreams a couple of years ago. He’s a cop, and Tessa managed to get him assigned to her security detail. We’re hoping he’ll keep her safe until we arrive.”

  What a story, Odelia thought. Poor Tessa. And poor Angela. Now she understood why they were so keen for reinforcements to arrive.

  Angela glanced over to the bed. “So those are your famous cats, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call us famous,” said Max, though he was already swelling with pride.

  “You write about them all the time,” Angela explained, “so I almost feel like I know them.”

  “They’re quite the sleuthhounds,” said Gran. “Or should I say sleuthcats?”

  Angela didn’t laugh. Instead, she gave them all a grave look.

  “My daughter is in mortal danger,” she said. “Please promise me you’ll do whatever you can to catch this maniac.”

  Odelia placed her hand on the woman’s arm and noticed a distinct tremor. She felt for Angela. As a mother it was terrible to have to watch from thousands of miles away what happened to your daughter in a different land—a different world. “I promise I’ll do my absolute level best,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Angela with a grateful smile. “Now let’s go. The jet is fueled and ready to whisk us away to the land of fish and chips.”

  Max pricked up his ears. “Fish?”

  Odelia smiled. She’d been worried about her cats going on such a long trip, but somehow she had a feeling everything was going to be just fine.

  Chapter 5

  I hadn’t known what to expect when Odelia told us we were flying to a different continent by airplane. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of planes on TV, and they always seem very enjoyable. You sit together in a cozy space with a slew of pleasant fellow travelers, are served delicious food by smiling flight attendants, and if you’re lucky you get to fall in love with Meg Ryan. If you’re unlucky you end up sitting next to a psychopath who threatens to kill your dad if you don’t do exactly what he says, but Gran had assured us this was rare, and only happens in Hollywood movies featuring Rachel McAdams.

  I, for one, had always been curious about flying, even if the prospect of spending long hours in what basically amounts to a steel tube gave me pause. Then again, I’d always known that day would never come, as Odelia is basically a homebody, and so are Gran, Marge and the rest of the fam.

  They like Hampton Cove, where they’re born and raised, and don’t venture too far from the homestead and definitely not to other continents. So now that the day had actually come, I greeted it with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Anticipation at the chance of being seated next to Meg Ryan’s cat, trepidation at the prospect of spending the flight in the company of Passenger 57 with Wesley Snipes nowhere in sight, if you catch my drift.

  As we were driven to the airport by a very kind and buff individual in a Range Rover, Odelia and Chase and Gran made pleasant conversation throughout. They peppered Angela with questions, ranging from her daughter’s diet and workout plan to the place where Tessa and Dante had settled down. Apparently this was some sort of cottage on the outskirts of London, close to a castle. Newtmore Cottage, if I understood correctly.

  It struck me as odd. I mean to say, who in their right mind, when in the possession of unlimited funds and a vast real estate portfolio, would want to spend the best years of his or her married life in a dank cottage overrun with newts? I guess that’s the English for you. They are different from the rest of us.

  Too bad Angela was there, or I would have bombarded Odelia with questions myself. As it was, we had a strict rule that when in the company of strangers, Odelia didn’t talk to us, and neither did Gran or Marge. You can probably see why. Most people think it strange when other humans start meowing. It often ends in tears and a one-way trip to the looney bin, strapped in a straitjacket. For those of you not in the know, a straitjacket is a special garment worn by those who’ve lost their marbles. Meaning they’re nuts.

  The trip to the airport was uneventful, and when we arrived the car was directed to a parking space reserved only for those deserving special treatment. And so, all of a sudden, we’d been transformed into VIPs!

  “I think I’m going to like this,” said Dooley.

  “I think so, too,” I said as a muscular man in a snazzy suit and sunglasses gestured to a plane that stood waiting on the tarmac. It was small, it was sleek, and it looked absolutely fabulous.

  Odelia and the others were chatting with some sort of official-looking individual, handing him their passports and documents. He cast a quick glance over to us, as we sat on the tarmac in our respective pet carriers, and I hoped he wouldn’t tell Odelia we couldn’t come along. Gran had been surfing the internet and had discovered England, on account of the fact that it is an island, has some pretty strict rules about pets being brought into the country, and that we needed to have all of our shots and stuff. The mere mention of the word shots was enough to scare the living daylights out of me, but as it turned out we did have the shots we needed to have, and anyway, Angela had made ‘arrangements’ to make sure we would be allowed into the country.

  “Remember that episode with Johnny Depp and his dogs?” asked Harriet now as we sat waiting patiently.

  “What episode?” I asked, keeping a keen eye on the person who seemed to have the power to decide our fate.

  “Johnny Depp tried to bring his dogs into Australia and when they found out, the politician in charge said he’d murder the dogs if Johnny didn’t remove them immediately. They’re pretty tough on pets in Australia.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Dooley. “That’s terrible!”

  “So what did Johnny do?” asked Brutus.

  “He filmed a video apologizing to the people of Australia for bringing his dogs into the country and then immediately flew them back to the States.”

  “I hope the Queen doesn’t ask for us to be murdered,” said Dooley.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Angela said everything has been arranged.”

  “Angela is not the Queen, Max,” said Harriet. “She doesn’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”

  “Must be a tough job,” said Brutus. When Harriet shot him a critical look, he added defensively, “Just saying. Deciding who lives or dies? Tough.”

  “Does she really get to decide if we live or die?” asked Dooley.

  “I think so,” said Harriet. “England is a monarchy, so the Queen has a lot of pull.”

  “I’ll bet she would never order her corgis to die, though,” said Dooley. “She loves those corgis. I saw it on TV.”

  “I think we need to make friends with the corgis,” I said. “That’s the only way to make sure we don’t get murdered by the Queen. If we make friends with the Queen’s favorite pooches, and get them to vouch for us, we’re in the clear.”

  “I ‘m not going to play nice with a bunch of mutts,” said Harriet disdainfully.

  “It’s either that or death by execution,” I said. “Your choice.”

  “I heard they have peculiar methods of execution,
” said Brutus. “Like, the gallows? And the ax? Very medieval. And sometimes they lock people up in a place called the Tower of London. Very creepy place. I’ll bet it has rats.”

  I gulped. I did not want to get my head chopped off with an ax. Or get locked up with a bunch of rats for company. “We need to find those corgis and make nice and we need to do it as soon as we arrive,” I said.

  “I’ll bet the Queen’s corgis smell of lavender,” said Dooley, apropos of nothing.

  “What makes you think so?” I asked distractedly, as thoughts of execution by hanging flashed through my mind.

  “I don’t know. The Queen just looks like a lavender type of person to me, and I’ll bet she makes sure her dogs smell nice, like, all the time.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed. Most mutts smell terrible, but the Queen being a clean and hygienic person would make sure hers smelled wonderful.

  “Maybe they smell like roses,” said Harriet.

  “Or chocolate pudding,” said Brutus.

  And as we all speculated on what the Queen’s corgis smelled like, and thought of ways and means to convince them not to murder us by hanging or removing our heads with an ax, the paperwork seemed to be in order and finally Odelia proceeded in the direction of the airplane, the muscular man stacked our pet carriers onto a trolley and started pushing it in the direction of the plane. It was almost as if we were in bunk beds—a truly novel experience.

  “Why do you get to be on top, Max?” lamented Harriet.

  “Just happenstance,” I said, though I preferred to be on top. I had a nice view, which I didn’t think Harriet had from down below on the trolley.

  “It’s because Max is Odelia’s favorite,” said Brutus, harking back to a theme he likes to return to from time to time.

  “I’m not her favorite,” I said. “We’re all her favorite.”

  “She likes you more than the rest of,” said Brutus. “Admit it, Max.”

  “I’m not admitting any such thing. If anything, she likes me less.”

  “And how do you explain that?”

  I didn’t. I just wanted to get on top of the argument. “Well...” I began.

  “It’s because Max is the oldest,” said Dooley. “Everybody knows humans prefer the youngest child. They spoil it rotten and the same goes for cats.”

  “Which would mean that she likes you best,” said Harriet.

  “Hey, I guess that’s true,” said Dooley, sounding surprised.

  “No, it means she likes me best,” said Brutus. “I’m the last one to join the family, so technically that means I’m the youngest child and I’m the favorite.”

  “I like none of you guys best,” Odelia suddenly whispered as she bent down. “I like you all the same. And now will you shut up and enjoy the fun?”

  I smiled. “See? She likes us all equally.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Brutus grumbled. “That’s what she wants you to think. She likes me best, and that’s a fact.”

  “I’m the youngest,” said Dooley, “so she likes me best.”

  “But I’m the prettiest,” said Harriet, “and it’s a proven fact that humans like beautiful babies more than ugly babies. So she likes me best.”

  “I’m strong,” said Brutus. “Humans appreciate strength more than beauty.”

  And on and on it went. Cats. You can’t live with them. You can’t kill them.

  Chapter 6

  Like I said, I’d never flown on a plane before, but I’d heard all the horror stories. About cats being locked up in cages in the cargo hold, freezing their tushies off, or being cooked like a lobster. Or even being stowed in the overhead bin only to suffer a claustrophobic episode. So in all honesty I wasn’t exactly looking forward to my first experience as a passenger on an airplane.

  On the other hand, the alternative was to stay home with Marge and Tex, and go without my favorite human for an unknown length of time, while she whooped it up over in England, solving crime and having a great time with Chase and Grandma and the lavender-smelling corgis.

  So... when you’re forced to choose between the lesser of two evils, what do you do? Tough one, I know. We’d opted to join the adventure, after a unanimous vote. Harriet was the one most keen to take the plunge, as she’d always wanted to travel to London and see the sights—maybe put in some shopping on Bond Street or Harrods or even spend some time being pampered in some of those fancy pet clinics they have over there, where the rich and famous spoil their pets rotten. Though I pointed out to her that those rich and famous more often than not had dogs, not cats. One of those sad facts of life.

  “So we’ll be the first,” she said stubbornly. “We’ll be the avant-garde of a new revolution: out with the pampered dogs and in with the pampered cats!”

  “Good luck with that,” I said, reminding her she sometimes got seasick riding in the car with Gran.

  “That’s because Gran is a terrible driver,” she snapped. “And I happen to have a very sensitive stomach.”

  She does have a sensitive stomach. But then she has a sensitive everything.

  “I also happen to think I just might have irritable bowel syndrome,” she went on.

  “More like irritable person syndrome,” I said with a light laugh. She would have poked me in the snoot but we were still tucked tightly into our carriers.

  The muscular man who’d driven the Range Rover now carried us aboard, along with more muscular men who seemed to be part of a group of muscular men. They all looked similar and I was starting to wonder if they were related.

  “Who are all these people?” asked Harriet, as our carriers were deposited on the floor of a spacious cabin that did not look like the interior of all of those airplane movies I’d watched over the years. It looked a lot more luxurious.

  “I think they work for Angela’s daughter,” said Brutus. “Tessa Torrance probably has lots of people working for her now that she’s a princess.”

  “She’s not a princess,” said Harriet. “She’s a duchess. Duchess of Essex.”

  “What does a duchess of sex do, Max?” asked Dooley.

  “Essex,” Harriet corrected him. “It’s a place in England where they make reality shows. Or at least that’s what Gran told me.”

  I studied my surroundings. The plane was nicely furnished, with cream-colored ceilings, cream-colored floors, cream-colored leather seats, and cream-colored tables where presumably cream-colored beakers with cream-colored non-alcoholic beverages would be served once we had liftoff. I searched around for a cream-colored bowl and a cream-colored litter box with cream-colored litter but didn’t immediately spot one. All in good time, right?

  Odelia, Chase and Gran had also come aboard, followed by Angela, who was flying over to England with us.

  “Who owns this plane?” asked Odelia as she sat down in one of the snazzy seats and made herself comfortable.

  I was frankly dying to take a seat myself, as the leather looked soft as butter and particularly inviting. I would have to refrain from digging my claws in, though. One of those habits that’s very hard to kick for a feline.

  “It belongs to one of Tessa’s friends,” said Angela. “A friend whose name may or may not start with a C and end with Looney.”

  “Mr. Looney?” asked Dooley. “Who’s Mr. Looney?”

  But we all ignored him, surprise rendering us temporarily mum. Who wasn’t mum was Odelia’s grandmom. “Oh, my God,” she said, taking a seat next to her granddaughter. “Don’t tell me we’re flying Air Clooney?!”

  “Oh, yes, my dear, we are,” said Angela.

  “Does Mr. C. Looney know why we’re flying to England?” asked Odelia.

  “Tessa told him she needed to bring her mother and a few of her friends to England as soon as possible, and George immediately offered her his plane.”

  “Must be nice to have friends like that,” said Chase, and he was right.

  The door of the plane had finally closed, and Odelia knelt down next to us to check how we were doing.
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br />   “I hate these cages, don’t you?” I said. “Oh, that’s right—presumably you’ve never been confined to a cage. Well, let me tell you, it’s not much fun.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Max,” she said. “But rules are rules.”

  “Oh, I know all about rules,” I assured her. “Like the rule that in order to be a member of cat choir you have to actually be able to sing.”

  “It’s fine,” said Harriet. “If that’s what it takes to fly to England and join high society, I’ll gladly make the sacrifice.”

  “I’ll let you out as soon as the captain gives the sign. You can freely walk the cabin after that—or at least until we land.”

  “How long until we arrive?” asked Harriet.

  “About eight or nine hours,” said Odelia. Then she caught Angela’s curious glance.

  “Don’t mind her,” said Gran. “She’s crazy about those cats.”

  “Yeah, she pretends to talk to them all the time,” said Chase.

  “I totally get it,” said Angela. “I have a Frenchie back home, and we talk up a storm.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him along?” asked Odelia.

  “He’s old, and doesn’t like to travel as much as he used to. When he was younger I took him everywhere, but now he prefers to stay in his trusted environment.” She glanced down at us. “I’ve never known anyone to travel with cats, though, so that’s definitely a first.”

  “We’re all cat ladies,” said Gran. “Me, my daughter and granddaughter.”

  “And I’m an honorary cat lady,” Chase quipped.

  “That’s what happens to the men in our family,” said Gran. “It’s either join the club or get lost.”

  Chase laughed. “It’s true,” he confirmed when Angela quirked a curious eyebrow. “It took some getting used to but now I love them almost as much as Odelia does. They’re the cutest little rascals, aren’t they?”

  And with these words he wiggled his fingers at me.