A Purrfect Gnomeful (The Mysteries of Max Book 24)

by Nic Saint

  A Purrfect Gnomeful

  The Mysteries of Max 24

  Nic Saint

  Puss in Print Publications

  Contents

  A Purrfect Gnomeful

  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

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  A Purrfect Gnomeful

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  If you really want to know who did it, I can now reveal that it was the mice. They raided the fridge and stole all of my food. Oh, you were wondering about the murders? Well, that’s a different story. It took me a long time to crack that particular case, preoccupied as I was about the family of mice that had turned my house into a mouse-sty. So when Odelia’s boss was accused, not of one but two murders, I ended up playing catch-up from the very start.

  As far as I could make out it had something to do with gnomes. Garden gnomes. Gnomes were at the heart of the murder case, but also at the heart of a second mystery: someone was going around Hampton Cove stealing gnomes from unsuspecting citizens’ gardens. Tex Poole had been hit, and so had many other gnome aficionados. Which is when Gran decided to launch our town’s first-ever neighborhood watch, along with her best friend Scarlett Canyon.

  You’re confused? Well, so was I. But here’s the good news: if you read my latest chronicles everything will become purr-fectly clear. You’ll find out what happened with the mice. You’ll discover who was behind those gnome thefts, and you’ll get a front-row seat to the stakeout we engaged in as official members of Gran’s neighborhood watch. And while we’re at it, I might as well reveal the identity of the person spreading murder and mayhem in our lovely little town.

  1

  In spite of the fact that it was a glorious morning—one of those mornings that makes you happy to be alive—I was brooding. Yes, brooding. Now I know what you’re going to say. Why would a cat who has everything his little heart desires be spending precious time brooding, when he could use that time to rejoice and count his blessings instead? Well, I’ll tell you why. Or in fact I might as well show you. Show, not tell, right?

  Here, let me take you by the hand and accompany you from my perch on the couch to the kitchen. Do you see that fridge? That’s my human Odelia’s fridge. And do you see the trail of leftovers leading all the way from the kitchen to the living room and beyond?

  Mice did that. Or more specifically, the colony of mice that has been using our basement as its refuge, and our fridge as its main source of nourishment.

  I could also point out the fact that my bowl was now devoid of kibble, and so were the bowls of my friends Dooley, Harriet and Brutus. Or I could have led you into the pantry, where Odelia and her boyfriend Chase like to stock their stuff, and which was also a mess now.

  The thing is, I recently negotiated a peace treaty with the mice, ceasing all hostilities, and in exchange Hector and Helga gave me their solemn word they wouldn’t treat the house as their personal Walmart. Unfortunately it would appear they had a hard time keeping their offspring in check, and the upshot was that both Odelia and Chase were starting to lose their patience… with me!

  Yes, the mice were misbehaving, but yours truly was taking the rap.

  That’s what you get when social media is filled with story after story extolling the so-called mouse-capturing capabilities of your common domestic short-haired feline.

  Fake news, I say, and it’s high time the owners of those social media sites did something to stem the flow of this false and frankly misleading information.

  No, not every cat is a ruthless killer.

  No, not every cat likes to eat mice for breakfast.

  And no, not every cat is a Tom, eager to catch himself a Jerry.

  So I watched the carnage and heaved a deep sigh. I’d been out last night, you see. Cat choir, if you must know. And by the time I got back, Hector and Helga’s offspring obviously had been at it again.

  The pet flap flapped and Dooley walked in. When my friend caught sight of my careworn expression, he immediately came tripping over, concern written all over his features.

  “Max!” he said, a generous dose of sympathy lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” I asked.

  He studied me for a moment, then nodded seriously. “It’s cancer, isn’t it? Don’t worry, Max, we’ll find you the best doctor money can buy.”

  I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s just like in that movie I saw last night with Gran. About a man who only has three months to live. And he looked just like you. Round-faced and orange, I mean. I cried a lot. Gran didn’t. But then Gran never cries, except when one of her soap stars dies.”

  I held up a paw, for Dooley has a tendency sometimes to go off course. “About that man. The one who looked like me. And by the way I’m not orange, Dooley—I’m blorange. And I’m not round-faced—I’m just naturally furry. So what happened with that man?”

  “Oh, when all else failed his dear old mammy advised him to try laughter therapy. And it worked! He laughed himself back to health, Max, and I’m sure you can, too. So start laughing and start healing.”

  I shook my head. I’m sure Dooley meant well, but laughter therapy wasn’t going to solve the mice issue.

  “A priest, a rabbi and a hippopotamus walk into a bar,” said Dooley, undeterred. “The hippopotamus says, ‘What does a hippopotamus have to do to get a drink around here?’ And the bartender replies, ‘Find religion!’” He laughed loudly, but when I didn’t join him, he stopped. “Max, you have to laugh. You’re my best friend and I don’t want you to die.”

  “I’m not going to die in three months, Dooley.”

  “You could die in one month. The guy in the Lifetime movie didn’t know he was going to die at first. It was only when he lost feeling in his patootie that he figured something was wrong.” He gave me a slight tap on the patootie. “Can you feel that?”

  “Yes, I can feel that. And the reason I’m not my usual sunny self is not because I only have three months to live but because the mice made a terrible mess again last night, and the moment Odelia walks down those stairs she’s going to be very upset with me.”

  “Why? It’s not your fault the mice are making a mess, Max,” he pointed out, and very sensibly, too, I thought. But I was afraid Odelia wasn’t going to see it that way.

  “Yes and no. Rightly or wrongly she feels that with a house full of cats she shouldn’t have to worry about a mice infestation.”

  Just then, and right before our eyes, two small mice came tripping past us into the kitchen. Moments later they returned, both carry
ing large chunks of cheese. When they saw us gaping at them, the first mouse, presumably the leader of this small battalion, gave us a toothy grin and said, “Hiya, fellas. Almost forgot I dropped this last night.”

  “You’re not supposed to do that, you know,” I said, righteous indignation making me quiver. “It’s not okay.”

  The mouse took a nibble from the cheese. “Tastes okay to me, bud.”

  “No, I mean—it’s not okay that you would steal my human’s food.”

  “It’s not stealing when it’s just lying around,” argued the mouse, whose brother or sister had already disappeared down the basement stairs. “In fact your human should thank us. If not for us this cheese would go to waste. At least now it’ll end up feeding at least a dozen…” He took another big bite. “Or half a dozen…” He devoured the last of the cheese. “Well, at least one mouth.” He glanced back to the kitchen, clearly still hungry.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said, taking a step closer.

  The mouse held up its tiny paws. “All right, all right. Cool your jets, you big pussy. The way I see it? Us mice provide a vital and important service.”

  “And what service would that be?”

  “This place could be crawling with beetles and roaches. Can you imagine?” He gave us a cheeky wink. “Think about that.” And with a cheerful wave of the paw, he was off.

  After a moment’s silence, as I slowly came off the boil again, Dooley said, “He’s right, you know. If not for Hector and Helga and their kids Odelia’s house could be swarming with beetles and roaches. And maybe even spiders and other creepy crawlies.”

  It was a point to take into consideration, though secretly I doubted whether Odelia would take this benign view.

  Just then, the pet flap flapped again, and Harriet and Brutus came walking in, both looking highly perturbed.

  “Something needs to be done,” said Harriet, a gorgeous white Persian. “This simply cannot go on.”

  “But they keep out the beetles and the roaches,” I pointed out, earning myself a look of confusion.

  “What are you talking about, Max?”

  “The mice. I’m starting to think they just might be one of those necessary evils you hear so much about.”

  Harriet tsk-tsked freely, and shook her head. “I’m not talking about the mice, Max. I’m talking about the gnomes.”

  “Someone stole Tex’s gnomes last night,” Brutus said. He’s Harriet’s mate, and a butch black cat of particularly shiny hue.

  I silently wished that whoever had stolen Odelia’s dad’s gnomes would steal Odelia’s mice instead, but obviously Harriet didn’t share my preoccupation with the murine colony.

  She frowned, and so did Brutus, clearly thinking hard thoughts about the gnome thief, while I was frowning because of my recent encounter with one of Hector and Helga’s offspring. The only one who wasn’t frowning was Dooley. And to show us his mind was otherwise engaged, he suddenly burst out laughing, then said, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, but a priest, a rabbi and a donkey walk into a bar.”

  And he probably would have gone on to tell us all about this exciting event, if not the glass sliding door had slid open and Gran walked in, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “Where’s Odelia?” she asked.

  “Still in bed,” I said. “Why?”

  “Odelia!” Gran bellowed at the foot of the stairs. “Get down here now!” And her eyes shining, she announced, “The crime of the century has just been committed, so Scarlett and I are launching a neighborhood watch, and I want you guys to join us!”

  2

  “What are we looking at here?” I asked.

  Gran had led us into Tex and Marge’s backyard and triumphantly waved her arm at… nothing in particular. The lawn could use a trim, and the big cherry tree probably needed pruning, but apart from that I saw no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

  “Can’t you see?” asked Gran, her voice rising as it often did when she was in the throes of excitement. “They’re gone!”

  “Who’s gone, Gran?” asked Dooley.

  “The gnomes! Someone took the gnomes!”

  “Oh, the gnomes,” I said, deflating a little. Why did everyone and his grandmother keep harping on about gnomes, when it was mice that were the main issue here.

  “Yes, Max, the gnomes,” said Harriet. “Why, isn’t this mystery big enough for you? Or important enough to occupy your highly intelligent mind?” Since she made air quotes and rolled her eyes, I guess she didn’t think all that highly of my mind—such as it was.

  “No, it’s not that,” I was quick to assure her. “It’s just that…”

  “Max has mice on the brain,” Dooley explained.

  “Oh, God, when are you going to stop talking about your mice!” Harriet cried, even going so far as to stomp her paw on Tex’s semi-smooth lawn.

  “They’re not my mice,” I said. “And they pose a big problem. They keep eating our stuff.”

  “Probably because they ran out of beetles and roaches,” Dooley said, nodding in my direction. “Isn’t that right, Max?”

  “Look, can you guys please focus on the problem at hand?” Gran said, starting to get a little impatient. All this talk about mice and roaches clearly wasn’t gripping her. “This is a serious problem and I think it’s the perfect first case for our neighborhood watch, of which I’m the founding mother and you’re now the founding cats.”

  I didn’t really want to be the founding cat of anything, but I had the distinct impression I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. When Gran’s mind is made up about something it’s very hard to dislodge the idea.

  “I’m also nominating Scarlett, of course,” she said. “And maybe Rock and Dick.”

  “What’s the big to-do?” asked Marge, stepping into the backyard from the house. She was dressed in her dressing gown and looking a little disheveled, with bed hair and sleep wrinkles on the side of her face. Like her daughter Odelia, Marge is fair-haired and slim, and a genuinely good and kind person. Her eyes now widened as she took in the backyard, and she actually clutched the sides of her head. “Oh, no—the gnomes!”

  “Yes, the gnomes,” said Gran grimly. “Tex is not going to be happy.”

  “Happy about what?” asked Tex, as he joined the conference. He dragged a hand through his white mane as he took in the crowd that had gathered in his backyard. He was smiling, probably the only member of the Poole family who’s always in a happy mood, even when just having rolled out of bed and not having had his morning coffee.

  “Your gnomes, Tex,” said his wife of twenty-five years. “Someone took your gnomes.”

  Tex’s amiable face fell, and his lower jaw drooped. “My gnomes!” he cried. “Oh, no!”

  Honestly I couldn’t really see what all the fuss was about, but then humans often develop these strange attachments to inanimate objects. And it was just such a case with Tex, who’d suddenly gotten it into his nut that collecting garden gnomes was a good idea. I didn’t see the attraction, and even found the colorful little fellas slightly creepy, but humans will be humans, and clearly gnomes held a certain kind of strange fascination, as Tex wasn’t the only one who liked to litter his backyard with the quaint creatures.

  “What’s going on?” now asked Odelia as she and Chase stepped through the hole in the hedge. Odelia was looking even more frumpy than her mother, and Chase was dressed in boxers and a T-shirt as usual, showcasing his muscular physique.

  “Someone stole your father’s gnomes,” Marge said.

  Chase suppressed a smile, indicating he didn’t think the news was especially worrisome, but quickly rearranged his features in the recommended look of concern your small-town copper knows how to perfect when faced with these trifling matters that are nevertheless of great concern to the ordinary citizenry that pays his salary.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, Tex,” said Gran, clapping her son-in-law on the back. “I’m launching my new neighborhood watch, and your gnomes ar
e my first case.”

  “A neighborhood watch?” asked Marge. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. With this crime wave sweeping our town I think it’s high time someone stepped up and did the right thing.”

  “I think you’ll find that the police department has matters well in hand, Vesta,” said Chase, who clearly wasn’t a big fan of Gran’s new initiative.

  “I’m doing this to help you, young man,” said Gran, taking the diplomatic approach for once. “I know you have your hands full and this will take some of the pressure off.”

  “Mh,” said Chase, not convinced.

  “Oh, and I’ve recruited your cats,” said Gran, addressing her granddaughter. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “By all means, recruit away,” said Odelia, yawning. Then she crooked a finger in my direction and said, “Max? A word, please?”

  Meekly, I followed her back through the hedge and into our own backyard.

  She crouched down next to me, not looking entirely happy. I could already tell what was going on before she opened her mouth. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  I nodded guiltily. “The mice,” I said quietly. “They were at it again last night.”

  “This can’t go on like this, Max,” she said. “You have to do something. Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to take steps, and you know what that means, right?”