Purrfect Harmony (The Mysteries of Max Book 36)

by Nic Saint

  “So Titta came hurrying over, to make sure that diary never fell into the hands of the police,” said Harriet, nodding.

  “Very clever of you, Maxie,” said Brutus, giving me a pat on the back that almost made me topple from the swing. “Though if you’d bothered to consult me I could have told you an even better scheme to trap Neda’s killer.”

  “Oh?” I said. “What scheme?”

  “Simple. You slip the woman some truth serum, and start asking your questions. She’ll have to tell the truth, because of the—”

  “Truth serum. Yes, I see.”

  “I don’t think that kind of thing is legal, though, sweetums,” said Harriet.

  “If it isn’t, it should be,” Brutus grumbled. “Or you could have hooked her up to one of those lie detectors. Pretty sure she would have sung like a canary!”

  Odelia had delivered us some little nuggets of delicious food, before her dad scorched them to oblivion, and we all gobbled them up eagerly.

  “You did well, Max,” said my human, a proud look on her face.

  “Oh, Odelia,” said Harriet. “So how about the concert? Did you have a chance to talk to Father Reilly?”

  “Yes, I did, actually. And I think he’s on board for a concert with St. Theresa Choir, cat choir and dog choir. He figures it’s a pretty novel idea.” She leaned in. “Frankly he owed us a favor, after foisting Raban Pacoccha on us and making us waste a lot of time.”

  “So Fifi and Rufus won’t have to go on a hunger strike,” said Brutus. “Which is a good thing, especially for Fifi. She’s so thin already if she stops eating there will be nothing left!” He laughed loudly at his own joke, but when no one else joined in, quickly stopped.

  The humans, meanwhile, were having a wonderful time. Gran was still a little sore that her designer had so spectacularly self-destructed, but she was a good sport, and Marge had promised she could tag along on their shopping spree for new furniture and those fun little furnishings that make all the difference.

  Also: Gran had been granted the rare honor of choosing the wallpaper for the kitchen—and her own room, of course.

  Tex was busily slaving away at the grill, and now yelled, “Alec, heads up!” A sausage suddenly flew through the air, but unfortunately Uncle Alec had been chatting with his girlfriend Charlene, and only became aware of the meaty treat heading in his direction when it landed on his nearly bald pate with a wet splat, scorching that sensitive area, before dropping down onto his plate.

  “Ouch!” said Uncle Alec, and directed a look as scalding as the sausage at his brother-in-law, who quickly ducked behind his grill, pretending nothing had happened.

  “Oh, my dear lamb,” said Charlene, and proceeded to plant cooling kisses on the devastated area.

  “I still wonder how that girl managed to get past us,” said Scarlett as she took a sip from her red wine. “I mean, we were right there, not one but two neighborhood watches, and she still broke into the house and stole that photo album—right from under our noses!”

  “We were too busy arguing to notice,” said Gran ruefully. “This feud with Wilbur and Francis really has to end, Scarlett. It’s hampering our crime-fighting efforts!”

  “She probably saw you,” said Chase. “And so she snuck around the back and got in and out as quick as she could. You have to remember she used to live in that house. She knew the way, even after all these years.”

  “What’s going to happen to the house and all of Neda’s possessions?” asked Marge as she ladled a very large portion of mashed potatoes onto her brother’s plate.

  “Neda died intestate,” said Uncle Alec, “so who inherits will be for a judge to decide. Under normal circumstances the law doesn’t allow a murderer to inherit from their victim, but since Titta claims her sister’s death was an accident, things are not so clear.”

  “She never wanted that money for herself,” Odelia said. “She wanted it for her orphans.”

  “I just hope the orphans get the money,” said Dooley, “and not the lawyers.”

  This caused three pairs of lips to curl up: Odelia, Marge and Gran’s.

  Afterword

  An Eventful Evening in Hampton Cove

  by Odelia Poole

  It was one of those rare events, a unique occasion that happens only once in a lifetime: the coming together of three choirs. One consisting of the angelic voices of St. Theresa Choir, one consisting entirely of cats (yes, you read that right: cats!) and one with only dogs as its members.

  The evening promised to be an exciting one when all three choirs, and the small orchestra that had been engaged by Father Francis Reilly to accompany them, took the stage in St. John’s Church on Saturday night.

  The pews were filled to capacity, and extra chairs had to be brought out from Town Hall to accommodate the crowd. Hampton Cove had been abuzz with excitement for days, and finally the night had come for the big event to take place. Mayor Charlene Butterwick had announced that the proceeds of the event would be matched by the town council, and Francis Reilly had promised the entire sum would be donated to the Vesta Muffin Animal Shelter, recently set up by Mayor Butterwick and Chief of Police Alec Lip.

  While the violinists were tuning their instruments and an anticipatory buzz of excitement was shared by the spectators, an electric hum hung in the air—history was clearly in the making here. Reporters from some of the big New York newspapers had graced the event with their presence, and even a WLBC-9 camera crew was present.

  And so the hour was finally upon us, and the concert could commence. Yoko Bricknell, St. Theresa Choir’s young new conductor, tapped her conductor stand briefly with her baton, and the hubbub quickly died down. But before the first note sounded, out of the blue a small but feisty dog suddenly let out a sharp and ear-shattering bark.

  The dog, which later was identified to this reporter as a Shih Tzu, answering to the name Sugar, suddenly seemed to realize that he was in the presence of… cats. Lots and lots of cats. And he didn’t seem to enjoy the prospect so much as to revel in it.

  The little doggie trembled with excitement, his tail pointing straight up into the air like an antenna, and then he was yapping away, as loud as you please. His owner, Janette Bittiner, tried to shush him, but Sugar wouldn’t be appeased quite so easily.

  He seemed to have singled out one particular cat to expend his ire on, and now made a beeline for this particular feline. This cat, a gorgeous large-bodied blorange tabby named Max (full disclosure: Max belongs to the writer of this piece) didn’t wait for Sugar’s arrival but raced full-speed away in the direction of the audience, presumably hoping to find cover amongst the dozens of human legs from this canine menace.

  Unfortunately Sugar is a small and agile little creature, and he had no trouble keeping up with Max, who, in a desperate attempt to get away, jumped up onto the lap of Ida Baumgartner, then took a great leap at one of the drapes church decorators had put up. The drape, not designed to carry the weight of Max, who weighs in at twenty pounds, unfortunately came collapsing down in a heap onto the audience below, and so did Max.

  Sugar, momentarily stunned by this setback, quickly recovered, and resumed the chase. More dogs now followed the example set by their small but fierce friend, and started chasing more cats. And before long, the church was filled with the sounds not of heavenly voices singing heavenly tunes but loud barking and snarling and the caterwauling and screeching of dozens of cats.

  Some members of the audience had had enough at this point, and headed for the doors, and soon a stampede broke out, and things got a little ugly there for a while.

  Father Reilly, treated for multiple scratches to the arms and legs, later explained that he’d tried to grab one of the dogs, in an effort to save his cat Shanille from harm, and had been attacked by the vicious canine, who hadn’t appreciated this act of meddling.

  Max, the cat whose pursuit by Sugar started the melée, was found hiding in the pulpit, along with his friend Dooley. And even though shaken, I can confirm to
the many readers who’ve written in and inquired after his health, that he’s fine, as are all of the other cats. The dogs, though, didn’t escape unscathed. Multiple scratches had to be treated by Vena Aleman, the well-known veterinarian, who’d fortunately been present at the concert. She declared, when asked to comment, that “Only a total idiot would put two dozen dogs and three dozen cats in the same room and expect them to hold paws and sing Kumbaya.”

  Vesta Muffin (full disclosure: she’s this reporter’s grandmother) commented that she’d rooted for the cats, and that the cats had won the match fair and square, and if the dogs wanted a rematch, they could get one and she’d be happy to referee—for a fee.

  Francis Reilly would like to add that people can get a refund or they can opt to have the money donated to the Animal Shelter. He also would like it to be known that this will be the last time St. Theresa Choir joins forces with Hampton Cove’s cat and dog choirs.

  In other news, the man who could be seen clinging to the church spire at the end of the concert has been rescued by the fire department. Raban Pacoccha told this reporter that he was trying to launch his rocket to the moon, but that there was a problem with one of his thrusters. Also, he ran out of manure.

  THE END

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  Excerpt from Purrfect Sparkle (The Mysteries of Max 37)

  Chapter One

  “Max?”

  “Mh?”

  “Do you think the earth is round… or flat?”

  I opened one lazy eye and instructed it to take in my friend Dooley, who was lying right next to me on the lawn. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I was talking to Buster last night, and he told me that Fido has become a member of the Flat Earth Society. And now Buster is wondering if his human is off his rocker, or if he’s onto something. And since he knows I’m a specialist, he decided to ask me for advice.”

  “You’re a specialist?” I asked, quirking an amused eyebrow.

  “Well, everyone knows that I watch the Discovery Channel, Max, which makes me a specialist in pretty much everything. So they all come to me with the tough questions.” He made a face. “Though I have to admit that even with all of that knowledge under my belt, some of these questions still get me stumped, like now with Buster.”

  I yawned and stretched out on the smooth lawn. Ever since Chase decided to borrow his father-in-law’s lawnmower from time to time, he kept the lawn manicured to perfection, almost like a golf course. And he wasn’t getting any complaints from me. I like those golf course lawns: smooth like a billiard table, with no excess blades of grass tickling those sensitive body parts.

  “So what do you think, Max?” Dooley insisted. “Flat or round?”

  “Hasn’t there been a documentary about the Flat Earth Society recently?” I asked, not in the mood for this philosophical stuff. When the sun is tickling my belly, and I’m on the verge of diving headfirst into a relaxing slumber, the kind of slumber that refreshes and makes you feel like a new cat, I try to avoid interruptions that will stand in the way of the perfect napping experience.

  “I don’t think so,” said my friend, frowning. “Unless I missed something.” His eyes went wide. “Oh, no, Max! Maybe I missed this all-important documentary! Now I’m suffering from POMO!”

  “It’s FOMO, Dooley, not POMO.”

  “No, definitely POMO. Pair of missing out.”

  “That makes no sense at all.”

  “Oh, it does, Max. You see, if you miss out once, it’s fine, but if you miss out twice, it’s bad. So a pair of missing out, see?”

  All I saw was that my friend had been misinformed, either by some joker who was pulling his paw, or with good intentions. But since I was too relaxed to bother, I decided not to engage.

  Dooley is a gray raggamuffin, by the way, and a good deal smaller than myself. I’m a tabby with fur the color of the setting sun. I call it blorange, a contraction of blond and orange, though there have been folks who don’t always see the distinction and simply call me orange. I’m what you might call a full-bodied cat, on account of the fact that I was born with big bones. Don’t let my sizable appearance fool you, though. I’m generally a sweet-natured feline, not inclined to cause bodily harm to anyone, man or beast, unless they try to cause me harm first, of course, and even then.

  “I think the answer is very simple, Dooley.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. Tell Buster to start walking in any direction, and just keep on walking. If after a while he falls off the face of the planet, the earth is flat. If he ends up back where he started, it’s round. Easy peasy.”

  Dooley thought about this for a moment, which gave me the opportunity to drift off into the refreshing sleep I just mentioned. Unfortunately, just when I was about to plunge headfirst into oblivion, he spoke once more.

  “I think that’s brilliant, Max.”

  “Of course it is,” I said, deciding not to bother with humility for once.

  “I’ll tell him tonight, and he can start his experiment immediately.”

  “You do that,” I murmured, the warmth of the sun now having a profoundly soporific effect on me.

  For a long moment, things were quiet there in Odelia’s backyard. Odelia Poole is my human, and Chase Kingsley her husband. Together they take good care of us, and in return we take good care of them. The perfect example of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, though it’s easier for them—and less painful—to scratch my back than it is for me to scratch theirs.

  “Max?” suddenly my friend piped up again.

  I released a tired sigh. “Dooley?”

  “So I was thinking, maybe we can join Buster on his trip.”

  “What trip?” I asked, having long forgotten the topic of our recent conversation.

  “Why, his trip around the world, of course. We start off here, and we just keep on walking until we get back where we took off, and that way we’ll have settled once and for all that the earth is round, not flat, like Fido seems to think.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dooley,” I said, this time not even bothering to open my peepers.

  “Oh, and why is that?”

  “For one thing, the earth is very, very big, and for another, how are we going to survive, traipsing all around the globe without our daily dose of kibble?”

  “We could ask Odelia to prepare us a snack?”

  I smiled at my friend’s naivety. He may watch the Discovery Channel on a regular basis, but that doesn’t mean he’s wise to the ways of the world yet.

  “Dooley, do you have any idea how long it would take us to travel all around the world?”

  “Um… a day? Maybe two?”

  “At the rate of speed we travel, it will probably take us a couple of years.”

  “Years!”

  “Sure. Like I said, the world is a big place, Dooley, and we’re small in comparison.”

  “Oh,” he said, his excitement somewhat dampened. But if I thought he’d give up now, I was of course mistaken, as I should have foreseen. Once my friend gets a thought into his tiny nut, it’s very hard to dislodge it, even with the assistance of a monkey wrench. Or a cat wrench, if such a device exists.

  “So what if we ask Odelia to come along with us? She has a car, and that way it won’t take us years but maybe just a couple of days, right?”

  “Even if Odelia took us along in her car, it would still take us months to travel around the world,” I said. “Also, since a large portion of the earth is covered in oceans, we’d need to swim across those oceans. And I don’t think Odelia will be up for such a challenge.” I knew I wasn’t. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away from the small town I like to call home—or even tame ones.

  “So… what if Odelia and Chase built a boat, and we traveled across those oceans by boat?” H
e shivered at the thought. Cats aren’t entirely fond of traveling in a small metal box that bobs up and down on the waves. We’d recently allowed Odelia and Chase to drag us along on their honeymoon, which they’d chosen to spend on a cruise ship, and we still hadn’t fully recovered from the ordeal.

  “Look, Odelia has a job, and so does Chase,” I pointed out. “Their respective bosses aren’t going to allow them to go on some crazy trip trying to prove what everyone already knows to be true anyway.”

  “And what’s that?” Dooley asked, interested.

  “That the earth is round!”

  “Fido doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “That’s because Fido is an idiot,” I said, starting to lose my patience.

  “So… the earth isn’t flat?” asked Dooley, just to make sure.

  “No, it’s not. And now can I please take my nap? Thank you.”

  For a while, things were pleasantly quiet. Birds were chirping in the background, crickets were rubbing their wings, and I was about to engage in a kibble-filled dream when Dooley said, “Or we could ask Odelia to charter a plane. If we don’t fly too high, and keep an eye on the ground, we’ll know when we reach the world’s edge, wouldn’t we?”

  “There is no edge,” I said.

  “I know, and that’s what we need to prove to Fido. So we’ll take him along in our plane so he can see for himself.”

  “Honestly? I really don’t care what Fido thinks.”

  “But Buster does. He’s really worried about him.”

  “Worried in what sense?”

  “Well, he’s online all the time, talking to his flat earth friends, and he’s been neglecting his business, except when he’s trying to convince his customers about some of his ideas. They’re already starting to go elsewhere for their haircuts.”