PURRFECT TREASURE

  THE MYSTERIES OF MAX 98

  NIC SAINT

  CONTENTS

  Purrfect Treasure

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Prologue

  About Nic

  PURRFECT TREASURE

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  Move over, cats—there’s a new dog in town.

  When former hockey star turned rookie cop Mick Harper nabs a pair of crooks—with help from his heroic huskies, Blizzard and Storm—he becomes the toast of Hampton Cove. Medal from the mayor. Column in the Gazette. Instant fame.

  The cats? Yesterday’s news.

  Max, Dooley, Harriet and Brutus suddenly find themselves replaced as the town’s top crime-fighting team. But when a deadly treasure hunt on a remote island pits them against Mick and his spotlight-hogging sled dogs, the claws come out.

  Can the cats reclaim their reputation—and their dignity—before another body drops?

  Because in this case, the treasure’s not the only thing worth digging up.

  CHAPTER 1

  “The trick is to focus not so much on your nose but on your neck muscles.”

  We all watched with a sense of awe bordering on amazement as Fifi held a ball on her nose—and didn’t let it drop!

  “See?” she said. “It’s easy. Neck muscles. And of course, practice. Lots and lots of practice. Practice every available moment. And before you know it, you’ll be as good at this as I am.”

  The ball wasn’t small, either. It was quite a big ball—at least for such a tiny dog. But she kept it on her nose and managed to balance it perfectly.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” said Harriet, and from the wonder in her voice and the look on her face, it was clear she wasn’t lying.

  “Well, as I’ve just explained, you need to practice,” said Fifi. “Practice, practice, practice. And also—very important—you should feel the ball. Think the ball. Be the ball.”

  “Be the ball,” Harriet muttered, committing those sacred words to memory. “Gotcha.” She turned to her boyfriend, Brutus. “We need to get busy, baby cakes.”

  “Get busy?” asked Brutus, who had been watching the show with a sort of detached indifference. Clearly, he wasn’t as impressed with Fifi’s accomplishment as the rest of us were. “Get busy doing what?”

  “Practicing,” she clarified. “Feel the ball. Think the ball. Be the ball. Let’s you and I be the ball together, honey bunch.”

  “Um…” said Brutus, cutting a look of slight panic in my direction. “I’m not sure this is something cats do, sugar plum. I mean, it’s all well and good for dogs to balance a ball on their noses, but us cats⁠—”

  “What do we always say?”

  “That water is wet?” he suggested, earning himself a swat from his girlfriend.

  “That whatever dogs can do, cats can do better. So we’re going to start practicing until we can both balance a ball on our noses indefinitely.”

  “Indefinitely? You mean, like… eternity?”

  “Or as long as it takes to get us written up in the Guinness Book of Records,” clarified Harriet.

  “But I don’t want to be in the Guinness Book of Records,” said Brutus. “I don’t even like beer.”

  “It stopped being associated with beer a long time ago,” I explained. “These days, it’s all about world records. Like Fifi’s, for instance.”

  For our amazing Yorkshire Terrier neighbor was still balancing that ball on her nose.

  “Balance,” she said. “It’s all about the balance.”

  “Neck muscles,” said Dooley quietly. He turned to me. “Do you think neck muscles can be trained, Max? Because I don’t think mine are as strong as they should be.”

  “Of course neck muscles can be trained,” said Harriet. “And that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to train those neck muscles of ours to within an inch of their lives. When we’re done, our neck muscles will be the strongest neck muscles in the world—bar none.”

  Brutus still didn’t seem entirely at ease with this new project his girlfriend had embarked on, and I have to admit that the moment she mentioned the ‘we’ word, I looked up with a sense of alarm. It was one thing for Harriet to drag Brutus into all of this ball-balancing nonsense, but I really didn’t want her to drag the rest of us into it as well.

  And to think the afternoon had started off so well.

  That evening, Marge and Tex were coming over for dinner, and Odelia had decided to prepare them something extra-special. In preparation for this, she had been cooking up a storm. And so we had been in the kitchen posthaste, throwing our sense of decorum and dignity to the wind in a bid to secure a piece of whatever she was cooking for ourselves.

  And Odelia wouldn’t be Odelia if she hadn’t given us some tasty morsels to sample.

  “What do you think?” she asked. “Good? Not so good? You guys are my tasters, you see. If you don’t approve, I won’t serve this stuff to my mom and dad.”

  “Oh, it’s good,” said Brutus between two bites. “It’s really good. Isn’t it, you guys?”

  “It’s not bad,” Harriet agreed. She’s one of those cats who don’t do exuberance. She likes to mete out her praise in small doses, as if afraid that otherwise the recipients of that praise will get cocky. “I don’t think it’s fresh, though. Where did you get this meat, Odelia?”

  “I got it from the butcher in town,” said Odelia, who seemed perturbed at the notion that the meat wasn’t fresh. She smelled it and wrinkled her nose. “Now that you mention it, you’re absolutely right. It doesn’t smell very good. Do you think it’s gone off?”

  “It’s good,” I said. Who cares if meat has gone off? It’s still meat, right? Still delicious.

  “We have to be careful,” said Harriet. “Tex and Marge aren’t as young as they used to be. And old people can’t digest meat that’s gone off as well as young people can. Their digestive systems aren’t strong enough to handle such an onslaught. They might get sick and die.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’d better throw this away and prepare something else.”

  “Don’t throw it away,” Harriet suggested. “That’s such a waste of money. Give it to us instead. Your parents’ stomachs may not be up to snuff anymore, but ours are still strong.”

  “But aren’t you afraid it will make you sick?” asked Odelia, who didn’t seem to agree with Harriet’s assessment.

  “No, we’re fine,” Harriet assured her. “Just give it to us, and we’ll get rid of it for you. You can even give it to us raw.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harriet,” said Odelia dubiously.

  “I don’t like raw meat,” said Dooley. “On the Discovery Channel, they showed what raw meat can do to your insides—it can give you worms. And I don’t want worms, you guys.”

  “No, I don’t want worms either,” I said.

  “Same here,” Brutus grunted, making a face.

  “Okay,” said Harriet with an exaggerated sigh. “Looks like I’ll have to sacrifice myself for the greater good. Give it to me, Odelia,” she said with a magnanimous gesture. “Give it all to me, and I will make sure this meat finds a new home.”

  And so it happened that the meat that had been destined for Odelia’s dinner table ended up in Harriet’s stomach instead. And since the rest of us weren’t all that keen to eat raw meat, we watched her polish off that plate all by herself.

  “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick?” asked Dooley.

  “Not afraid at all,” she assured us between bites. She was eating with such relish that I was starting to wonder if perhaps I’d been a little too hasty in turning it down.

  “But on the Discovery Channel they said⁠—”

  “I don’t care about your Discov
ery Channel, Dooley,” said Harriet. “I don’t care at all. Just leave me in peace to enjoy my meal, will you? And I can’t do that with the three of you standing there, watching me eat. So go play outside or something. Now shoo.”

  And so not only had we been barred from partaking in this feast that had smelled so promising at the start, but we had also been kicked out of the house.

  Which is when we came upon Fifi, practicing her new ball-balancing act.

  By the time Harriet had finished her meal and joined us on the lawn, Fifi had explained the ins and outs of her new endeavor in full detail.

  Not that I was all that interested. Like Brutus, I could take this whole ball-on-the-nose-balancing act or leave it. I didn’t much care either way.

  So when Harriet suddenly started making plans to rule the world of ball-on-the-nose-balancing, I sincerely hoped she was kidding.

  But when has Harriet ever kidded about anything?

  Never!

  Which meant I saw a lot of ball-balancing days ahead of me: balancing the ball in the morning, balancing the ball in the afternoon, and balancing the ball at night. In other words: balancing the ball all the time!

  “How do you train neck muscles, Fifi?” asked Dooley. “Do you lift weights with your head?”

  “Not exactly,” said Fifi. “This is what I do.” She let the ball drop to the lawn and started contorting herself into strange and unusual positions. “This is yoga for dogs,” she explained. “It contributes to flexibility, but also to core strength, and in this particular case, to the strengthening of the neck muscles. See?” She was twisting herself into a pretzel by turning her head this way and that, all while lying on the lawn with her hind paws in the air. It was the strangest thing.

  “Doing yoga again, Fifi?” asked a voice from the rear. It was Rufus, our other neighbor’s dog, and he had waddled up so silently we hadn’t even noticed. For a dog as big as he is, he’s surprisingly discreet.

  “I was just explaining to our neighbors that they should practice balancing a ball on their noses. It’s good for everything.”

  “It’s true,” Rufus agreed. “I’ve been doing these same exercises for a week now, and that crick I had in my neck? It’s gone!”

  “See? It’s a miracle cure,” said Fifi, once again singing the praises of her new routine.

  “Where did you learn all of this?” I asked, starting to get curious in spite of myself.

  “Oh, some TV guy,” said Fifi. “He’s been teaching yoga to my human’s girlfriend Gilda, and since Kurt has been complaining a lot about stiffness in the joints and muscles, she insisted he take up the practice. So now they do yoga together every morning—first thing. And I’ve decided to join in.”

  “Do they also balance a ball on their noses?” asked Dooley, fascinated by this glimpse into the life of our retired music teacher neighbor.

  “Not a ball,” said Fifi, “but they do balance themselves. Standing on one leg, for instance, or even on their heads. It’s amazing to see how far they’ve come. They both used to be stiff and sore when they got up in the morning, and now they practically jump out of bed.”

  “Wow,” said Dooley. “Maybe Gran should take this up, Max. She’s always complaining about being stiff and sore. This is right up her alley.”

  “We could get them all together,” Fifi suggested. “That way, Kurt and Gilda and Gran can all do yoga in the morning. And you guys can all balance a ball on your noses!”

  “I’ve been taking part,” Rufus revealed proudly. “And it’s like Fifi says: you feel so much better, you guys. Invigorated, you know. Refreshed.”

  “Join us!” said Fifi. “All of you guys. Join us and we’ll all do yoga on the lawn.”

  Brutus and I shared a look of distinct unease. If there’s one thing we both dislike, it’s all this yoga stuff. Which is why it surprised me so much when he cleared his throat and piped up, “Excellent idea, Fifi. We’ll rally our families and make sure that tomorrow morning, first thing, we’re all in Kurt’s backyard doing yoga.”

  “Ooh, this is going to be so great!” said Fifi.

  I gave Brutus a questioning look, and he shrugged. “If you can’t beat them,” he whispered in my ear, “you have to join them, Max.”

  Maybe he was right. There was absolutely no way Harriet was going to let this drop, and maybe if we got the whole family involved, they might be able to temper her zeal and excitement to get her name mentioned in the Guinness Book of Records.

  Still, I wasn’t feeling sanguine about this whole yoga business. Not sanguine at all. In fact, I could see a diet in my immediate future. Another one. The moment Odelia discovered I couldn’t balance a ball on my nose because of insufficient neck musculature—and saw that I couldn’t stand on my head because of my pudgy midsection—she’d probably bring the hammer down and put me on a diet. And all because of Fifi’s silly ball routine!

  I couldn’t help myself, so when she wasn’t looking, I gave her a very dirty look indeed.

  CHAPTER 2

  That evening, after dinner, our humans were all gathered around the table, enjoying each other’s company and basking in the glow of a fine meal spent in the company of some fine people, when Chase broached a topic that seemed to be on the forefront of his mind.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with Mick these days, but he’s starting to rub me the wrong way in more ways than one.”

  Mick Harper is a former hockey star who recently joined the Hampton Cove Police Department. He used to live with Tex and Marge for a while but eventually found an apartment in town where he now resides.

  “Oh, that’s right. He’s riding with you now, isn’t he?” said Gran, fiddling with her napkin.

  “Alec partnered him with me, that’s correct,” said Chase.

  “You don’t enjoy being partnered with Mick?” asked Odelia. “I thought you liked him?”

  “I do like him, or at least I did, but he insists on bringing those dogs of his along.”

  “His… dogs?” I asked, even though I knew Chase wouldn’t be able to understand me. I remembered now that Mick Harper owned two huskies—Storm and Blizzard—though we had yet to make their acquaintance.

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Marge. “Mick talks about those dogs of his all the time. So have they finally arrived?”

  “They have,” Chase confirmed, though the notion didn’t seem to bring him much joy. “His ex-wife finally released her grip on them and they arrived a couple of days ago. And now Mick insists on dragging them along everywhere we go.”

  “So what’s the problem?” asked Marge. “I thought you liked dogs?”

  “I do, but these dogs aren’t trained police dogs. And that presents a serious problem. Only today they tried to bite a suspected thief we’d been chasing. I had to intervene, and if I hadn’t, the police department might have had a lawsuit on its hands.”

  “Maybe you should tell Mick to send them to a trainer,” Tex suggested. “And maybe find a babysitter for during the day, when he’s working.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll listen to me,” said Chase.

  “Well, he has to, doesn’t he?” said Gran. “You’re his superior officer. So he has to do what you say.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the problem. He doesn’t. Listen to me, I mean. He seems to feel that after the weeks he spent at the police academy, he knows everything there is to know about being a police officer. Whatever I tell him, he just doesn’t listen.”

  “Surely that’s only temporary,” said Marge. “In due course he’ll understand that he still has a lot to learn.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Chase, who clearly didn’t enjoy the former hockey player’s company all that much. Too bad he had to spend all day with the guy, then.

  Suddenly we were all alerted to an unpleasant sound: the sound of a cat retching. When we looked over, we saw that it was Harriet, who was making horrible retching sounds and, before long, was upchucking something.

  “Harriet!” Marge cried, pushing her chair back. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

  Harriet didn’t respond, as she was too busy emptying the contents of her stomach onto Odelia’s carpet. When she was finally done, a small pile of some gooey substance lay there.

  It was meat. Or at least what was left of it.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Harriet confessed. She turned her eyes up to Odelia. “Looks like I was right, Odelia. That meat was bad.”