Purrfect Kill

  The Mysteries of Max 17

  Nic Saint

  Contents

  Purrfect Kill

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Purrfect Boy Toy (The Mysteries of Max 18)

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  Purrfect Kill

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  As your loyal feline correspondent it is my sad duty to inform you that one of my housemates has lost her marbles and decided to go into showbiz. And in other news, the country’s most successful female pop singer was found murdered.

  In other words: business as usual in Hampton Cove, one of the coziest but also (apparently) deadliest East Coast towns. At least for celebrities, who tend to die like flies in this lovely little corner of the world. As far as Harriet’s singing ambitions were concerned, she wasn’t the only one in our family with a sudden craving to step into the limelight and seek fame and fortune. Gran, too, announced she wants to be a star and become the next Beyoncé.

  The murder investigation into the death of Chickie Hay, meanwhile, wasn’t going well. Oh, there were plenty of suspects, but no progress being reported. Odelia, my human and sometime amateur sleuth, was at the end of her tether, and even we cats couldn’t give her the breakthrough she was so desperately looking for. But tenacious as we are, we just kept on digging, even as Gran’s ambitions caused a serious rift in the Poole family—she even up and left.

  So how did it all end, you ask? Well, do read on in my latest report from the Hampton Cove front lines: Purrfect Kill. I promise you won’t be disappointed. At least if you don’t mind reading a book written from the viewpoint of a cat.

  Prologue

  Chickie Hay was shaking her athletic frame to the beat, one eye on the floor-to-ceiling mirror, the other on the big screen where her choreo was being demonstrated by her personal choreographer Tracy Marbella. Chickie’s next tour was coming up and she needed to get in shape, which is why she was working up a sweat practicing her moves and rehearsing the concert playlist until she had the songs and the dance routines down pat.

  “Baby, baby,” she sang, the music thumping through the room. She was wearing her usual pink leggings and her favorite pink sweatshirt—the same outfit she always wore when she started rehearsals. They were worn out by now, after years of use, but Chickie had a superstitious streak, and wouldn’t wear anything except her lucky threads.

  “Baby, baby, baby,” she sang as she swung her hips and thrust out her arms.

  She’d have preferred it if her trusty choreographer had been with her in person, to make those small corrections and improvements that make all the difference, but Tracy hadn’t been able to make it. Doctor’s appointment. No worries, though. Tracy always filmed her choreos and gave her clients plenty to work with.

  “Baby, baby, baby, baby…”

  Chickie frowned at her image in the mirror. Something wasn’t right and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Tracy would know. The experienced choreographer would only need a glimpse to know what was wrong and immediately correct her. ‘No, Chickie—you need to relax those shoulders. And be light on your feet. Lighter! You look like an elephant stomping across the stage. Snappy movements. Snappy, snappy, snappy!’

  And Chickie, even though she sometimes had a hard time following instructions, would do as she was told, because that’s how much faith she put in Tracy’s genius.

  The fact of the matter was that she had a lot riding on the new album and the accompanying tour. It was her first one in five years, and already the media were calling it her comeback album. Then again, if you didn’t put out something new every six months, you were already a has-been and ripe for a much-touted comeback.

  She was proud of the new album. And felt that it was probably the best thing she’d ever done. She just hoped her fans, her Chickies, would like the new stuff. She’d invited a select few of them to the house the week before for a slumber party, so they could hear the new songs, and they’d loved them. Loved them! One or two had even fainted. Fainting was good. It was a sign she still had what it took to inspire her army of Chickies.

  The sound of a pebble hitting the window had her look up in surprise. She walked over and looked out. It took another pebble to direct her attention to a tree whose branches reached the fence. One of her most fanatical Chickies sat in the tree and was throwing rocks at her window. Oh, God. Not that guy again. But instead of indicating her displeasure, she gave him a little pinky wave. You had to keep the superfans happy.

  She quickly moved back from the window before this self-declared #SuperChickie heaved a brick through the window and hit her smack in the face. Picking up her phone, she dialed Tyson’s number, the man in charge of her small security crew.

  “Yeah, Tyson. Olaf is back. He’s sitting in a tree throwing rocks at my window. Can you get him out of there? Be nice about it—he may be nuts but he’s still a fan. Thanks.”

  She shook her head in dismay. It was one thing to have fans but another to have crazies who followed you around wherever you went, trying to get a glimpse of you.

  Trying to put the incident out of her mind, she resumed her rehearsal. One-step, two-step, pivot. One-step, two-step, pivot. Ouch. A sudden pain shot through her ankle.

  “Oh, hell!” she cried, and threw up her hands. “Now see what you did, Olaf!”

  And just as she picked up the phone to set up an appointment with her physiotherapist, the door swung open and she glanced up at the new arrival.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. “I think I twisted my ankle again. And it’s all because of that horrible Olaf Poley. Can you believe he’s actually throwing rocks at my window now?”

  Suddenly two hands closed around her neck with surprising strength. She tried to fight back but to no avail. And as she started to lose consciousness, she remembered Tracy’s words from their very first session: ‘You need to work on your upper-body strength, missy! Train those noodles you call muscles until they’re strong as iron bands!’

  Oh, how she wished now she’d followed Tracy’s advice.

  1

  I woke up from a strange sound. Thump, thump, thump. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. As if some giant hand had grabbed the house and was shaking it all about.

  And then I realized what it was.

  “Earthquake!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Earthquake!”

  And I was up and moving with great alacrity in the direction of the exit. I halted when a small inner voice told me I’d forgotten something. Something critical. I’d totally neglected to make sure my human was awake and responding to my cry of alarm.

  So ignoring danger to life and limb, I turned back and checked on Odelia. Imagine my surprise when I saw that only Chase still occupied the bed, the covers pulled all the way up to his ears, blissfully sleeping the sleep of the dead in spite of my urgent plea.

  “Earthquake!” I tooted in his ears. “Wake up, Chase—there’s an earthquake!”

  And to add credence to my words, I placed my paws on the burly copper and started massaging his mighty chest, not stinting on the odd claw extending from the odd paw.

  “Not now, Max,” Chase muttered, then turned to his other side and kept on sleeping.

  “But Chase! You have to wake up! There’s an earthquake and if you don’t get up right now the house will fall on top of our heads!”

  “That’s nice,” Chase muttered, even though I’m sure he couldn’t possibly have understood what I’d just said. Chase is one of those humans who can’t comprehend cats. Well, I guess most humans fall into that category. Only Odelia, Chase’s girlfriend and my very own personal human, can speak to me, as well as her mother and grandmother.

  My gaze briefly raked the spot where Odelia should have been, and I reached out a tentative paw to touch the sheet. Still warm, so she must have gotten up just now. So why hadn’t she alerted her boyfriend of the impending doom? Or me, for that matter?

  And then, as I glanced around some more, I saw that there was one other individual missing from the picture: my best friend Dooley. I wasn’t worried about him, though, as Dooley has the luxury of calling two homes his home, both Odelia’s and her mom’s, and had presumably opted to keep his own human next door company this particular night.

  I decided to go in search of Odelia, as she seemed to be the only one who’d be able to rouse Chase from the land of slumber and into full wakefulness.

r />   The loud noise that I’d identified as an earthquake had changed in pitch, and as I hurried out of the bedroom and into the corridor, suddenly I realized my mistake. It wasn’t an earthquake but… music. Loud, thumping music. The kind that humans like to dance to.

  Quickly putting two and two together I deduced that Odelia had gotten up early and was using these quiet moments before the dawn to perform some of that aerobics, as she calls it. She dresses up in fluorescent lycra and jumps around in sync with the music, watching other women donning similar attire do the same on her big TV screen.

  So I waddled down the stairs, and the moment I arrived in the living room I discovered I’d been right on the money: there, jumping up and down and swinging her arms, was Odelia, dressed in pink, moving along to the beat of some very peculiar music.

  And next to her sat Dooley, bobbing his head as if in approval of these proceedings.

  I sidled up to him, after giving Odelia a once-over to determine if she was still of sound mind and body or had been bitten by some exotic bug and gone off her rocker. With humans you never know. They act sane and sensible one minute, and nuts the next.

  “Have you been up long?” I asked as I hopped onto the couch and joined my friend.

  “I woke up when Odelia got out of bed,” said Dooley, who, judging from the way he was still bobbing his head to the beat, seemed to enjoy the extravaganza.

  “I thought it was an earthquake,” I intimated. “Until I realized it was Odelia.”

  “She’s getting good at this aerobics thing, isn’t she?” said Dooley proudly. “She’s almost as good as those very lively ladies on TV.”

  Those lively ladies were kicking their legs so high into the air I winced, afraid something might give and they’d lose a limb or two.

  “Yeah, she’s improving with leaps and bounds,” I agreed, though I still wasn’t entirely sure whether the aerobics thing was good for her or detrimental to her health. “Why does she do it, though? I mean, what’s the point of all this jumping and sweating?”

  “She wants to get in shape,” said Dooley, regurgitating the party line. Odelia had been talking about getting ‘in’ shape for weeks now, even though as far as I could tell she’d never been ‘out’ of shape. Odelia is a slim-limbed young woman with long blond hair and not an ounce of fat on her entire body. So why she would feel the need to put herself through this ordeal is frankly beyond me. But then I’ve never claimed to be the world’s biggest expert on humans, and the peculiar species keeps confounding me every day.

  “Next she’ll want to run a marathon,” I said.

  “A marathon?” asked Dooley, as he smiled at the complicated movements Odelia was performing with gusto. “What’s a marathon, Max?”

  “It’s where humans run for a really long time, like hours and hours and hours, and then at the end, when they’re almost dead, the first three people get a medal.”

  “They run…”

  “And run and run and then they run some more.”

  “So what are they chasing?”

  “Like I said, these medals.”

  “Are they edible medals?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Are they worth a great deal of money?”

  “Well, yes, I guess. There’s usually a gold medal, a silver one and a bronze one.”

  “Then that must be the reason. They run so they can get a medal and then sell it and use the money to buy food. Humans don’t do these things without a good reason.”

  “Yeah, I guess they don’t.”

  “Running just for the heck of it would be crazy.”

  “It sure would.”

  “Irrational.”

  We watched Odelia jump up and down some more, the music making the walls quake.

  “So do you think Odelia gets a medal if she gets the routine just right?” asked Dooley.

  “I doubt it. There’s no medals in aerobics.”

  “Then why does she do it?”

  “Um…”

  We shared a look of apprehension. It had suddenly dawned on us that our human might be going crazy. Jumping up and down for no good reason at all. Odelia paused, and now clapped her hands, just like the women in the video. She turned to us, panting and wiping sweat from her brow with a towel. “What are you guys talking about?” she asked.

  “I was wondering if you’ll get a medal if you get your routine just right,” said Dooley.

  Odelia laughed. “Oh, Dooley. No, I won’t get a medal. But I’ll feel really good when those endorphins start flooding my brain, and that’s all the encouragement I need.”

  “She’s doing it for the endorphins,” said Dooley, sounding relieved that our human wasn’t crazy. Then he turned to me. “What’s an endorphin, Max? Is it like a dolphin?”

  “I think so,” I said. Though why Odelia needed dolphins in her brain I didn’t know.

  “Endorphins are hormones,” said Odelia, now bending over and touching the floor with her hands. “When they flood your brain they make you feel happy. That’s why they call them happy hormones. Plus, getting in shape makes my body happy and healthy. And you know what they say. Mens sana in corpore sano. Healthy body, healthy mind.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said dubiously. “I thought it was an earthquake. So my body wasn’t happy, and neither was my mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Max,” she said. “But if I don’t do this first thing in the morning I never get round to it. Is Chase up yet?”

  “Almost. He was talking, but refused to get up when I told them about the earthquake.”

  “Best to let him sleep. He got home pretty late last night.”

  Chase had gone up to New York the night before, for a reunion with his ex-colleagues from the NYPD, the police force he’d worked for before moving to Hampton Cove.

  “Chase should try napping,” said Dooley. “It’s very effective. Uncle Alec could put beds in the office so his officers can nap whenever they feel tired. Cats do it all the time.”

  “Great idea, Dooley,” I said. “I love napping.”

  “And I’ll bet it’s great for those dolphins, too.”

  “I don’t think my uncle will like the idea,” said Odelia with a laugh. “But I’ll tell him.”

  “Napping,” said Dooley, “is the secret why cats are so vigorous, vivacious and vital.”

  On TV the routine had started up again, and moments later Odelia was jumping around again, the earthquake moving up on the Richter scale. To such an extent that moments later Chase came stomping down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. He stood watching Odelia while she tried to kick and touch the ceiling, then shook his head and moved into the kitchen to start up his precious coffeemaker.

  Soon the sounds of Odelia’s aerobics routine mingled nicely with Chase’s baritone voice singing along. And as he rubbed his stubbled jaw and then stretched, a third person entered the fray: it was Marge, Odelia’s mom, and she looked a little frazzled.

  Odelia pressed pause on the remote, and stood, hands on knees, panting freely.

  “Odelia, honey, I need your help,” said Marge as she took a seat on the couch.

  “Sure, anything,” said Odelia, grabbing for her towel again.

  “It’s your grandmother.”

  Odelia closed her eyes and groaned. “What has she gone and done now?”

  “You know how she agreed to sing backing vocals in your father’s band? Well, she’s just announced she’s tired of playing second fiddle and she’s starting a solo career.”

  “Of course she has,” said Odelia as she toweled off and sat down next to her mother.