PURRFECT YACHT

  THE MYSTERIES OF MAX 60

  NIC SAINT

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Purrfect Yacht

  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

  About Nic

  Also by Nic Saint

  INTRODUCTION

  PURRFECT YACHT

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  Murder in Saint-Tropez

  When Gran announced that she wanted to spend her vacation cruising along the French Riviera, I should have known it was a sign of things to come. Before long we, too, temporarily relocated to France, to conduct an undercover investigation into a blackmail attempt targeting Odelia’s cousin. A marriage had been arranged and was going to take place between Emily King, Zumba instructor, and Harry Griffiths, scion of the well-known Griffiths family. Only someone aboard the Griffiths luxury yacht was desperate to stop that wedding, and would go to any lengths, up to and including… murder!

  CHAPTER 1

  I was basking in the sun—as one does—when the world decided to intrude upon my peace and quiet—as it does. As represented by Gran, the world perhaps had reason to interpose on my pleasant repose, since the news she had to impart was momentous—and I don’t use this word lightly, as consequent events will bear out.

  “It’s happening!” she caroled as she came cantering into the backyard like a youngish foal. “It’s actually happening!”

  Dooley, alerted by this sudden emergence onto the scene of his human, looked startled. “Oh, no!” he cried. “What’s happening!”

  “I’m going!” Gran said, and performed a sort of NFL touchdown dance on the spot. “Or better yet: we’re going.”

  “Going where, Gran?” I asked, patting my stricken friend on the back. Dooley looked not so much alarmed as downright spooked. All this talk about happenings and goings interrupting what must have been a refreshing nap was clearly having a deleterious effect on his sensitive soul.

  “To the French Riviera, of course!” Gran cried.

  Dooley and I shared a look of apprehension. Cats don’t travel, everybody knows that. We’re basically homebodies, and being dragged across oceans and continents to places one has never been might seem great fun to humans, but to us it sounds like something from a bad dream—or rather a nightmare!

  “Why do we have to go to a French river era, Gran?” Dooley lamented. “And what is a river era?”

  Gran stared at him. “Who said you’re going anywhere?”

  “But you said—”

  “I said we’re going to the French Riviera, not you.”

  “But—”

  “Dick Bernstein and Rock Horowitz invited Scarlett and me to join them on Dick’s yacht. His yacht!” she said, rubbing her hands with glee. “I’ve never been on an actual yacht before, so this is going to be a real treat!”

  Somehow the news that his human was deserting him made Dooley feel even worse than the news that he might be traveling to France. “But Gran!” he cried. “You can’t just leave us here all by ourselves!”

  “You won’t be all by yourselves,” said Gran. “Marge will be here, and Odelia. In fact the whole family will be here. Except little old me,” she added, tapping her chest proudly. “Since I’ll be sunning and frolicking on a splendid yacht in the Mediterranean, having a ball!”

  “Oh,” said Dooley, who clearly didn’t know whether to be happy that we were staying put, or sad that his human was leaving to go off on some crazy adventure. After all, Dick Bernstein and Rock Horowitz, Gran’s friends from the senior center, are known for their eccentricity. So who knows when or even if Gran would ever return from this sojourn in one piece.

  “When are you leaving?” I asked. “And how long will you be gone?”

  “In two days,” Gran said. “For a ten-day, all-inclusive exclusive sojourn on Dick’s luxury yacht.” She savored the words, rolling them around her tongue with relish. “This is all very much last notice, I know, but then the best things in life are like that: you just have to grab the chances life offers and be quick about it, too! In other words: you snooze, you lose!”

  “But I like to snooze,” Dooley lamented sadly.

  “I think it sounds just great, Gran,” I said, but somehow I couldn’t hide my skepticism.

  She fixed me with a baleful eye. Nobody likes a cat to rain on their parade, or any pet for that matter. “You don’t approve, do you, Max?” she said. “Come on, spill. What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just that…”

  “It’s just what?”

  “Well, Dick Bernstein isn’t exactly known as the most reliable person on the planet, and neither is Rock Horowitz. So are you sure you want to spend ten days on a yacht with those two guys?”

  “Absolutely,” she said with a big grin. “Too bad it’s only ten days. When Dick told me about this I was hoping he’d say two months, or two years, or even twenty!”

  “Twenty years!” Dooley said with a gasp. “But Gran!”

  “Dick is such a dreamboat,” said Gran wistfully.

  “A dreamboat who owns a dream boat,” I said with a yawn.

  “His yacht is moored in the port of Nice, surrounded by plenty of other yachts, owned by celebrities and billionaires and whatnot. It’s all very romantic—the stuff of Hollywood movies.” She produced a slight squeal of excitement, making both Dooley and myself jump in surprise. “I better start packing! Or better yet, start shopping! I need an entire new wardrobe. Party dresses, bathing suits, lingerie…” She giggled like a schoolgirl as she clasped her hands together. “French Riviera, here I come!”

  And without awaiting further comment from myself or Dooley, she was off at a trot, presumably on her way to borrowing her son-in-law’s credit card so she could go on this pre-vacation shopping spree.

  For a moment, neither Dooley or I spoke. Then he said: “I know I probably should be happy for Gran, Max, that she’s been offered this unique opportunity, but for some reason I’m sad. And also worried.”

  “You’re right to be worried,” I said. “Gran being sprung upon an unsuspecting world like this is not a good idea. She’ll probably get into all kinds of trouble over there.”

  “Maybe we should go with her, so we can keep an eye on her?” he suggested, but I could sense that his heart wasn’t really in it.

  “Let’s just see what Marge has to say. And Alec, of course.”

  After all, if Gran wanted to go off on some French adventure, her son and daughter probably had some ideas about that. They might even call the whole thing off. And since Gran was currently living under Marge’s roof, it wasn’t inconceivable that Dick and Rock would have to find themselves another date.

  And so it was that once the excitement of Gran’s announcement had worn off, Dooley and I fell asleep once more. And a good thing, too, since we were both going to need our strength, considering the surprise life had in store for us next.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tex had been pruning the hedge when his mother-in-law came galloping out of the house and into Odelia’s backyard. He heard her talking to her cats, and wondered what the big fuss was about. So when she returned, he had to suppress a strong urge to ask her what was going on. But knowing Vesta, whatever she had to say would merely serve to infuriate him on some level, so he kept his tongue, and pretended not to see her as he diligently focused on his hedge with an energy perhaps better reserved for a greater cause.

  Long association with Marge’s mother had taught him not to engage when she was on a rampage, and so when Marge approached him five minutes later, he could correctly claim that he had no idea what she was talking about when she said, “Did you hear the latest?”

  “No, I did not,” he said, and frankly he didn’t want to know.

  “She’s going to France. On Dick Bernstein’s yacht, of all places.”

  He frowned. Whatever he had been expecting, it definitely wasn’t this. “Dick Bernstein owns a yacht?”

  “It’s the first I’m hearing of it. Apparently it belongs to his son, who runs an investment company. He uses the yacht to entertain potential clients, but since he’s in China on a business trip, he’s letting Dick have it for ten days. And sin
ce Dick doesn’t want to spend that time alone on the yacht, he’s invited his best friend Rock, and also my mother and Scarlett.”

  “How about that?” said Tex, and continued to snip away at the hedge. He knew better than to comment on his mother-in-law’s plans. Vesta did what Vesta wanted to do, and no one had ever been able to stop her.

  “You seem very relaxed about it?” said Marge, and she sounded a little peeved.

  He shrugged. “She’s old and wise enough. She doesn’t need our permission. And it does sound like a great opportunity.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Marge. “I don’t trust Dick, Tex. Remember when he told you to put mayonnaise on your head to cure your baldness?”

  The good doctor grimaced. “Please don’t remind me.” It hadn’t been his proudest moment. “Besides, maybe it helped? My hair seems to have grown back, hasn’t it?”

  “I told you then and I’m telling you now that your baldness was all in your imagination, honey,” said Marge. “You were never going bald, so rubbing mayonnaise on your head didn’t change a thing.”

  “I still think it worked,” he insisted. Though it was true that Dick had confessed that he was simply pulling his leg when he had extolled the virtues of the so-called mayonnaise cure to him that time.

  “I don’t know, Tex,” said Marge. “Maybe we should tell her not to go. You know what she’s like. Before you know it she’ll be up to her neck in trouble, and who do you think she’ll call to bail her out?”

  “I think it’s fine,” said Tex. “Scarlett will be there, and she’s a sensible person.”

  “A sensible person! Scarlett is just as bad as my mother. Put the two of them together and you get a disaster. They seem to bring out the worst in each other.” She had crossed her arms in front of her chest and was glaring at the house, where presumably Vesta was getting ready for her big trip. “She said she was going shopping. With the credit card you gave her, of course.”

  This time he did look up. “Shopping?” he asked in alarm.

  “Said she needed a haircut, manicure, pedicure, and of course a new set of clothes. Bathing suits, dresses, lingerie. I mean, what does she need lingerie for? She’s seventy-five, for crying out loud, and she’s been spending all of her life dressed in that same horrible tracksuit she likes so much.”

  Tex gulped. He knew just what would happen if Vesta went off on a shopping spree with his credit card. “C-c-can’t you stop her?”

  “Agent Provocateur,” Marge said, shaking her head. “Can you imagine my mother in Agent Provocateur lingerie?”

  “A-a-agent P-p-provocateur?!” Tex cried, dropping the hedge shears and almost hitting his big toe with the sharp end of the implement.

  “Apparently,” said Marge. “Though she might settle for Victoria’s Secret.” She threw up her hands. “I guess there isn’t much we can do about it. Like you said, she’s a grown woman and she doesn’t need our permission.”

  “B-b-but we have to stop her!” said Tex, imagining the bill he would be saddled with if Vesta started raiding the Agent Provocateur or Victoria’s Secret stores in a bid to look her best for Rock and Dick.

  “Too late,” said Marge, who seemed to devise a wicked pleasure in watching her husband squirm. “She left five minutes ago to pick up Scarlett. They’re driving down to Manhattan. She said not to wait up for her. They’ll have dinner in town. Might even catch a show or a movie to celebrate.” She sighed. “Oh, well. At least we’ll have some peace and quiet around here. I guess that’s something to be grateful for.” She studied her husband for a moment. “Remind me. What’s the limit on that credit card you gave her?”

  He goggled at her. “Why?”

  “It might not be a bad idea to call the bank and get it lowered. Just for the foreseeable future. Say, for the next month or so?” And with these words, she turned on her heel and returned to the house.

  It took a moment for his wife’s words to register, but then Tex sprang into action. To take out his phone and dial his banker was but the work of a moment. Seconds later the call connected, and much to his satisfaction his banker only needed a few words to grasp this loyal customer’s meaning.

  “I know just what you’re talking about, Doctor Poole,” said Martin Schofield. “Like you, I have a mother-in-law. And just like you, she’s the bane of my existence. So let’s get that credit lowered, shall we?”

  “How long is this going to take?” asked Tex nervously.

  “Not long,” Martin assured him with typical breeziness.

  “It’s just that she already left for Manhattan,” he said. “She’s going for a full makeover. Hair, nails, clothes—the works. She said she wants to buy…” He gulped, his Adam’s apple bopping up and down. “She wants to buy…” He squeezed his eyes shut and practically whispered, “Agent Provocateur lingerie.”

  “That bad, huh?” said Martin good-naturedly. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a genuine emergency on our hands. Defcon One, would you say?”

  “Definitely Defcon One,” said Tex, happy to get the banker’s full cooperation.

  “Us sons-in-law have to stick together, Tex,” said Martin gravely. “In fact we should probably start a club. Join forces, if you know what I mean. We could call it the son-in-law survivors club.” Tex heard some tapping of fingers on keys, and moments later the banker quoted a number. “What do you think? Higher? Lower?”

  “Lower,” said Tex in a low voice. “Much, much lower.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Emily King had been counting the days until she could finally leave and be with her fiancé. Harry had already left last week, but she couldn’t leave her colleagues at Fat-Less in the lurch, so she had decided to keep working until the final day before her departure for the South of France. The Audrey was awaiting her arrival, and so was Harry, and if what he said was to be believed, also his parents. Frankly she had her doubts about that, since Steven and Amanda Griffiths hadn’t exactly seemed overly pleased when Harry had introduced her. And when he told them that Emily wasn’t merely his girlfriend but that he had actually proposed to her, the look on Amanda’s face spoke volumes. The woman clearly wasn’t in agreement with her son’s choice for a future spouse, and Emily imagined harsh words had been spoken the moment she had left the Griffiths parental mansion.

  Harry hadn’t mentioned anything about an argument, but then he always did go out of his way to protect her. When Harry had joined her Zumba class last year, she had immediately noticed not only his athleticism but also his outrageously good looks. But since she was a professional she hadn’t let that affect the way she treated him—giving him the exact same level of attention she gave all of her students. No more, no less. But the attraction had been unmistakable, and reciprocal, for it hadn’t taken Harry long to invite her for a drink.

  She had wavered for a while, since she had a strict rule about not mixing her professional life with her personal. But a girl can only resist for so long, and when he showed up one morning with a small troupe of friends, performing an impromptu flash mob style dance routine, she had relented. One date had led to another, and it was over the course of dinner that he had announced that he was falling for her. She couldn’t deny that the feeling was mutual, and soon they had become inseparable.

  Which is when he had carefully broached the subject of his family. And their wealth. For the Griffiths were well off. Like, really well off. Their mansion, located on the outskirts of Hampton Cove, had to be seen to be believed, and if she was overwhelmed, she tried not to show it. Clearly the scornful smile on Amanda’s face had indicated she had failed in that particular endeavor. Then again, how could she not be impressed? Her own mom had worked all her life as a cleaner, and her dad was a car mechanic, so the King family wasn’t exactly swimming in money. But even though she wanted to assure Harry’s folks that she wasn’t dating him for his money, somehow she knew they wouldn’t believe her. Somehow the word gold digger had been dropped into the conversation at some point, even though later on Emily couldn’t remember the context, or even if the reference was aimed at her. Probably not, since Amanda was too subtle for that. Or too shrewd. But the meaning was clear, and the visit had left a bad taste in her mouth.