Tex, who’d picked up the patty and was now checking it for ants and dirt, said, “We’ve actually been thinking about incorporating a rap routine into our show. Rap is all the rage now, so we might as well take advantage and appeal to a younger demographic.”

  Gran tolled her eyes. Ever since her own career had tanked, she didn’t want to hear about how well The Singing Doctors were doing. Tex was still only playing local gigs, but then he’d never had any ambitions of doing anything else. He enjoyed hanging out with his two friends and had fun making music. Stardom was the last thing on their minds.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t get shot, honey,” said Marge, who’d placed a large bowl of potato salad on the table. “When I heard that Nickie had a gun in her dresser drawer…”

  “She would never have used that gun,” said Odelia.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Uncle Alec, who’d opened a bottle of beer and now took a swig. “She told us she actually thought about fleeing the scene when you walked in on her, but when she realized police were there, she dropped the idea. Said dying in a hail of bullets didn’t appeal to her all that much. So you were lucky, Odelia. Very lucky.”

  Odelia gulped a little at that, and so did the four of us.

  “So Odelia was in actual danger, Max?” asked Dooley.

  “Looks like it,” I said.

  “We should have been there,” said Harriet, tsk-tsking freely. “Why didn’t she take us along for this big confrontation? We could have saved her if things turned nasty.”

  “And how would you have done that?” I asked. “If someone pulls a gun on you, how would you stop them?”

  “Easy. I would jump on top of them and dig my claws and teeth in,” said Harriet.

  “I would throw myself in front of the bullet,” said Brutus, puffing out his chest. “Anything to save my human from harm.”

  “Would you throw yourself in front of a bullet to save Odelia, Max?” asked Dooley.

  “I don’t know, Dooley,” I said. “It’s one of those things you don’t know until they happen to you.”

  “Nonsense,” said Brutus. “I know for a fact I would do it, no doubt about it.”

  “And yet I don’t think you would, Brutus,” I said. “When the moment arrives, I think it’s a rare cat that would happily take a bullet for their human.”

  “Dogs would do it,” said Dooley. “Dogs would take a bullet for their human.”

  We all thought about this for a moment. There was a lot of truth in what Dooley said.

  Then Brutus grumbled, “Yeah, but we all know that’s because dogs are too dumb to realize the consequences of their actions. Act first, think later is the dog’s way.”

  “True,” Harriet said. “Dogs probably think the bullet is a fly they need to catch.”

  We all laughed at this. Well, it’s true, isn’t it? The reason dogs jump at the chance to catch bullets for their humans is simply because they don’t realize bullets are dangerous things that can do actual damage.

  Thus reassured that dogs are, in fact, the inferior species, we all greeted Odelia with cheers when she brought us some fresh burger patties, straight from Tex’s—now Chase’s—grill. And as we all tucked in, Dooley said, “I still feel sorry I put Jamie in jail.”

  “Oh, Dooley!” Harriet cried. “Not again with the whole Jamie thing.”

  “But it was my fault she was arrested, and I can’t help feeling bad about it.”

  “I think that time spent in jail was probably the best thing that ever happened to Jamie,” I said, patting my friend on the back. “Besides, I thought that letter was the real deal, too, remember? So this is my fault, too.”

  He gave me a hopeful look. “You really think so, Max?”

  “Of course. I told you to go and give that letter to Gran.”

  “No, about spending time in jail being good for Jamie.”

  “Of course. A good artist needs to suffer. Because of you, Jamie is a better artist now.”

  “Not sure she feels the same way,” Brutus muttered.

  “And I’m sure she does,” said Harriet, giving me a wink.

  Dooley had perked up considerably at this, and was now eating his burger with relish. “You know?” he said finally, munching happily, “maybe we should tell Uncle Alec that Gran committed murder. That way she’ll become a better artist, too. She’ll like that.”

  “Um…” I said, alarmed.

  “And how about Tex! He sure could use the encouragement. In fact why don’t we tell the Chief all of the singing doctors are nasty, vicious killers? They’ll be so, so grateful!”

  “Um, Dooley, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I said.

  “Why? Gran wants to be a star, and this might put her over the top. And Tex, too.”

  “Gran and Tex want to be local stars, not international ones like Jamie. So they don’t need that big push that Jamie received when she was arrested.”

  He thought about this for a moment, champing quietly. Then he nodded. “I think I get it, Max. Murder is too big a crime for Gran and Tex. What they want is a small crime. Just a little one. So how about a nice burglary? Or shoplifting? Or no, wait, I’ve got it!” He fixed me with a beaming smile. “Pickpocketing! We could say they picked our pockets!”

  Harriet suppressed a chuckle, and so did Brutus. They gave me a look that said, ‘Try and wriggle your way out of this one, Max.’ And I had to confess I was starting to regret using the prison ruse to cheer my friend up.

  “Cats don’t have pockets to pick, Dooley,” said Harriet. “So that wouldn’t work.”

  Once more, Dooley was plunged in thought, then finally his face cleared. “We’ll say Gran picked Tex’s pockets and Tex picked Gran’s pockets! Kill two stones with one bird!”

  “The other way around, Dooley,” I said.

  “Fine. We’ll say Tex picked Gran’s pockets and Gran picked Tex’s pockets.”

  Well, it was a solution of a sort, and an elegant one, too. I didn’t have the heart to tell Dooley it was also unrealistic. So I pointed behind him. “Oh, my God, look at the size of that butterfly!”

  “What, where?!” Dooley cried, swiveling his head like a whirligig.

  “Darn it, you just missed it.”

  And as Dooley scanned the horizon for the elusive giant butterfly, I shared a smile with Brutus and Harriet. Through long association with Dooley I’ve learned the best way to solve any tricky issue with my dear friend: the art of distraction. Works every time.

  By the time Dooley had come to terms with the fact that he had missed this rare sighting, he’d forgotten all about his scheme to propel Gran and Tex to stardom.

  And a good thing, too.

  As the afternoon wore on and turned to dusk, the scent of meat sizzling on the grill and the soft chattering of our humans caused my eyes to gradually drift closed, and soon I was dozing peacefully. I would have told you I dreamt of accolades being showered on us for our detective work, of prizes being awarded by the town’s notables, or even the keys of the city being granted to the four of us. But if I’m absolutely honest with you—and when am I ever not?—I’d have to confess that all I dreamt about was a nice bowl of kibble, a soft pillow to stretch out on, my friends nearby, and my human gently stroking my fur.

  Cats. So easy to please. And if anyone tells you differently, he’s probably a dog.

  I awoke from my peaceful slumber when Dooley gave me a gentle prod in the ribs.

  “What is it, Dooley?” I said, and when I opened my eyes found him staring at me.

  “Max? You still haven’t told me.”

  “Told you what, Dooley?”

  “So… who is Beyoncé?”

  THE END

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

  Chapter One

  “But I don’t want to go to LA!”

  “You’re going, whether you like it or not,” said Gran, giving me a hard look. “And so am I.”

  “Um, I never said anything about you going to LA, Gran,” said Odelia.

  “Of course I’m going,” Gran snapped. “You don’t think I’m going to let my favorite grandchild go off to that hellhole on her own, do you?”

  “I’m your only grandchild, and I hardly think LA is a hellhole.”

  Gran wagged a finger in her granddaughter’s face. “Everybody knows LA is one of the most dangerous places on the planet, full of gangs and movie stars and whatnot. And I’m not going to stand idly by while you land yourself in a steaming heap of trouble, missy.”

  I would have pointed out that movie stars are not all that dangerous, but I had a feeling my words would fall on deaf ears. When Gran gets something in her noggin it’s hard to get it out. She definitely hadn’t listened when I told her in no uncertain terms I didn’t want to go on this impromptu trip, and neither did Dooley. Not that we don’t enjoy the occasional holiday, but we don’t like flying. The whole prospect of being cooped up inside an iron tube that hovers a couple of miles above the earth’s surface has never filled me with particular joy, and it certainly didn’t do so now.

  “Gran, the invitation didn’t mention a plus-one, so I’m afraid—”

  “Well, I’m not leaving you to fight this battle on your own, Odelia. Not on my watch.”

  We were in Odelia’s living room, which, coincidentally, is also my living room, and Gran was standing her ground, even though technically this was Odelia’s ground. But then Gran considers any turf her own turf, so there’s that to consider.

  “I’ll have to ask,” said Odelia dubiously, and took out her phone.

  “Do that, and while you’re at it, double check if pets are allowed.”

  Odelia nodded and held the phone to her ear.

  I turned to Dooley, who had been following the negotiation with trepidation.

  “I don’t want to go to LA, Max,” he said. “We have cat choir and my solo is coming up.”

  “So is mine,” I said, “and I’m sure Odelia will realize that singing our solo is much more important than flying off to some godforsaken place called Los Angeles.”

  “Can’t Chase go with her? I’m sure he’s much better equipped to deal with this case than we are. We don’t even know our way around this LA place.”

  “Another very good argument,” I said, nodding, and I ticked them off on my claws. “First off, flying is not safe. Planes fall from the sky every day. Everybody knows this. Second, Gran is there to help her out. And third, Chase should go, as he’s a cop, and cops are better equipped to deal with troubled celebrity talk show hosts than cats are.”

  “And don’t forget about my solo,” said Dooley.

  “Of course. How could I forget?” I said with a smile.

  Recently cat choir had instigated a new rule about solo performances. Used to be that Harriet, our Persian cat friend, was the only one allowed to sing solos, but several of cat choir’s members didn’t think that this was fair. And so Shanille, cat choir’s director, decided that she was done excluding cats from stepping into the limelight. In one of those groundbreaking decisions she declared that everyone should be allowed to sing a solo. And since tonight was finally Dooley’s turn, it was obvious we couldn’t leave for Los Angeles on a moment’s notice. He’d simply forfeit his turn and then who knew how long it would be before he got to go again. And he’d been practicing so hard, too.

  “You have to tell her, Max,” he repeated now, a testament to his anguish.

  “You can tell her, too,” I said. “She’ll listen to you.”

  “Yes, but you’re her favorite, Max.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re her first, and no one ever forgets their first.”

  “Um… pretty sure you’re referring to something else entirely,” I said.

  “Harriet says so, too. She says you’re Odelia’s favorite and she always does whatever you tell her to. So please, please, please, Max, don’t make her take me to this LA place!”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I said, holding up my paws. Then: “Harriet told you that?”

  “She did.”

  “So… she’s talking to you?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”

  Well, she wasn’t talking to me, that was for sure. Ever since I voted in favor of Shanille’s new soloist rule, she’d refused to utter a single word to me. Which wasn’t fair, since Brutus and Dooley had voted for the new rule, too. Brutus had done so when Harriet wasn’t looking, of course, the sneaky cat, and Dooley had simply sneezed and Shanille had taken that as a yes, something Harriet could hardly hold against him.

  “Do you think Harriet and Brutus will be there tonight?” asked Dooley, relaxing now that he knew I had his case well in hand, and the Los Angeles menace had been averted.

  “I don’t think so, Dooley. Harriet is still very cross about the whole soloist thing.”

  “She shouldn’t be. We all should get the chance to shine,” he said, repeating Shanille’s words. “Everyone can sing, Max, even me.”

  I had a feeling Shanille had seen the movie Sing one too many times, but had refrained from voicing this thought. Shanille had once kicked me out of cat choir and I wasn’t going to risk her ire over a trifling matter like who got to sing the solos.

  “I know, Dooley, but she took it really hard.”

  “Maybe she can go tomorrow?” he suggested.

  “Tomorrow is my solo,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but you could let her take your place. She’d love that.”

  I stared at him. “Take my place? But it’s my turn to shine, Dooley.”

  “I know, but Harriet has been so sad lately. And you know you can’t really sing, Max.”

  This was true. I’m probably cat choir’s worst singer. Still, if everyone can sing, I can sing, too. At least if Shanille was to be believed. Besides, Harriet had been more angry than sad. As far as I can tell Harriet doesn’t do sad. It hadn’t been fun for the rest of us. As I pointed out before, Harriet is a Persian, and when Persians get angry they don’t stint on the anger. I think she even peed in my water bowl. I mean, I couldn’t prove it, of course, but lately my water had had a distinctly weird taste and odor. Not fresh, I mean.

  “Why don’t you give her your spot?” I said.

  “But Max! I’ve been waiting for so long—and I’ve practiced so hard. I can’t let her take my spot. Besides, I can’t disappoint my fans—they’re all waiting to hear me sing.”

  I rolled my eyes. Everyone can sing. And apparently everyone is a diva, too.

  Meanwhile, Odelia had returned, Gran in tow. She was still talking into her phone, apparently trying to get her grandmother added to the guest list.

  “Tell her I’m her biggest fan,” Gran was saying, and Odelia gestured for her to be quiet.

  “I feel bad about this, Max,” Dooley intimated. “We’ve never turned down a case before.”

  “I know. I feel bad about it, too.”

  It had all begun last night. We’d been ready to go to bed, Odelia upstairs brushing her teeth and Chase reading in bed, when Odelia’s phone had belted out its merry tune.

  “Can you get that?!” Odelia shouted from the bathroom, her mouth full of toothpaste.

  Chase had grabbed her phone from the nightstand and picked up.

  It had been none other than Opal Harvey herself, the queen of daytime talk shows. She’d gotten Odelia’s information from her dear friend Marilyn Coyn, a talk show host in her own right, and Opal’s BFF, and told Chase she had a case for Odelia to take on.

  By the time Odelia had hurriedly spat out her toothpaste and talked to the famous woman, her eyes were shining with anticipation, and even Chase sat up a little straighter.

  It isn’t every day that celebrity royalty rings you up and tells you they need you and can you please drop everything and fly out to LA, all expenses paid, to take on a case.

  Odelia had sputtered for a while, claiming she wasn’t qualified, that she was just a local reporter and not some famous detective, but Opal Harvey can be very convincing, and if that hadn’t sealed the deal, the paycheck she’d dangled in front of Odelia like a carrot to a donkey had certainly helped. The moment Opal got off the phone Odelia was jumping up and down, chanting, “We’re going to LA! We’re going to meet Opal Harvey!”

  Chase had grinned like a little boy, as starstruck as Odelia. And I have to confess I wasn’t averse to meeting the famous woman myself, if only she hadn’t lived on the other coast, and meeting her involved stepping onto a plane. We’d flown to England not that long ago to meet real royalty, and even though the plane hadn’t crashed, that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen the next time. You have to respect the odds and I wasn’t taking any chances. We’d survived a plane ride once, I wasn’t willing to tempt fate by going again.

  As luck would have it, though, Chase was flying to LA himself, and even though he was booked on a separate flight, and probably not first class, my mind was at ease: Chase would be there to assist Odelia, and from the looks of things, so would Grandma Muffin.

  “And? What did she say?” asked Gran eagerly. As a big fan of daytime television—her love for soap operas is legendary—she was dying to meet the one and only Opal.

  Odelia smiled. “Opal says it’s okay. You can come.”

  “Yippie!” said Gran, and did a little jig in place. “I knew she’d agree!”

  “Great,” I said. “That means we don’t have to go.”

  “Oh, you’re going,” said Odelia.

  “But, Odelia!”

  “You’re going,” she said, “and you’re going,” she told Dooley, “and you’re going,” she said as Harriet walked in through the pet flap, “and you’re going,” she finished when Brutus entered on his mate’s heels.

  “Going where?” asked Harriet.

  “We’re going to LA, baby!” Gran cried.