The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 by Nic Saint (chrome ebook reader txt) 📗

thing a person looking for a bargain hopes to find. Her conscience told her this is what you get when you try to get something for nothing, and of course in a sense her conscience was absolutely right. Then again, who wouldn’t like to fill up their pantry without cost when given the opportunity?

She took her place behind the desk at her son-in-law’s doctor’s office and picked up the phone, which had been ringing off the hook.

“Doctor Poole’s office,” she said. “How can I help you?”

“Well, aren’t you the consummate professional?” a familiar voice said on the other end of the call.

She smiled. “Scarlett. Don’t tell me you need to see Tex.”

“I heard you found a dead body this morning?”

“I didn’t find it. A truck driver did. I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Of course you were. So what do you reckon? Neighborhood watch business?”

“I don’t think so,” said Vesta as she powered up her computer. “He was found just beyond the town limit, way past the town sign. Now I know we of the watch like to take the broad view when determining our purview, but even for us that would be stretching things. Besides, as far as I can tell there was no foul play involved. Just some poor schmuck who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So he wasn’t dead when he got onto that truck?”

Vesta paused. She hadn’t thought that far. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“How did you know I was out there this morning?”

“I saw you. On the news. They were interviewing your son and I caught a glimpse of you and your cats rummaging around those potatoes.”

“For your information, I wasn’t rummaging. I was trying to find out if there were more dead people hiding in that cargo. One of the onlookers had the bright idea there was a load of illegal aliens hiding in the truck.”

“To do what? Cross the border? Mexico is two thousand miles away.”

She grinned. “I think you better get off the phone now, honey. I’m sure there are people who need to call in—actual patients?”

“See you at the usual place?”

“At the usual time,” she confirmed, and hung up. After she’d replaced the phone on the charger, she sat there thinking. What was the guy doing in that truck anyway? Hitching a ride? The more she thought about it, the more she smelled a rat. A smelly one.

Chapter 7

“Evelina must be very proud to have a pet like Mr. Ed,” Dooley said as we traversed the sidewalk on our way into town. “Not many pets would have their human’s back like Mr. Ed does. Don’t you think so, Max?”

“No, you’re absolutely right, Dooley. Mr. Ed is a credit to his owner. In fact he’s probably a better pet than most pets I know.”

We’d walked the distance to Main Street, and I had a vague plan in mind to talk to Odelia first. She is, after all, the real sleuth in our modest little outfit of amateur sleuths. Now I know what you’re thinking. Shouldn’t we head on down to the police station and inform the proper authorities about these new and frankly sensational developments? Unfortunately our local law enforcement personnel has but one flaw, and it is a doozy: they don’t talk to cats. And you can see how that would hamper a conversation. It would get awfully one-sided, and presumably cut very short indeed. Uncle Alec would smile affectionately while I tried to educate him on the finer points of Bob Rector’s recent past, and offer me a dish of milk. Chase would probably frown intelligently and nod equally intelligently and would give us a pat on the back and a ‘That’s just swell, you guys. Now run along and go and catch a mouse or something.’

Sherlock Holmes probably never had to put up with stuff like that when he talked to Inspector Lestrade. Then again, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a cat, of course.

“What are you going to tell Odelia?” asked Dooley.

“I was thinking we tell her everything,” I said. “After all, she’s the one who should lead this investigation, not us.”

“But why? We’re the ones Mr. Ed hired to take on the case. He’s our client and we’re the detectives officially assigned to the case.”

“I know, but sometimes it helps when you’re human,” I explained. “Especially when dealing with other humans.” I shrugged. “It’s just easier this way. Trust me.”

“I don’t think it’s fair,” said Dooley, giving me some lip. “We should be in charge of the case and Odelia should be our loyal sidekick. The one who does all the legwork. Like Archie Bunker did for Mr. Nero Wolf.”

“I think the person you’re thinking of is Archie Goodwin. But you’re absolutely right, Dooley. We should be the ones running point on this case. But unfortunately this is still a man’s world, and so it’s man, not beast, who’s mostly in charge.” I gave him a wink. “Though we all know that behind every great woman is a great cat, right?”

We’d arrived at the offices of the Hampton Cove Gazette, the place Odelia calls home—when she’s not home, at least. We entered through the front door, which is always ajar, as Dan Goory, Odelia’s editor, adheres to a strict open-door policy, just in case a member of the public drops by with some killer scoop or front-page breaking-news story.

We walked straight through to Odelia’s office and found our human hard at work, bent over her laptop, eyes focused on the screen, looking the epitome of the hard-working newshound.

“Stop the press,” I announced. “We have some breaking news for you.” It was something I’d always wanted to say, even though nowadays the Gazette is mostly an online affair, and as far as I know the internet isn’t powered by a printing press.

Odelia looked up and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, hey, you guys. What’s going on?”

“A snail asked us to investigate the abduction of his human’s boyfriend,” Dooley explained,