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

the door and appearing onto the scene. Her white hair was in curlers, and her cheeks glowing a healthy pink. “Can’t a lady have a moment of privacy around here?” she grumbled as she trounced past the line of wannabe bathroom-goers.

“A moment!” Tex cried. “You were in there at least one hour!”

“Has it been that long?” said Gran airily. “How quickly time passes when you’re having fun.”

“What were you doing in there?” asked Marge suspiciously.

“Look, I perfectly understand that you young people get ready lickety-split, but us older folks need a little more time to give mother nature some assistance. We can’t all roll out of bed in the morning looking fresh as a daisy. For some of us it takes work.” She then cast a doubtful eye at Tex. “Though you better take your time, Tex. One hour isn’t going to cut it.”

And having delivered this barb, she was off in the direction of the guest bedroom that was her momentary home. A home she now shared with Marge and Tex.

Not an ideal situation, I think you’ll agree.

Tex was rolling his eyes. “And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse,” he said. “As if living under the same roof with that woman wasn’t enough, now I have to live under the same roof with her in the same room!”

“It’s just for a couple of weeks, honey,” said his wife of twenty-five years. “Soon the new house will be ready and we’ll have all the space we need.”

“Let’s hope so,” Tex grumbled, and since the others were so courteous to let him go in first, he made haste to close the door behind him and moments later the line had been reduced from four to three waiting adults.

“If it’s really urgent you can use my litter box,” Dooley said helpfully to Marge, who, like her husband before her, was now dancing on one leg.

“Thanks, Dooley,” said Marge with a tight smile. “That’s very kind of you. But if it’s all the same to you I prefer to do my business on a regular toilet.”

We followed Gran into her room, and saw that she’d gotten dressed in her usual tracksuit, this one a purple specimen with red stripe. “Where are you going, Gran?” asked Dooley curiously.

Humans are such a strange species, they never fail to amuse and entertain. And it is always with great interest that we watch their daily shenanigans.

“Today I’m going golfing,” said Gran proudly.

“What’s golfing?” asked Dooley.

“Golfing is where you hit a little white ball with a stick and try to make it land in a hole,” I explained.

He stared at me. “And what’s the point?”

“That, I do not know,” I had to admit.

“It’s a sport,” said Gran, who apparently had read up on this strange pastime. “In fact it’s the perfect sport: you don’t overexert yourself, as in some of these weird and exotic sports like jogging, and your eye-hand coordination gets a real kick out of it, which is never a bad thing, especially when you’re my age and things start to go a little haywire.”

“Can we come?” asked Dooley, whose interest had been piqued by this enthusiastic endorsement.

“I don’t think so, Dooley,” said Gran. “No cats allowed on the golf course, I’m afraid.”

“But why?”

“They don’t need us there,” I said. “They prefer to dig their own holes.”

“That’s right,” said Gran. “Besides, a golf course can be a dangerous place for cats. Those balls fly around at dizzying speeds, and if one should hit you in the face, it’s bye-bye, birdie.”

I shivered. The prospect of getting hit in the face by a ball didn’t exactly hold a lot of appeal to me, and I was glad Gran was so considerate. “Have a good time,” I said therefore.

“Break a leg,” said Dooley.

“I hope not,” said Gran. “But first things first. Let’s have breakfast.”

I gave her two thumbs up. Or at least I would have, if I’d had thumbs.

Chapter Two

Things were a little hectic in the kitchen. In a corner of the room the television was blaring away, a newscaster announcing the happy return of one of Hampton Cove’s favorite sons: the world-famous golf pro Carl Strauss, who was playing a tournament in town a week or so from now, and was staying at his beachside mansion, one of the many homes the successful sports star owned. Unfortunately for Mr. Strauss the reporter seemed more interested in the golfer’s private life than in his sporting achievements, as rumor had it that he was on the verge of yet another divorce, already his fourth.

“I had a great idea,” Gran suddenly announced as she nibbled from a piece of buttered toast.

“God help us,” Dad muttered, taking a sip from his cup of piping hot black coffee. The entire family was seated at the kitchen counter, and frankly Odelia was happy to have her parents and her grandmother staying with them, even though it wasn’t exactly the most practical solution. Still, it reminded her of the time when she was still living at home, only this time her parents had moved in with her and not the other way round.

“Wait till you hear my idea before you start with the comments,” Gran snapped.

“And what is this brilliant idea of yours, pray tell?” asked Dad.

“Well, we’re building a new house, right?”

“No thanks to you,” Dad couldn’t help but add.

“Let’s not go there again, Tex,” said Mom, always the peacekeeper in the family.

“So I was thinking, if we’re building a new house anyway, why not make a few modifications?”

“What modifications,” asked Dad suspiciously.

“Why don’t we build an extra floor? Or maybe a couple extra floors? After all, once you’ve got your contractor nailed down, and your architect, it’s not going to cost you a lot more money to add a few more walls and windows.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Mom, as she took a tentative spoonful of oatmeal pudding and nodded appreciatively, giving her daughter a nod of approval.

“Well, if we build another three or four extra floors, we can rent them out