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

And as we made to follow Gran out the door, Dooley said, “I don’t get it. Where are we going, Max?”

“We’re going to help Gran help a potato truck driver,” I explained.

“Oh, okay,” he said, though he didn’t look convinced.

He had a point, of course. Potatoes aren’t exactly a staple of a cat’s healthy diet. Then again, they are a staple of our humans’ diet, and cats might not have a reputation for being charitable, some of us do have an altruistic streak. Besides, if we helped Gran bag a couple of nice potatoes, I’m pretty sure she’d fill our bowls to the brim come dinnertime.

How does that saying go? You scratch my back and I scratch yours?

Though I’m not sure Gran would like it if we scratched her back. Oh, well.

Chapter 2

Odelia wasn’t having a good time. She knew she should be ecstatic, over the moon, delirious with happiness at the prospect of finally tying the knot and engaging in matrimony with the man currently snoring away to his heart’s content right next to her. But as she lay there, wide awake, even though it was still dark outside, she couldn’t help experiencing a powerful twinge of concern. The worst part was that she had no idea why. When she thought things through logically there was nothing to be concerned about: the wedding had been arranged and would soon be taking place at St. John’s Church, officiated by Father Reilly. The invitations had all been sent out, the reception nailed down, as well as the wedding dinner and party, the caterer and the DJ booked and paid for, and the jamboree promised to be a big hit with those guests lucky enough to have snagged an invitation to what promised to be the social event of the season.

So maybe that was what was troubling her: she hadn’t planned for her wedding to become an event. Somehow, though, it had quickly ballooned into this big thing and now she had a hard time reconciling the shindig as planned with the one she’d had in mind.

Chase, too, was a little overwhelmed with the response. He hadn’t planned to invite his entire precinct but that was what had happened, and the poor guy even had all of his former NYPD colleagues busing in on the day, eager to put their feet under the table. They viewed the wedding of their ex-colleague as an opportunity to organize a reunion of sorts, and even though Odelia was happy for the opportunity to have a meet and greet with all of his brothers and sisters in blue—all one hundred and fifty-four of them—she wasn’t sure this was what Chase had in mind when he told her, only two weeks ago, that he was looking forward to their nice little wedding, just them and a couple of guests.

She closed her eyes, eager to catch a few more winks before dawn, but unfortunately sleep refused to come. So it was with a slight sigh that she finally decided it was no use and got up. Careful not to wake her snoring future better half, she tiptoed into the bathroom for a quick bathroom break, then tiptoed down the stairs to get some work done on an article for the newspaper. Much to her surprise, of her cats there was no sign. But figuring they were probably out and about, she took a seat at the kitchen counter, opened her laptop, and was soon typing away. It wasn’t exactly a Pulitzer-winning article she’d been handed by her editor, having been given the dubious honor of chronicling the upcoming ceremony awarding the keys to the city to Lord Hilbourne, but it effectively took her mind off the wedding, which was exactly what she needed right now.

Vesta parked her car across the street from where the terrible accident had occurred. As it turned out she wasn’t the only one who’d heeded the call and had decided to lend a helping hand. The truck driver was talking to a familiar figure, and as Vesta walked up, this familiar figure rolled his eyes and said: “I should have known you’d show up.”

“Is that the way to greet your beloved little mother?”

For it was indeed Alec Lip, her son, and coincidentally also Hampton Cove’s chief of police, who stood, notebook in hand, chatting to the driver. A driver who’d taken off his ball cap and stood scratching his scalp as he watched the entire contents of his truck now spread out across the road. In both directions traffic was blocked, and long lines of cars had formed. Luckily it was still early, and not that many people were out and about.

“So you say you saw a deer and you swerved and…” Alec reiterated.

“Yeah, the deer, it just jumped right in front of me, stared at me for a moment, then took off again. So I stomped on the brakes and in a reflex action turned the wheel and…” He gestured to the tons of spuds on the tarmac. “And then this happened.”

“At least you’re fine,” said Alec, patting the dazed driver on the back.

“Yeah, and so is the deer.”

“You didn’t hit it?”

“No, it made a clean break. Walked off cool as dammit, the white-tailed rascal.”

“As soon as the road is cleared of your cargo, we can lift your truck and assess the damage,” said Alec.

“Think it’ll still run?” asked the driver with a hopeful look at his capsized vehicle. It lay on its side like a wounded animal, smoke wafting from under the hood.

“Let’s wait and see,” said the Chief. “And if not, you are insured, right?”

“Oh, sure,” said the guy. “But I’m supposed to take these taters to Philadelphia by noon.” He checked his watch. “I guess I could still make it. If my truck is fine.”

“And if it’s not, I’m sure the good people of Philadelphia will find some other way to satisfy their tater appetite,” Alec concluded, ending the interview on a cheerful note.

Vesta, even