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

Dooley, nodding seriously. “I’ll bet there’s something in that key that’s toxic, and touching the thing—probably when the key came into contact with Lord Hilbourne’s skin—some toxin or little-known poisonous alloy was introduced into his bloodstream, and now he may not live to enjoy his key.”

“The key to the city is not a real key, Dooley,” said Shanille.

“That’s what I keep telling him!” I cried.

“Well, it is a real key,” said Kingman. “An ornamental one. It doesn’t open any doors or anything. But the key he got is real. And a very nice one, too, or so I’ve been told.”

“Who told you this?” I asked, not really trusting Kingman’s judgment after the whole ‘Mr. Ed is an inferior being’ discussion.

“I heard it from Wilbur, who kept grumbling all day yesterday to anyone who would listen that he’s never received a key, even though he’s lived here all his life and he’s done a lot more for this town than any stupid blue blood import from England.”

“So it’s a real key,” I said, “but Lord Hilbourne didn’t actually touch it, did he? I mean, it’s probably like when you win a medal? It’s safely locked inside a box or frame?”

“No, it’s an actual key that’s presented on a little velvet cushion,” said Kingman. “You can hang it around your neck or hang it on your wall or whatever you want to do with it.”

“See?” said Dooley. “He must have hung it around his neck and its deleterious effect is slowly killing him.”

I smiled, and so did Kingman and Shanille. None of us had been aware that Dooley knew a big word like deleterious.

“Look, Max,” said Kingman now, “I feel like I owe you an apology. I said some things about your friend the snail that I probably shouldn’t have. I don’t know why I said it, but if I could, I’d take it back in a heartbeat. All creatures are valuable on God’s green earth.”

“You certainly had a change of heart,” I said, surprised by this sudden about-face from one whom I thought was particularly entrenched in his views.

“I had a long talk with Shanille last night,” said Kingman. “When you guys didn’t show up I guess I figured you were boycotting cat choir on purpose, because you were upset with me. And I don’t blame you if you did. Shanille made me see the light.”

“All creatures are God’s creatures,” Shanille intoned. “From the lowly worm to the mighty lion, we’re all equally important in God’s great plan.”

“Amen,” Kingman murmured.

“Thank you, Shanille,” I said, gratified at Kingman’s sudden reversal. “You know, I was a little upset yesterday, but that wasn’t why we skipped cat choir. Like Dooley explained, we happened upon the scene of the attack on lord Hilbourne—or at least the immediate aftermath. And after that we witnessed the surrender of Johnny and Jerry, though now they claim they’re innocent, and were actually merely trying to save Mr. Hilbourne’s life.”

“A likely story!” said Kingman. “Those two are as crooked as Wilbur’s right big toe, and that’s the way they’ll always be.”

“Not true, Kingman,” said Shanille. “Criminals are creatures of God, too, and so—”

“Now you’re taking things a little too far, Shanille!” Kingman cried. “I accept that a worm is a creature of God, and a slimy snail, too, but criminals like those two? Never!”

“And yet they are, Kingman.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Kingman, you are a stubborn old ass!”

“I’m not an ass. I’m a cat!”

“You’re a cat and an ass!”

It was at this moment that Dooley and I decided to be on our way. Somehow I had a feeling this discussion could last quite a long time, and frankly I had some thinking to do.

Chapter 36

We arrived home to find that our bowls, which I was looking forward to emptying out… were empty! Devoid of food. Filled with nothingness.

“Max?” said Dooley as he surveyed this rare and disturbing phenomenon. “Our bowls are empty.”

“I know, Dooley. I have eyes. I can see.”

“But… why are they empty? They weren’t empty this morning when we set out on our fact-fighting mission.”

I didn’t even bother correcting him, as the sight of a complete dearth of food had affected me greatly. You see, I am what you might call a solid cat, in that I have a lot of solid mass to carry around with me. But to accomplish this feat I need to feed that mass at regular intervals, otherwise I start shedding those pounds, and I start to feel weak and miserable. I know, it’s an affliction, and one I try to bear with all the fortitude I can muster. My very own cross to bear, if you will.

“I don’t get it,” I murmured. “Unless…” I glanced around, and suddenly became aware of soft snickering sounds coming from nearby. They were originating from Odelia’s pantry, and as I walked over and carefully pushed open the door, I found myself gazing into the cheerful faces of… Harriet and Brutus!

“Gotcha!” said Brutus.

“Oh, Max, you should have seen your face!” said Harriet, almost collapsing with mirth.

“You stole our food?” I said, shocked that they’d do this to me—to us.

“We didn’t steal it,” said Brutus. “We just hid it.” And he gestured behind him, where two perfect piles of kibble lay.

I stared at the piles, and understanding dawned.

“Oh, you guys,” I said, trying to be a good sport about this latest stunt the twosome had pulled. I wasn’t laughing inside, though. In fact it was probably nearer to the truth to say that I was crying. Well, maybe not crying. More like a soft whimper, if you will.

What can I say? I like food, and when people mess with it, I get upset. Very upset.

“You guys are so funny!” said Dooley, who clearly doesn’t suffer from the same affliction. “Hilarious! Aren’t they hilarious, Max?”

“They are,” I said dryly, then studied the pile of kibble, and discovered that it was wet. As if someone had chewed it.

“Someone has chewed on my kibble,” I announced with distinct distaste.

“Of course. We had to move