Purrfect Alibi (3)

Excerpt from Purrfect Obsession (The Mysteries of Max 10)

Chapter One

I was lying on my back in the backyard, languidly gazing up at the clouds slowly drifting past my field of vision. My paws were dangling wherever they might, my tail was drooping, and it wasn’t too much to say that all was well in this best of all worlds.

Some would have called it the calm before the storm, but they would be cynics. This wasn’t the calm before the storm. This was the calm after the storm, as there had been rain overnight, and the grass was still soggy and drops clung to Odelia’s roses’ petals.

Next to me, my best friend and co-feline Dooley lay in the same position, also idly gazing up at the sky. There was apprehension in his gaze, though, his usual response to looking at that big slice of heaven up above. His eternal fear is that a piece of this heaven might one day come crashing down on us. And no matter how many times I’ve assured him that this is simply impossible, there’s no way to dissuade him from these erroneous ideas.

“I don’t know, Max,” he said now, shaking his head.

“What don’t you know?” I murmured, my eyes drifting closed. There’s only so much to look at when you’re gazing at the sky. It’s blue and all looks pretty much the same to me.

“I don’t know about this lying around, doing absolutely nothing.”

“It’s what us cats do best,” I said. “We lie around doing nothing.”

“But it just feels... wrong, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

“This ... “ He gestured at the sky. “And this...” he added, indicating the smooth lawn that was our favorite hangout spot on a sunny day like this—especially after a nice storm.

“I don’t get it, Dooley,” I said lazily. “Please elaborate.”

“I just don’t understand how you can lie around while there’s so much to be done.”

“Nothing needs to be done,” I said, my eyes now having closed completely, my head slumping to the side. I felt a power nap coming on, and nothing Dooley said was going to prevent me from enjoying it tremendously.

“There’s probably murder cases to be solved.”

“Not a single one.”

“Or-or missing humans to be found?”

“Nobody’s gone missing as far as I know.”

“Dangerous diseases to be fought? Pests to be eradicated? Threats to be thwarted? Max! We can’t just lie around here while who knows what is happening all around us!”

“Oh, just relax, Dooley,” I muttered, on the verge of tumbling headfirst into sleep.

“Relax! How can I relax when... when…”

But at this point I’d finally found sleep, or maybe sleep had found me? At any rate I’d become blissfully oblivious of Dooley’s ramblings. There’s only so much angst one can stomach. And it was with extreme reluctance that I pulled myself from the depths of a super slumber when a sharp voice interrupted a sweet dream about a new addition to cat choir, a tabby tease who wasn’t merely blessed with great pipes, but was quite the looker to boot.

“Max! Wake up! Something terrible has happened!”

It was Harriet, who’s a member of our posse. Immediately, I was up and ready for action. When Dooley is yammering on about all sorts of imaginary threats, I’m not bothered. That’s just par for the course. But when Harriet does the same... it means something’s up.

“What’s wrong?” I didn’t even bother rubbing the sleep from my eyes. It’s one of the advantages of being a cat: there’s never any sleep that needs to be rubbed. One moment we’re practically comatose, the next we’re shifting into high gear, all at the drop of a hat. Or the flash of a white whisker, as in this case. That’s millions of years of evolution for you.

“It’s Odelia,” said Harriet, a strikingly pretty white Persian. She was slightly panting. With my keen detective’s eye, I could tell she’d been running. Or was under duress. Or both.

“Odelia! What’s wrong with Odelia?” Dooley practically yelled.

Odelia is our human, and in that sense pretty much our raison d’être one could say. I know, I know. Cats are supposed to be these independent creatures, unattached and unfettered. Don’t let our stoic and aloof look fool you, though. We do care about our humans, and we don’t like it when something bad happens to them. That’s why I was ready to skip sleep and follow Harriet without a moment’s hesitation, and so was Dooley.

“What happened to her?” I asked, already fearing the worst.

“Just hurry,” said Harriet, and sprinted ahead of us at a high rate of speed. We tore through the backyard, tore through the small strip that separates Odelia’s house from her neighbors, and tore out across the front yard. Ours is a corner of the world where people still enjoy living in houses that are detached, semi-detached or even attached. No apartments for us, and a good thing, too. I wouldn’t enjoy being an apartment cat.

We were out onto the street and Harriet still showed no signs of slowing down. Already I was breathing heavily. I’m a cat built for cuddles, not for speed. Some people call me portly, but they’re wrong, of course. I’m big-boned is what I am. A matter of genetics.

“Where are we going?” I managed between two stertorous intakes of breath.

But Harriet didn’t even bother to respond. It just confirmed to me how grave the situation really was. Usually she’s the chatterbox of our small clowder of cats, and the fact that she hadn’t uttered more than a few words told me this was bad. Very bad indeed.

She tore around the corner and I could tell we were heading for the park, the very place I’d been dreaming about only moments before. Oh, how long ago this now seemed.

“I don’t like this, Max,” Dooley intimated.

Well, I didn’t like it either, but at that point I was too winded to respond. Into the park Harriet zipped, and Dooley and I followed, still going full tilt. We almost bumped into her when she abruptly stopped, and then we just stood there, me panting, she squinting.

“There,” she said finally, pointing with her fluffy white tail.

I looked there. And I didn’t see a thing.

“What are we looking at?” I asked therefore, scanning the horizon for a sign of a bleeding and grievously harmed Odelia, most probably on the verge of expiration.

“There!” she repeated, this time pointing with her paw.

And that’s when I saw it. Dooley must have seen it too, for he drew in a sharp breath.

It was Odelia, only she wasn’t bleeding. Worse, she was locking lips with a man.

And this man was not—I repeat this man was NOT… her boyfriend Chase Kingsley.

Chapter Two

“Max?” asked Dooley, his voice croaky and weird. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t you see what’s going on!” Harriet replied in my stead. “That’s our human down there, being treacherous!”

Treacherous was not the word I would have used. As far as I know humans are not a monogamous species. Not unlike cats—though some cats have been known to be loyal to their mate until their dying day. Harriet is not one of those cats, so I found her indignation highly hypocritical. I didn’t mention this, though, for Harriet’s claws are as sharp as her tongue, and I wasn’t looking for a lashing of either. Still, I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Odelia to cheat on her boyfriend. I’m not an expert on human love, but I’d had the impression true love was involved in this particular pairing of a reporter and a local copper.

“Max! What’s going on?!” Dooley practically wailed.

“I think what’s going is that Odelia, being human and therefore flawed, is making an error of judgment,”’ I said carefully. Dooley is not one of your tough cats. He’s sensitive, and situations like these are something he should be shielded from, not encouraged to witness.

I directed a reproachful glance at Harriet, who should have known better than to subject Dooley to this kind of sordid scene. Of course my glance went right over her head.

“She’s enjoying it,” said Harriet now.

And she was right. Odelia clearly was enjoying this romantic interlude with one who was not her chosen mate.

“I don’t like this, Max,” said Dooley, not taking this well. “I don’t like this at all.”

“I don’t like it either,” I intimated, “but such is life, Dooley. Sometimes the people we think we know best surprise us. And not always in a good way.”

Just then, a third person approached Odelia and the unknown male, and spoke a few words. The effect of these was immediate. Odelia extricated herself from her kissing partner and got up from the picnic blanket on which she’d been sitting. She stood, hands on hips, while this third person, another male, seemed to explain something to her. Possibly giving her pointers on her kissing technique.

The scene, apart from the shock effect it had on those who’d become used to seeing Odelia linked in body and soul to Chase Kingsley, was otherwise a peaceful and idyllic one: there was a picnic basket present, a picnic table, and even a dog lying at the lovers’ feet.

I did a double take. Wait, what? A dog? Where did this mutt come from? Odelia didn’t have a dog. Or did she?

Dooley had spotted the dog, too, for he produced a sound like a kettle boiling.

“Looks like Odelia is moving on,” said Harriet, voicing the thought that had occurred to me as well.

“She’s getting rid of us and getting... a dog?” I said, now shocked to the core.

“Looks like,” Harriet confirmed. “She was petting him before, and he seemed to like it.”

I was speechless. Kissing strange men was one thing, but getting a dog to replace her loyal brace of cats? That was too much. No, really! After everything we’d done for her she was getting a dog? This was treason of the highest order. Worse. This was a travesty.

I decided enough was enough, and set paw for the despicable scene.

“Max, no!” Dooley and Harriet cried out, but I paid them no heed. Odelia had gone too far, and I was going to speak my mind and tell her what was what, even at the price of having to be within twenty yards of a canine, which was the limit I usually set myself.

When I approached the picnic scene, Odelia was frowning, listening intently to the second, non-kissing male, a man with a fashionable red beard that curled up at the end, as was the current trend. Meanwhile the kisser was munching on a sandwich, not a care in the world.

The dog was the first one to become aware of my impending arrival, for he lifted first his head, then his upper lip in a vicious snarl.

I hesitated, but decided this mission was too important to be derailed by the pathetic snarls of a cat’s mortal enemy.

“Odelia!” I said, deciding to come in strong and pitch my sentiments before she had a chance to become distracted by her lover and the bearded hipster dude.

Odelia looked up, that frown still furrowing her forehead.

“A word, please?” I said, keeping a keen eye on the canine, whose upper lip was trembling now, his eyes shooting menace and all manner of mayhem in my direction.

“Max!” said Odelia, clearly surprised to see me. She quickly shut up. It’s not a fact widely known, but Odelia belongs to a long line of women who talk to cats. From generation to generation, this gift is passed, and a good thing, too. For far too long, humans have turned a deaf ear to a cat’s desires. Now, with Odelia and her mother and gran to listen to our plea, our voice is no longer ignored. Who also wasn’t ignoring my voice was the dog.

“What do you want, cat?” he snarled, his hind legs tensing as he got ready to pounce.

“This doesn’t concern you, Lassie,” I said, holding up my paw. “So back off.”

“This is my terrain, cat,” he shot back, tail wagging dangerously. “Get lost or else.”

“Or else what?” I asked, sounding a lot braver than I was feeling. Those fangs did not look appealing. Saliva was dripping from them, and already thoughts of rabies and front-page articles about a blorange cat being mauled to death started popping into my mind.

“You don’t want to find out,” he said with a low growl that seemed to rise up straight from his foul innards.

Odelia, who’d followed the tense interaction, crouched down next to me. “Max,” she said quietly, so the kisser and the hipster couldn’t overhear. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said, as haughtily as I could. “I saw you,” I added. “Canoodling with that... that... man.”

Odelia frowned, as if not comprehending what I was saying. Then, suddenly, she laughed! Actually burst out laughing! “Oh, Max,” she said, giving my head a patronizing pet. “That’s just acting!”

“Whatever it is, it’s despicable,” I said. Then I frowned. “What do you mean, acting?”

She gestured with her head to the kisser, who now stood chatting with the weird red beard. “That’s Don Stryker. He’s a New York stage actor. And the man with the beard is Wolf Langdon—he’s our director.”

And then I remembered. Odelia had mentioned something about performing in something called Bard in the Park, and had even mentioned snagging an important role.

I stared her. “You mean this is all... acting?”

“All of it,” she assured me, then took an apple from the picnic basket and took a bite, plunking down next to me. She lowered her voice. “And let me tell you, it’s no picnic so far. This guy’s breath... “She rolled her eyes and waved a hand in front of her face. “Hoo-wee.”

In spite of myself I laughed. “Garlic. I can smell it a mile away. I thought you liked it.”

“No, Max. Women don’t like it when men chew a clove of garlic before a big kissing scene. Allegedly that’s how Clark Gable annoyed Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind.”

I decided to skip the small talk. I hadn’t forgotten about my real beef. “What about that,” I said, pointing at the rabid dog, still snarling and softly growling in my direction.

“Scoochie?” she said. “He’s in the scene. He’s an actor, too.”

“The dog is an actor?”

“Sure. Dogs can be actors. Pretty much any animal can be an actor.”

This was news to me. Slightly mollified, I asked the most important question of all: “So... He’s not going to live with us?”

Odelia laughed again and patted my head. “Silly Max. Of course not. He’s going home with his trainer once rehearsals are over. And right now he lives with the rest of the troupe at Whitmore Manor. In his own room. Did you think I’d adopt a dog and not tell you guys?”

“No, of course not,” I said, “Don’t be silly.” But behind her back I gave Harriet and Dooley, who still sat watching from a safe distance, two thumbs up. Or rather, since cats don’t have those nifty and very handy opposable thumbs, two claws up at any rate.

“Hey, what’s wrong with adopting a dog?” growled the dog.

“Nothing,” Odelia was quick to say.

That’s how my human is: kind to animals, children and even dogs.

“I thought so,” grumbled the mutt.

The man Odelia had identified as the director now turned to her. “I liked what you did there, dahling,” he said, “but could you give it a little more—I don’t know—oomph?”

“Oh, sure,” said Odelia, getting up. “What sort of oomph are we talking about here?”

She began discussing the ins and outs of the oomphs of acting in detail, and I soon lost interest. Instead, I glanced around and saw that a small film crew sat hiding behind a nearby tree. They’d filmed the whole thing! Probably to learn from and correct later.

I just hoped they hadn’t filmed Odelia and me chatting. Because that would definitely not be good!

Chapter Three

Odelia watched Max stalk off, his tail in the air, his rear end wagging slightly, and couldn’t help but smile. She could only imagine what he must have thought when he saw her kissing Wolf Langdon like that. In the distance, she saw Dooley and Harriet, anxiously awaiting Max’s return with news from the front line. Cats were sensitive creatures, who hated change. Kissing a strange man must have spooked them a great deal. Just then, her real-life boyfriend appeared, crossing the plain to where she stood. Don, who’d been snacking on the contents of the picnic basket, saw him coming and a dark cloud seemed to descend over him. “Don’t tell me Captain America is going to cause trouble,” he said.

“Chase isn’t here to cause trouble,” Odelia said. She didn’t much care for her co-star. Apart from his garlic antics, he was arrogant and not much fun to be around. And he had a habit of sticking his tongue down her throat, even though it wasn’t part of the script.

Chase had joined them and gave Odelia a quick peck on the lips. “Hey, babe,” he said in that low rumbling voice of his. He held out a hand to shake Don’s, but the actor simply ignored him and walked away, a dirty look on his otherwise handsome face.

“See ya around, Poole,” Don muttered, and was off.

Chase retracted the hand. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing. Don has this thing about the boyfriends of his leading ladies.”

Chase quirked an eyebrow. “A thing? What thing?”

“He was once on the receiving end of a punch thrown by an actress’s spouse. His nose has never been the same.”

“He must have given him reason,” said Chase, looking on as Don made his way over to the makeup table for a touch-up and a flirtatious chat with the makeup ladies.

“I’d say he did,” said Odelia. “Don Stryker has a reputation as a ladies’ man, and he likes to make sure that reputation stays earned.”

Chase quirked his other eyebrow. “Should I worry about this Stryker guy?”

She smiled. “No, of course not.” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“That’s more like it,” he rumbled, then lifted her up into a full-body hug. If Don was watching, the hug might be interpreted as a gesture of possessiveness but Odelia didn’t care. There was only one man in her life and that was Chase, and no arrogant Broadway star could change that.

“So I was thinking,” said Chase now.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking we haven’t gone out on a date in a while—just you and me.”

She liked where this was going. “So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest dinner and a movie? There’s a new place in Happy Bays we haven’t tried. It’s called The Dusty Tavern and they’re rumored to serve some damn fine clam chowder.”

“The Dusty Tavern it is, then.”

“I have some stuff to finish up at the precinct. Pick you up at the house at seven?”

“Sounds great. See you later, Chase.”

“See you, babe,” he said with a happy grin, then was off, but not before giving Don the kind of look that would remind him of the punch that had given his nose that tweak.

Odelia sank down on the blanket and took the script she’d tucked underneath the basket and opened it to a well-thumbed page. This was the first time she was playing a part in a play, or any performance, for that matter. She had no acting experience whatsoever, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if this production would be seen by more than a few people.

Bard in the Park was a strictly local setup, designed to entertain natives and tourists alike. Not exactly the start of a great career in acting. More like a fun way to while away the time and do something different for a change. Also, Dan Goory, her editor at the Hampton Cove Gazette, had instructed her to write a piece on the acting troupe, and the recurrent phenomenon of summer public theater, and what better way to write about Shakespeare in the Park than to immerse herself in its world and even play a small part?

She frowned as she read through her lines. The hardest part about this acting thing was memorizing those big chunks of text. She was constantly in fear she would drop a line and get absolutely, completely stuck, with people all staring at her. Which was why she was determined to study hard and nail her dialogues until she could recite them in her sleep.

And she was still muttering William Shakespeare’s memorable and immemorial lines to herself when a loud scream suddenly pierced the air. She looked up, startled, and was even more surprised when she saw a small group of people standing around nearby, the director and some of the other troupe members among them.

She got up and hurried over, afraid someone had become unwell and had collapsed.

When she reached the small throng Wolf Langdon, his face white as a sheet, was already clutching his phone to his ear and barking, “She’s dead. She’s dead, I’m telling you!”

Finally Odelia reached the commotion. On the ground, her face frozen in a mask of shock, a young woman lay motionless, her eyes staring unseeingly up at the people all crowding around her. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was, indeed, dead, what with the big knife sticking out of her chest. Odelia recognized her as Dany Cooper. Her understudy.

Start Reading Purrfect Obsession Now