The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 8

Chase walked into the police station thinking hard thoughts about his superior officer throwing him under the bus like that. He was a detective, for crying out loud—not a glorified catsitter.

Dolores, the station dispatcher and receptionist, saw him come in and said, “Is it true what they’re saying, Chase? That you’re guarding your girlfriend’s cats from now on?”

“Oh, don’t you start, too,” he grumbled as he joined Dolores for a chat. The red-haired middle-aged receptionist was a garrulous woman, and liked nothing better than to shoot the breeze with anyone who passed through her vestibule or happened to call in with some urgent or less urgent complaint.

“That’s what you get from being henpecked, Detective,” said Dolores in her trademark rasp. Then she gave him a wink. “Or I should probably say catpecked, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, idly leafing through her logbook. “Apparently the Chief thinks I’m the best man for the job, and who am I to question the big guy’s judgment?”

“Oh, I think you’re perfect for the job,” said Dolores. “And I’m sure with you around those cat killers won’t stand a chance.”

“It is a particularly heinous kind of crime,” he mused. “I mean, who in their right mind would lock up a couple of innocent pets and set them on fire? You have to be a really evil person to do a thing like that.” The whole episode had upset him to a degree. He hated violence against the innocent and the harmless, and pets were about the most innocent and harmless you could find. “When I get my hands on that piece of…”

“And I’m sure you will, Detective,” said Dolores knowingly. “So what was that guy doing in Marge’s attic is what I would like to know.”

“No idea. Apparently looking at some old photo albums. Marge and Tex’s wedding pictures. Though what anyone would want with those is frankly beyond me.”

“A mystery most baffling,” said Dolores. “So have you two set a date yet?”

“Oh, sure. September the fifth is the big day. Haven’t you gotten your invitation yet?”

“No, sir, I have not.” She shrugged. “I just figured you’d want to celebrate with friends and family only, and throw a separate party for colleagues at a later date or something.”

“No, I want you there, Dolores. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Gee, thanks,” said Dolores, clearly tickled pink at these words.

“I’ll ask Odelia. She’s been handling that kind of stuff, together with her mom and grandma.”

Dolores’s smile disappeared. “Well, that explains it, then.”

“What?”

“If Vesta is involved in the wedding preparations she’ll probably have vetoed me. Me and her don’t exactly get along.”

“And why doesn’t that surprise me?” said Chase with a smile. Vesta was an acquired taste, and more often than not rubbed people the wrong way.

“Is she still going ahead with this neighborhood watch thing of hers?”

“Yeah, that’s still going strong.”

“Bad idea, if you ask me. The Chief should never have allowed his mom to play amateur cop like that. She’ll create more trouble than she’s worth, her and Scarlett Canyon.”

“I think it’s all pretty harmless,” he said, tapping the counter and turning to go. “And as long as she’s out there patrolling the streets, she can’t cause trouble someplace else.”

“Hm,” said Dolores doubtfully. “Leave it to Vesta to cause trouble all over the place. Mark my words, Chase. The Chief will rue the day he set that woman loose on these fine streets of ours.”

And as Chase walked on, he wondered if Dolores was right. But then he figured the boss knew what he was doing. He had, after all, more experience dealing with his mother than anyone else in the precinct.

Charlene smiled at her guests. The two men could have been twins if she hadn’t known better: both were wearing identical charcoal suits, their hair perfectly coiffed by what looked like the same hairdresser, and they were even wearing the same glasses. The only difference between Mark Dawson and James Blatch, as far as she could determine, was that one was in charge of the proceedings, and the other was merely along for the ride.

“So you see, Madam Mayor,” said Mr. Blatch as he indicated the tablet on her desk. “Construction on the mall will provide plenty of jobs, and once the mall is operational, that will increase even more. Of course we’d prefer to recruit our workforce locally.”

“You did your homework, Mr. Blatch,” she said, leaning back. “But what you haven’t taken into consideration is the economic impact on the heart of our town. With so many new stores opening, don’t you think the town center will lose its appeal?”

“I can assure you that this whole ‘death of Main Street’ is simply a myth, Madam Mayor,” said the extremely tanned businessman with an indulgent smile. “The truth is that more shops means more shoppers, and those shoppers will also want to visit Main Street, and spend their hard-earned money on the local stores. Your town will thrive!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Charlene. “Do you have hard evidence that this is the case? Projections, studies, things like that?”

“Oh, absolutely. And I’ll be more than happy to share them with you.”

The guy was a smooth talker, but then that was probably a given, as he was trying to sell her on an entire mall. She glanced up when the phone on her desk started ringing. She pressed a button. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, Imelda,” she began.

“It’s Chief Alec, Ma’am,” said her secretary, her voice betraying her distress. “He says it’s urgent.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she picked up the phone and threw her guests a reassuring glance and held up her finger. “Chief?” she said, listening intently.

“Charlene—it’s your uncle. He’s been in an accident.”

“My uncle? How…”

“Charlene, honey.” The Chief’s voice turned sorrowful. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”