The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 16

Odelia was just about to suggest that Chase break down Quintin Gardner’s door when Max and Dooley emerged from behind the house, cool as cucumbers. Though when she looked closer, she saw that Max must have suffered some kind of incident.

“What happened to Max?” asked Chase, who must have noticed the same thing. “Looks like he had a close encounter with a sheep shearer.”

“He looks funny,” said Uncle Alec, his belly shaking with mirth. “He’s so pink!”

Max threw her uncle a look that could kill, but when Odelia asked him what had happened, he merely grunted, “Please don’t ask.”

“Dooley? What’s going on?” she asked.

“It’s a long story that Max doesn’t want me to tell,” said Dooley earnestly.

“Dooley!” said Max. “I said not a single peep!”

“See? He told me not to peep, and even when I’m not peeping, he’s still upset.” The gray Ragamuffin smiled. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Dooley? I’m warning you!”

“He got stuck in the kitchen door.”

“Dooley, not another word!”

“But then Mr. Gardner saved him by putting his boot against Max’s tushy and giving him a shove.”

“Dooley, I swear to God!”

“Only the window was so narrow it shaved off part of Max’s fur.”

“Dooley—come on!”

“And now he looks like a pink piglet,” Dooley said, snickering.

“Oh, dear,” said Odelia, and picked Max up. “Poor baby,” she said, stroking what was left of his fur. “Did the bad man hurt you?”

“He did,” said Max, moping a little and darting nasty glances at Dooley.

She quickly inspected the big blorange cat for puncture marks but saw that the few scrapes he had were all superficial. “You’ll be fine,” she said, giving him a hug.

“We found a stuffed marmot,” Dooley announced. “So Max had a very lucky escape.”

“I’m sure he didn’t stuff that marmot himself,” said Odelia. “He probably bought it.”

“Bought it!” said Dooley. “Why would anyone want to buy a stuffed marmot?”

She shrugged, tickling Max’s belly until he started to purr with contentment. “Not sure. Some people think it’s nice to own stuffed animals. Like decoration pieces.”

Dooley shivered visibly. “How awful,” he said.

“So did you find out anything else?” she asked, setting Max down again, as her arms were getting tired.

“Nothing,” said Max, a little shamefacedly.

“Except that Mr. Gardner has terrible taste,” said Dooley.

“And he has a housekeeper who likes cats,” said Max, “a maid who smokes too much, and a cook who forgets to put out the trash and who hates cats.”

“And?” asked Chase. “What’s the verdict?”

“Nothing much,” said Odelia as they headed for the cars. “Except that Quintin Gardner doesn’t like cats.” She frowned. “And as a rule I tend to be suspicious of people that don’t like cats.”

And as she glanced back to the house, she thought she saw a shadow move behind the curtains. Then it was gone.

Strange things were going on, she felt, and she was determined to find out what.

Quintin Gardner didn’t like the look of that reporter woman—that Cordelia Powell. Though in all honesty he didn’t like that cop either, that Sergeant Binsley. Or Chief Allen. They were up to something, he could tell. Standing there, blatantly staring at the house like that. And what was up with those cats? Clearly they belonged to the Powell woman. Had she sent them into the house deliberately, to taunt him? What was she playing at?

For all he knew this dead woman didn’t even exist. With Photoshop these days you could do anything. You could turn a dead woman into a living one and vice versa.

He ducked behind the curtains as the Powell woman looked straight at him.

Oh, how he wished they’d just leave and never come back. It all reminded him of when Vicky disappeared. The police had been all over him. Friendly and solicitous at first, then more inquisitive, and finally downright accusing.

Accusing him of doing away with his wife. Murdering her and burying her body.

As if he’d ever harm a hair on Vicky’s head.

He glanced out again. Finally they were leaving. And not a moment too soon.

He’d have to watch it for a couple of days, until this hubbub died down again, just like it had all those years ago.

People always forgot. Life went on and they forgot.

At least that was how it was then. He hoped it would be the same now.

The four members of the neighborhood watch were meeting in town square, seated on one of the benches the town had been so kind to put in the shade of one of the mimosa trees. A cool breeze wafted in from the ocean, and Vesta closed her eyes to enjoy the coolness it extended to her face.

“Let’s make it quick, shall we?” said Wilbur. “I only have half an hour so I wanna make it count.”

“What happened to your beard, Wilbur?” asked Father Reilly.

“Shaved it off,” said Wilbur proudly. “I’m on this dating app and someone told me women don’t like men with beards. So I figured: off with the darn thing!”

“Women do like men with beards,” said Scarlett. “They don’t like you, that’s the problem.”

“Oh, ha ha,” said Wilbur sourly. “Who asked you?”

“No one. It’s a freebie. Yours to do with as you please.”

“Let’s not bicker,” said Vesta. “We’re here to figure out what happened to Vicky Gardner, whose ring was found inside the figurine of a goatherd in my daughter’s kitchen cupboard. So who knows something? Francis?”

“Well, I remember Vicky, of course,” said Father Reilly. “Vicky Freeman as she was called before she married Quintin Gardner. But then I think we all remember Vicky.”

“I don’t remember much about her,” said Vesta. “All I know is that she was pretty, and that she married into money. And then she disappeared.”

“She didn’t just disappear,” said Wilbur, fingering his now naked chin and cheeks. “Rumor had it that Quintin killed her when she failed to produce him an heir.”

“Failed to produce him an heir!” said Scarlett. “Who does he think he is? The King of Hampton Cove?”

“He’s the owner of Garibo, the biggest candy company on Long Island,” said Father Reilly. “Like his father before him, and his father before that. So it stands to reason that he hoped to father an heir who’d take over the family business one day. And when Vicky proved infertile, Quintin was less than amused.”

“Vicky Gardner was infertile?” asked Vesta. “Now that’s news to me.”

“At least that was the rumor back in the day,” said Father Reilly. “This was right before she disappeared, too, so naturally people assumed the two things were connected.”

“So you think Quintin killed her and got rid of the body?” asked Scarlett.

“That’s the story that did the rounds back then.”

“I always found it hard to believe little Vicky Freeman wasn’t able to conceive,” Wilbur mused. “She looked fertile to me.” He licked his lips for good measure, drawing disgusted looks from both Vesta and Scarlett, and a tut-tutting sound from Father Reilly.

“Wilbur, eww!” said Scarlett.

“What—can’t a man appreciate beauty? She was very pretty, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Can you please stop touching your face?” Vesta snapped. “It freaks me out. Yes, I also remember Vicky as a very pretty girl. All the boys were crazy about her. And I never understood what she saw in Quintin Gardner, who’s not exactly a handsome devil.”

“Nasty, too,” said Wilbur. “He once called me an opprobrious name for shortchanging him.”

Vesta was shocked—not because of Wilbur shortchanging a customer, or Quintin Gardner calling him out on it, but for Wilbur to be aware of a big word like opprobrious. “So if Quintin killed his wife, how did her ring end up inside a goatherder in my daughter’s cupboard, that’s what I’d like to know.”

“Who cares?” said Scarlett. “You wanted to investigate this case because you were hoping for a fat reward. But if Quintin killed his wife it stands to reason there won’t be a reward.”

“No,” said Vesta. “But if he did kill her justice still needs to prevail.”

Scarlett gave her friend a look of surprise. “Since when do you care about justice?”

“Why do you think I started the watch? I care about justice, Scarlett. I care about justice a lot!”

Scarlett merely arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. “Look, I gotta go,” said Wilbur, fingering his absent beard once more, until Vesta slapped his hand away. “If you decide what you want to do about this Vicky Gardner thing, let me know. I say we drop it.”

“I agree with Wilbur,” said Father Reilly. “The watch’s purview is not to solve cold cases from two decades ago.”

Reluctantly, Vesta had to admit that her associates had a point. “Okay, okay,” she said, throwing up her hands. “So let’s drop the case. We’ll never solve it anyway. Quintin Gardner, if he did kill his wife, probably hid her body where no one will ever find it.”

After Father Reilly and Wilbur had left, Vesta turned to her friend. “You’re very quiet all of a sudden. What’s eating you?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I’ve never particularly cared about justice and all that. But the idea that Quintin got away with murder somehow doesn’t sit well with me, Vesta.”

“Doesn’t sit well with me either,” Vesta grunted.

Both women shared a look, then smiled. “Let’s nail this sucker,” said Scarlett, voicing a sentiment they were both feeling.

There might not be a reward in it for the watch, but then money wasn’t all that mattered. Putting away a murderer was all the reward they needed.