The Mysteries of Max: Books 25-27

Chapter 32

It was the inflatable pool horror all over again, only this time Odelia had decided to wash that bird poop out of our hides, and forgo the swimming lessons for a change.

Chase had obviously eked out time from his busy schedule to glue the little pool back together again—judging from the big pieces of plastic glued to the sides it had taken him a lot of effort this time—and now there we sat, four cats, all soaking our behinds in a foot of water and not particularly happy about it.

“Thanks, Odelia,” I nevertheless murmured when she’d managed to wash out the poo.

I may not like water all that much, but I like poo even less, and I didn’t feel exactly rapturous about the prospect of having to lick my fur clean again. Nobody likes to eat bird poo, me least of all.

“Thanks, Odelia,” Dooley said dutifully, and so did Harriet and Brutus when Odelia repeated the procedure on them.

The moment she’d lifted us out of the pool, she placed us on the lawn in the sun so we could air-dry—after she’d towel-dried us to remove most of the water.

And there we sat, all of us brooding on what cruel fate had in store for us next.

“I don’t get it,” said Harriet. “Why would a bird—one very nasty bird—have it in for us so much? I’ve never even seen this bird before.” She darted a quick look at the sky, making sure the bird in question wasn’t within earshot, and ready to perform another dive-bombing expedition, maybe this time assisted by a squadron of his buddies.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never seen this Moses character before in my life either. And yet he seems to know us, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe he simply hates cats in general,” Brutus suggested. “And has picked us because we’re easy targets. Most cats don’t go out in this heat. They’re smart and stick close to the AC. Only we are so dumb to walk around all the time.”

“I think he probably means well,” said Dooley, offering a different opinion.

We all turned to him. “Means well?” asked Harriet. “Have you seen what he did?”

“I think he’s simply seeing us as fellow pigeons, that’s all,” said Dooley. “I once saw a documentary on the Discovery Channel,” he began, eliciting exasperated groans from both Brutus and Harriet, “and it showed that ducklings, when they’re born, will consider the first animal they see as their mother and follow it wherever it goes. So if ducklings see a human, they will follow that human. And when they see a chicken, they’ll think that chicken is their mother. It’s really cute, too.” He chuckled lightly. “You should have seen those ducklings, following that chicken all across the barnyard, tweeting all the while.”

No one else was laughing, though, and instead Harriet said, “You know, Dooley, if you weren’t my friend I’d say you’re an idiot. But since you are my friend, I’ll simply say that you’re not making any sense. What do ducklings following a chicken have to do with this shitting pigeon?”

“I was coming to that,” said Dooley helpfully. “So what if this pigeon, when it was born, attached itself to a feline mother figure? Or even a feline father figure? And now whenever it sees a cat it thinks that it’s part of his clan and decides to give it a baptism?”

“A baptism of poo!” cried Brutus. “That’s rich!”

Dooley pondered this. “I don’t know if I’d call a pigeon rich. As far as I can tell pigeons don’t carry wallets. But it is very nice of him, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” said Harriet, a little acidly, I thought.

“Well, I think next time we see the pigeon we should simply invite it down for a chat. If only we can make it clear that we’re cats and not pigeons, and that we’re not his honorary mother, I’m sure he’ll realize his mistake and stop showering us with his affection.”

“Sure, Dooley,” said Harriet. “You do that.”

I thought Dooley made an excellent case, but Harriet was in a real mood again, and since I didn’t want to jeopardize our newfound friendship I kept my tongue. We’d only recently resolved our differences—no sense in tearing open those old wounds again.

My fur had sufficiently dried, and I was ready to head indoors again, out of the heat, and onto my favorite couch for a nice little nap, when Gran and Scarlett came crashing through the hedge and joined us in the backyard. They were still dressed like aged hookers and were in search of Odelia and Chase, who were both lounging on lawn chairs under a big umbrella, both busy on their respective phones.

“Odelia!” Gran snapped. “I think I’ve cracked the case. Tell her, Scarlett.”

“I’ve got one word for you,” said Scarlett, her hands painting a marquee in the sky. “Plastic surgery.”

“That’s two words,” Odelia pointed out.

“Now don’t start with your negativity, young lady,” Gran snapped. “Go on, Scarlett.”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Vicky Gardner disappeared twenty years ago, and turned up yesterday looking exactly the same—not having aged a day. So my guess is that she probably went off to Mexico, just like Quintin Gardner’s sister told you guys, and has been spending that half a million dollars on regular nips and tucks!”

“Brilliant!” said Gran, placing her hands together for an impromptu applause. When her granddaughter and Chase didn’t join in, she scowled at them. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it when someone else cracks a case for a change?”

“I just got a message from your son,” said Chase, holding up his phone. “The dead girl’s name is Joanne Whittler, and she disappeared three days ago. She was twenty-four, worked as a fitness instructor in Hampton Keys, and had no connection to Vicky Gardner whatsoever.”

Gran and Scarlett shared a look of disappointment. “So… it wasn’t Vicky?” asked Scarlett, making sure she’d heard right.

Chase shook his head. “Nope. As far as we know Vicky Gardner is still missing.”

“Joanne Whittler worked at Hope Fitness as an instructor,” said Odelia, who’d clearly been doing some research while my friends and I were working on our collective tans. “She was reported missing by her boyfriend Chad Klein.” She put down her phone. “I think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree going after the Gardners, people.”

“So you think it’s just a coincidence, your mom finding that goatherd and Vicky’s message, and this…”

“Joanne Whittler,” Odelia supplied helpfully.

“… girl being found?” asked Scarlett.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Gran, shaking her head. “I think there must be a connection.”

“Let’s face it, “ said Odelia. “There is no connection. Except for the fact that Joanne resembled Vicky. But apart from that, we’ve taken this investigation in the completely wrong direction, and troubled the Gardner family for no reason whatsoever, except to satisfy our curiosity about Vicky’s disappearance.”

“So let’s leave the Gardners alone from now on, shall we?” Chase suggested. “We’re starting this investigation from scratch. Or, better yet, we’re leaving this investigation to the Hampton Keys PD from now on.”

“Huh,” said Gran, clearly not satisfied with this turn of events. “So no investigation?”

“No investigation,” Chase confirmed. “You can go back to hunting down jaywalkers and pooper scooper felons and leaving the real detective work to the professionals.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that, and I think Chase realized his faux pas the moment the words had passed his lips.

But too late. Gran’s brow was already furrowing, and Scarlett’s filler-filled lips were already setting in a look of grim determination.

“You just crossed a line, detective,” said Gran, pointing a finger at the cop.

“I’m sorry,” said Chase, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, yes, you did.” Gran narrowed her eyes. “You want war with the watch, you got it, sonny boy.” And then she was off, her loyal acolyte in her wake.

“Oh, boy,” said Odelia. “We just resolved one feud, and already we’ve got another one on our hands.”

“Me and my big mouth,” said Chase ruefully. He darted an anxious glance at the hedge through which Gran and Scarlett had just disappeared. “She’s not going to try and murder me in my sleep, is she?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Chase,” said Odelia. “She might. Or she might sneak up on you from behind when you least expect it and give you a wedgie in front of your colleagues.” She grinned. “Good luck, babe. You’re going to need it. And whatever you do—never, ever let your guard down. Ever.”

Chase closed his eyes and hung his head. “Just what I needed. War with the Watch.”