Purrfect Revenge The Mysteries of Max 3

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

Purrfect Revenge

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Excerpt from Purrfect Heat (The Mysteries of Max 4)

Also by Nic Saint

About Nic

Purrfect Revenge

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Blorange tabby Max and ragamuffin Dooley are on the case again. This time a world-famous reality star has been found murdered in her own bed, and it looks like the crime just might be terror-related. The Kenspeckles, stars of the well-known reality show Keeping Up with the Kenspeckles, are in town to film a new season of their show, so the case soon turns into a complete media circus, with the Kenspeckles insisting the entire investigation is filmed for their show.

Odelia Poole, Hampton Cove’s premier reporter, teams up with Detective Chase Kingsley to catch the killer, but with cameras filming their every move, and every Kenspeckle a suspect, they’re not making a lot of progress. Good thing Odelia’s cats Max and Dooley can sneak around undetected, tracking leads and hunting clues. But first they have to pacify Shana’s French Bulldog Kane, who just might be in possession of the clue that breaks the case. And they have to outsmart Chase’s black tabby Brutus, who has his own reasons to find the killer.

Will Max and Dooley solve the case? Or will Brutus beat them to it? And will Dooley finally get to first tail with Harriet? Find out in Purrfect Revenge, the third installment in the funny cat mystery series The Mysteries of Max.

Prologue

Clarice casually licked her paws. She’d snapped up a few morsels and was taking a breather on the windowsill. Overhead, a full moon shone, and inside the house all was quiet. Just the way she liked it. Word in town had it there were rodents to be found at the beach house, and word hadn’t lied. She’d snapped up a few critters and decided this place was a keeper. Usually she liked to hang out in the hills west of Hampton Cove, but since she owed allegiance to no one, being a free spirit and all, she went where she pleased.

Clarice was a feral cat, her hide a mottled reddish brown riddled with bald spots. Once, she’d belonged to someone. Some tourists passing through who’d gotten her for their kid. When she’d gotten sick in the back of their Toyota Camry they’d decided she was more trouble than she was worth, and had tied her to a tree and left her. Good thing some kind soul had come along and freed her, or she would still be fettered to that damn tree, chewing bark.

The beach house was a property that had recently gone through a major renovation. They’d taken a worn-out beachfront property, completely gutted it and turned it into a remarkable success story. Currently it was occupied by a sprawling family of exceedingly attractive females who’d come straight down here from Hollywood to film some scenes for a popular reality show. The three sisters lived in the main house while a small film crew had taken up lodgings in the guest house. The house was guarded twenty-four seven, but since no one ever stopped to frisk a cat, Clarice had easily slipped in and out.

Luckily for her the sisters didn’t own a cat. Unfortunately what they did own was a nasty little yapper. A French Bulldog named Kane, who’d practically given her a heart attack when she’d entered the kitchen looking for some tasty little snack. The pooch wouldn’t stop yapping. Sheesh. You’d think he had to pay for the food out of his own pocket. Good thing she knew how to handle a bully. She’d given him her best hiss and claw routine and he’d quickly run off with his tail between his legs, crying for his mommy.

She now sat licking her claws, savoring those final pieces of rat guts, when she noticed that something was going on inside the bedroom. She stared through the window and saw that someone had decided to play dress-up. They were donning a black gown that extended all the way to the feet and even covered the face, leaving only a tiny slit for the eyes.

The masked person was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at the sleeping forms of one of the sisters and her husband. Way creepy.

She watched intently as the intruder brought out a rag and a small bottle and sloshed some liquid on the rag, then walked around the bed and pressed the rag against the face of the man, then reached over and repeated the procedure on the woman. This was no game. He or she was sedating them.

And then it got really freaky. Whoever was beneath that black robe suddenly reached inside the folds and brought out a shiny meat cleaver.

Clarice's eyes went wide with horror and shock when the robed intruder heaved the cleaver high and then let it drop down with a sickening thud on the woman's neck. Ouch! She cut her eyes to the French Bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. The stupid mongrel was stoically staring at the scene as if everything was hunky-dory. How weird was that? And as she watched, she felt a little sick to the stomach. She knew all humans were nuts and some were a little twisted, like the guy who'd tied her to that tree back in the day. But this was beyond sick. This was some evil Game of Thrones stuff right there. After a while, she had to look away, her stomach lurching. And since she was Hampton Cove’s resident Feral Feline, that was saying something.

When Damien woke up it was as much from the rays of sun caressing his tan face as from the strong sense of nausea that assaulted him. It reminded him of that time he’d had plastic surgery, creating a cleft in his chin he’d hoped would add to his general look of cool dudiness. He’d woken up feeling just as nauseous from the anesthesia as he was feeling now. And then there was that smell. A pungent odor filling his nostrils and making him gag.

He groaned and rubbed his face. Did he have too much to drink last night? Nope. He and Shana had sat on the porch while her sisters cavorted in the pool. He hadn’t felt like jumping in and neither had Shana. They’d had a huge fight, and neither had felt like having a romp in the pool or the Jacuzzi.

He cast a quick glance at his wife and saw she was fast asleep, judging from the bump under the sheets. Oh, Christ, he just hoped she wouldn’t start screaming again. He hated when she did that. There was no real argument possible when she screamed her head off. The sense of annoyance suddenly returned when he thought about the predicament she’d placed them both in.

With a sigh, he swung his feet to the hardwood floor, fisting his toes.

Wow. He had to hold onto his head when a sense of vertigo assaulted him. It was as if the entire room was spinning out of control. He had no idea what was going on, but judging from that horrible taste in his mouth and that terrible smell, things definitely were not A-okay.

He stalked off to the en-suite bathroom and stuck his head under the tap, allowing the water to run over his close-cropped hair and into the marble sink. The cold water did him a world of good, and he almost felt human again. He toweled off his head and checked his face in the mirror. His skin was blotchy, eyes bloodshot. Nothing some makeup couldn’t fix. Good thing the camera crew wasn’t filming. He so didn’t want to go on TV looking like this. People would think he’d had too much nose candy last night. Which he hadn’t. With a marriage on the rocks he had no appetite for the stuff. If he got divorced, all of this would go away. No more Mr. Big Shot Fancy Pants.

He walked back into the room and was surprised Shana wasn’t up yet. All his stomping around and putting his head under the tap should have roused her by now. He took a deep breath and decided to get this over with. The mornings after a big fight were always the worst. He didn’t know what to say and neither did she. Better to address the elephant in the room right away.

He sat down on the bed and gently shook her shoulder. “Shana, we need to talk,” he said. When she didn’t stir, he gave her a slight nudge. “Shana? Come on, honey. Things can’t go on like this. I need some answers. Stat.”

With a frown he noticed a spot of crimson on her pillow and he started. What the hell… He slowly slid down the sheet to take a closer look. And as he did, his eyes went wide and all the blood drained from his face. He would have screamed but no sound came. Later he didn’t even remember staggering from the bed, falling to the floor and scrambling back, crab-style, to the door.

Like bile, a scream finally rose from his throat, coinciding with a scream that sounded from inside the house. He was up and racing down the corridor, and as he came hurtling into the dining room he saw Shayonne screaming her head off. When he turned to see what had set her off, he joined her in a long, protracted wail. Right there, in the middle of the table, was Shana’s head, her eyes closed as if she were sleeping, her mouth open and biting down on a Jonagold, like a frickin’ pig roast. A note was taped to her forehead, typed in Arabic script. And then he fainted and went down like a ton of bricks.

Chapter 1

Dooley, Harriet and I were seated next to the bed, staring up at our human, who was still fast asleep, even snoring a little. When Odelia Poole had taken me in, I’d vowed a sacred oath never to let her be late for work. And even though keeping my promise was a lot harder than I’d anticipated, on account of the fact that Odelia slept like the dead, I wasn’t giving up.

I’d snuggled up to her, digging my claws into her arm while purring in her hair. I’d mewled, meowed and mewed up a storm. I’d even scratched the closet door, pounding it in a steady rhythm, and all I had to show for my efforts was Odelia muttering something unintelligible and turning over.

“She looks cute,” Dooley said.

“Is she drooling?” Harriet asked.

“She always drools when she sleeps,” I said.

“I think it’s cute. She’s almost like us,” said Dooley.

“Not me,” said Harriet. “I don’t drool in my sleep.”

“You snore, though,” said Dooley. “It’s so cute.”

“Snoring isn’t cute, and I don’t snore.”

“You do, too. Soft, little snuffles. Like a cute, little hamster.”

“I’m not a hamster!”

“I didn’t say you were a hamster. I said you sound like one. A cute one.”

We went back to staring at Odelia. Her blond hair was a mess, her pixie face full of sleep marks, and her sheets were twisted and tangled as if she’d fought off Darth Vader in her sleep. And there was definitely drool. A lot of drool. As if she’d tried to scare off the Dark Lord by spitting at his helmet.

“All right,” I said. “It’s almost nine o’clock. She’s going to be late.”

The three of us were seated on the fuzzy pink bedside rug and could have sat there indefinitely, as the rug’s softness felt great beneath my tush. But we had a responsibility. Being a cat isn’t just about catching critters and looking cool doing it. It’s about taking care of our humans while they’re taking care of us. At least that’s the way I see it. I may be an exception to the rule.

My name is Max, by the way, and I’m a blorange tabby. Yes, you read that right. I’m blorange. It’s a color. It really is. A kind of strawberry blond.

“I think this calls for a serenade,” Harriet said, licking her snowy white fur. She’s a Persian, and pretty much the prettiest cat for miles around. She belongs to Odelia’s mother, who lives next door, but she’s in here all the time.

“A serenade?” asked Dooley. “What do you mean, a serenade?”

Dooley is a beige ragamuffin. You know, the kind that looks like a big, furry rabbit. Only he looks like a small, furry rabbit. A beige-and-white furry rabbit. Dooley is my best friend and neighbor. He comes with Odelia’s grandma, who also lives next door. Yep. We’re one big, happy family.

“I mean, a genuine serenade, like Romeo sang to Juliet?”

“Who’s Romeo?” Dooley asked suspiciously. Dooley is secretly—or not-so-secretly—in love with Harriet, and jealous of every cat sniffing around.

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Romeo is a fictional character in a Shakespeare play. Don’t you know anything, Dooley?”

Dooley raised his chin. “I know plenty. I know that Shakespeare is some dude who’s in love, that’s what I know. In love with Gwyneth Paltrow.”

“That’s not the real Shakespeare,” Harriet huffed. “That’s just a movie.”

“Well, I don’t see the point. There was no singing in the movie at all.”

“I think Harriet is right,” I said, deciding this was not the time for bickering. “We need to serenade Odelia. She loves our singing so much she’ll wake up the moment she hears our sweet voices. Just like a radio clock.”

“What’s a radio clock?” asked Dooley.

“Oh, go away, Dooley,” said Harriet. “Why don’t we try the song we practiced last night? I’m sure she’ll love it. She’ll wake up gently and in a wonderful mood, completely refreshed. Like you said, just like a radio clock, but without those annoying radio jockeys jabbering about the weather.”

“You mean Sorry?” I asked. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? It was a big hit for Justin. I’m sure Odelia will love it.”

“Who’s Justin?”

“Oh, Dooley,” Harriet sighed.

I stared at her. “Do you really think that song is appropriate?”

She laughed. “Appropriate? When is a love song not appropriate?”

“When is it?” asked Dooley, who had disliked the song as much as I had.

The thing is, Dooley and I had started cat choir a little while back, and had picked out a repertoire of cat-themed songs. You know, like What’s New Pussycat. But when Harriet joined us she decided to glam up our repertoire, whatever that means. And then her boyfriend Brutus came along and took over conductor duties from Shanille, Father Reilly’s tabby.

Things went downhill from there. Harriet started to dictate song choice, relying heavily on her mood. Last night she and Brutus had had a fight, and the big lug had us practicing Justin Bieber’s Sorry all night. Oh, the horror.

We’d still managed, though, much to the chagrin of the neighbors, who hadn’t liked our version as much as Harriet had. She’d been moved to tears when Brutus performed his solo and had responded by giving a rousing rendition of Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. It was all very disturbing.

“Oh, all right,” I finally said. “Let’s give it a try.”

“Let’s give what a try?” another voice now piped up behind us. I didn’t even have to turn to know who the voice belonged to. Brutus happens to be my personal nemesis. The big black cat belongs to Chase Kingsley, who’s the newest addition to the Hampton Cove police department, and has been making my life miserable ever since he arrived in town. He likes to think that just because his human is a cop he can lay down the law. And to add insult to injury, he’s managed to snag Harriet’s heart and dash all of Dooley’s hopes.

“Oh, Brutus, sweetie,” Harriet cooed. “We were about to try out that wonderful new song you taught us last night.”

“That’s a great idea, honey bunch,” he said in that gruff voice of his.

He punched me on the shoulder, slapped Dooley on the back, and we both toppled over. “Let’s do this, fellas,” he growled, and cleared his throat.

Brutus is just about the worst choice when it comes to conducting a choir. The cat doesn’t have a single musical bone in his big-boned body. But that doesn’t stop him from belting his heart out every time he opens his mouth.

I shook my head. At least when Brutus decided to tackle Justin Bieber, Odelia would finally wake up. Judging from the dozens of angry neighbors last night, and the half dozen shoes thrown at our heads, it was hard to sleep through the racket. Then again, waking up Odelia was what we were here for. She’d told me yesterday the Hampton Cove Gazette is going through a rough patch. Circulation is down, so she needs to buckle down and find a killer story. And the first rule to finding a killer story is getting out of bed.

“One, two, three,” Brutus grunted. He’d taken position in front of us, his back to Odelia, like a genuine conductor. He was even swinging his paw just so, claws extended in case we hit a wrong note. Brutus believes in tough love.

“Is it too late now to say sorry?” Brutus bellowed at the top of his lungs. He was eyeing Harriet intently, who was giggling more than she was singing.

“Cause I’m missing more than just your body,” she responded coyly.

“Oh, God,” Dooley muttered.

"Hey! No bungling the lyrics!" Brutus yelled. "Be a Belieber!"

"I'm a Bebrutuser," Harriet tittered. "Is that all right, too?"

“It sure is, cutie pie,” growled Brutus.

“Oh, God,” I murmured.

“Hey!” Brutus repeated, and he slapped me on the head.

“Hey!” I yelled back. “No hitting the talent!”

“Who are you calling talent?” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, God,” a tired voice came from behind Brutus.

He whirled around, ready to admonish her. But when he saw he wasn’t talking to one of his choir flunkies, he snarled, “Look who’s up!” instead.

“What was that racket?” she groaned.

“Sorry,” said Harriet.

“That’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”

“No, that’s the name of the song.”

"You could have fooled me," Odelia said, rubbing her eyes. "It sounded like a dozen cats being strangled, their heads chopped off with a lightsaber."

I know I should have felt offended, but I was so glad she was finally up I decided to forgive her. Not everyone appreciates great music the way us cats do, and the most important thing was that we’d finally achieved our purpose.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I said. “Time to go to work.”

“Ugh,” was Odelia’s response. “Just promise never to sing to me again.”

“I promise,” I said, crossing my claws. Until next time.

Chapter 2

I was glad we’d accomplished our mission, even though the awakening hadn’t been as gentle and pleasant as I’d hoped. Odelia obviously wasn’t a fan of cat choir, or Justin Bieber, or either. We probably needed to practice more. Then again, with Brutus at the helm we might never get to be as good as the Wiener Sängerknaben, my inspiration to start cat choir in the first place. Especially if Brutus kept hogging the spotlight to impress Harriet. It didn’t impress the other choir members. And it didn’t impress me.

We trudged down the stairs and padded into the kitchen, waiting for Odelia to join us, fresh from the shower and ready to start preparing breakfast. We didn’t have to wait long. She breezed in, wearing ultra-short Daisy Dukes, pockets showing on the bottom, a canary yellow T-shirt that announced she was ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ and pink Converse sneakers. She started up the coffeemaker and switched on the TV to watch the news.

“Ugh. The Kenspeckles are still in town,” she said as she dumped Corn Flakes into a bowl and poured milk on top of it and a few spoonfuls of sugar. “I keep hoping they’ll leave, but that obviously isn’t happening.”

“Who are the Kenspeckles?” asked Dooley.

We’d all hopped up on the kitchen counter barstools and were watching Odelia’s breakfast preparations intently. As soon as she’d finished preparing her own breakfast, we knew she’d start on ours.

“Just some family whose lives have been turned into a reality show,” she said. “The only reason I’m interested is because they decided to spend the summer in Hampton Cove and Dan keeps pushing me to do a piece on them. I’d rather poke my eye out with a fork than to come anywhere near them.”

“Why Hampton Cove?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Cause it’s the Hamptons. Cause it’s the place where all the cool people hang out. Cause after shooting a gazillion shows in LA they like to shake things up. I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not a fan.”

That much was obvious. “You don’t like the Kenspeckles?” asked Harriet.

“Nope. Too much talk. I like a show with a little action and a great story.”

“Like Game of Thrones,” said Brutus, nodding.

“Yuck. A show where people’s heads get chopped off? No way.”

“I know what you like,” said Brutus. “You like to watch the game.”

She stared at him. “Game? What game?”

“Football, of course! At Casa Chase we watch it all the time.”

“At Casa Odelia we watch The Voice,” I said.

Brutus made a face. “The Voice? Are you crazy?”

“It’s all about singing, Brutus. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“I like singing,” he said with a quick glance at Harriet. “In fact, I love it. But The Voice? I thought you said you liked action and a great story, Odelia?”

“It doesn’t get any better than Blake and Adam,” she said, taking a seat and scooping up her flakes. “Add in some great songs and I’m hooked.”

Brutus shook his head. It was obvious he didn’t agree. “To each his own.”

The sliding glass door in the living room opened and Odelia’s mom walked in. “Good morning, family. And what a glorious morning it is.”

A slim woman with long blond hair just like her daughter, Marge Poole was wearing hers in a messy bun this morning. Her white polka-dot shirt was belted with a thin leather sash and she was donning skinny black slacks. She gazed at us through horn-rimmed glasses and gave us a smile and a wave.

“Hey, Mom,” said Odelia. “Aren’t you the sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh, just my work clothes,” said Mom with a deferential gesture.

Marge Poole was a librarian and ran the Hampton Cove library.

“I’d certainly borrow a book from you, Mrs. P,” said Dooley.

“Dooley!” Harriet hissed.

“What? I would,” said Dooley.

“She’s a human and you’re a feline. That’s just wrong.”

He frowned. “Why can’t I borrow a book from her? I know my ABCs.”

“Oh, you mean an actual book?”

“Of course. Why else would I go to the library?”

“I just thought…” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

“We were just talking about Chase,” said Brutus.

“No, we weren’t,” said Odelia. “We were talking about the Kenspeckles.”

“Chase is such a nice young man,” Marge said. “And such a blessing for this town. Your uncle Alec keeps telling me he’s so glad Chase decided to stay put instead of going back to New York to shoot with the big boys.”

“Run with the big boys,” Odelia corrected automatically.

“That’s what I said. He could have had any job he wanted with the NYPD but he chose to stay in Hampton Cove. Isn’t that just wonderful?”

“Super,” Odelia murmured. “They should give him the keys to the city.”

“I’m sure glad he stayed,” said Harriet, practicing her best starry-eyed look on Brutus. “I don’t know what I would do without my Brutus.”

“Me neither, honey bunch,” said Brutus.

Mom stood watching the syrupy scene with cocked head. “Aw, isn’t that sweet? Young love.”

“It’s the best,” muttered Odelia, not impressed.

“Shouldn’t you be home with Chase right now?” I asked Brutus.

“Yeah, he’ll wonder where you are,” said Dooley.

“I’m sure he doesn’t mind me spending the night with my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” said Marge. “Chase strikes me as a man who appreciates love and affection. For a police officer he’s very much in touch with his feelings.” She gave Odelia a meaningful look.

Odelia threw up her hands. “Don’t hold anything back, Mom.”

“Well, I won’t. Detective Kingsley is a wonderful young man, extremely handsome and very sweet and you could do a lot worse than him. And he’s single, which I’m sure he won’t be for long so you better move fast.”

“I told you already. I’m not interested in Chase Kingsley.”

“Someone else might snap him up. Alec tells me Blanche Captor comes into the office every day to file littering charges. She’s in there at the crack of dawn, demanding Chase take her statement. And she just had that boob job.”

“I’m sure it takes more than a pair of boobs to turn Chase’s head, Mom.”

“I’m not so sure. Chase might be a great guy but he’s still a guy. And you know what that means.” She directed a pointed glance at Odelia’s more modest chest. “The women in our family have to rely on other assets, honey.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Mom,” Odelia groaned.

To be honest, I’ve never understood this obsession with boobs. I mean, I’m a guy and I don’t care one hoot about them. Then again, I’m not human, so maybe that’s why. Truth of the matter is that Odelia has dated a few lemons in the past, so she’s understandably cautious and I don’t blame her.

“I think Chase is dreamy,” said Harriet, contradicting her earlier statement that interspecies relationships are just plain wrong.

“And I think he’s a great cop, but that doesn’t mean he’s relationship material,” I said, deciding to put my two cents in. It seemed Odelia’s dating life was a free-for-all now, so why not share my opinion with the group?

Mom laughed. “Oh, Max. Since when did you become an expert?”

I shrugged. “Just looking out for my human. Someone has to.”

I like Marge, I really do, but I don’t like how she tries to foist this cop on Odelia. To be honest, my motives weren’t totally selfless. If Odelia hooked up with Chase, it wouldn’t be long before he moved in and so would Brutus. If there was a way to prevent this doomsday scenario, I was all for it.

Marge patted me on the head. “You’re doing a great job, Max.”

“Thanks,” I said dubiously. Compliments are a double-edged sword. You have to be careful or they blow up in your face. If it’s swords that blow up in your face. It might be plans. I don’t know. Hey, I’m a cat, not a dictionary.

“I think Odelia and Chase should hook up,” said Harriet. “Just like Brutus and I have found each other. That way we’ll all be family forever.”

“I think you should listen to you cats, honey,” said Mom. “They’re a sacred and ancient species known far and wide for their infinite wisdom.”

“I think Chase should return to wherever he came from,” said Dooley, giving Brutus a particularly dirty look.

Odelia held up her hand. “All right, Mom. I’ll listen to my wise cats.”

“Dooley is confused, that’s all. He is your grandmother’s cat, after all. Some of her traits are bound to rub off on him and dilute his innate wisdom.”

“I thought Gran wanted me to get together with Chase?”

"Gran wants to get together with Chase herself," said Marge with a tight-lipped smile. "Which is hardly appropriate for her age."

Odelia put her bowl in the sink. “You know what I think? This family is starting to resemble the Kenspeckles. If we’re not careful we’ll have our own reality show soon.”

“Ooh, I’d like that,” said Harriet. “I would love to be on TV.”

“Oh dear God, no,” said Marge. “Just imagine all those cameras filming everything we do. We wouldn’t have a life anymore—no privacy at all!”

“It’s all scripted,” Odelia said. “Nothing about that show is real, Mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Nobody behaves like that. It’s completely fake.”

“I think it’s all real,” said Harriet. “Especially the relationships. Nobody can fake all that love and affection. You can see it in their eyes.”

Dooley and I rolled our own eyes. Odelia was right. Maybe Keeping Up with the Pooles would be the next big thing. Though Keeping Up with Harriet and Brutus would be an even bigger hit. Nobody could fake that much ignorance.

Chapter 3

The doorbell rang and Odelia was surprised to find Chase on the doorstep. She wanted to tell him they were just talking about him but thought better of it. Nothing boosts a man's ego as much as knowing a gaggle of women is talking behind his back, though she probably shouldn't include Harriet in this particular gaggle, as she wasn't an actual woman.

Chase Kingsley was tall, dark-haired and movie-star handsome and took his job very, very seriously. And whatever he was doing here probably had something to do with that job, because in all the time she’d known him he’d never once paid her a social visit unless she’d specifically invited him.

“What’s up?” she asked, suddenly feeling a little underdressed. Those Daisy Dukes had seemed like a great idea half an hour ago, but now that Chase’s eyes slowly traveled south and his eyebrows rose north, she was having second thoughts. Then again, there was nothing wrong with making a great impression, even if she wasn’t interested in dating the guy.

“Morning, Miss Poole.”

“Morning, Detective Kingsley. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“There’s been a murder.”

“What? Who?” she asked, her smile evaporating.

“Shana Kenspeckle. They just found her.”

Holy cow. “Give me a minute,” she said.

He followed her inside, and nodded a greeting at her mother but ignored the cats seated at the kitchen counter. Unlike Odelia, Mom and Gran, Chase wasn’t one of those rare humans who could communicate with felines. This special gift had traveled down from generation to generation because one of Odelia’s ancestors had purportedly been a witch. It was a gift that came in handy in her line of work. As a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette she needed to be on top of everything that happened in her small Long Island town. And since she couldn’t be everywhere all the time, Max and his friends acted as her eyes and ears, supplying her with a steady stream of news.

She drained her coffee cup and went in search of her smartphone.

“So what brings you down here, Chase?” asked Mom.

“Police business, I’m afraid, Mrs. Poole.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. When are you going to start calling me Marge?”

“There’s been a murder, Marge.”

Mom’s hands flew to her face. “Oh, no!”

“Yeah. One of the Kenspeckle sisters was found murdered.”

“But that’s horrible!”

“I’m just going over there to investigate.”

“And you’re taking Odelia along? That’s so nice of you, Chase.”

He grimaced. “Chief Alec engaged your daughter as an official consultant to the department, ma’am, I mean Marge. He’s made a point of including her in the day-to-day police business. And since he’s out of town this week he’s asked me to partner up with his niece for this particular investigation.”

Judging from his tone he wasn’t happy about Uncle Alec’s decision.

“Oh, but that’s wonderful,” said Mom, clasping her fingers together as if in prayer. “The two of you together, cracking a case. That’s so exciting!”

Odelia didn’t know if it was exciting or not, but she thanked her lucky stars her uncle had made this arrangement. This way she could be where the action was, and didn’t have to snoop around. Ever since he’d arrived in town, Chase had been reluctant to share information with her, considering her just another nosy reporter. Uncle Alec had quickly made it clear they did things differently down here in Hampton Cove, and since she was a great reporter he considered her an asset, not a hindrance. Chase had reluctantly complied.

“Let’s go,” he said a little gruffly.

“Let’s go, you guys,” she repeated to her cats.

He frowned. “You’re not thinking about dragging your cats along?”

“Of course. They…” She searched for a good excuse. She couldn’t tell him she wanted them to investigate. Talk to other cats. Figure out clues.

“They need the fresh air,” Mom supplied helpfully.

“Then send them into the backyard,” said Chase. “Plenty of air there.”

“Sea air, Chase,” Mom clarified. “It’s good for their… complexion.”

Chase had caught sight of his own cat and picked him up. “What do you think you’re doing here, buddy? No wonder I couldn’t find you this morning.”

“Brutus and Harriet are an item now,” Mom said with the sweetest of smiles. “You don’t want to get in the way of true love, do you, Chase?”

Chase seemed on the verge of saying something scathing, but controlled himself. “Let’s just get going. I’d like to arrive before the coroner shows up.”

Five minutes later, they were riding in Chase’s squad car, which was a souped-up beat-up old pickup truck, four cats in the back and Chase looking a little glum. He clearly wasn’t happy about this new arrangement, and he wasn’t happy about having to drag four cats along for the ride either. ...