Purrfect Heat The Mysteries of Max 4

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

Purrfect Heat

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

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Excerpt from A Tale of Two Harrys (Ghosts of London 4)

About Nic

Also by Nic Saint

Purrfect Heat

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The peace and calm of Hampton Cove is brutally disturbed when celebrity chef Niklaus Skad, famous for his show Kitchen Disasters, is found cooked in his own oven. The chef wasn’t a well-liked man, and there are plenty of suspects to go around. Odelia Poole, Hampton Cove Gazette reporter and civilian consultant to the police department, teams up with Detective Chase Kingsley to catch the killer, but soon finds this proves a lot harder than she thought.

Max, Odelia’s blorange tabby, would love to help out, but is faced with a cat emergency when Odelia takes in a new stray. Diego soon proves to be a handful, and when he sets his sights on Harriet, it’s war in the cat menagerie. With Dooley fearing he’s contracted a wasting disease, and Brutus in a funk because Diego stole his girlfriend, Max has his hands full. Good thing he still has time to ferret out clues and chase suspects, or Odelia would never be able to crack the case.

Will Diego become a permanent fixture in the Poole household? Will the celebrity chef’s killer ever be found? And what’s going on with Gran’s crush on the mysterious Leo? Find out in Purrfect Heat, the new installment in the funny cozy cat mystery series The Mysteries of Max.

Prologue

Erin Coka arrived bright and early for work. It was her day to open Fry Me for an Oyster and she didn’t want to be late. As a newish employee of the restaurant, she had everything to prove and everything to lose. Not that her employers, Brainard and Isabella Stowe, were terrible people or anything. They just ran a tight ship, and expected all members of their staff, from the dishwashers to the chef, to do the work and show up on time.

Lately, things had been even more hectic than usual, with the famous celebrity chef Niklaus Skad in town, subjecting Fry Me for an Oyster to his usual grueling treatment. He’d been all over the place, a camera crew in tow, criticizing the menus, the seating, the decorations, the presentation and even the way the staff dressed and behaved. It seemed nothing was good enough for the Great Niklaus, and Brainard and Isabella had been on edge all week. Kitchen Disasters could make or break their business, though by the looks of things, Niklaus was leaning more toward destroying them.

Erin opened the door and stepped inside. The air was stale and musty—redolent with cooking scents. She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. Yuck. Something smelled awful. Had Hendrik been working on one of his notorious creations again? Cooking up something special for Niklaus? Going for a last-ditch attempt to save his career and the restaurant?

She walked through to the kitchen. “Chef? Chef, are you in here?”

Sometimes, when the mood struck him, Hendrik Serarols liked to come in at the crack of dawn to try out a few new recipes he’d dreamed up. She walked past the bar and through the swinging doors into the large kitchen at the back. Here Hendrik created his masterpieces, which had put Fry Me for an Oyster on the map in Hampton Cove and far beyond.

“Yuck,” she muttered, as her eyes scanned the squeaky clean kitchen.

All gleaming countertops and scrubbed pots dangling over the stoves. Everything perfectly clean, as it should be. Niklaus Skad was big on hygiene, his pet peeve. The stench seemed to be coming from one of the ovens, the biggest one, where they baked pizza and other large dishes. Hendrik had once joked you could fit a man in there, even one as big as him.

She walked over to the oven and saw that it was switched on. “Chef?” she repeated. “Are you cooking something in here?” No reply.

She peered in through the oven window. Whatever it was, it had been cooking for so long that smoke was curling out through the vents. Had Chef put something in last night and forgotten to turn off the oven? He had so much on his mind lately he was starting to get a little frazzled. And who could blame him? With Niklaus on his case all the time, even yelling and screaming, and the camera crew in his face while he tried to keep it together and run the kitchen, a lesser man would have fallen to pieces.

She flicked on the oven light, and that’s when she saw it. Her lips parted on a silent scream. There was a man in there, baked to a crisp!

Chapter 1

I was luxuriating in my all-time favorite spot: at the foot of Odelia’s bed. I’m blessed with a smallish human, which means I’ve got the foot of the bed all to myself. I’ve heard horror stories of other cats, whose owners stretch out all the way to the edge of the bed, and then wriggle around all night, making it absolutely impossible for any cat to get any sleep.

In that sense, Odelia is the perfect human. Well, not just because she’s short, but also because she’s super nice and sweet. She always makes sure I’m well fed and well taken care of, never stingy on the cuddles and the strokes, and she keeps my blorange fur looking nice and shiny by giving me a vigorous grooming every week without fail. She’s even installed a pet door so I can come and go as I please. A nice, big door, as I’m big-boned.

Odelia is a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and if there’s one thing that sets her aside from most humans, it’s that she speaks feline. Yep, she and I have a perfect understanding—literally. She takes care of me, and in return I collect gossip from all over town and give it her hot off the griddle. All the news that’s fit to print, straight from the cat’s mouth.

Odelia stirred, and I pricked up my ears. I can tell when she’s about to wake up, which is my cue to snuggle up to her and bury my nose in her armpit for an extra cuddle. It’s our morning ritual, and the start of our day.

This morning, however, things were going to prove different, and the first sign I got was when Dooley and Brutus came barging into the bedroom, looking excited, but not in a good way.

Dooley is my best bud, a gray Raggamuffin who belongs to Odelia’s Gran. Brutus is a black cat and… not exactly my buddy. He belongs to Chase Kingsley, a cop and occasional kissmate of Odelia’s. Yes, I know kissmate isn’t a word, but how else can I describe Chase and Odelia’s relationship? They’re not a couple, they just… kiss… sometimes. And flirt a lot, I guess. I know, it’s disgusting, but what can you do? Humans are weird that way.

“Max!” Dooley cried. “Terrible news! Terrible, terrible news!”

I reluctantly heaved my head from the soft blanket. “What is it?” I murmured, then yawned cavernously. Dooley is one of those overexcited cats who get their tail in a twist just because their human got them a new brand of kibble or a new smell of cat litter.

“A new cat,” Dooley said, still panting. “There’s a new cat in town.”

I looked from Dooley to Brutus, who was, at least in my eyes, still the new cat in town, even though by now he’d been here a couple of months.

“No, not me,” Brutus grunted. “A new new cat.”

I frowned. “So? New cats are born every day. What’s so special about this one?”

“He’s not a kitten,” Dooley announced, looking highly perturbed.

“He’s a full-grown cat,” said Brutus. “And he belongs to Chase.”

“Your Chase?”

“My Chase.”

“That’s not possible. Your Chase doesn’t even like cats. He just took you in because his mother is living with her sister who’s allergic to cats.”

It was a long story. Brutus had belonged to Chase’s mom, but when she couldn’t take care of him anymore, Chase had graciously agreed to give him a home. Though he spent most of his time either at Odelia’s or next door, at Odelia’s mom’s place, where Dooley lives with Gran.

“Martha loves cats,” Brutus explained. “She just can’t help herself. So when she saw this rascal roaming the streets, she took him home with her, and immediately got into a huge argument with her sister.”

“So Chase took him over? Again?” I asked, incredulous.

Brutus nodded somberly. “And he’s something else, this one.”

“He’s called Diego and he’s a real charmer. A regular ladies’ cat.”

“Like Brutus, you mean,” I said, giving Brutus a level look.

“I’m not a ladies’ cat,” Brutus protested. “Can I help it that the ladies all love me? It’s not as if I go out of my way to seduce them or anything. They just take one look at me and bingo. They go all gooey on me.”

“That’s a ladies’ cat,” I said in measured tones. “That’s you.”

“You got it all wrong as usual, Maxie, baby,” Brutus growled.

“No, you got it all wrong. As usual,” I countered.

“No, you got it all wrong!”

“No, you got it—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Dooley cried. “Diego is here and Harriet is going to take one look at him and she’s going to go weak at the knees and fall for him!”

“Not my Harriet,” Brutus said, though he didn’t look convinced.

“Your Harriet?” Dooley asked. “Harriet isn’t your Harriet.”

“Oh, yes, she is. I know you’re devastated by the fact that she likes me more than you, but she is mine,” said Brutus with a smirk. “All mine.”

“Harriet isn’t yours. Harriet is a free spirit. She belongs to no one.”

“All mine,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “All the time.”

“Where is Harriet, by the way?” I asked.

Harriet belongs to Odelia’s mom and also lives next door. She’s a white Persian with green eyes. Even though she’s totally not my type I have to admit she’s very pretty. And she likes to hang out with Brutus, he wasn’t lying about that. Much to Dooley’s chagrin, cause he’s got a crush on Harriet himself.

“I have no idea,” said Brutus. “When I woke up just now she wasn’t there.”

I cut a glance at Dooley, and he nodded somberly. Brutus had taken to spending the night at the house, occupying the spot next to Harriet on the bed. When they weren’t traipsing all over town, that was.

Odelia muttered something, and I wasn’t surprised. All this meowing and hissing had probably woken her up. “Now see what you’ve done,” I said. “You’ve gone and woken up my human.”

“What do you care?” Brutus asked. “She needs to get up anyway.”

“I like her to wake up gradually.”

“Max likes to snuggle with Odelia,” said Dooley. “He’s a snuggler.”

It’s a good thing us cats are covered with fur, otherwise Brutus would have noticed the blush that was now creeping up my cheeks.

“I am not,” I said indignantly. “You take that back, Dooley.”

“I’m not taking it back. You are a snuggler. You like to snuggle.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about, Maxie,” said Brutus with a sly grin. “Some cats are snugglers and others aren’t. I for one would never want to be caught dead trying to stick my nose in Chase’s armpit, or sniff at his hair. Yuck. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the guy, but that’s not how we roll.”

“So how do you roll?” I asked, giving him my best scowl.

He studied his claws. “You know, us catly cats just hang, you know. Like bros. Like buds. Chase, Chief Alec and I like to watch the ballgame, knocking back a few brewskis, swapping some off-color stories from our sordid pasts. It’s what real cats do. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You don’t drink brewskis,” I said heatedly. “And you definitely don’t swap off-color stories about your sordid past because Chase doesn’t speak feline and neither does Uncle Alec. You’re making all that up.”

He grinned. “Keep telling yourself that. Whatever makes you feel good, bro. Just keep on snuggling. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”

“There is nothing wrong with that!” I cried.

“That’s what I just said.”

“No, but you said it in a way that makes it sound wrong!”

“Hey, don’t you go getting all weird on me, Maxie. I said I’m fine with you being all feminine and girly so why don’t you just let me be all manly and butch, huh? To each his own is what I always say.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, and I was itching to give him a piece of my mind—or my claws. Then again, Brutus is a formidable cat. Strong and athletic. I may be bigger, but I’m not afraid to admit it’s mostly blubber.

“Easy there, big guy,” said Brutus, catching my glare and holding up his paws in a peaceable gesture. “You look like you’re about to blow a gasket. We’re all buds here, okay?”

“Right,” I said dubiously.

“Do you really drink beer, Brutus?” Dooley asked.

“Of course. You’re not a real cat if you haven’t downed some suds.”

“I haven’t downed some suds,” said Dooley. “You think I should try?”

“First chance you get,” Brutus assured him. “But go easy, slugger. Not everyone can stomach the stuff.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Only real cats can, right?”

“That’s right, Maxie. Though if you can’t keep it down, that’s fine, too.”

He was playing with me, as usual, and I wondered if this new cat was going to be just like Brutus, for if he was, Dooley was right. This was bad.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and I groaned. Now I was never going to get my morning cuddle. Brutus grinned at me. He’d read my mind.

Odelia murmured something, smacked her lips, and sat upright in bed, blinking confusedly. When she saw us, she blinked some more. “Um, Max? Are there really three of you or am I seeing things?”

“You’re not seeing things,” I said. “Dooley and Brutus came over.”

“Oh, hi, Dooley—Brutus.”

The doorbell rang again.

“There it is,” she said. “I thought I’d heard something.”

With her blond hair a mess, her green eyes trying hard to focus, and her nose wrinkling in confusion, my human looked cute as a button. She swung her feet to the Finding Nemo carpet by the bed, and I saw she was wearing her pink Betty Boop pajamas. She staggered from the bed, and shuffled to the door.

“So what were you guys talking about?” she asked as she stumbled down the stairs, rubbing at her eyes with one hand while holding onto the banister with the other.

“About the new cat,” Dooley said.

“His name is Diego and he’s a real charmer,” I said. “At least according to Brutus.”

“Well, he is,” Brutus said. “I only talked to him for all of five minutes and I could see he was one of those ladies’ cats.”

“You mean like you,” Odelia said, not missing a beat.

“I’m not a ladies’ cat!” Brutus cried. “Ladies just like me!”

“That’s a ladies’ cat,” I said.

“Diego belongs to Chase,” Dooley said.

Odelia halted on the bottom step and looked down at Dooley. “Chase has a new cat?”

“Used to belong to his mother, just like Brutus,” I explained. I gave her a worried look. She nodded. She understood Dooley and I didn’t like Brutus. And if this new cat was anything like him, we were in for another nasty surprise.

“I’m sure Diego will prove to be a perfectly nice cat,” she said.

Odelia is always the picture of optimism. For her the glass is always half-full. You have to admire that about her, of course. Then again, sometimes the glass is half-empty. Or completely empty. Like in the case of Brutus.

Odelia made her way to the door and peeked through the peephole.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, and quickly turned and looked in the hallway mirror. “Ugh,” she said, and finger-combed her hair and checked her eyes for sleep gunk. Then she heaved a resigned sigh and opened the door. Odelia’s uncle Alec stood on the mat, along with Chase Kingsley, who was holding up a small orange cat.

“That’s Diego!” hissed Brutus.

“Surprise,” said Chase with a smile, and handed the cat to Odelia.

Chapter 2

Odelia took the cat from Chase. She was feeling a little awkward. If only she’d known they were coming over, she could have splashed some water on her face, sprayed some deodorant on her pits and dressed in something a little more appropriate than her Betty Boop pajamas.

“Sleeping in?” asked her uncle Alec with a grin as he stepped inside.

“I must have slept through my alarm,” she said. “What time is it?”

“Seven thirty,” said Chase, following her uncle in.

“Oh.” Her alarm had been set for eight, so it wasn’t that she was late. They were early. “So what brings you here?” She held up the cat. “Showing off this little guy?”

“He’s my mom’s,” Chase said apologetically. He wasn’t dressed in his pajamas but in jeans, a plaid shirt and boots. With his slightly tousled dark hair, clear blue eyes and chiseled features he was like an all-out assault of manliness. A lot to take in before breakfast.

“So… you want me to take care of him for a while?” she guessed.

He grimaced. “Thing is, since Brutus spends more time over here than at your uncle’s place, I just figured you might have room for another one?”

“Sure,” she said, setting down the cat. Max and Dooley looked dumbfounded, and Brutus downright hostile, but she didn’t care. They’d just have to learn to get along. Just like she and Chase had done. When the cop had first arrived in town, he hadn’t liked that Odelia occasionally got involved in her uncle’s police investigations. As a former NYPD detective, that kind of thing simply wasn’t done. Now, however, they got on just fine.

“We’re not here about the cat, honey,” Chief Alec said with a grimace.

Uh-oh. She knew that look. “Something happened, right? Something bad?”

“Afraid so,” said Chase. “Have you ever watched Niklaus Skad’s Kitchen Disasters?”

“Where he humiliates and destroys restaurant owners for entertainment purposes? I’ve seen it once or twice. Not my cup of tea.”

“Well, looks like someone didn’t like him.”

“Niklaus Skad was murdered? In Hampton Cove?”

“He was here to tape a segment of his show at Fry Me for an Oyster,” said Chase. “He was found this morning, stuck in the restaurant oven.”

“Completely cooked,” Uncle Alec added, shaking his head.

“Yikes. That’s a horrible way to go.” But also very apt, of course.

“We’re going out there right now,” said Chase. “So we figured you might want to tag along.”

She stared at him. Was he serious? Not all that long ago the mere thought that a reporter would tag along with him would have gotten him madder than a wet hen. And now he was actually inviting her to join him? He’d definitely had a change of heart. Then again, she’d helped him crack a few cases since they first met. And had even done him a personal favor by getting him absolved of a phony molestation charge hanging over his head.

Uncle Alec was grinning at her from behind Chase’s back, and gave her a wink. “Sure,” she said finally. “I’d love to come. Um… I need to change into something more appropriate first, though.”

Chase smiled. “Why? I love me some Betty Boop.”

“Me, too,” she said. “But it doesn’t really inspire confidence. People might think I’m a flake.”

“A cute flake,” Chase said, rocking back on his heels.

She gave him a curious glance. He was awfully cheerful this morning. Probably happy something was finally happening in Hampton Cove. For the former NYPD detective life in the small town was probably boring.

“If you’re gonna change you better do it now,” her uncle said, tapping his watch.

“Be back in a jiffy,” she said, and bounded up the stairs.

For the next fifteen minutes she showered, dressed and even took the time to apply some makeup. She might be about to meet lying suspects, heinous criminals and a very dead murder victim, but that didn’t mean she had to look like crap. And then there was Chase, of course. He might like her in her Betty Boop outfit, but she just knew she could do a whole lot better. Not that she wanted to impress him. Not her. Nah-uh.

“So why let me tag along?” she asked, scooting up the backseat of her uncle’s squad car while he put the car in gear and pulled away.

Chase turned to face her, putting his elbow on the headrest. “It’s like I told your uncle. You’ve got a knack for it, Odelia. I’ve never known anyone who’s got a knack for solving murders like you have. You’re a natural.”

“Apart from Jessica Fletcher,” her uncle said, keeping his eye on the road.

“Yes, well, your niece is a lot easier on the eyes than Jessica.”

Was he flirting with her? Not that she was complaining. “Thanks for the compliment,” she said. “Though I’m sure you’re just exaggerating.”

“About what?” asked her uncle with a twinkle in his eye. “The sleuthing thing or the easier on the eyes thing?”

“Both,” she said. “I mean, I just get lucky from time to time, I guess.”

“We both know luck’s got nothing to do with it,” said Chase. “You have a knack, Odelia, and I would be an idiot not to make good use of it.”

He gave her a penetrating look that sent her heart rate rocketing up.

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing things my way, Chase,” said Chief Alec. “It sure took you long enough.”

“Yes, well, where I come from civilians don’t butt into police investigations,” he said stubbornly, repeating his old line. “They just don’t,” he repeated when the chief shook his head and uttered a groan.

“Where you come from they don’t have girls like my niece,” Alec said.

“That’s true enough,” Chase agreed with another sly look at her.

“So what about this murder?” she asked, deciding to get this conversation out of the gutter. “What have you found out so far?”

Chase took a notebook from his shirt pocket. “Murder was reported by Erin Coka. She’s a waitress and was opening up the restaurant this morning. Said she thought the chef had forgotten to turn off the oven.”

“Who’s the chef?”

“Hendrik Serarols. So far hasn’t shown up for work.”

“Which is suspicious,” her uncle said with a nod.

“Who owns Fry Me for an Oyster?” She’d never been there, but had heard good things about it.

Chase read from his notebook again. “Brainard and Isabella Stowe. It’s their third restaurant. The previous two went belly-up. This one was a success.”

“A big success,” Uncle Alec confirmed. “Which is why it got the attention of Niklaus Skad. The man likes to attach his name to success stories.”

“And then tear them down,” Odelia said, remembering some snippets from Kitchen Disasters. The man was unrelenting and brutal. She wondered what had induced the Stowes to feature on his show. Then again, any publicity was good publicity, probably. She wasn’t a marketing expert, but being on TV was probably the best way of getting your name out there.

They’d arrived at the restaurant, which was on Norfolk Street, and her uncle parked across the street. Uniformed officers were blocking anyone from entering the restaurant, and were keeping onlookers at bay.

“Did you let your cats out, Odelia?” asked her uncle, locking eyes with her through the rearview mirror.

“I’ve got a pet door,” she said. “They come and go as they please.”

“Good,” he said with a nod.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about cats, Chief?” asked Chase, surprised.

The Chief shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a softie at heart.”

But Odelia knew why he’d asked. Unlike Chase, her uncle knew the secret of her sleuthing success. She had two assistants working for her, scouring the streets for clues: Max and Dooley. Cats are everywhere, and since people rarely hold back in front of them, they harbor a lot of secrets, and don’t mind sharing those secrets with other cats… like Max and Dooley.

They crossed the street. Chase and her uncle went in to check the crime scene and talk to the coroner. She stayed behind. She’d spotted what she assumed were the owners of the restaurant, and decided to have a chat.

Brainard Stowe was a stout man with a comb-over, who stood nervously hopping from one leg to the other while an officer took the couple’s statement. His wife Isabella was the motherly type, and reminded Odelia of her own mother. She was round with a kind face and overly large glasses, and was dressed in a floral print dress that seemed ill-fitted to keep her ample curves in check. She and her husband looked like they’d been rudely awakened, had put on the first thing they found, and had rushed over.

She waited patiently until the couple had given their statement, and approached them with a friendly smile. “Hi. My name is Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette and a civilian consultant with the Hampton Cove Police Department. Can you tell me what happened?”

The woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, and it was obvious she’d been crying. Her husband, on the other hand, appeared incensed for some reason.

“I know who you are,” Isabella said. “I love your articles, Miss Poole.”

“I can’t believe this,” Brainard said. “When are they going to let us in?”

“Not until the crime scene has been thoroughly examined and the coroner has taken away the body,” I said.

His eyes shifted to me. “You’re Chief Alec’s niece, aren’t you? Can’t you ask him when I can reopen my restaurant?”

“You can ask him yourself, honey,” said his wife. “I’m sure he’ll want to talk to us once he’s through in there.”

“I hope they’re not going to close us down for a week,” he grumbled. “Something like this can wreck a business. And I know a thing or two about wrecking a business.”

Isabella smiled nervously. “I’m sure Miss Poole doesn’t want to know about all of that, honey,” she said, placing a warning hand on his arm.

“Mh? Oh. Right,” he said, realizing he wasn’t talking to himself.

“Is it true that Niklaus Skad was filming his show Kitchen Disasters in your restaurant?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Isabella. “We made the arrangements last fall, and filming had just started a couple of days ago.”

“And how would you describe the experience?”

Brainard frowned. “Rotten. I wish we’d never agreed to do his damn show.” Isabella put her hand on his arm again but he shook it off. “And I don’t care who knows it. You can print this on your front page for all I care. Niklaus Skad was a horrible human being who got off on hurting others. A failed and bitter restaurateur who took out his rancor on other, more successful business owners. He bullied our chef, he bullied our staff, he bullied us, heck, he even bullied our cat! The man was a well-dressed thug!”

“I hope you’re not going to write that in your article, Miss Poole,” Isabella said. “Brainard is overwrought. He doesn’t mean what he says.”

“I mean every word! I think whoever killed the man deserves a medal!”

“Keep your voice down,” Isabella hissed. “The police are here.”

“They know we didn’t do it,” said Brainard. “How could we? We were…” His pale blue eyes shifted to me again, and he promptly clamped his mouth shut.

“Yes?” I prompted. “You were…”

“We were home last night,” said Isabella. “All night.”

“Can anyone vouch for you?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sure my uncle will want to know.”

Husband and wife shared a quick glance, then Isabella produced a nervous giggle. “I—we—well, the thing is…”

“You don’t have to tell her,” Brainard said. “There’s such a thing as privacy in this country. There are laws and stuff.”

“Privacy is the first thing that goes out the window when a dead body is found stuffed in the oven of your kitchen,” Isabella said stiffly. She nodded. “The police are going to find out anyway. They’re going to go through our personal affairs with a fine-tooth comb and if we don’t get an expensive lawyer we might even be charged with murder.”

“Nonsense. We didn’t do it and we can prove it.”

She gave him a gentle shove. “Go on, then. Tell her. It’s not like it’s anything to be ashamed of.”

He stared at me, his lips a thin line. Finally, he burst out, “Very well, then. We were playing with our Echo.”

This wasn’t what she’d expected, so she raised an eyebrow. “Echo?”

“The Amazon gadget? You can ask it anything,” Isabella said.

“Yeah, it’s way cool. You can ask Alexa what the weather will be like, or to play a certain song, or to turn on the heating. Anything. It’s fun.”

“Who’s Alexa?” she asked, still not following.

“She’s the voice of the Echo,” said Isabella.

“Like Apple has Siri?” Brainard added. He frowned. “I wonder why they’re both women’s voices.”

“Women just have nicer voices,” said Isabella.

“I’m sure that’s not the reason.”

“And I’m sure that it is.”

“Um… How is this Echo thing providing you with an alibi?” Odelia asked.

“See, Brainard? Miss Poole is smart as a whip.” She nudged him. “You tell her.”

“No, you tell her. It was your idea, after all.”

Isabella hooked her arm through her husband’s and bit her lip. “The thing is… we were asking Alexa for… advice.”

“Sexy positions,” Brainard said gruffly, practicing his thousand-yard stare.

“And ordering sexy things online,” his wife added.

“Spice up our love life. You should give it a try sometime, missy.”

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Poole doesn’t need her love life spiced up,” Isabella said. She gave Odelia a smile. “When you’re married for as long as we’ve been, you need all the spicing up you can get. You understand.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, a little flustered. “Yeah, I get it. Of course.”

“And the good thing is that the police can check with Amazon. Everything you do on the Echo is recorded. So they can hear what we were up to.”

“They can?” asked Brainard, his eyebrows rising precipitously.

“Oh, yes,” she said, reddening slightly.

“Oh, my.”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh.

“Everything?”

“Every sound we made, honey.”

“Oh, my God.”

She bit her lip again. “So there you have it, Miss Poole. That’s our alibi.”

“Alexa.”

She nodded. “I hope you’ll be discreet about it. I’d hate for our friends and neighbors to find out about this. Or my sister.”

“They’ll know soon enough,” said her husband. “Everybody talks, honey. Even the cops.”

“Oh, well,” she said, adjusting her dress. “It’s not like it’s a crime to have a good time. We are married, after all.”

“And even if we weren’t, there’s no law against ordering edible lingerie.”

“Brainard!” she whispered, tittering nervously.

“The Echo,” Odelia said.

Isabella heaved a little sigh. “The Echo,” she echoed.

Yep. Definitely one of the more interesting alibis.

Chapter 3

We all stared at the newcomer, who sat casually licking his front paw.

“He’s orange, just like you,” Dooley whispered.

“I’m not orange, I’m blorange,” I whispered back.

“What’s the difference?” Brutus hissed.

“Blorange is a reddish orange with rose hues,” I said.

They both stared at me, then at Diego, then back at me. “I don’t see the difference,” Brutus said.

“Well, there is a difference,” I said haughtily. “Maybe you should have your eyes checked.”

“My eyes are fine. You’re orange, he’s orange. It’s the same color.”

“It’s not the same color!”

“No, you’re right about that,” Brutus admitted. “You’re fat, he’s thin.”

“I’m not fat!”

Diego jumped up on the couch and casually stretched himself.

“Hey, that’s my spot,” I told Dooley.

“Tell him,” Dooley said.

“Yeah, Max. You have to stand up for yourself,” Brutus agreed. “Tell him that’s your spot.”

I hesitantly looked at Diego, then decided that he didn’t look dangerous. Maybe he was even nice? I walked over, and said, “Hi, my name is Max, and I think you’re in my spot.”

He gave me a supercilious look, then placed his head on his paws and closed his eyes. ...