Purrfectly Dead (The Mysteries of Max Book 20), page 1
Purrfectly Dead
The Mysteries of Max 20
Nic Saint
Puss in Print Publications
Contents
Purrfectly Dead
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
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Excerpt from Purrfect Saint (Mysteries of Max 21)
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Purrfectly Dead
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I was suffering from a slight case of ennui when I came upon the perfect solution: a new type of cat kibble that promised to fix my every problem. I probably should have known it was too good to be true, which just goes to show that even a feline who’s been around the block a few times can still be caught by surprise.
What definitely caught me by surprise was Gran’s announcement that she wanted to have another baby—a little brother or sister for Marge and Alec. No, they weren’t too excited about the prospect either. And then of course when that first zombie showed up one night, that’s when the trouble really started.
Am I going too fast? You’re saying I should back up a little? Well, all right, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you: this story turned out to be a real rollercoaster ride, and put both cats and humans through the wringer. Then again, isn’t that par for the course in Hampton Cove, that lovely small town where danger seems to lurk around every corner?
Prologue
Pamela Witherspoon was walking her Pomeranian like she did every night. She took her usual route past Hampton Cove park, and watched and listened to the rare spectacle of dozens of cats all gathering in the park’s playground and yowling up a storm.
Why they did this was anyone’s guess. People had wondered about the strange ritual for years, and even zoologists had studied the phenomenon and been left stumped.
No one knew exactly what drove all of these cats to gather in the same spot night after night and make these strange and frankly disturbing sounds.
Dirk Benedict, world-renowned zoologist and self-declared feline specialist, had suggested that it might have something to do with this particular spot. That perhaps located in the heart of the park was an ancient burial ground where the original inhabitants of Long Island had buried their cats, and now these modern-day cats, through some ancient wisdom, came together to honor the memory of their ancestors.
Others, like Laurence Tureaud, the famous ufologist, thought this was probably the spot where aliens would one day land, when and if they finally decided on their invasion, and cats, being the mystical creatures they are, acted as the harbingers of this doom.
And then of course there were the more exotic of explanations. Some people, most notable amongst whom the renowned geologist Dwight Schultz, claimed the earth’s crust was particularly thin in this exact spot, and the cats’ yowls were a way of communicating with their counterparts living in the earth’s core, which, still according to Mr. Schultz’s more outlandish musings, wasn’t solid iron and nickel, as most scientists agreed it was, but a large and complicated cave system where our counterparts live.
Pamela didn’t care one hoot about all of those theories. She quite enjoyed the spectacle, and thought it was pretty. Boomer, though, didn’t think it was pretty at all. On the contrary. The peppy little Pomeranian never stopped barking at the cats’ meows, which from time to time earned him a shoe aimed in his direction. Usually these shoes were meant for the cats, but Boomer sometimes happened to be collateral damage.
“Pretty, isn’t it, Boomer baby?” asked Pamela now.
“Woof, woof!” said Boomer in response.
“Don’t you wish you were a cat in moments like these, Boomer?” asked Pamela. “So you could sing along with the rest of your lovely little friends?”
“Warrrrrf!”
Pamela smiled. Oh, how she wished sometimes she could talk to her Boomer, and understand what he said. She was pretty sure he was the smartest doggie on the planet, and every bark that rolled from his lips a nugget of wisdom.
“My own precious little genius,” she said now, as she took a plastic baggie from her pocket and crouched down to clean up Boomer’s doo-doo.
There had been a rumor flying around about a new rule instigated by Chief Alec that dogs would have to use a litter box from now on, but so far she hadn’t heard any more.
And as she walked on, Boomer straining at the leash to get at those darn cats howling up a storm, she suddenly came upon a strange and frightening sight: a man was staggering in her direction, his arms outstretched, his fingers grasping the air!
Boomer, who’d noticed the same thing, now redirected his attention from the offending cats to the offending stranger.
And as the man reached the circle of light cast by a streetlamp, Pamela saw to her horror that his face was white as a sheet, and his skin was devastated by dozens of open sores covering its acreage. In fact it wasn’t too much to say that the man looked… dead!
She uttered an involuntary little yelp of fear as the man picked up his pace and moved in her direction, his clawing hands clearly yearning to grab hold of her!
“Come on, Boomer!” said Pamela as she turned on her heel and started walking away.
The man wasn’t deterred. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw to her dismay he’d picked up his pace and was now stumbling after her, a lumbering quality to his gait.
“Run, Boomer, run!” Pamela yelled, and as she followed her own advice, they were soon running at a rapid clip, trying to escape the horrid and menacing creature.
And she’d just turned a corner when she almost bumped into a large and voluminous figure. To her not inconsiderable relief it was Chief Alec himself, Hampton Cove’s stalwart chief of police.
“Chief!” she cried. “Someone is chasing me!”
“Easy now, Pamela,” said the Chief in his easygoing and reassuring way. He was a man with very little hair left on top of his scalp, and a considerable paunch, and was loved by all Hampton Covians for his kindly demeanor and years of consistent selfless service.
The cop was glancing beyond her now, at the corner where any moment the stalker would appear.
“I was walking my Boomer, minding my own business, when suddenly I saw this horrible, horrible creature. And he must have seen me, too, for he immediately gave chase. Oh, Chief. Am I glad to see you!”
She’d clasped a hand to her chest, which was heaving, her heart beating a mile a minute.
“You’re all right now, Pamela,” rumbled the Chief. “You’re perfectly safe with me.”
They were both still staring at the corner, but of her assailant there was no trace.
“I swear he was right behind me, Chief,” said Pamela, starting to feel a little silly now. It’s one thing to be chased by a monster, but another for that monster to suddenly get cold feet the moment the constabulary arrives. She secretly wished now her assailant would show his ugly face so the Chief could see for himself she wasn’t making this up.
“Let’s take a look,” said the Chief now. She saw that his right hand was on his weapon, and as she stayed safely behind the man’s broad back, she followed as he approached the corner of the park, then cautiously glanced around it.
“And?” she asked, her voice strained. “Is he still there?”
“Weirdest thing,” grumbled the Chief.
She ventured from behind the safety of the police officer, and took a look for herself. To her surprise, the man was gone.
“Oh,” she said, and even Boomer seemed surprised, for he suddenly stopped yapping.
She was growing a little hot under her collar when the Chief directed a curious look at her, the kind of look a doctor would award a patient just before calling the loony bin.
“He was there, Chief, I swear,” she said.
“Oh, I believe you, Pamela. I do.” But it was obvious from his demeanor that he didn’t. “So can you describe this man to me?”
She nodded. “This is going to sound a little strange, Chief, but the man looked like…” She sank her teeth into her lower lip.
“Yes?” he prompted. “He looked like what?”
“Well, he looked like a—like a zombie.”
1
Look, I realize that I’m one of the lucky ones. My human treats me well, my food bowl is almost always filled to the rim—except when Vena the veterinarian convinces Odelia that I have to go on a diet—and I have friends in high places. I’m referring to Dooley, who had opted to lie on top of the couch’s back for some reason. I guess he likes his heights.
But some days even I experience this strange pang of unhappiness. That nebulous feeling that something is lacking and you simply can’t put your paw on it.
Today was one of those days. It wasn’t that my bowl was empty—when it is, I make sure to wake up my human by kneading her arm and mewling into her ear until she wakes up and rectifies her mistake. It was that, what was in my bowl suddenly failed to grip.
And I blame it on that TV commercial we’d been watching for the third day in a row.
Lately my friends and I have developed the habit of watching television in the early morning, long before Odelia and Chase are up.
Odelia leaves the remote lying on the coffee table, and we’d discovered—or I should probably say Dooley has discovered, quite by accident by landing his tush on top of the remote one morning—that one click on the big red button on the remote switches on the television, and a couple of clicks will take us to one of many shopping networks, which feature, every morning between five and six, a lot of commercials for pet food.
One of those commercials had attracted our attention, and we were watching it again now, all four of us on the couch.
“The revolution in pet food continues,” a very beautiful young woman dressed, for some reason, in a white lab coat, was saying, smiling a perfect toothpaste smile.
“Pet food revolution,” Dooley muttered reverently, as if trying to memorize the line.
“Peppard Nutrition Revolution brings you the latest scientific research and the highest quality pet food on the market. And the best part? It’s free! Sign your pet up for our free testing program and enjoy all the benefits of Peppard Pet Food free of charge.”
“She said free three times,” said Dooley happily. “Which must mean something.”
“I guess it means the food is free,” said Harriet. She was smacking her lips at the sight of a gourmet dinner being presented now on the screen. Even though the woman with the lab coat always spoke of pets and pet food, the animals on the screen were all cats.
“Lucky cats,” said Brutus as he shook his head. “What do they have that we don’t?”
“Access to a good manager who got them into this commercial?” I said.
“We should be in there,” said Brutus. “We should be the ones tasting that godly food.”
“We could always ask Odelia to sign us up,” I said. “I’m sure if she does we’d be selected.”
“And why is that, Max?” asked Dooley, speaking from his high perch.
“Because Odelia is a famous reporter,” I said. “And I’m sure these Peppard Pet Food people would love an article about their products in the Gazette, something which she could give them in exchange for our participation in this revolutionary new program.”
“And I’m sure it doesn’t work like that,” said Harriet. “You probably have to know someone to get into the program.”
“Maybe Chase could get us in?” said Dooley, obviously as eager as the rest of us to taste some of this ‘revolutionary new pet food with the greatest taste and the highest-possible nutritional value on the market.’
“Chase? How would Chase be able to get us in?” scoffed Brutus.
“Chase is a cop,” said Dooley, “and cops arrest people when they don’t do as he says.”
“I don’t think Chase will arrest the Peppard people if they don’t admit us into the program, Dooley,” I said.
“Who is Chase going to arrest?” asked Odelia as she walked into the living room, yawning and dressed in her Betty Boop jammies and Hello Kitty slippers.
She took a seat on the couch and stared at the TV, her eyes still a little bleary. She and Chase had gone out last night on a date, and it had gotten a little late.
“We need to get into this new program,” said Harriet now. “They promise its nuggets will add at least sixty percent extra shine to my coat.”
“And make me lose fifty percent of my flab,” I added.
“And make me seventy-five percent more butch,” said Brutus.
“And make me at least forty percent more intelligent,” said Dooley.
Odelia laughed. “This food can do all that? What is it? A kind of miracle cure?”
“How did you know?” asked Dooley excitedly.
On the screen, the woman in the lab coat now held up a can of that miracle food and smiled into the camera, her eyes shining with excitement, almost as if she’d tasted the food herself and loved what it had done for her. “Our scientists have developed Miracle Cure specifically with your beloved fur babies in mind. You will find that it doesn’t just meet all of their needs, but makes them more healthy, strong, smart and gorgeous. Peppard Pet Food. The pet food revolution. And that’s a promise, not a pitch.”
“See?” said Dooley, practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s a promise, not a pitch.”
But Odelia didn’t look convinced. “Miracle Cure? Sounds a little fishy, if you ask me.”
“What’s going on here?” asked Chase who’d walked into the room, barefoot and clad in a T-shirt that proclaimed he was the ‘World’s Greatest Pet Dad.’
“They’ve been watching one of those shopping networks,” said Odelia, “and now they want to try this new pet food called Miracle Cure. A brand called Peppard Pet Food.”
Chase stared at the screen for all of two seconds before he grunted, “Snake oil. There should probably be a law against them.”
“See!” said Dooley. “Chase is going to arrest them—this is our in, you guys!”
“It’s actually not available in stores yet,” I said. “The only way to get the food is by entering your pets into their free testing program. Which is free,” I added, hoping to convey some of my enthusiasm. “Free as in, it doesn’t cost any money.”
Odelia raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me. You want to be entered into this program?”
“Yes, please!” we all shouted simultaneously.
She shook her head. “Oh, come on. It’s probably just a marketing push for some new and dodgy product.”
A phone number had appeared on the screen, and I now nudged Odelia’s phone, which she’d left on the couch the night before.
She laughed and picked it up. “Okay, okay! I get the message.” She tapped the number into her phone as Chase walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. He might be the world’s greatest pet dad, but Odelia clearly was the world’s greatest cat lady.
Moments later, she was talking to the Peppard Pet Food people, or at least I assumed that she was. And when she hung up she said, “It was an answering service but I left my name and number and told them I have four fur babies who can’t wait to get their paws on some of those Miracle Cure nuggets,” we all shared a look of utter excitement.
“You know what this means, right?” said Harriet. “We’re going to be Miracle Cure pets!”
“If you’re selected,” said Odelia, dampening our excitement. “And if I approve of the program.”
So we all crossed our digits that we would be selected, and that Odelia would approve our entry into the program.
Frankly, after having sampled every available brand of cat kibble and soft food on the market, I was dying to try something new.
Like I said, I know I’m one of the lucky ones, but even the lucky ones get bored.
Dooley had jumped down from the couch and was now tripping toward the pet door.
“Hey, where are you going?” asked Harriet.
