The Mysteries of Max: Books 31-33 by Nic Saint (interesting novels in english txt) 📕

“A video of…”

“Of Bob,” said Evelina, nodding. “He looked very frightened in the video, and had a gun pressed to his head by a person who was out of frame. He said they’d kill him if I didn’t do as they said. It all looked very convincing, and by the time I told my sister, I’d already started the procedure of getting the money together. Emma tried to talk me out of it, but I didn’t want to take any chances with Bob’s life.”

“Even though Emma half-convinced you it was Bob himself who was behind the thing?”

“That was later, after I made the drop and didn’t hear from the kidnappers—or Bob. She figured he’d been in on it from the start. Frankly I didn’t know what to think. Seventy-five thousand is a big sum, but my company turned over thirty million last year, so it’s not as if the money will be missed. It just seemed like a small price to pay for Bob’s safety.”

“Thirty million dollars,” said Dooley. “Is that a lot of money, Max?”

“Yes, Dooley. Thirty million dollars is a lot of money.”

“Poor woman,” my friend said. “Being so rich and so unlucky in love. And then when she finally finds the man of her dreams he’s kidnapped and killed.”

“We still don’t know what really happened, Dooley,” I pointed out. “Evelina’s sister may very well be right, and Bob may be the one behind this whole thing.”

“But then why did he end up dead?”

“He must have had a partner,” I said. “And maybe this partner got greedy and decided he wanted the money for himself and so he shot and killed Bob.”

“Or maybe Bob was innocent and he was shot because the kidnappers got what they wanted and didn’t need him anymore.”

“What happened to Bob?” asked Evelina now. “How did he end up on that potato truck?”

“We’re not sure yet,” said Odelia. “The investigation is still ongoing. When was the last time you talked to the kidnappers?”

“I never actually talked to them. They sent me messages on my phone, and I messaged them back.”

“Can I see your phone for a moment?”

“Sure,” said Evelina, and handed Odelia the gadget. “They used WhatsApp. Under Bob’s name. Another reason for Emma to suspect him.” She clicked open the app to show our human.

“I think it would be best if you gave this phone to the police,” Odelia finally said, after checking some of the messages. “Maybe they can try and find out who sent them.”

“I know what you’re thinking, Miss Poole,” said Evelina. “You’re thinking I should have gone to the police. But they specifically told me not to, and I didn’t want to jeopardize Bob’s safe return. It was much easier for me to just do as they said, and pay off the ransom demand, than to risk Bob’s life. So I went along with the whole thing.” She burst into tears once more. “And now they killed him anyway.”

Dooley, who’d been studying the woman closely, finally said, “No. Definitely not an actress, Max. I think she’s for real.”

I patted my friend on the back. “Any other thoughts you’d like to share?”

“I wonder where Evelina keeps Mr. Ed. Odelia should talk to him, too. Get his interview on tape.”

“I think that might prove a little hard,” I said. “But I agree with you that we should probably have another chat with Mr. Ed.”

And since as far as I know snails usually live outside in the garden, where they like to nibble on assorted plants and vegetables, we made our way to the kitchen, where some high-pitched meowing and earnest scratching earned us free passage into the backyard.

Chapter 17

“Finally!” suddenly a voice spoke in our vicinity.

When we glanced over we saw that it was none other than our slimy friend the snail.

“Mr. Ed!” said Dooley, who’d clearly taken a liking to the small pet.

“I thought you’d accepted the case?” said Mr. Ed, a touch of pique in his voice betraying his annoyance. “I’ve been waiting for a progress report for what feels like forever!”

“It took some time to relay the information to our human,” I said. “And then there’s a big hullabaloo in town today that caused Odelia to have some prior commitments.”

“What hullabaloo? There’s only one hullabaloo that counts,” said the peeved snail.

He wasn’t in the backyard as we’d surmised but in a large glass tank that had been outfitted especially for his needs. The tank had been placed half inside, half outside the home, with a means of access and egress on both sides so he had the run of the house and the backyard. He obviously made full use of this luxury position, as trails of slime ran all over the sides of the glass tank and also led to and from his fancy little home.

Inside the tank he had plenty of iceberg lettuce to munch on, as well as some kale, sliced-up blueberries, butternut squash, cucumber, mango and even turnip. Clearly Mr. Ed was a much-loved pet, and as a champion to Evelina’s cause the affection was mutual.

“How long did it take you to crawl all the way back from our backyard to here?” asked Dooley, watching the small snail with open-mouthed admiration.

“A long time, if you have to know,” said Mr. Ed. “But it will be worth it if you manage to solve this case and put my human’s mind at ease.” He fixed us with a meaningful look.

“We’re still in the early stages of our investigation,” I explained, “but there’s one thing I would like to clear up now, before we continue.”

“What’s that?”

“Evelina didn’t know that Bob was dead, and that his body had been found on that potato truck. So can you please explain to us how you knew?”

“That’s easy,” said Mr. Ed. “Evelina doesn’t watch the news. But I do.”

“You watch the news?” I asked, picturing Mr. Ed seated on the couch with the remote in his… what, exactly? Snails don’t have hands or feet. Well, they have the