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

has never married. Oh, she’s been in relationships, but never one that lasted more than a couple of weeks. Lately her sister Emma expressed concern that she will never find a man to settle down with, and experience the joys of having a family of her own. And so Emma made it her mission to get Evelina hooked up with a significant other. She arranged a number of dates, keeping a close eye on her progress. Unfortunately the first ones were all duds, and Evelina was frankly prepared to give up when one day Emma hit upon Mr. Right.”

“I thought your name was Ed?” said Brutus, still grinning.

Mr. Ed ignored our friend’s barb, and continued. “This man, his name was Bob Rector, though she liked to call him Bobby, scored a fulsome ten on Evelina’s scorecard.”

“Evelina kept a scorecard?” I asked.

“Well, actually this was Emma’s idea. She’d read somewhere that it is advisable to score your dates, and so every time Evelina had gone out on a date they made it a point to sit down for a moment of reflection. You know, like a performance review? Evelina owns her own business, and so does Emma, so I guess the idea appealed to them.”

Brutus’s grin was widening, and I could tell he had to tamp down the urge to utter some ill-advised crack. A glance from Harriet shut him up, though. I think she was as eager as the rest of us to get to the heart of this curious little story.

“So Evelina and Bob went on a second date, and then a third, and by the time their fourth date rolled around Evelina was already talking wedding plans and had selected a list of potential names for their firstborn. Marie if it was a girl, Perry if it was a boy.”

“What a coincidence,” said Dooley. “Our human is about to get married, too. But we’re not invited,” he added with a touch of sadness.

“Well, anyway,” said Mr. Ed, “things were going really well, and everyone said that Evelina looked twenty years younger, and that she’d never seemed happier. Even her work colleagues all said she was one lucky lady to have met such a fine gentleman.”

“What does she do for a living?” asked Harriet.

“She owns a very successful party supply store. She sells everything from costumes to cakes and decorations—the works.”

“So she’s rich,” I said.

“Oh, yes. Evelina is loaded.”

“Oh, boy,” I said. “I think I can guess the rest.”

“You can?” said Dooley. “But how, Max?”

“Look, do you want me to tell the story or not?” asked Mr. Ed, who was getting a little annoyed by all these interruptions.

“I want you to tell the story,” said Dooley, sobered.

“Well, so one day disaster struck. Evelina and Bob had planned to meet, when all of a sudden she received a message announcing he’d been taken.”

“Taken?” asked Dooley. “Taken where?”

“Who cares!” said Mr. Ed, growing a little hot under his collar—if snails have collars, that is. Hard to tell. As it was, his face took on a slightly darker tinge of green, and he spat, “I’m starting to think the stories of Max and Dooley, phenomenal sleuthing team, are highly overrated.”

Brutus cleared his throat. “You probably meant to say ‘Harriet and Brutus, phenomenal sleuthing team. Or maybe HARRIET & BRUTUS (WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF MAX & DOOLEY).”

Mr. Ed gave him a stoic look—by this time I’d located his eyes—they’re on stalks—and went on. “So turns out Bob had been kidnapped, and the ransom fee was a cool seventy-five thousand dollars,” he said, keeping Brutus under close observation lest he shot off his mouth again.

“So did she pay?” I asked.

“Yes, she did. The scheduled ransom drop was last night. Seventy-five thousand in unmarked bills, to be delivered by her, without the involvement of the police. So she did as instructed and dropped the money in a trash container located at the canal lock near McMillan Street and then waited in vain for news from the kidnappers. They were supposed to let Bob go as soon as they got their hands on the money. But much to my dismay I discovered that Bob’s body has been found, having fallen off a potato truck.”

“So the kidnappers killed Bob!” said Dooley. “The potatoes are innocent!”

“And you think Bob was behind his own kidnapping,” I said, “and something went wrong and he ended up dead instead?”

Mr. Ed nodded, his tentacles dangling freely as he did. “I never trusted this Bob fellow. Too good to be true. Plus, he almost stepped on me when he came over for dinner one night. And even though he later claimed it was an accident, I could see the look in his eyes after he almost crushed me.” He paused for effect. “It was the look of a killer.”

“A snail killer,” said Dooley, a little breathlessly.

“Exactly. So your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find out what happened to my human’s money—and to prove to her once and for all that Bob was a bad ‘un.”

“Don’t you have something more tangible to go on?” asked Harriet, who clearly wasn’t fully convinced by Mr. Ed’s story. “I mean, just because the guy almost stepped on you doesn’t make him a bad person.”

“Yeah, my human has stepped on my tail plenty of times,” said Brutus.

“Let me tell you something,” said Mr. Ed, wagging a tentacle in Brutus and Harriet’s direction. “When you’ve lived with humans for as long as I have, you get a feel for the species. And I know that guy was up to no good. I could see it in his eyes.”

“Oh, my God,” said Harriet, rolling her own eyes at this. She then turned to me. “Max, you’re not seriously going to accept this case, are you?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, musing on Mr. Ed’s story. “It is entirely conceivable that Bob was behind his own abduction, and that the only thing he was interested in was the money, not Evelina’s hand in marriage.”

“Well, I’m not buying it,”