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

clearly gone downhill since the last time I saw him. Even though Father had cut him off, we still met up from time to time, and so did mother—behind Father’s back, of course.” He smiled a small smile and picked up the portrait of his brother. “All I can think is that he’s in a better place now.”

Chapter 28

After we got out of the car we looked around for any pets we could talk to. Odelia likes to get the inside track of any place she visits, and the best way to accomplish that is through us. People might keep a lot of secrets from other people, but they can’t keep secrets from their pets, and since those pets usually like to gab as much as humans do, we usually get an earful.

“Is that a horse, Max?” asked Dooley suddenly, indicating a small pen where a pony stood grazing languidly.

“I think that’s a pony,” I said.

We walked over to the pony, and it looked up from its perusal of its supply of grass. “Hey, there,” it said as soon as we hove into view. “Are you guys the new pets? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Are you Marvin’s? Or his mom’s? Gee, I just wish they’d get another pony. It’s not much fun being all by my lonesome out here, you know. I could really use a friend to talk to. Shoot the shit. Chew the cud. Though personally I don’t chew cud—I’m not a cow, you see. I’m a pony, if you hadn’t noticed. So who are you guys?”

“He’s a big talker, Max,” Dooley whispered.

“Yeah, he is,” I whispered back. Which is a good thing, of course. Nothing worse than a pet who won’t talk to us.

“We’re not the new pets,” I said, “either of Marvin or his mother.”

“We’re Odelia Poole’s cats,” said Dooley. “And she’s just visiting your humans—those are your humans in there, I suppose?”

“Yeah, they got me for Franklin’s kids, but then Franklin got divorced and the girls haven’t been here since. Ruth doesn’t like the girls’ mother, see. She thinks she did something to make Franklin leave her, and go down a path of self-destruction, and so she refuses to talk to her anymore, or the girls. Which is a pity, as I don’t have anyone to play with now. The girls were fun. Jaime and Marje. They’re twins, just like Franklin and Marvin. Maybe the twin gene runs in the family? I don’t know. You tell me.”

Unfortunately I had no expert opinion on the twin gene topic, so I decided to skip this one. Instead I explained, “Odelia is here to plead Francine’s case. She wants to make sure the girls are taken care of, since Franklin wasn’t the best at that kind of thing.”

“He refused to pay child support,” Dooley clarified.

“Yeah, Franklin was what you might call an irresponsible father,” the pony agreed. “In fact I don’t think he even liked to be a dad. Which is weird, cause these girls are really nice, and how can anyone not like them, you know? But hey, I guess that’s just the way it goes, you know. My name is Jane, by the way—what’s yours?”

“I’m Max,” I said, “and this is my friend Dooley.”

“Nice to meet you, Max and Dooley. So did you know Franklin?”

“No, we didn’t,” I admitted.

“He was a little weird. Selfish. Wasn’t interested in anyone but himself. And that included me! He didn’t like ponies. Had no use for them, he once told me.” Jane shook her head. “So not a nice person.” She then ripped off a big chunk of grass with her tongue and started chewing. “Too bad he died, though. He wasn’t nice, but that doesn’t mean he had to die.”

“How do you know he died?”

“Duh. I may be the only pony here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have friends, you guys.” Just then, a bird landed on her back and started twittering like crazy. “This is Jake,” said the pony affectionately. “He brings me all the latest news from town.”

The bird took off again, and I asked, “So did your friend Jake tell you what happened to Franklin?”

“Yeah, he did. Died in a fire, right? In some crumbling old building? Sad way to go.” She shivered. “To die by fire. Terrible business. I hate fires, you know. Always afraid one will start and it will kill me.”

“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Jane,” I said.

“That’s what you think, Max. There was a fire here a while back. I could see the smoke. I thought that was it. I was going to be for it. But luckily it went out again. Probably Chester burning some old leaves. At least that’s what Jake told me later.”

“Chester? Who’s Chester?” I asked.

“Chester Sosnoski. The gardener. He’s great. Keeps the place looking shipshape. He’s probably the best gardener for miles around. Or at least that’s what Ruth says.”

I glanced around, and had to admit that Chester did a great job: the grass was cut to perfection, the flowerbeds were all immaculate, with not a weed in sight, and all in all the gardens looked more like a golf club than our own backyard. Then again, the Harrisons probably had a lot more spending power and could get the best gardener that money can buy. We have to make do with Gran occasionally remembering she’s supposed to have a green thumb, and Tex finding the time to mow the lawn.

We said our goodbyes to Jane the talking pony, and decided to go for a little stroll, especially after learning that there were no other pets around, so it was frankly pointless for us to enter the house, since there would be no kibble to be had, unfortunately.

And we’d walked perhaps half a mile or so when we came upon a small structure that at one time had been an animal shed, but that now showed signs of fire damage.

“This might be what Jane said she saw,” Dooley