“The other way around, Dooley,” I said.
“Fine. We’ll say Tex picked Gran’s pockets and Gran picked Tex’s pockets.”
Well, it was a solution of a sort, and an elegant one, too. I didn’t have the heart to tell Dooley it was also unrealistic. So I pointed behind him. “Oh, my God, look at the size of that butterfly!”
“What, where?!” Dooley cried, swiveling his head like a whirligig.
“Darn it, you just missed it.”
And as Dooley scanned the horizon for the elusive giant butterfly, I shared a smile with Brutus and Harriet. Through long association with Dooley I’ve learned the best way to solve any tricky issue with my dear friend: the art of distraction. Works every time.
By the time Dooley had come to terms with the fact that he had missed this rare sighting, he’d forgotten all about his scheme to propel Gran and Tex to stardom.
And a good thing, too.
As the afternoon wore on and turned to dusk, the scent of meat sizzling on the grill and the soft chattering of our humans caused my eyes to gradually drift closed, and soon I was dozing peacefully. I would have told you I dreamt of accolades being showered on us for our detective work, of prizes being awarded by the town’s notables, or even the keys of the city being granted to the four of us. But if I’m absolutely honest with you—and when am I ever not?—I’d have to confess that all I dreamt about was a nice bowl of kibble, a soft pillow to stretch out on, my friends nearby, and my human gently stroking my fur.
Cats. So easy to please. And if anyone tells you differently, he’s probably a dog.
I awoke from my peaceful slumber when Dooley gave me a gentle prod in the ribs.
“What is it, Dooley?” I said, and when I opened my eyes found him staring at me.
“Max? You still haven’t told me.”
“Told you what, Dooley?”
“So… who is Beyoncé?”
Purrfect Boy Toy
The Mysteries of Max - Book 18
Chapter 1
“But I don’t want to go to LA!”
“You’re going, whether you like it or not,” said Gran, giving me a hard look. “And so am I.”
“Um, I never said anything about you going to LA, Gran,” said Odelia.
“Of course I’m going,” Gran snapped. “You don’t think I’m going to let my favorite grandchild go off to that hellhole on her own, do you?”
“I’m your only grandchild, and I hardly think LA is a hellhole.”
Gran wagged a finger in her granddaughter’s face. “Everybody knows LA is one of the most dangerous places on the planet, full of gangs and movie stars and whatnot. And I’m not going to stand idly by while you land yourself in a steaming heap of trouble, missy.”
I would have pointed out that movie stars are not all that dangerous, but I had a feeling my words would fall on deaf ears. When Gran gets something in her noggin it’s hard to get it out. She definitely hadn’t listened when I told her in no uncertain terms I didn’t want to go on this impromptu trip, and neither did Dooley. Not that we don’t enjoy the occasional holiday, but we don’t like flying. The whole prospect of being cooped up inside an iron tube that hovers a couple of miles above the earth’s surface has never filled me with particular joy, and it certainly didn’t do so now.
“Gran, the invitation didn’t mention a plus-one, so I’m afraid—”
“Well, I’m not leaving you to fight this battle on your own, Odelia. Not on my watch.”
We were in Odelia’s living room, which, coincidentally, is also my living room, and Gran was standing her ground, even though technically this was Odelia’s ground. But then Gran considers any turf her own turf, so there’s that to consider.
“I’ll have to ask,” said Odelia dubiously, and took out her phone.
“Do that, and while you’re at it, double check if pets are allowed.”
Odelia nodded and held the phone to her ear.
I turned to Dooley, who had been following the negotiation with trepidation.
“I don’t want to go to LA, Max,” he said. “We have cat choir and my solo is coming up.”
“So is mine,” I said, “and I’m sure Odelia will realize that singing our solo is much more important than flying off to some godforsaken place called Los Angeles.”
“Can’t Chase go with her? I’m sure he’s much better equipped to deal with this case than we are. We don’t even know our way around this LA place.”
“Another very good argument,” I said, nodding, and I ticked them off on my claws. “First off, flying is not safe. Planes fall from the sky every day. Everybody knows this. Second, Gran is there to help her out. And third, Chase should go, as he’s a cop, and cops are better equipped to deal with troubled celebrity talk show hosts than cats are.”
“And don’t forget about my solo,” said Dooley.
“Of course. How could I forget?” I said with a smile.
Recently cat choir had instigated a new rule about solo performances. Used to be that Harriet, our Persian cat friend, was the only one allowed to sing solos, but several of cat choir’s members didn’t think that this was fair. And so Shanille, cat choir’s director, decided that she was done excluding cats from stepping into the limelight. In one of those groundbreaking decisions she declared that everyone should be allowed to sing a solo. And since tonight was finally Dooley’s turn, it was obvious we couldn’t leave for Los Angeles on a moment’s notice. He’d simply forfeit his turn and then who knew how long it would be before he got to go again. And he’d been practicing so hard, too.
“You have to tell her, Max,” he repeated now, a testament to his anguish.
“You can tell her, too,” I said. “She’ll listen to you.”
“Yes, but you’re her favorite, Max.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re her first, and no one ever forgets their first.”
“Um… pretty sure you’re referring to something else entirely,” I said.
“Harriet says so, too. She says you’re Odelia’s favorite and she always does whatever you tell her to. So please, please, please, Max, don’t make her take me to this LA place!”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, holding up my paws. Then: “Harriet told you that?”
“She did.”
“So… she’s talking to you?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t she?”
Well, she wasn’t talking to me, that was for sure. Ever since I voted in favor of Shanille’s new soloist rule, she’d refused to utter a single word to me. Which wasn’t fair, since Brutus and Dooley had voted for the new rule, too. Brutus had done so when Harriet wasn’t looking, of course, the sneaky cat, and Dooley had simply sneezed and Shanille had taken that as a yes, something Harriet could hardly hold against him.
“Do you think Harriet and Brutus will be there tonight?” asked Dooley, relaxing now that he knew I had his case well in hand, and the Los Angeles menace had been averted.
“I don’t think so, Dooley. Harriet is still very cross about the whole soloist thing.”
“She shouldn’t be. We all should get the chance to shine,” he said, repeating Shanille’s words. “Everyone can sing, Max, even me.”
I had a feeling Shanille had seen the movie Sing one too many times, but had refrained from voicing this thought. Shanille had once kicked me out of cat choir and I wasn’t going to risk her ire over a trifling matter like who got to sing the solos.
“I know, Dooley, but she took it really hard.”
“Maybe she can go tomorrow?” he suggested.
“Tomorrow is my solo,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but you could let her take your place. She’d love that.”
I stared at him. “Take my place? But it’s my turn to shine, Dooley.”
“I know, but Harriet has been so sad lately. And you know you can’t really sing, Max.”