Purrfect Betrayal

Purrfect Betrayal The Mysteries of Max 11

Nic Saint

Puss in Print Publications

Contents

Purrfect Betrayal

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

About Nic

Also by Nic Saint

Purrfect Betrayal

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When the ex-wife of notorious Hollywood bad boy actor Jeb Pott is found murdered, the case looks pretty straightforward: the two had just gone through an acrimonious divorce, she was found murdered in his lodge, the actor covered in her blood, the knife next to him on the bed. But a few loose ends bother Odelia more than they should, and when Jeb’s daughter asks her to exonerate her father, Odelia decides to take on the case and prove the impossible.

Aiding and abetting her are her vlogging grandmother, who has a personal score to settle, and Odelia’s extensive cat menagerie. Max and his friends are a little distracted, though, by the three kittens someone has decided to leave on Odelia’s doorstep. It’s not that Max hates kittens—but if he’s totally honest he doesn’t like them all that much either.

Will the kittens win over Max’s heart? Did A-list actor Jeb really kill his ex-wife? And are the ‘vitamins’ Grandma Muffin keeps popping really as innocent as she claims them to be? Find out in Purrfect Betrayal, a cat cozy mystery unlike any other. Come for the mystery, stay for the humor, the warmth, and the feels. Oh, and the kittens, of course.

Prologue

The taxi pulled up at the entrance and Camilla got out. The driver darted a curious glance at the gate and cocked an eyebrow in Camilla’s direction. “Are you sure about this, honey? Doesn’t look like they’re expecting you.”

He was right, Camilla thought. The gate was closed and the place looked less than inviting. But she’d always known her ex-husband was an eccentric, and it was just like him to invite her to some weird destination for their big reconciliation.

“No, I’ll be all right,” she said, suppressing a little giggle.

“I guess you know best,” said the driver dubiously.

As he drove off into the dark night, she suddenly felt giddy. Nervous, yes, but also excited about the prospect of finally seeing Jeb again. So much had happened in the past couple of months, but if Jeb’s texts were to be believed, he considered all of that just water under the bridge.

And she had to admit that when she got those texts, she’d been both surprised and relieved. Surprised that Jeb, after the things she’d accused him of, and the acrimonious battle in the divorce courts, wanted to meet. Relieved that he wasn’t holding a grudge, and knew she’d said all of those things simply to get his attention and to make him change his ways. And how else could she have done that than by dragging his name through the mud?

The important thing was that her plan had worked.

He’d finally realized he needed to make a change or lose her forever.

And now she was ready to throw herself into his arms and love him again.

She took a deep breath and stepped up to the gate. And as she did, it swung open with a little click and she directed a smile at the camera mounted on top. Jeb had been watching her. He’d anticipated her arrival as eagerly as she’d anticipated this fated reunion.

She straightened her shoulders, tugged at her silk Donna Karan blouse, and stepped through the gate.

As she did, the gate noiselessly closed behind her and she paused for a moment, getting her bearings.

A driveway led to a hulking mansion that rose up spookily in the distance, backlit by a rising moon. To her immediate left, a smaller brick structure was visible. Inside, the lights were blazing. She smiled. It was just like Jeb to organize their first meeting in months at a place like this. A gamekeeper’s lodge, probably, or a renovated custodian’s house. She knew why he wanted to meet her here and not at the manor. Nosy staff could spoil their reunion before it even started. Butlers and housekeepers and maids would spread the news, and even before Jeb had opened his arms to clasp her to his bosom, the whole world would know that the divorce of the decade was about to lead to the romance of the century.

It was for the same reason she hadn’t used her real name when getting a cab, just like Jeb had advised in his last text, before she boarded her plane at LAX. Tabloids had spies everywhere, and neither she nor Jeb needed some nasty pap suddenly sticking his nose in.

She walked up to the front door of the lodge and held up her hand to knock on the door. Even before it landed on the coarse wood, the door swung open, and she found herself staring at that familiar face.

Jeb woke up with a groan. His head was pounding and his eyes were sore. He rubbed them then stretched. Instantly, he regretted not having stayed perfectly still. The room was spinning so fast he felt like he was on a merry-go-round and about to fall off. His poor suffering stomach lurched, anxious to regurgitate its contents and deposit it on the bed.

He opened his eyes to glare at the offending sun, which had had the gall to intrude upon his fitful sleep.

Sleep, or near-coma.

It had been another long night, and as he sat up in bed he brushed aside an empty bottle of Smirnoff. It fell to the faux sheepskin rug below with a dull clunking sound.

The ashtray was filled to overflowing with cigarette butts and roaches and his bong was still firmly lodged between his thighs.

He was dressed in only his boxers, his fifty-five-year-old body displaying so many tats it was as if a mad tattoo artist had been given free rein to fill up the canvas as he saw fit.

On the nightstand a mirror still held a line of coke, which he now snorted up eagerly, rubbed the remains into his gums and washed it down with a swig from a bottle of Bud.

It was only then that he noticed his hands were covered in some type of weird substance. He stared at it. A dark, reddish brown. Henna? He brought his index finger to his nose and sniffed. In spite of the coke wreaking havoc on his nasal cavities, he frowned when he got a hit of a coppery odor. He gave his finger a tentative lick. Huh. Tasted like blood.

Had he suffered a nosebleed last night? He picked up the mirror, blew off the remnants of white powder and held it up in front of him. Nope. No sign of a nosebleed.

He stared at himself. Once he’d been handsome—every teenage girl’s dream. Now he looked like a garden gone to seed. Wisps of dirty grayish hair covered the lower portion of his haggard face, and the eyes that stared back at him were heavy-lidded and tired.

He grinned at himself, and thought not for the first time that he should really pay a visit to the dentist.

As he got up, suddenly something fell to the floor.

He stared at it numbly.

It was one of those big butcher knives.

And it was bloodied.

Weird. Had he cut himself last night? But then why wasn’t he in any pain?

He quickly checked himself for holes in his corpus and found none.

Nope. Everything was still as it should be.

He then stumbled out of the bedroom and into the living quarters of the modest lodge he now called home.

And that’s when he saw it—or rather, her: lying spread-eagled on his living room rug was the body of a woman. And not just any woman. He instantly recognized her as the woman he’d once loved and had recently divorced in one of the nastiest divorces in Hollywood history.

What was worse, from the way Camilla’s lifeless eyes stared back at him, and the spots of dark crimson covering her torso, it was pretty obvious that she was dead.

And that’s when the pounding on the door began. And even before he could rouse himself from the sense of stupefaction that had descended upon him, the door slammed open and a fat cop burst through. The copper took one look at the dead body, then at a bedraggled Jeb, hands bloodied and eyes unfocused, and his expression turned grim.

“Jeb Pott, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of your ex-wife.”

Chapter 1

I woke up from the sound of distinct mewling. Not so unusual, you might say, since I live in a house occupied by no less than four cats—though technically three of those cats live next door, even though they do spend an awful lot of time at Odelia’s. But this mewling was different than the usual sounds my three feline friends Dooley, Harriet and Brutus make. This was more like the mewling of... kittens. And since to my knowledge Odelia has not and hopefully will never take in kittens, this struck me as particularly odd.

Discounting the sound and ascribing it to a bad dream, I attempted to go back to sleep, turning over to my other side at the foot of Odelia’s bed, closing my eyes once more.

But the mewling persisted.

With a frown, I pricked up my ears.

No mistake. It definitely was mewling, and it seemed to come from downstairs.

With a sigh of extreme reluctance, for I love to sleep, I dragged my blorange self up from the soft, warm, comfy comforter, and dropped to the hardwood floor below.

My human wasn’t up yet, judging from the even breathing, only interrupted by an occasional snuffle, coming from the tousled head on the other end of the bed. And neither was my human’s significant other, police detective Chase Kingsley, who was sleeping in the buff, as usual, and had wrestled free from the comforter to display his chiseled torso while his equally chiseled face was frowning. It would appear that even when sleeping Chase was solving crimes and apprehending criminals. The lone warrior of the law never sleeps.

Nor do cats, actually. Not completely, anyway. There’s always a tiny part of our consciousness that stays wide awake, ready to pounce on prey, or thwart a natural enemy.

Or track strange mewling sounds where no strange mewling sounds should be.

As I plodded down the stairs, I was already figuring out ways and means.

It could be Odelia’s smartphone, which had adopted a new ringtone.

It could be Nickelodeon, launching into its daily programming.

Or it could me, hearing things that weren’t here. Though that was highly unlikely.

Behind me, Dooley sleepily muttered, “Wassup, Max. Why you up?”

“Go back to sleep, Dooley,” I said. “It’s probably nothing.”

I may not be one of those guard dogs humans like to keep, but I do possess a certain sense of responsibility, and like to think that in case of danger I’m ready to sound the alarm.

The noise seemed to come from the modest hallway, where Odelia keeps her small cabinet containing knickknacks, her key dish, and an assortment of cat toys locked up safe and sound inside. I know how to jiggle the door, so each time I want to lay my paw on some rubber duck or plastic mouse, it’s right there for me to find. Not that I’m all that interested in rubber ducks or plastic mice, mind you. I mean, how old do you think I am? Six months? I’m a grownup, and rubber ducks lost their strange and fascinating appeal a long time ago.

I trod up to the door and put my ear against it. On the other side of the plywood I detected the distinct sound of cats mewling. And not just any cats, either. Kittens. Perhaps the foulest creatures in existence, though that particular and dubious honor should probably go to puppies.

I frowned. What were a bunch of kittens doing on Odelia’s doorstep?

“What do you want?” I asked therefore, not making any effort to conceal my disapproval at what amounted to an early-morning raid.

But the mewling continued unabated.

“Oh, stop it, you whiny little pests,” I sternly declared. “Just go away and don’t come back. This house has plenty of felines and no use for more.” Especially—gasp!—kittens.

And then I stepped away from the door and fully intended to retreat upstairs and put in another couple of hours of invigorating and refreshing sleep.

You may think me unnecessarily harsh, but you would be wrong. Kittens are a menace, plain and simple, and if you don’t believe me just try adopting one. They may seem deceptively appealing, with their cute little faces, and their cute little gestures, and their cute little noises, but I’m here to tell you they’re pure, unadulterated evil. Once they get past those first natural defenses, humans will take them in and give them a place, not only in their homes but in their hearts, and soon they won’t be able to get rid for them. And since I already have three other housemates to contend with, this was simply a matter of survival.

But as I turned on my heel, I almost bumped into Odelia, who was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Wassup?” she muttered, taking a leaf out of Dooley’s book.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, but I heard something. Is that... a cat?”

“Nope. Not a cat,” I said. “Not a cat at all. And I should know, being a cat and all.”

“But—”

“No buts. Let’s go back upstairs. You and I both need our beauty sleep.”

But I could tell the strange fascination the kitten exerts was already working its pernicious magic, for Odelia stepped to the door, arm outstretched, going for the knob.

“Noooooo!” I yelled, but too late.

Already her hand was turning the knob and opening the door.

And there they sat: three kittens, in a carton box, right on our doorstep.

“Oooh!” said Odelia, crouching down. “Oooooooh! Look at those cuties!”

Crap. Even before I could intervene, the poison had entered the bloodstream.

Odelia had spotted the kittens and had gone kitty gaga.

Chapter 2

“Who could have put them here?” Odelia asked.

I could very well have asked her the same thing. I, for one, had never given permission to have my home infested by the pesky little pests.

“Isn’t there a letter or a card?” I asked.

Odelia, who’d taken the box inside and closed the door, checked for a sign of ownership of the threesome.

She took out a tiny slip of paper and read the message it contained. “I hope you will take good care of my babies. For reasons I cannot disclose, I no longer can. I’m sorry.”

She’d placed the box on the kitchen counter and took out the first kitten. It was a ginger specimen, with little white dots, and mewled piteously.

I could tell that Odelia’s heart melted even more, for she started making weird sounds herself now. “Googoogagagoogoo,” she said. “Booboobeebeebooboo.”

I rolled my eyes. Humans tend to lose their heads when they see a kitten. Of course this fatal appeal is exactly the reason our species has endured and has been adopted into the home of no less than one out of three American families: we know how to entice.

“Googoodoodooweeweewoowoo,” Odelia said.

The kitten, which had been wriggling, suddenly focused its tiny eyes on Odelia, then produced its first real meow. Gibberish, of course, but still a sign of recognition. Cat, meet cat lady. Cat lady, meet cat.

Odelia laughed. “Hello there, little one. So who put you in a box and left you on my doorstep, huh?”

The kitten meowed some more, then licked its lips. It started looking around, and I could tell it was already adapting to its new home. Uh-oh. It was wriggling and squirming.

“You want to explore my home?” asked Odelia.

I could have told her this was a bad idea, but she was already putting the kitten down and we both watched as it hobbled off at an awkward and unbalanced gait towards the first potted plant it could find. It then climbed into the terracotta pot and relieved itself.

And Odelia, instead of rectifying this behavior with word and gesture, laughed!

She now picked up the two other kittens and cuddled them, rocking them in her arms. One was a velvety black and the third one pure white.

“Oh, you sweet little cuties,” Odelia cooed. “Sweet sweeties. Did your mama leave you? Couldn’t she take care of you? Don’t you worry about a thing. Odelia is here and she’s going to make sure nothing bad happens to you.” And then she googoogaga’d some more.

I could sense that smarter heads needed to prevail here, so I addressed Kitten Number One, the whizz kid.

“Hey, you,” I said, inserting a note of steel into my voice.

The kitten didn’t even look up from sniffing at its own wee.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. I know you can.”

The kitten finally looked up, opening its mouth and mewling questioningly.

“There are rules in this house,” I said. “And you’d better follow them or else.”

It was mewling softly now, opening and closing its little mouth.

“Or else what, you ask? Or else I’ll tan your tiny little hide, that’s what.”

“Max!” Odelia cried behind me. “That’s no way to speak to our new guests.”

“But—”

“Apologize.”

I must admit my jaw had dropped at these harsh words from one I’d always known to be in my corner. The kitten fever had clearly taken a hold of my human, and had altered her personality to such an extent she was now a different human altogether.

“I’m sorry,” I told the kitten begrudgingly.

“And now say it like you mean it,” said Odelia.

“Okay, I’m sorry, all right!” I cried, then stalked off. Or at least I started stalking off, but then my tail got snagged in some immovable object and my progress was halted. When I abruptly swung my head around to see what had snagged me, I saw that it was the kitten, which had planted itself firmly astride my tail and was now playing with the tail’s tail end, which invariably tends to sway as if possessing a mind of its own.

“Stop that,” I snapped, but the kitten seemed to enjoy the swishing movement so much it kept grabbing at my fluffy appendage.

“Max,” said Odelia warningly.