“Yep, that’s a real kiss all right,” said Gran. She sighed wistfully. “Boy, that brings back a few memories.” She looked happy. “I knew this was gonna happen. I just knew it. And not a minute too soon either.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If she’s going to provide me with a brace of great-grandchildren she needs to get a move on. I can’t wait around forever, you know.”
“What do you mean you won’t wait around forever?” asked Dooley.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not getting any younger, boys, and neither are you. If we want to hear the pitter-patter of little feet, it’s now or never.”
Dooley and I stared at each other, aghast. Pitter patter of little feet? “You mean… babies?” Dooley cried, his voice rising an octave in sheer horror.
“What do you think I mean? The pitter patter of mice? Of course babies.”
“But, but, but… I don’t want babies!” Dooley squeaked.
“Yeah, if Odelia has babies, what’s gonna happen to us?” I asked, a sense of panic settling in my stomach and even driving away my nice pre-barbecue buzz. I knew what happened when babies were born: it was in with the new, and out with the old. In this case, Dooley and Harriet and me.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Gran said with a chuckle. “As long as you promise to take good care of the young ‘uns, you’ll be just fine.”
“This is it,” Dooley said miserably. “This is the end.”
“Yeah,” I echoed. “We’re doomed.”
“No, you’re not,” said Gran. “You’ll always be our babies. And if you keep catching killers like you do, you’ll probably even get a medal or something.”
“I don’t want a medal,” I said. “I just want to be Odelia’s baby.”
“Relax, boys. Nobody’s going to replace you. On the contrary, babies are fun, and they smell great. And what’s more, if Odelia and Chase get hitched, your little buddy is going to move in with you. Won’t that be a barrel of fun?”
Dooley and I stared at Brutus, who gave us a pinkie wave, then at each other, and we burst into tears. Our lives had officially gone down the toilet.
THE END
Thanks for reading! If you liked this book, please share the fun by leaving a review!
Sign up for our no-spam newsletter and be the first to know when a new Nic Saint book comes out.
Excerpt from Purrfect Heat (The Mysteries of Max 4)
Prologue
Erin Coka arrived bright and early for work. It was her day to open Fry Me for an Oyster and she didn’t want to be late. As a newish employee of the restaurant, she had everything to prove and everything to lose. Not that her employers, Brainard and Isabella Stowe, were terrible people or anything. They just ran a tight ship, and expected all members of their staff, from the dishwashers to the chef, to do the work and show up on time.
Lately, things had been even more hectic than usual, with the famous celebrity chef Niklaus Skad in town, subjecting Fry Me for an Oyster to his usual grueling treatment. He’d been all over the place, a camera crew in tow, criticizing the menus, the seating, the decorations, the presentation and even the way the staff dressed and behaved. It seemed nothing was good enough for the Great Niklaus, and Brainard and Isabella had been on edge all week. Kitchen Disasters could make or break their business, though by the looks of things, Niklaus was leaning more toward destroying them.
Erin opened the door and stepped inside. The air was stale and musty—redolent with cooking scents. She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. Yuck. Something smelled awful. Had Hendrik been working on one of his notorious creations again? Cooking up something special for Niklaus? Going for a last-ditch attempt to save his career and the restaurant?
She walked through to the kitchen. “Chef? Chef, are you in here?”
Sometimes, when the mood struck him, Hendrik Serarols liked to come in at the crack of dawn to try out a few new recipes he’d dreamed up. She walked past the bar and through the swinging doors into the large kitchen at the back. Here Hendrik created his masterpieces, which had put Fry Me for an Oyster on the map in Hampton Cove and far beyond.
“Yuck,” she muttered, as her eyes scanned the squeaky clean kitchen.
All gleaming countertops and scrubbed pots dangling over the stoves. Everything perfectly clean, as it should be. Niklaus Skad was big on hygiene, his pet peeve. The stench seemed to be coming from one of the ovens, the biggest one, where they baked pizza and other large dishes. Hendrik had once joked you could fit a man in there, even one as big as him.
She walked over to the oven and saw that it was switched on. “Chef?” she repeated. “Are you cooking something in here?” No reply.
She peered in through the oven window. Whatever it was, it had been cooking for so long that smoke was curling out through the vents. Had Chef put something in last night and forgotten to turn off the oven? He had so much on his mind lately he was starting to get a little frazzled. And who could blame him? With Niklaus on his case all the time, even yelling and screaming, and the camera crew in his face while he tried to keep it together and run the kitchen, a lesser man would have fallen to pieces.
She flicked on the oven light, and that’s when she saw it. Her lips parted on a silent scream. There was a man in there, baked to a crisp!
Chapter One
I was luxuriating in my all-time favorite spot: at the foot of Odelia’s bed. I’m blessed with a smallish human, which means I’ve got the foot of the bed all to myself. I’ve heard horror stories of other cats, whose owners stretch out all the way to the edge of the bed, and then wriggle around all night, making it absolutely impossible for any cat to get any sleep.
In that sense, Odelia is the perfect human. Well, not just because she’s short, but also because she’s super nice and sweet. She always makes sure I’m well fed and well taken care of, never stingy on the cuddles and the strokes, and she keeps my blorange fur looking nice and shiny by giving me a vigorous grooming every week without fail. She’s even installed a pet door so I can come and go as I please. A nice, big door, as I’m big-boned.
Odelia is a reporter for the Hampton Cove Gazette, and if there’s one thing that sets her aside from most humans, it’s that she speaks feline. Yep, she and I have a perfect understanding—literally. She takes care of me, and in return I collect gossip from all over town and give it her hot off the griddle. All the news that’s fit to print, straight from the cat’s mouth.
Odelia stirred, and I pricked up my ears. I can tell when she’s about to wake up, which is my cue to snuggle up to her and bury my nose in her armpit for an extra cuddle. It’s our morning ritual, and the start of our day.
This morning, however, things were going to prove different, and the first sign I got was when Dooley and Brutus came barging into the bedroom, looking excited, but not in a good way.
Dooley is my best bud, a gray Raggamuffin who belongs to Odelia’s Gran. Brutus is a black cat and… not exactly my buddy. He belongs to Chase Kingsley, a cop and occasional kissmate of Odelia’s. Yes, I know kissmate isn’t a word, but how else can I describe Chase and Odelia’s relationship? They’re not a couple, they just… kiss… sometimes. And flirt a lot, I guess. I know, it’s disgusting, but what can you do? Humans are weird that way.
“Max!” Dooley cried. “Terrible news! Terrible, terrible news!”
I reluctantly heaved my head from the soft blanket. “What is it?” I murmured, then yawned cavernously. Dooley is one of those overexcited cats who get their tail in a twist just because their human got them a new brand of kibble or a new smell of cat litter.