We hurried after her, and I wondered what else we could say to make her stay put. The last thing we needed was for Grace to get shot out there in Blake’s Field. Even if it was just kids playing, the field definitely was not a place for her to hang out. She was too little and Dooley and I hardly qualified as bodyguards.
But since Grace does what Grace wants, we had no alternative but to follow her out of the house and then to the fence, where Chase has put a sort of stepladder to allow us to climb the fence and climb down the other side. He probably didn’t think it would also give his daughter license to do the same thing. Without waiting for us to catch up, the little girl was already clambering over that fence with surprising agility, almost as if she had never done anything else her entire life.
“She’s an expert climber, Max,” said Dooley, admiration clear in his voice.
“I’ll say,” I said.
“No, I said,” he said.
“It’s an expression, Dooley. It means I agree with what you just said.”
“Oh, right,” he said, and hurried up and over that fence to make sure that Grace wouldn’t get into all kinds of trouble.
I brought up the rear as I often do. I’m one of the heavyweight cats of this world, you see. Some people call me fat, but I would argue that it’s simple genetics and that I was born with big bones. With some effort, I also made it over the fence, and when I arrived on the other side, it took me a moment to locate my friend and Grace. They had already ventured deeper into the weeds, and when I finally caught up with them, I saw they had reached the clearing in the center of the field. A shack had been built there, with a car wreck located next to it. It’s mostly home to several colonies of mice, and also a colony of shrews and even a colony of ants, but when I looked closer, I saw that it wasn’t mice or shrews or ants that were crawling all over the place but a larger species of creature.
“Rats!” said Dooley with dismay. “Max, look, it’s rats!”
“I can see, Dooley,” I assured him. There were indeed plenty of rats, and as we ventured a little closer still, I saw they were all sitting around an object that was lying on the ground. It was the body of a man, and as we took a good look at the man, I saw that he was familiar to us. It was none other than our next-door neighbor Kurt Mayfield!
Next to his body, a little doggie sat. It was Fifi, our good friend the Yorkshire terrier. She looked absolutely devastated, and had one paw draped over her human’s chest, and the other brought up to her face to wipe her tears.
“Max! Dooley!” she cried. “Someone shot Kurt!”
So that was the gunshot we had heard. It wasn’t kids, or a hunter hunting rabbits. It was someone taking a shot at the retired music teacher!
The rats had fled the moment we arrived, and a good thing, too, for they might have considered Kurt a nice meal and could have started nibbling at him, which is not what you want when you’ve just been shot.
“The blood must have attracted them,” I said, pointing to our neighbor’s blood-soaked shirt.
“Is he still alive?” asked Grace, who had also toddled up to the man and seemed unsure how to proceed.
“He’s alive,” said Fifi. She gave me a pained look. “I wanted to come and get you, but I was afraid to leave him alone with these rats. They were very mean to me, Max. They said I shouldn’t stand in the way of a nice snack. And they also said there was enough for all of us and I was being selfish for not wanting to share!”
“We’ll go and get Odelia and Chase,” I told her. “Come on, Grace. Time to leave.”
“I’ll stay here,” said Fifi, “and guard him, shall I?”
“You do that,” I said.
And so we hurried back the same way we had come, to wake up our humans and make sure Kurt got the help he needed.
“Is he dead, Max?” asked Grace. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a dead man.”
“And nor should you see one,” I told her. “At your age all you should see are the dolls you like to play with.”
I could have kicked myself for allowing Grace to tag along. Though I also knew there was absolutely no way I could have stopped her. In that sense she had inherited her mother’s stubbornness. One day she would make a great reporter—or cop—or both, like Odelia.
“I hope he won’t die, Max,” said Dooley. “Fifi would be devastated if he died.”
“All the more reason to make haste,” I urged.
We slammed into the bedroom, me panting up a storm, and Dooley and Grace still as light on their feet as they had been when we set out. One advantage was that when I jumped up on Odelia’s chest, she immediately was wide awake. I may not be the fastest cat on the block, but I’m the best at waking people up through the judicious application of the force of gravity.
“Max,” she groaned sleepily. “How many times have I told you not to sit on my chest?”
“It’s Kurt,” I said, not wasting any more time. “He’s been shot.”
Immediately, she was wide awake, and sat up with a jerk. I fell to the floor and when she saw me, Dooley, and Grace looking up at her, she realized I wasn’t kidding.
“Chase,” she said urgently, as she elbowed her husband in the ribs. “Wake up. Kurt Mayfield has been shot.”
It probably wasn’t the best way to start our day. But it was a darn sight better than Kurt’s start. I just hoped he would live. For Dooley was right: if he died, Fifi would be devastated.
ABOUT NIC
Nic has a background in political science and before being struck by the writing bug worked odd jobs around the world (including but not limited to massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When he’s not writing he enjoys curling up with a good (comic) book, watching British crime dramas, French comedies or Nancy Meyers movies, sampling pastry (apple cake!), pasta and chocolate (preferably the dark variety), twisting himself into a pretzel doing morning yoga, going for a brisk walk, and spoiling his feline assistants Lily and Ricky.
He lives with his wife (and aforementioned cats) in a small village smack dab in the middle of absolutely nowhere and is probably writing his next ‘Mysteries of Max’ book right now.
Copyright © 2024 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
