4c392a139708e5efb30cc267dbb0c768

She threw me a sly look over her shoulder, then looked away again.

“Um… nice view, huh?” I said, glancing at the landscape surrounding us. It was pretty stunning. I could see more cars zooming up the driveway, rolling hills of green all around, and not a cloud in the sky. If I wasn’t mistaken I would have said the mansion was located right next to a golf course, which would make sense. For some reason rich people like to kick a little white ball and then chase it. Just like dogs. They also love chasing balls. Silly business.

“Who are you?” finally asked the female. She had one of those sultry voices.

“Like I said, my name is Max and—”

“I got that. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m a feline sleuth,” I said. “My friends and I are trying to figure out who killed—”

But she was quick to stop me by placing a paw on my face and effectively interrupting my flow of words.“Let’s not waste time by flapping our gums,” she said in a sexily hoarse voice. “Our eyes met in the crowd. You followed me. I think we both feel it.”

“Feel… what, exactly?”

“Oh, Max,” she cooed. “You know.”

“Know what?”

“Oh, Max,” she repeated, then proceeded to give me a head bump.

“Um…”

To my surprise, she suddenly turned and started smelling my butt!

What happened next is one of those things you tell your grandkids about on those long winter evenings when there’s nothing on TV. It all went so fast it was over before I knew it. She pressed her nose against my butt, and in a reflex action I folded down my tail to protect this most sensitive area and effectively shielded it off from her inquisitive sniffing. Call me a prude but I don’t usually allow strange females to sniff around down there.

She didn’t take it well. A dark look came over her face, she produced a loud hissing sound, and before I knew it she’d given me a kick that send me skipping across the roof.

And then I was going over the edge, plunging headfirst into the abyss…

Chapter 35

Odelia was impressed by the high ceilings, the intricate molding, the crystal chandeliers and the parquet floor. She was even more impressed when finally the man they’d come here to meet graced them with his presence. Malcolm Buckerfield was a large man, both in length and girth. He was also a man who had no qualms about showing off his facial hair. Apart from a russet mustache he also sported a perfectly landscaped white beard, a white buzzcut covering a bullet-shaped head and thick black eyebrows. Taken together, practically the full acreage of his head was covered with some type of fur, leaving only his cheekbones, eyes and brow without the benefit of coverage.

“Detective Kingsley,” boomed the man in a deep voice. “Miss Poole. Thanks for coming all the way out here to Avalon.”

“Avalon?” asked Chase. “Like King Arthur?”

“Myes,” said the publisher. “I like to grace every residence I stay at with the moniker Avalon. Like Air Force One, which is only called Air Force One when the President is aboard.”

“Oh,” said Chase.

“So what can I do for you?”

They’d taken a seat in the salon, Odelia nervous about her shoes soiling the Persian rug and her bottom creasing the green velvet sofa cover. It was like being granted an audience with the Queen of England at Buckingham Palace. Or King Arthur at Avalon.

“You were Chris Ackerman’s publisher for thirty years,” said Chase.

“I was, yes,” Buckerfield acknowledged. “I was very sorry to hear about his death. He was a great writer and a good friend.”

“He recently indicated he was changing publishers,” Chase continued.

“He was.”

“You weren’t happy about that.”

“I wasn’t. He was my most popular author.”

“Is that why you visited him two nights ago at the Hampton Cove library where he was holding a reading of his latest novel?”

Buckerfield’s eyes flickered beneath those black brows. “How did you—” He gestured with a beringed hand. “No matter. Yes, I did show up at the library. I wanted to give him one final chance to change his mind.”

“You made him a very generous offer,” said Odelia. “A ten-book contract.”

The publisher nodded.“He said he’d think about it.”

“He didn’t summarily refuse your offer?”

The publisher shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.“No, he did not. Chris and I have known each other a very long time. I published his first novel. I effectively discovered him and gave him his first chance when no one else would. He was simply playing hardball. Up the ante and get a higher advance for his next series of books. That was all thiswas.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Chase. “Isn’t it true that Chris was having an affair with Stacey Kulcheski, who now works as an editor for Franklin Cooper? And isn’t that the main reason he was changing publishers? On the instigation of his new girlfriend?”

Buckerfield bridled.“Nonsense. Chris would never allow his personal life to interfere with his business affairs. Like I said, this was simply a negotiation technique.”

“And it worked,” said Odelia.