Dog-Eared Delinquent

Chapter Eleven

The next morning I woke up to Nan wearing a velour jogging suit with the word sassy written across her tush. A matching pink sweatband pushed her gray curls out of her face, and she held a metallic purple water bottle clutched firmly in one hand.

“The stakeout continues?” I asked, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

She stretched her arms overhead and then bent to touch her toes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered with a wink while stretching both arms to one side and then the other. “I’m just headed into town to do a little exercise. Keeps me young and spry.”

“Well, don’t forget to take the cat with you,” I said, doing my best to hide the smirk that slithered its way across my face. “His harness is on one of the hooks in the laundry room.”

I finished getting ready for work, and Nan and I had a quick breakfast together before saying goodbye. Octo-Cat, however, flatly refused to speak to me—the harness being one of the few things in this world he hated more than dogs. His irritation aside, Nan really did need his help on her investigation. A leashed-up cat might make her a bit of an inconspicuous character, but her snooping would have been obvious even without the cranky feline partner. At least now she’d have a second set of eyes and ears to help her out.

As for me? I had to go all by myself to face Peter yet again.

Fortunately I, too, had an operative planned for that day. It definitely wasn’t like me to keep forgetting, so I grabbed the digital voice recorder Nan liked to use to record her monologues, popped in a pair of fresh batteries, and tucked the device into the corner of my bra. Once at work, I’d turn it on and record everything that happened that day. I mean, nobody could tamper with my evidence if they didn’t know it was there, right?

God bless my giant boobs. Usually they were just a pain in my back, but today they’d finally serve some kind of actual purpose. Maybe James Bond had more than one reason for keeping all those ample-bosomed sidekicks around, after all.

Whatever happened next, I was ready. We all were.

That morning, Peter arrived at the firm before I did, a fact that didn’t quite feel consistent with the rest of his personality, now that I thought about it. I said hello, then slipped into the bathroom to power on my recorder.

“Did you have a good night?” I asked Peter conversationally when I returned to settle into our shared desk.

He groaned and shifted abruptly in his chair to face me. “I know you saw me, so cut the BS. What part of drop it don’t you understand?”

“Drop what?” I asked casually. Meanwhile, my heart thrummed inside my chest. Was I close enough to the truth that he’d finally tell me what he knew?

Apparently not, because his expression grew venomous as he said, “Just back off, all right?”

I folded my arms across my chest in defiance and spun toward him in my twirly office chair. Our knees were less than an inch apart as I leaned even closer and captured Peter with my most determined glare.

“You’re the one who pushed me first. Why would you do that if you didn’t want to talk about…?” I paused for a brief moment before settling on, “Um, what we have in common.”

He curled both hands into fists, and for a second there, I truly thought he might punch me. But then he sighed, released some of the tension, and whispered, “This is not the place to have this conversation.”

I had him on edge. That had to count for something. Heck, maybe if I pushed a little harder, he’d teeter right over, yelling all his secrets on the way down.

I refused to let him intimidate me. Instead, I jabbed a finger in his chest and ground out, “Maybe not, but you stood me up last time we tried to meet somewhere else, and I’m done taking chances.”

“I didn’t stand you up,” he practically shouted, then took a deep breath and worked hard to compose himself once more. “I didn’t stand you up. You’re the one who broke the deal by showing up early and bringing the cat with you.”

The first crack in his composure had appeared—pry, pry, pry!

“Yeah, so what?” I said, keeping my eyes fierce, determined. “There’s nothing wrong with my cat.”

Peter laughed bitterly, then pulled his shirt aside to show the deep claw marks from Octo-Cat’s attack last week.

“Fine, okay.” I had to fight hard to keep my smirk at bay as I studied the still-red skin. “So, let’s start again.”

“No,” Peter said, turning his chair away from me and pretending to focus on the computer. I could still see him watching me from the corner of his eye, though.

I reached across and shut off his monitor with a humph. “Yes,” I insisted.

“If I’d have known you were this much trouble, I never would have—” He stopped abruptly, catching himself before he could get to the climax of that particular sentence.

“Never would have what?” I demanded, leaning even closer. His cloying cologne filled my nostrils, and we were now so close I could have kissed him if I wanted. Not that I’d ever want anything more from Peter than a few answers.

“Forget it,” he said, his voice shaking as his face began to turn the same shade of red as the claw marks on his chest.

I poked him again, showing him that I couldn’t simply be brushed aside with broken promises and non-answers. “Yeah, you tried to make me forget, didn’t you? But I’m not as pliable as you think I am.”

“Will you just shut up?” Peter squeaked, his eyes widening in obvious terror. After clearing his throat, he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “Stop prying into my secrets. Otherwise, I might just have to share yours with all of Blueberry Bay. You got me?”

I nodded slowly, not knowing whether he was bluffing or dead serious but also preferring not to find out. It didn’t matter, though, because he did that wavy finger thing under the desk and suddenly I just didn’t care anymore.

It wasn’t until I got home that evening that I remembered about the digital recorder I’d stashed in my bra. Thank goodness for my tendency to whip that thing off the moment I stepped through the door.

“Did you get some good scoop during your walkabout?” I asked Nan when I found her putting the finishing touches on lunch in the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Nothing yet, but we’ll be back out there tomorrow.”

Octo-Cat huffed. “Maybe she will, but I’m done. Please tell me you got something out of Peter today.” He looked up at me with huge pleading eyes, and I wish I had a better answer for him than I don’t remember.

“I have this recording,” I said, holding up the small item I’d palmed after finding it in my bra.

“Oh, goodie!” Nan cried. “The perfect dinner theater.” She tilted her head to the side and let out a chuckle. “Only for lunch.”

I laughed, too, and flipped on the recorder, hoping I’d managed to catch something good. Thankfully, it was only a matter of minutes before Peter’s and my conversation from earlier that morning played back through the tiny speaker.

Some of the words were drowned out by the rustle of my shirt fabric, but the message still came through loud and clear. Peter knew that I knew something, and he was terrified of me finding out anything more.

“All right,” Octo-Cat said following Peter’s final whispered threat. “I’m taking the lead on this one.”

“Wait. What do you mean?” I sputtered. Octo-Cat had never taken the lead before, and the fact he wanted to now scared me worse than anything I’d seen yet. “What’s your plan?”

He sat before me on the table, flexing the claws on one of his front paws and staring at them with delight. “I’m sure you already know that cats are great at everything. And, lucky for you, I’m even greater than most cats. But do you know what I’m greatest at?”

I shook my head, hoping he would just get on with it. Octo-Cat considered himself the greatest genius and talent of our time, so he could literally be talking about anything right about now.

“Stalking my prey,” he answered with a sinister smile. “I smell a rat, and you better believe I’m going to make him my dinner.”

I continued to stare blankly at Octo-Cat, not sure whether he was done or what he’d even meant by the things he’d said so far.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Peter. I’m talking about Peter.”

“You’re going to eat him?” I ground out, trying so hard not to laugh.

“No, it’s just…” The tabby groaned. “I was going for a poetic moment there and you kind of ruined it. Can you please get with the program already?”

“Yes, sorry,” I murmured, then waited as he went through his entire speech again. When he got to the part about smelling a rat and making it his dinner, I brought a hand to my chest and pretended to swoon.

“My hero,” I said overdramatically.

Octo-Cat smiled proudly. “And don’t you forget it.”

Oh, of all the things I’d forgotten lately, this was one thing I’d never be able to erase from my memory—no matter how much I might want to.

Whatever his plan, I just hoped that my cat—my hero—would be safe.