Retriever Ransom

Chapter Four

I’m pretty sure I almost died that morning.

Only almost, though.

Thankfully I managed to complete that wretched run without falling face forward into the snow like I feared every time my boot landed wrong on the poorly plowed street.

As much as I wanted to get in better shape, I didn’t think sprinting through a snowstorm was the way to do it. Cujo, however, seemed to heartily disagree. During the entire half-hour ordeal, he barked encouragements to both me and Nan, acting as our own personal doggie drill sergeant.

“Pick up the pace! That’s it! Let’s go! Hike!” he shouted while tugging hard on the leash and forcing us all to move as fast as our feet could carry us.

When we finally returned to his yard, he gave me a long piteous look and laid his ears back flat against his head. “You didn’t do a very good job today. We’ll have to train much harder so that you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” I barked back, already beginning to shiver now that we’d stopped moving.

“Whatever comes next,” he answered—whether cryptically or dismissively I couldn’t quite tell. I also didn’t quite care, given my current level of exhaustion.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Nan asked once we’d both settled back into her car. She couldn’t fool me, though. Even she had a hard time catching her breath after that muttsky-driven workout.

I laughed and leaned my head against the seat rest. Everything burned. Everything hurt. And I already knew Nan would force me to do the whole thing all over again tomorrow… and the next day… and the next day.

Working out with Nan would easily prove to be worse than a prison sentence. I just hoped warden Cujo’s time with us would be brief. I much preferred Paisley’s personal brand of encouragement—and her pace, too.

“Good effort out there today, dear. You’ve earned your sweets,” Nan told me when we arrived back home. Still brimming with energy, she scuttled into the kitchen to pick up with some mid-morning baking.

I could have argued the senselessness of exercising when we would only use it as an excuse to pile back on double or triple the calories in desserts but knew that somehow pointing this out would only lead to longer and more intense workouts. No thank you!

I had just begun the now painful climb up the stairs to my library when the doorbell chimed overhead.

Ping. Ping. Ding bing, it sounded to the tune of “Eye of the Tiger,” proving once and for all that Nan had planned today’s forced fitness well in advance.

“Coming!” I yelled and then slowly turned myself around. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

“What happened to you?” Octo-Cat asked while effortlessly trotting down the stairs and thus throwing his ease of mobility right in my poor, tired face.

“Nan happened to me,” I grumbled after drawing in a deep, ragged breath.

He raised a paw and chuckled. “Say no more.”

The doorbell chimed again.

Octo-Cat’s eyes glowed hot with judgment. “Well, aren’t you going to get that?”

“Coming!” I shouted again and forced myself to hobble faster through the foyer.

When I flung the door open with a giant grin of relief, I found a familiar face staring right back at me from the porch. “Mayor D-D-Dennison,” I sputtered in surprise. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Octo-Cat plopped himself down beside me, willing to brave the cold tendrils of air reaching in through the open doorway so that he could gain a front-row seat to whatever happened next.

The mayor removed his hat—an oversized Russian shapka—to reveal a messy head of hair. “May I please come in?”

“Angie!” Nan called as she hurried toward us, her gait completely unmired from that morning’s workout whereas I could hardly walk. “Is that the mayor? Well, don’t leave him standing out in the cold!”

She pushed past me and wrapped a motherly arm around Mayor Dennison’s broad shoulders to usher him toward the living room. “Let’s have a hot cup of tea to warm you up, then you can tell us everything.”

“Nan,” I interrupted. “He still hasn’t told us why he’s here.”

“Perfect, then he can tell us over tea. Gossip always goes down easiest with a nice, steaming mug in your hands. Wouldn’t you say?” Without waiting for either of us to respond, she returned to the kitchen, leaving me to make awkward small talk with the mayor at least half the town of Glendale never wanted.

“Got a lot of snow out there,” I mumbled like an idiot. It was February in Blueberry Bay. Of course there was snow.

He nodded, smiled, glanced toward the kitchen.

I didn’t want to ask about politics since I already knew there was some contention there, but I also knew better than to ask about the purpose of his visit before Nan returned with the tea.

Luckily, Paisley came frolicking to our rescue, hopping right up onto the mayor’s lap. “I smell a doggie!” she trilled, wagging her tail curiously.

“She likes you,” I said with a grin. “Are you a dog person?”

Octo-Cat hissed somewhere from the other side of the room. He didn’t even like that question to be asked, let alone answered.

“I have—well, had—a dog,” the mayor answered with a wistful sigh. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I—”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Nan hurried back into the living room, balancing a small serving tray with three cups of tea and all the fixings. “Not without me.”

Our visitor cleared his throat and folded his hands in his lap while Nan served. When at last we were all seated comfortably with our beverages and snacks, my grandmother motioned for him to continue. “Now you may continue.”

“I came because I heard you’re a private investigator,” he said to Nan, completely ignoring the mug that she’d handed to him.

She chortled at this. “Not me. Her.”

She pointed at me, and I waved awkwardly.

“Okay, either way. I need to hire you to help me.” He glanced pointedly in my direction.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked, feeling oh so professional in that moment. Here I was, a proper investigator being called in to help the man who held the top political official in all of Glendale. It didn’t get any bigger than this for a small-town P.I.

But then he spoke again and shattered my newfound delusions of grandeur. “My dog, actually. He’s gone missing.”

I choked on my tea, which led to an awkward coughing fit. “Your dog?” I asked hoarsely. “What? Did he run away?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Marco didn’t leave on his own. He was taken.”

Nan raised a delicate eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because the kidnapper left a note. A ransom note.” After delivering this news, the mayor finally took a sip of his tea, much to Nan’s satisfaction.

I sat back against the couch. My body remained tired, but my mind zoomed to life, a million gears all clicking at once.

Maybe this could still be a fascinating case, after all.