Retriever Ransom

Chapter Eight

“Wow, that human really loves his dog,” Paisley observed on the drive home. I’d taken her out of the pet carrier as soon as Nan had handed her over to me and settled herself behind the wheel. She’d since repaid me with no less than a few dozen enthusiastic doggie kisses.

Her debt paid, Paisley had now turned her mind back to the investigation. “I feel so sad that they have been separated. We’re going to get his dog back soon. Right, Mommy?”

I kissed the small white spot on the Chihuahua’s forehead. “Yes, we will.”

The little dog wagged her tail and opened her mouth in a panting grin.

Later, Nan sighed as she made the turn into our driveaway. “Well, that accomplished exactly nothing.”

“I don’t know what you expected. He’s our client, not the suspect. Even though I agree with Octo-Cat that he’s hiding something. I also agree with Paisley that he really loves that dog.”

“So much that he won’t give us all the information that we need to get him back?” Nan chuckled and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Whatever he’s hiding, we don’t know whether it’s related to the ransom,” I pointed out as the car bumped along the icy drive.

Finally, Nan parked and the three of us raced inside as fast as our feet would carry us. Octo-Cat sat waiting for us in the center of the coffee table.

“Well?” he asked with one raised eyebrow. “How did the break-in go?”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Who says we broke in?”

“Please. Nan went, so you were bound to break in. It’s what she does.” He chuckled merrily to himself.

Touché.

“So?” He raised the other eyebrow. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, right. Unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. We got caught and then got a very detailed tour and description of Marco’s day-to-day routine.”

“Yuck. I’m glad I missed that.” My cat shuddered, shaking off several loose hairs in the process.

I watched them dance through a nearby sunbeam, entranced.

“We’re still at square one,” Nan muttered, “but I refuse to stay there.”

I watched her shrug out of her winter gear and then reach back into the closet. Sometimes I suspected our foyer closet wasn’t unlike Mary Poppins’s magical bag. It seemed she never ran out of space and always had exactly what she needed waiting. This time, Nan pulled out poster board, Sharpies, sticky notes, and a pack of little magnifying glass stickers, then dumped them all onto the living room coffee table.

Octo-Cat had to leap out of the way to avoid being buried under the falling heap of craft supplies. “Watch it, old lady!”

I shot him a withering look, then returned my focus to Nan. Unlike my snarky tabby, she at least had a plan—one with flair at that.

She arranged all her supplies just so and then set to work, using a dark green marker to divide the neon green poster board into three evenly spaced sections. Next, she selected the black marker and scrawled People at the top of one column, then Places and Events on the others.

Out came the stickers, which she used to create bullet points, three down each column.

“We’ll start with three each, but don’t worry, I have enough stickers to match however many ideas we come up with. So what’s the first one? How about a person?” Nan stared at me expectantly, a blue marker uncapped and at the ready.

She’d created a similar setup when Octo-Cat had gone missing, so I knew exactly what she expected during today’s shared brainstorm.

“Start with his opponent,” I directed. “The one he very narrowly beat in the election. He definitely has a grudge.”

Nan nodded and wrote the name down. “I’ll add Brenda Eaves. She was one of the folks protesting at the inauguration, and if we play our cards right, I bet we can get her to tell us the names of the others, too.”

Octo-Cat watched in silence while Paisley snoozed on my lap. Tiny whimpering sighs escaped her muzzle as she dreamed.

“How about—?” I was just about to suggest a third suspect when a sudden, persistent tapping drew my attention to the window.

Octo-Cat spotted the source before I could and startled me by rearing up to hiss. He hissed often, but very rarely went full into Halloween kitty mode.

I followed his line of sight and found our favorite backyard roommate staring straight back at me with a cheesy smile. “Pringle! What are you doing here?”

He motioned toward his ear and shook his head. The raccoon’s mannerisms seemed so human at times and were only becoming more so, given his insane addiction to reality TV.

“I know you can hear me!” I shouted louder.

He shook his head harder.

“Fine!” I threw my hands up and stomped toward the door. The very moment I flung it open, the plump gray ball of fur scuttled inside.

Our primary rule with Pringle was that he was not allowed in the house. He’d committed too much blatant destruction and secret thieving to keep that particular privilege.

“You invited me!” he shouted back over his shoulder without so much as a glance my way. “No takesy-backsies!”

“Noooooo!” Octo-Cat screamed in utter agony. “He’s eating my Delectable Delights!”

I sprinted into the kitchen, but the raccoon had already gulped down the whole bowl of crunchies. Normally, Octo-Cat didn’t do dry food, but ever since his beloved long-distance girlfriend Grizabella had become the spokesmodel for the new brand, he’d made the difficult choice to switch his loyalty away from Fancy Feast and toward Delectable Delights.

He stumbled into the kitchen and mock-fainted, falling to his side dramatically. The fact that his tail still flicked in irritation was proof enough he hadn’t lost consciousness.

Still, I had to agree with him here. Pringle was way out of line.

“I didn’t invite you inside,” I hissed in the thieving critter’s direction.

“You opened the door. Same difference, yeah?” He jumped onto the counter and helped himself to a freshly baked muffin, then stood on his hindlegs and simpered at me with narcissistic joy.

“So what did I miss?” he asked, taking a huge bite and chewing with his mouth open. “Did we have a new case come in?”

“It’s not your case!” Paisley barked as she scampered across the tile floor to join us. Then, bless her, she began to jump in a desperate attempt to join the raccoon on the counter. There was no way the diminutive pup would ever reach, but I appreciated her moxie all the same.

So now there we stood in our private domestic calamity.

Paisley barked.

Octo-Cat swooned again, lifting himself slightly from the floor and falling down in a dramatic heap.

Pringle watched both and laughed as he feasted on baked goods.

“Stop dawdling and get back in here!” Nan shouted.

I downed a pair of painkillers for my quickly growing headache and marched back into brainstorm headquarters, AKA my former living room.

All the animals followed, and Nan jumped straight back into business.

“Now we obviously need to return to the mayor’s house when we can.” She paused and wrote that down. “What other places should we make sure to check as part of our investigation?”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Pringle’s hand shot high into the air. “I know! I know! Pick me! Pick me!”

I could scarcely hold back my irritated groan. Something told me this was going to be a very long and painful afternoon.