Retriever Ransom

Chapter Twenty

The doorbell rang, and I rushed to open it. My boyfriend, Charles, stood waiting on the other side.

“I keep telling you to just let yourself in,” I teased him, looping my arms around his neck and accepting a kiss.

“No more almost dying at the hands of former partners at my law firm,” he chastised me.

I stuck out my tongue playfully. “Fine, I’ll stay away from the partners and stick to associates.”

“Not funny.”

Hmm, I thought it was.

The great cabin affair had started and finished just two days ago. Both Thompsons were in jail awaiting their bail hearing, while Mark Dennison had been forced to resign despite his best laid plans.

Me? I’d slept for a solid twenty-four hours straight despite Octo-Cat’s constant mewling outside my door. That guy had no patience. I’d almost died, and yet that wasn’t a good enough excuse for him.

That brought us to today. Nan and I had invited Charles and my parents over for a special celebratory feast, and—boy—did we have a lot to celebrate.

Not only had I solved what would have been my first paying case, if the client hadn’t been arrested as a result of my investigation, but we also had a room-warming for Octo-Cat and a hero’s party for Pringle.

The tabby had claimed the room beside my library. Due to my “lengthy frolic through the woods” as he liked to call my near-death encounter, he’d had plenty of time to plan the decorations, based on a combination of old sitcoms he liked and a mobile game called Matchington Mansion.

“Make sure my three pillows don’t match,” he’d warned seriously. “Otherwise, they’ll disappear, and we don’t want that happening.”

Even though I questioned his grip on reality, I did as he instructed, even though installing a one-hundred- and forty-gallon tropical fish tank in the upstairs bedroom had proven both exhausting and expensive.

It was now his prized possession, though, and he spent long-hours fantasizing about devouring his scaly new pets. He was definitely lucky that I was a better pet owner than him.

“Are we all here?” Nan asked, emerging from the kitchen in her favorite apron.

The doorbell rang again, and my parents pushed their way inside. As soon as she saw me, my mom grabbed my head and peppered kisses all over my face.

“Oh, my baby!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not a baby,” I grumbled in a futile attempt to extricate myself from her embrace.

“Ahh, but you’ll always be our baby,” Dad said with a chuckle.

Charles placed a protective arm around me, knowing I’d blow a gasket if my parents didn’t cool it on the smothering and give me some space.

“To the table!” my grandmother shouted. She’d already laid out our best china, insisting that she preferred I rest rather than try to help.

Now she scuttled into the kitchen and returned with a tray of personal-sized potpies. My mouth watered in anticipation.

“No one takes a bite until our guest of honor arrives,” she warned, shaking a finger at my father.

“Say no more, I have arrived,” Octo-Cat declared, hopping onto the table beside me.

“She means Pringle,” I whispered. Everyone here knew my secret, but it still felt a bit odd to converse so openly with the animals.

“Pringle? What’s so special about that guy?”

“Um, he saved my life,” I answered with a shrug.

My cat snorted and licked at the pie on my plate.

“Gross!” I cried.

“Don’t worry, I’ve made pies for him and Paisley, too. We’ll just swap yours for his. But it means he’ll be getting the chicken, and you’ll have the shrimp.”

“Ha!” I cried in delight. Personally, I’d probably rather have the chicken, but knowing that Octo-Cat’s bad attitude had cost him his favorite food gave me endless joy.

The electronic pet door zinged in the other room, and in walked Pringle, wearing his new chipped collar. Now he could come and go whenever he pleased; no invite required.

I knew I’d regret that soon enough, but—hey—I owed him my life.

Everyone cheered and clapped while the critter basked in the attention.

“This is all great. Very great,” he informed me. “But can they maybe sing a song of my greatness?”

“Like ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’?” I suggested.

He considered this for a moment. “That will do for now, but I’d really prefer a custom ballad.”

We all sang as instructed, then enjoyed Nan’s delicious meal. When we’d finished, I rushed to the coat closet and pulled out a present I’d wrapped carefully in custom wrapping paper pattered with the Pringles chips logo.

“Awww, you shouldn’t have!” the raccoon guest of honor exclaimed. “But I’m so very glad you did!”

He tore through the wrapping paper in short order, then bit into the box, and…

“My very own gun! Yes!” he cried.

“Not so fast,” I exclaimed. “Do you remember what we talked about?”

He cast his eyes down in shame. “Guns are dangerous, and I’m not the terminator.”

“Yes, and?”

“And?”

“Read the label on the box. This is a Nerf gun. Do you remember what I told you about Nerf guns?”

A smile crept across his face as realization dawned in his beady black eyes. “Roger that,” he said, loading a foam dart into the gun with far more skill than he’d handled the semi-automatic at the cabin.

Biting his tongue and squinting one eye, he aimed and—

“Ahh! I am wounded!” Octo-Cat cried as he fell from his spot on the table.

I gave Pringle a high five. I couldn’t wait to tell Cujo about this when I saw him on our next run.

Although it hadn’t quite gone as planned, I’d never forget our first paying case. Not in a million years.