Hairless Harassment

Sneak Peek of Dog-Eared Delinquent

Hi, I’m Angie Russo, and my life is way harder than you’d expect for someone who lives in an old East Coast mansion. Well, it’s not really my house—more like my cat’s. After all, it’s his trust fund that pays the bills.

It may seem like I’ve won the lottery, but think again. Times are tricky when you have a talking cat bossing you around day in and day out.

Yeah, I said it.

My cat can talk.

As in, we communicate, have conversations, understand each other. I’m not sure how or why our strange connection works, only that it does. And as much as I wished I knew more, sometimes you just have to accept things at face value. It all happened so fast, too. I went to work unable to talk to animals, got zapped by a faulty coffee maker, got knocked unconscious, and when I woke up again—bada bing, bada boom!—now I’m talking kitty.

I’ve decided to think of it as a stroke of fate, because it really does feel like Octo-Cat and I were meant to find each other. In the past six months alone, we’ve worked together to solve three separate murder investigations. I guess that’s why I’m considering my mom’s advice and officially looking into starting a business. She’s dubbed me Pet Whisperer P.I.—not because I want anyone else to know about my strange abilities, but because we needed some kind of excuse for me to take Octo-Cat around on my sleuthing calls.

After all, I wouldn’t be much of a Sherlock without my Watson. Okay, I’m probably the Watson in our relationship. If you’ve ever been owned by a cat, then you should understand.

Regardless, I’ll be the first to admit that my whole life changed for the better once Octo-Cat became a part of it. Before then, I was just drifting from one thing to the next. I’d already racked up seven associate degrees due to my unwillingness to commit to any one major long enough to secure a bachelor’s.

I guess you could say nothing ever felt quite like the perfect fit, but I kept trying anyway. I knew that somewhere out there my dream job was waiting… even if I didn’t quite know what it was yet.

You see, greatness kind of runs in my family, and for the longest time I’d worried that particular trait had skipped right past me without a second thought.

My nan had followed her dreams to become a Broadway star back in her glory days, and my mom was the most respected news anchor in all of Blueberry Bay. My dad lived his dream, too, by doing the sports report on the same channel that featured Mom.

Now at last, after so much yearning, so much searching, wishing, and praying, I’ve found the career path that fits me like a glove—and that’s private investigating. So what if I’m not getting paid for it yet? I probably could if I threw everything I had at getting my P.I. business up and off the ground.

But I’m scared of letting down the good people of Longfellow, Peters, & Associates. Oh, that’s right. My favorite frenemy Bethany is the newest partner, and I am so proud of her. Between her and Charles, I know the firm is in the best possible hands, but quitting to pursue self-employment?

That’s downright terrifying.

True, I’m only part-time at the moment, but the twenty hours per week I put in are really well spent. I know I’m making a difference, and yet…

Aargh. I’ve never had this much trouble quitting a job before. Why can’t I just hand in my two weeks’ notice and say, “See ya around!?”

Maybe part of me still longs for the chance to see where Charles and I could take our relationship, provided he’s willing to ditch his annoying realtor girlfriend. Or maybe I don’t want to leave Bethany behind when we’ve worked so hard to overcome our differences.

It’s also likely that I’m afraid of spending all day and all night at home with my crabby tabby for company. Nan lives with us now, too, but Octo-Cat reserves all his whining just for me. I mean, I guess it makes sense seeing as I’m the one who understands him.

At the end of the day, life sometimes requires hard decisions.

Historically, I’m not so great at making them.

If I just give it a few more weeks, maybe the right answer will fall into my lap. Yeah, I like that idea.

Until that happens, though, I’ll just continue to wait and pray I get the courage to ask for what I really need. First, I’ll have to make sure it’s actually what I want, and then…

Watch out, world! I’m Angie Russo, and I’m coming for you.

“I come bearing muffins!” I cried as I bounded into the firm ten minutes late that morning. I still had a hard time calculating my new commute, but I hoped that Nan’s homemade baked goods would more than make up for my tardiness.

“Ahem,” somebody cleared his throat from the desk near the door. My desk.

I whipped around so fast, I fumbled my beautiful basket of muffins and dropped them straight onto the floor. All of Nan’s hard work was ruined in an instant. It was a good thing she enjoyed baking so much and probably already had another fresh batch ready and waiting at home.

“Let me help you,” the stranger said, rushing over to offer assistance I most definitely didn’t need. I watched him from the corner of my eye, still refusing to acknowledge this interloper’s presence. From what I could discern, he was tall and gangly, with white-blond hair and thick, emo glasses.

“Oh, good,” Bethany said, clasping her hands together as she strode toward us both with a smile. “You’ve met Peter.”

“Peter?” I asked with a frown as the new guy stuck his hand out toward me in greeting. Looking at him straight on now, I saw he wore his dress shirt open with a t-shirt underneath that read Awake? Yes. Ready to do things? Ha, ha, ha! Charming.

The disturbing top half was paired with wrinkly cargo khakis on bottom. Fulton and Thompson never would have let this fly in their days. Yeah, I knew the firm was mostly better off without them, but, still couldn’t we at least try to look like professionals here?

“You’re Angie, right?” Peter asked, grabbing one of the muffins that hadn’t touched the floor and shoving it into his mouth with wide eyes. “Mmm,” he said pointing at it. “So good.”

I disliked this guy more and more by the moment, but Bethany seemed so excited to introduce us that I forced a smile and shook his hand despite my better judgement.

“Peter’s our new intern,” she explained. “He’s going to help you manage your workload.”

“I don’t need help managing my workload,” I shot back, recoiling from Peter’s grasp when he wouldn’t let my hand go after the normal, polite period of time for a greeting.

Bethany frowned. “Not exactly true. It’s been harder for all of us since you switched to part-time, but it’s okay, because Peter is the perfect person to step in and smooth things out.”

Yeah, me going part-time was the problem and not the revolving door of partners we’d seen so far this year. “What exactly are his qualifications?” I asked, regarding him coldly.

Peter popped the remains of that precious blueberry muffin into his mouth and mumbled, “I’m her cousin, and I work for minimum wage.”

Bethany shot him a dirty look, finally showing me that he bugged her, too. That at least made me feel a little better about all this. “Really, Peter. You need to stop being so liberal about sharing your salary.”

“Sorry,” he muttered with a shrug that suggested he really couldn’t care less about it.

Why was he here? I may not be the best paralegal in the world, but I was miles better than this guy. He probably didn’t even have his degree. This was all wrong. I couldn’t quite say why exactly, only that I hated everything about this Peter guy.

“Wait,” I said, realizing something. “Your name is Peter Peters? You sound like a super hero.”

“Or a super villain,” he countered with another shrug and a strange new smile.

“Anyway,” Bethany said, glancing at her feet to make sure no errant muffin crumbs had attached themselves to her shiny patent pumps. “This is Peter’s first day, which is why I asked him to come in a bit early. Can you help get him set up? Show him the ropes?”

“What kind of ropes?” I demanded. I didn’t normally start my work day by playing babysitter to some annoying nepotistic hire.

No, right now, I was supposed to be in Bethany’s office while she safely brewed me a cup of delicious, life-saving coffee. There was no way I’d touch another coffee maker as long as I lived, but I still enjoyed the extra jolt it gave me when someone else was willing to brave the brew master.

“Just the stuff you normally do,” Bethany answered with a dismissive gesture, already turning to take her leave. “If either of you need me, I’ll be in my office. I have client meetings most of the morning, but should be free around lunch time.”

“Okay, bye,” I said, turning to my new charge, resigned that I would have pretty much the worst work half-day ever.

He smiled after his cousin. “Too-da-loo!” he called, waggling his fingers, then turned to me. “Okay, so I’m ready to learn how to be you when I grow up,” he announced.

He did not just say that!

Well, so much for turning in my notice. There was no way I could leave the firm with this bumbling oaf of a paralegal. If only we could cue a makeover montage in real life. I’d choose one of my favorite upbeat 80’s pop jams, spend a few minutes reforming him, then call it done and move on. Real life never worked fast enough.

“Let’s go set up your email,” I said with a sigh, leading him back to my desk that we now seemed to be expected to share.

“Cool, cool. And when do I get my company-issued iPhone?” He bobbed his head, following after me like a lost little duckling.

“What? Why would we give you an iPhone?”

“Uh, hello. FaceTime.” He twisted his hands and formed a rectangle about the size of a smart phone then looked at me through the gap.

And just like that, he went from simply irritating to downright terrifying. FaceTime was the same app I used to call my cat from work. Our senior partner, Charles, had found out when he was still brand new to the firm and bribed me to help him defend a client. Was it just a coincidence that this Peter Peters had alluded to it now?

Or did he know something that could get us both into very big trouble?

Oh, I did not like this. I did not like it one bit.

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