Retriever Ransom

Chapter Nine

I had to work hard to hold back my laughter when Pringle marched across the room and ripped the marker right out of Nan’s hand.

“I’ll take that,” he said as he began to scribble at the bottom of the last column, completely ruining Nan’s perfectly organized mind map.

He scrawled furiously for close to a minute, then drew away from the board and recapped the marker with a self-satisfied smirk. “There. You’re welcome.”

I studied the writing closely but couldn’t figure out what it was meant to say. We’d famously discovered that Pringle could read when he stole an important letter that revealed long-kept family secrets and turned our world upside-down.

Apparently, though, he didn’t possess even minor writing skills. It wasn’t just poor penmanship, either. The markings looked more like hieroglyphics than actual letters of the alphabet.

“Um, what’s it supposed to say?” I asked at last.

He snorted, then crossed the whole thing out. “If you’re going to act like that, you don’t deserve my help.”

Octo-Cat growled and pounced at the rude raccoon. “Nobody talks to my human like that—nobody except for me!”

“I’m the new and improved you, baby. Deal with it,” Pringle spat back, placing a hand on each hip and laughing at the irate feline.

Paisley barked and ran large, looping circles around the other two animals as they prepared to fight.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.

My cat pulled his front paws up and set his ears back flat against his head.

The raccoon drew nearer, stalking on all fours until he was mere inches away, then he rose upright as well.

I held my breath and the moment seemed to freeze in time.

Both combatants stared at each other, unblinking. Each waiting for the other to strike first.

Octo-Cat raised a paw slowly, slowly… and then like lightning he batted Pringle right in the face.

“Oh, no you didn’t!” the raccoon shouted and began slapping Octo-Cat in the chest with both hands at rapid speed.

My cat swiped back, landing one strong blow for every ten mini slaps that came from Pringle.

I didn’t know what to do.

Part of me wanted to grab a video camera and put this on YouTube to see if we could reach viral fame, but a much larger part was afraid that Octo-Cat would take a solid beating. I couldn’t let that happen, especially since this had all started over him coming to my defense.

And then Paisley redirected the path of her latest circle and took a running leap, which landed her right on top of the battling mammals.

“Mommy said stop it!” she barked.

“Really? You sent in the pipsqueak dog?” Pringle shot me a venomous look. “I’ve never been so insulted in my entire life. I’m outta here.”

He marched into the foyer with his nose held so high in the air that he nearly collided with the wall for lack of visibility. The shock of it stopped him dead in his tracks.

I watched dumbfounded as Pringle heaved a few giant breaths, then turned back toward us and came running on all fours. “I’m taking these,” he announced before unceremoniously gathering up a handful of markers and the poster board we’d been using to chronicle the case facts and making his final exit—one made far less dramatic by the fact he had to push, pull, yank, and maneuver the poster board in several different directions before finally getting it out through the pet door with him.

“Great. That’s just great,” Nan groused. “Now we’ll have to start all over.”

“Let’s take a snack break first,” I suggested, still unable to believe how far off the rails this activity had already gone.

“I’m okay by the way,” Octo-Cat informed me with a sniff. “You could at least show a little concern for your night of shining stars.”

I shook my head; unsure I’d heard correctly. “My what?”

The tabby sighed and cast me a disapproving look. “Night of shining stars. You know, your rescuer?”

“My knight in shining armor,” I suggested.

“Yeah, whatever. You humans have the weirdest expressions. I see a night of shining stars every day, but I’ve never seen a knight in shining armor. Have you?”

Well, he had me there.

A change of topic was needed, and fast. “I’m making sandwiches,” I announced, heading for the kitchen.

“Turkey for me, please,” Nan called after me.

“Me, too!” Octo-Cat added as he trotted after me.

“Me, three!” Paisley cried but remained with Nan.

When I returned with our tray of sandwiches, I found Nan engrossed in some story playing on the local news station.

A vision of my mother, the long-time anchor, filled the screen. She looked lovely today in a lavender blouse and dark pencil skirt. Mayor Mark Dennison sat opposite her in their in-studio interview room.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen revealed: Dognapped! The new mayor’s golden retriever is threatened!

“I just can’t believe anyone would take out their political frustrations on Marco. He’s a great dog and doesn’t deserve any of this.” He turned toward the camera, eyes full of unshed tears. “Please, if you took my Marco, please bring him back. I’ll do anything.”

Nan scoffed. “Yeah, anything but resign apparently.”

She said it. Pretty much the only thing I knew about our case so far is that I didn’t much care for our client.

Why was he doing a publicity interview when he should be out searching for his missing dog?

It just didn’t make any sense.