“To begin work on the charity fundraiser for the shelter, of course. I’ve decided to go with a gala. That will bring all the key players out better than any bake sale or car wash ever could.”
“Good thinking.” Or was it? I hated contradicting her, but had she really thought this whole thing through before deciding to jump into action?
“Nan, a gala takes a lot of prep work, though. What if it’s too late for the shelter by the time you’ve finished the planning?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Stop being such a negative Nancy. You know better than to doubt your nan. Now, you two be good. I’ll be back in time to rustle up some dinner. Ciao.”
And just like that, she was into her shoes and out the door. Man, she moved fast. I often felt like a slouch next to my fit and active grandmother. Maybe one day I’d actually do something about it—but today was not that day.
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” I asked, searching the floor for Paisley. Normally, she clung to the closest human like a bur, but at the moment, I couldn’t spot her anywhere.
“Paisley!” I called. “C’mere, girl.”
“I don’t wanna,” came the muffled reply.
It took a few minutes, but I finally found her hiding under our antique Victorian loveseat. “Why so sad, sweetie pie?” I sat down on the hard, uncomfortable floor and waited for her to show herself.
“The cat doesn’t like me,” she sniffed while remaining firmly in place beneath the old couch.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He doesn’t really like anyone.”
“He doesn’t like me a lot, though. And at the shelter, I couldn’t help you win Detective. And now Nan left and didn’t want to take me with her. What if she never comes back?”
The poor dear! I hated that she felt this way and that there was very little I could do about it.
“Paze, please don’t cry. You did a great job helping with Detective, and—hey—the game’s not over yet. We still have time to win. And I promise Nan will come back just as soon as she finishes her errands. We all love you very much.”
“Even Octopus Cat?” she asked, raising her head slightly.
“Even Octo-Cat,” I assured her with a chuckle. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Chapter Fourteen
Seeing as both Paisley and I could use a change of scenery, I leashed her up and drove us downtown to enjoy a bit of window-shopping.
“Have you been here before?” I asked my doggie companion as the two of us strolled down the narrow sidewalks that flanked the commercial heart of our small seaside town.
“Nope,” Paisley answered, then stopped to squat beside a young tree that had just begun to change colors for the fall. “But I like it very much. So many excellent smells!”
Although I was sure our definition of excellent varied substantially, I smiled and nodded my agreement. Paisley was happy again, and that’s what mattered most.
“Which smell is your favorite?” I asked conversationally.
“Oh, definitely all the pee!” she squealed, happier than a pig in number two as she enjoyed the apparently intoxicating aroma of number one.
I didn’t ask any more questions after that. Instead, the two of us continued on our way, stopping frequently to allow the Chihuahua to sniff anything that caught her fancy.
“Oh, hello there, Angie!” Mr. Gable, the owner of the nearby jewelry store, called from the spot where he was idling with a steaming mug of coffee. The old man had become something of an institution here in Glendale, and it was no wonder he’d recently been voted head of the downtown council.
“Hello, Mr. Gable,” I called, quickening my pace to join him.
“And who might this little fella be?” The smiling, white-haired man carefully lowered himself to the ground and let Paisley sniff his hands. His coffee, too.
“This is Paisley,” I announced proudly. “Nan’s and my newest addition.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I bet the cat doesn’t much care for that.”
“You bet right,” I answered with a laugh. Hopefully, Mr. Gable’s well-meaning comment wouldn’t turn the dog into a nervous, shaking mess all over again.
In the end, she appeared too taken by the kindness of this new friend to worry about the unkindness of the hostile feline back home.
Mr. Gable and I chatted amiably for a few minutes about the upcoming holiday spectacular. We were a good three months off, but it was widely known that the downtown businesses started planning on December 26 of the previous year. The yearly festival got bigger and grander with each run, and I couldn’t wait to see how it would look this Christmas.
Mr. Gable, however, refused to give anything away. “It’s better as a surprise,” he promised with a Santa-like wink.
Just as I was about to press a little harder for details, an unexpected movement down the street caught my eye. Mind you, we were in downtown Glendale, which meant lots of people, dogs, and vehicles came and went—even in the middle of the day.
Somehow, though, I knew the sudden pale blur wasn’t a part of all that. I guess you could say my kitty sense was tingling.
Paisley felt it, too, because she nudged my foot with her nose and said, “It’s that nice lady we smelled the other day. Remember at the shelter?”
And she was right. Suspicious Trish had made yet another appearance in my life, and I wanted to know why.
“Well, nice chatting,” I told Mr. Gable with a brief wave goodbye. “We’ll see you soon.”
I picked up Paisley, even though I knew she’d probably rather walk, and hurried back in the direction from which we’d come. I needed her close so that I could whisper to her about what would happen next.
“We have to be very, very quiet,” I told the little dog, channeling my inner Elmer Fudd. We weren’t hunting wabbits, though, we were stalking suspects—and that was way more dangerous.
“If we can stay quiet and hidden long enough, I think we might just win Detective,” I promised with a quick grin.
Paisley gasped but said nothing in response. Good dog.
Trish cut through an alley, and I raced faster to catch up, making sure I remained far enough behind to avoid letting her spot me. She stopped in a parking lot and stood, waiting.
Paisley and I hid ourselves behind a nearby dumpster. Neither of us spoke a word.
Then I spotted it, a giant, beat-up Cadillac crunching onto the gravel lot. The driver was most definitely male, but I couldn’t make out much more than his wispy frame and deep voice. He and Trish spoke for a few minutes and then he hopped out of the car and popped the trunk open.
Inside, the spacious trunk was filled to the brim with pet supplies, still in their packaging. If the mysterious man was here to make a donation to the shelter, he was sure acting shifty about it.
I didn’t have long to puzzle over this, because the very next thing I knew, Trish had pulled a wad of bills from her front pocket and handed it to the driver.
And that was more than enough to make me finally spring to action. First, I grabbed my phone and zoomed in on the license plate, so I’d have it for later. Then I placed a call to my good friend Officer Bouchard and told him he needed to come down straight away.
“Did we win Detective?” Paisley asked, staring up at me with glistening dark eyes.
“Yeah, I think we did,” I told her, offering an enthusiastic petting for the job well done. “But we need to be quiet just a little longer before we can know for sure.”
We watched as Trish and the man had some kind of argument, and then he drove off with both the cash and the pet supplies. Trish groaned and stalked back toward the alleyway, where Paisley and I still stood crouched behind the dumpster.
Uh-oh.
I needed to think fast, so I set my dog on the ground and cried, “Oh my gosh, Paisley! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”