Something wasn’t sitting right about the whole situation, but I couldn’t quite figure out what. At a loss for answers, I let my questions about Trish and the embezzlement at the animal shelter simmer at the back of my mind as I worked on building a website for Octo-Cat’s and my new P.I. company. Eventually we’d have customers, and I wanted to be ready to wow them when they finally came calling.
Maybe someday soon, he’d agree to let Paisley join the investigative team. I, for one, knew the little dog would love the chance to play—and win—Detective again.
That morning, Paisley decided to celebrate her new kind of sort of friendship with Octo-Cat by bringing him a present. We’d just finished tea when the little dog skittered in through the electronic pet door. Her collar was now outfitted with a coded chip, too, which meant she could come and go as she pleased—just like her new hero, Octo-Cat.
Our raccoon friend Pringle, on the other hand, had been given a massive lecture and a warning that we were to never, ever see him in the house again, no matter what Octo-Cat said was or wasn’t okay.
“Hey, girl,” Nan called when she saw the dog’s small, dark form traipse through the foyer. “What have you got there?”
Sure enough, Paisley had something large stuffed inside her mouth, which she brought straight to Octo-Cat and laid at his paws, her tail a waggly blur of joy. Thank goodness, the tabby had been laying on the floor rather than the couch, because the gift in question was a very large and slightly bloody mouse.
Dead, of course.
Octo-Cat studied the corpse before him, then looked back up at Paisley. His eyes softened as he asked, “For me?”
She blinked and shivered and wagged. “Cats like mice. Right?”
I think Octo-Cat surprised us all with his genuinely large smile.
“Yes, and the deader the better. Good job, kiddo.”
The sight made me want to throw up, but I felt too happy to let my roiling stomach stand in the way of this important bonding moment. “You know cats are supposed to be the ones to catch mice,” I informed them both.
“That’s old-fashioned thinking,” Octo-Cat protested. “Besides, she caught this mouse for me, which kind of means I’m the one who did it, anyway.”
Paisley beat her tail against the ground, hanging on every word that spilled forth from Octo-Cat’s lips.
“Nice try,” I said with a sarcastic chuckle. “But you can’t just take credit for someone else’s…” My words trailed off, and I looked toward Nan.
“What is it, dear?” she asked, then took another sip of tea.
“Trish,” I said, thinking back to how sure I had been that we’d caught the bad guy and put the mystery at the shelter to rest. Too sure. The evidence was too neatly wrapped up in a nice little bow.
“What about her?” Nan said as the animals continued to share their gross bonding moment separate from us.
“Well, what if she wasn’t the one stealing money? What if someone else was doing it but let her take the fall?”
“You think she was framed?”
Nan’s even tone bothered me. Did she really not believe that I was on to something here?
“I’m not sure, but it’s a possibility. All the evidence was too neatly stacked against her,” I explained, using the same wild hand gestures my Italian-American father often used while trying to make a point. “Either she’s a terrible criminal, or she’s not one at all.”
“Interesting,” Nan said and dipped a cream-filled cookie into her tea.
“Think about it. She was the one sneaking around after closing time. She’s the one who shredded that paper. I saw her in Dewdrop Springs the same night our checks were cashed there, and she wasn’t exactly subtle about buying those stolen pet supplies in broad daylight.”
“But didn’t she also tell those massage people that the shelter had its funding cut?” Nan pointed out as she stared deep into her teacup. “Charles checked and said that wasn’t true.”
“Yes—but oh! When we went back to the shelter the next day, that old woman, Pearl, also said the funding had been cut.”
“Who you calling old?” Nan’s voice finally picked up some passion. “She’s at least fifteen years younger than me.”
“Sorry, Nan,” I muttered. “But how well do you know Pearl? She seemed to know you quite well but couldn’t remember me.”
“She was in my community art class over the summer. Remember that?” She finished her tea and set the cup and saucer on the coffee table, then leaned back in her chair.
“Would you say she’s the type to steal money from the animal shelter and then lie about it to others?”
“Certainly not. She was always on and on about her volunteer work with the shelter. She loves those animals as if they were her own.”
“Then who else would have the means, opportunity, and motive to take that money?”
“Trish did mention being short on cash when we bumped into her outside the shelter,” Nan reasoned. “Then again, money is its own motive, whether you have it or not.”
“It has to be somebody inside. Somebody with access to the finances.” I picked at a hangnail as I thought, a bad habit I’d thought I’d seen the last of. Apparently not.
“And somebody who could weave a narrative about funding cuts that others would willingly believe.” Nan nodded and bit her lip. What a pair we made.
We both thought a little while longer, and then suddenly we had it.
“Mr. Leavitt!” we cried in unison, turning toward each other in excitement.
“Oh, he is going down,” Nan promised the universe.
“We need to get him to confess somehow,” I said, because apparently it was up to me to state the obvious here. “Any ideas?”
“Excuse me,” Octo-Cat said, still beaming proudly from behind his unsettling gift. I hadn’t even realized he was paying attention. “I think I might have an idea,” he said and then let out a contented chuckle.
He was back, baby!
Chapter Nineteen
One week later…
My mom held a microphone to Nan’s face, beaming at her with daughterly pride. “And to think, it only took you two weeks to plan this gorgeous affair.”
My grandmother wore her hair in a French twist and sported a bold red lip. She’d even commissioned a special gown to wear to the gala. Silver beaded pawprints lined the neck and sleeves of her pink satin dress, creating a stunning effect.
Despite the quick event planning turn-around, it seemed all of Glendale had shown up to support Nan’s fundraiser for the Community Animal Shelter. Half the people from our neighboring towns, too. My mother and her cameraman had also shown up to film a human-interest piece for the local news.
Yeah, it was a pretty big deal.
While Mom interviewed Nan, I did another round through the house. Yes, we’d decided to use our own home as the location for the event tonight. Mr. Gables from the downtown council also helped to secure a series of large, impressive-looking tents, which we’d set up outside to expand the venue’s workable space.
The charity gala included a catered dinner, silent auction, and the chance for attendees to write generous checks to support our shelter. We’d arranged to have all the VIP players inside the house so that it would be easier to keep an eye on them. If all went according to plan, we’d be able to oust a weasel before the night was through.
I’d chosen to wear a little black dress, so I could sneak around if it became necessary. A hands-free communications device had also been tucked into my ear so that Octo-Cat and I could keep each other updated throughout the evening. As long as I made it look like I was discussing something related to the gala, then I could speak freely and without question.
We’d blocked off the upstairs to discourage guests from exploring the upper floors and also to help hide Octo-Cat where he sat perched near the spindles that lined the hallway. His job was to watch the guests below and report what he saw via our FaceTime voice call.