Terrier Transgressions Pet Whisperer P.I.
Molly Fitz
© 2019, Molly Fitz.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Editor: Megan Harris
Cover Designer: Lou Harper, Cover Affairs
Proofreader: Alice Shepherd
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Sweet Promise Press
PO Box 72
Brighton, MI 48116
Contents
About This Book
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
What’s Next?
Sneak Peek of Hairless Harassment
What’s After That?
More Molly!
About This Book
I’m finally coming to terms with the fact I can speak to animals, even though the only one who ever talks back is the crabby tabby I’ve taken to calling Octo-Cat. What I haven’t quite worked out is how to hide my secret…
Now one of the associates at my law firm has discovered this strange new talent of mine and insists I use it to help defend his client against a double murder charge. To make things worse, Octo-Cat has no intention of helping either of us.
Our only hope rests on a spastic Yorkie named Yo-Yo, who hasn't quite figured out his owner is dead. Can we find a way to get Yo-Yo to help solve the murder without breaking his poor doggie heart?
Author’s Note
Hey, new reader friend!
Welcome to the crazy inner workings of my brain. I hope you’ll find it a fun and exciting place to be.
If you love animals as much as I do, then I’m pretty sure you’re going to enjoy the journey ahead.
Terrier Transgressions is one of my first brain-tickling adventures! Many more will be coming soon, so make sure you sign up for my newsletter or download my app to help you stay in the know. Doing so also unlocks adorable pictures of my own personal feline overlord, Schrödinger, deleted scenes from my books, bonus giveaways, and other cool things that are just for my inner circle of readers.
You can download my free app here:
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Okay, ready to talk to some animals and solve some mysteries?
Let’s do this!
Molly Fitz
To anyone who wishes she could talk to her animal best friend… Well, what’s stopping you?
Chapter One
Hi, I’m Angie Russo, and I have a talking cat for a pet. Well, he only talks to me, but still. A few months have passed since he came to live with me following the murder of his owner—a sweet old lady who was poisoned by a member of her own family in a greedy inheritance grab.
Since then, Octo-Cat and I have been settling into our new life as roommates, and he’s nice to me more often than not just so long as I feed him his breakfast on time and never, ever call him “kitty.” He’s even learned how to use his iPad to call me on FaceTime so we can check in with each other while I’m at work.
Yes, his iPad.
Have I mentioned just how spoiled he is?
Not only does he have his own tablet—and a trust fund, too—but he insists on drinking Evian fresh from the bottle and will only eat certain flavors of Fancy Feast when served on specific dishes and according to his rigorously kept, though fully unnecessary, schedule.
I have to admit he’s grown on me, something I honestly never thought would happen. I even kind of like my job as a paralegal at Fulton, Thompson and Associates these days. Things have been pretty interesting since the Fultons left town rather abruptly and our firm lost its senior most partner.
A cutthroat competition as to who will take his place has ensued. Until Mr. Thompson decides whom he’d like to promote, though, we’re simply Thompson and Associates. Lots of candidates—both from within our firm and from outside—have been passing through our office in hopes of securing the coveted position at Blueberry Bay’s most respected law firm, but Thompson is having a hard time making up his mind.
Can’t say I blame him. I definitely wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.
Our firm is now a bit infamous following the surprising murder involving one of its partners and his family. Everyone wants the scoop, but Mr. Thompson has made it very clear: we aren’t supposed to discuss what happened with anyone.
In the meantime, he has hired a new associate to help keep up with the newly increased workload. Charles Longfellow, III, came to us highly recommended with a great resume and even better looks.
It’s been a while since I’ve had a crush but—boy—do I have it bad for Charlie. He’s got this thick, wavy hair that falls in a perfect dark swoop on his forehead. He’s tall, like maybe-played-basketball-in-high-school-but-probably-not-in-college tall, and you could easily get lost in his deep green eyes. I know, because I already have a few times.
Yes, as much as I usually prefer books to boys, I often find myself a bit twitterpated whenever Charles is near. That’s probably how I made such a colossal mistake in the first place…
Now I’m being blackmailed about my biggest secret, the fact that I can talk to animals.
The worst part? I kind of like it.
I should probably start at the beginning, huh?
Well, here goes nothing…
Octo-Cat called me via FaceTime just before noon. I was at the office, of course, but since he knew not to call unless it was an emergency, I decided to put my research on hold to answer him. Besides, almost everyone had left the firm for an early lunch meeting, leaving me more or less alone in the building.
“What do you need?” I asked after scanning the premises just in case I wasn’t as alone as I’d thought. Normally I took my calls with Octo-Cat in the bathroom, but one of the junior associates had been holed up in there for at least half an hour before he left—and I definitely wanted to avoid whatever disaster scenario he’d left behind.