He regarded me with a piteous look. “What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’ I mean we’re going to get that confession, right? I assumed we didn’t talk about it in the car because you didn’t want Upchuck to know the plan—not because you’d given up on it already.”
While he made his harangue, I found an old but not yet expired package of string cheese shoved into the back of my vegetable drawer and grabbed a couple of pieces to tide me over. After tearing into the first with great aplomb, I peeled off a thick piece and shoved it in my mouth.
Then I attempted to answer my cat’s concerns by saying, “Of course we’re going to get the confession. I figured we could start with me pretending to be an interested client, and you hiding in your wicker bag.”
Octo-Cat wrinkled his nose. “I hate that bag.”
“Got any other ideas?” I challenged, putting another thick string of cheese into my mouth.
He paced back and forth on the table in frustration as he talked. “I do have ideas, but none that don’t put at least one of my lives at risk. I’d be willing to make that sacrifice for the team, but something tells me you wouldn’t.”
“I only have one life, remember?” I probably should have been insulted that he kept forgetting—or at least completely disregarding—this very important fact, but right then I was too keyed up to care.
“Ahh, yes.” Octo-Cat plopped his rear down and shook his head. “So fragile.”
I inhaled the final stringy thing from my first cheese and opened the second package, rolling my eyes as I did. “Fine, I’m fragile, but I still think putting you in the bag for half an hour is preferable to the possibility of me dying. Don’t you?”
Octo-Cat responded by lifting a rear leg over his head and licking his kitty bits.
“Um, excuse me? I’m talking to you!” Suddenly I had less of an appetite.
“What? I’m still thinking. Give me a minute here,” he mumbled while continued to groom himself. It was so nice to see that protecting my life held comparable importance to avoiding a perfectly normal smelling wicker bag. That whole superior sense of smell was a total excuse, and I knew it. The snobby cat claimed it stunk mostly because he hated that I’d picked it up at a charity thrift store.
“Fine,” he said at last, dropping his leg back to the floor. “I’ll get in the bag, but you owe me.”
“I already owe you from the harness,” I pointed out, regretting my big mouth instantly. I shoved another bite of string cheese in with the hope it would keep me from saying something else I’d come to regret.
What could only be described as an evil smile crept across his furry face. “Yes,” he answered with a malicious laugh. “And the size of that favor just grew. Keep going, sweetheart. Daddy needs a new… well, everything.”
Uck. I didn’t know whether to me more afraid of the threat or disgusted by the manner in which he’d made it. I gulped down my anxiety and with it the too-large piece of unchewed cheese. It only took a millisecond to realize I was choking on the stupid thing.
Octo-Cat sat by and watched as I gestured wildly to my throat. He didn’t so much as move a paw as I coughed and pounded on my chest, finally dislodging the misplaced morsel.
“What would you have done if I died?” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “I was choking, and you didn’t even try to help!”
He yawned. “Oh, is that what that display was all about? I thought you were just stalling for time. You know, if we don’t hurry, Upchuck and the gang will come looking for us. Is that what you want?”
Ugh. I hated that he was right even more than I hated the complete lack of sympathy.
“Fine, let’s go,” I said after filling up my water bottle at the sink.
Octo-Cat followed me hesitantly. “No harness this time?”
“Nope,” I said, grabbing my prize from the coat closet and holding up for him to see. I looked forward to knowing he would suffer just a little bit. Such was the nature of our relationship. “Bag instead.”
He raised his paw in a gesture I hadn’t seen from him before. He must have learned that from one of his many kids’ TV shows. “Um, I have a question.”
I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to go ahead.
“What is my role in all of this?”
“If anything bad happens, use your iPad to call for help. And if anything really bad happens, use your claws and attack. Can you do that for me?”
He nodded. “As long as you remember to bring my iPad.”
I groaned and traced back to the bedroom to retrieve his favorite toy. “Good?” I asked, tucking it into the rear pocket of the bag. This was such an odd way to prepare for what could be a risky situation, but it was a fair representation of what my life looked like now.
“One more thing,” I told him as we made our way to the car. “I’m calling my mom.”
“Why? Aren’t I enough for you?”
“Trust me,” I said with a laugh. “You’re more than enough most days, but I did promise my mom a scoop. And I’m going to make sure we get it.”
He still appeared confused. “Won’t she try to stop you? Isn’t that why you didn’t let Charles or Nan know?”
“Yes, that’s why I didn’t tell them, but Mom doesn’t worry the same way they do. She understands the need to do whatever it takes to get the story.”
Octo-Cat climbed onto my lap and dug his claws into my thigh as I started the engine. “It’s your life,” he said.
What a great attitude for a wingman. If the time really did come to save my life, I hoped he would take the necessary actions. I felt less sure, though, after the brief choking incident.
I couldn’t focus on that right now. I needed to save an innocent man from spending the rest of his life in prison. Last time I’d gotten caught because I hadn’t realized I was walking into a dangerous situation. This time I knew and was prepared, too.
After buckling my seatbelt, I connected Octo-Cat’s iPad to the car’s Bluetooth and placed a voice-only FaceTime call to my mom.
She answered so fast, I didn’t even hear it ring. “Hey, Angie. Any luck today?”
“As a matter of fact,” I announced, speaking loudly to make sure she could hear me over the sound of the car’s engine. “I’m on my way to Misty Harbor now. Think you can join me with a film crew?”
“It may take a little bit to get everyone together. We’re not used to breaking news in Glendale. But I will be there as fast as I can. Any particular place?”
“Lighthouse Realty & Brokerage,” I told her, rattling off the address.
“I’m impressed. How’d you find out who really did it?” she asked.
My daughterly heart swelled with pride, but still, I hesitated. She didn’t know the truth about my abilities yet, and this didn’t seem like the right time or the right method by which to tell her.
“It’s a long story. Let’s get it on camera,” I said, knowing full well I would never, ever reveal my quirky powers on the local news. It would be hard enough just to tell Mom, but I knew that I’d be doing just that before the day was through.
“There’s my smart daughter. That associate degree in communications really paid off. I still think you should go back for journalism. We’d make a great team, you and me.”
“I’ll think about it, Mom,” I said, knowing full well the newsroom held zero appeal to me. I’d hate to be in direct competition with my ambitious mom, and I’d hate even more to have to work at her side every day. We definitely loved each other, but mostly in small doses.
She chuckled good-naturedly. “I know what that means, but you’re right. Let’s just focus on the story in front of us for now.”
There was still one more thing I needed to say, and it was the hardest part. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“If you get a call from me within the next hour, even if—especially if—I’m not talking on the other end of the line, call the cops. Okay?”