At least that’s what the home inspector said.
Hardly any time has passed at all, and yet somehow the sale is final and the house is ready for me and Octo-Cat to move in. It’s funny how bureaucracy can either slow things way down or speed them way up depending what side you approach the red tape from. Around Blueberry Bay, the Fultons owned the spool from which the red tape was unraveled, which meant I bought myself a manor house with very little effort on my part.
Nan, who adores both me and my cat in equal measure, decided to help out, too. Even though she’d owned her little Cape Cod style home for more than thirty-five years, she decided it was time to sell and move in with me at my new Eastern seaboard mansion.
“The difference is,” she explained, “this time I’ll be living with you and not the other way around.” That was how she justified kicking me out of her house less than a year ago, only to move in with me now.
Honestly, I’m more than a little thrilled to have an added buffer when it comes to Octo-Cat. I love him more than anything, but he also infuriates me on a regular basis, constantly finding new and exciting ways to push the poorly constructed boundaries I’ve tried to erect.
And so all of us are moving in this weekend, even though Nan hasn’t even had an offer on her house yet. Breanne says it will be easier to sell without a current resident. Yes, I couldn’t believe Nan hired Calhoun Realty to list her house, either. She and I needed to have a serious talk about family loyalty.
But first we had to survive the big move.
“Someone just pulled up outside,” Octo-Cat informed me, hopping onto the end of the bed where the better part of my wardrobe was laid out for evaluation. I took packing as a good opportunity to downsize even though my living space would increase nearly ten times.
A moment later an urgent knock sounded on the front door and my mom’s voice called out, “Angie? Angie, are you here?”
“Coming!” I yelled, letting the half-full box in my arms fall to the floor.
I flipped the deadbolt and my mom immediately pushed her way inside. “You’ll never guess what happened!” she told me, reaching into my closet and grabbing one of my jackets, which she thrust at me excitedly.
“What?” I asked, still a bit sleepy and not quite ready for this level of enthusiasm.
She followed me into the kitchen where I grabbed a can of Diet Mountain Dew and flipped the tab. It was my latest attempt at a suitable coffee replacement, and so far, so good.
“Lou Harlow was murdered!” she squealed with delight.
“Um, Mom. How about a little less bliss over someone dying, please?” Lou Harlow wasn’t just some random local, either. As one of the two senators appointed to represent the great state of Maine, she was one of the most famous people to reside in our little corner of Blueberry Bay.
And now she was dead. And for some reason, my mother was terribly excited about it.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s sad she died and everything, but guess who’s been asked to cover it?” She bit her lower lip and pointed both thumbs toward her chest while widening her eyes to a comical degree.
“Congrats,” I murmured, still feeling icky about her reaction to this whole thing.
“Thank you,” she said with an airy smile. “Turns out I did such a great job covering the Hayes murders the station would like me to do another investigative piece.”
“I’m really happy for you, Mom.” And I was. She’d worked hard to get here, and at last everything was coming up… bodies in the morgue, I guess.
“Good, because I need you to do it with me.”
“What? No, no, no, no.” Yeah, I’d done the legwork to find the Hayes’s real killer and clear Brock Calhoun’s name, but that didn’t mean I wanted to jump straight into another murder investigation, especially one as prominent as this one would no doubt prove to be.
“Angie, I don’t really think you have a choice.”
I groaned and shook my head. “Oh, yeah, because that’s the way to win me over.”
“The senator was killed in her home,” she revealed. “Do you know where that home is?”
“Somewhere in Glendale?” I guessed with a sigh.
“Not just somewhere,” my mom corrected with a new light dancing in her hazel eyes. “Right next door to your new house.”
Pre-order to save! HAIRLESS HARASSMENT is just 99 cents until it releases on May 30.
What’s After That?
Apparently I’ve been slacking on the job as a paralegal, even though the firm doesn’t know that I’m secretly working as the area’s premier Pet Whisperer P.I. to solve our toughest cases behind the scenes. Now they’ve hired an intern to “help” me manage my workload…
But what the partners don’t realize is that they’ve let a nefarious criminal into our offices. Trust me, Octo-Cat can smell this guy’s stink from a mile away. The worst part? I’m pretty sure he can talk to animals too… and he most definitely isn’t using his talents to solve crimes and defend the innocent.
I’ve always wondered how that zap from an old coffeemaker landed me with supernatural abilities. Now it’s time to find out once and for all. Otherwise I fear I may wind up losing them–and my trusty talking feline sidekick–for good.
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ABOUT MOLLY FITZ
While USA Today bestselling author Molly Fitz can't technically talk to animals, she and her doggie best friend, Sky Princess, have deep and very animated conversations as they navigate their days. Add to that, five more dogs, a snarky feline, comedian husband, and diva daughter, and you can pretty much imagine how life looks at the Casa de Fitz.
Molly lives in a house on a high hill in the Michigan woods and occasionally ventures out for good food, great coffee, or to meet new animal friends.
Writing her quirky, cozy animal mysteries is pretty much a dream come true, but sometimes she also sometimes goes by the name Melissa Storm (also a USA Today bestselling author, yay!) and writes a very different kind of story.
Learn more, grab the free app, or sign up for her newsletter at www.MollyMysteries.com! MORE FROM MOLLY
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