by Molly Fitz
Raccoon Racketeer
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: Jennifer Lopez (No, seriously!)
Cover & Graphics Designer: Cover Affairs
Proofreader: Tabitha Kocsis & 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: Raccoon Racketeer
What’s After That?
More from Blueberry Bay
More Molly!
About This Book
My crazy old Nan loves making decisions on a whim. Last week, she took up flamenco dancing. This week, she’s adopted a trouble-making Chihuahua named Paisley. This wouldn’t be much of a problem were it not for the very crabby tabby who also lives with us.
Man, I never thought I’d miss hearing Octo-Cat’s voice, but his silent protest is becoming too much to bear, especially since we just opened our new P.I. business together.
Things go from bad to worse, of course, when Nan and I discover that someone has been embezzling funds from the local animal shelter. If we can’t find the culprit soon, the shelter may not be able to keep its lights on and those poor homeless pets won’t have anywhere to go.
Okay, so I just need to find the thief, rescue the animals, and save the day—all while trying to find a way for Octo-Cat and Paisley to set aside their differences and work together as a team. Yeah, wish me luck…
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.
Raccoon Racketeer is just one of my many 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:
mollymysteries.com/app
Or sign up for my newsletter here:
mollymysteries.com/subscribe
If you’re ready to dive right in to more Pet Whisperer P.I., then you can even order the next books right now by clicking below:
Himalayan Hazard
Hoppy Holiday Homicide
Retriever Ransom
Lawless Litter
Legal Seagull
And make sure you’ve also read the books that come before Raccoon Racketeer in the series. They can be read in any order, but you’ll enjoy yourself more if you start at the beginning!
Kitty Confidential
Terrier Transgressions
Hairless Harassment
Dog-Eared Delinquent
The Cat Caper
Chihuahua Conspiracy
And don’t miss these special collections!
Pet Whisperer P.I. Books 1-3
Six Merry Little Murders
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
Hey, my name’s Angie Russo, and I own one-half of a private investigation firm here in beautiful Blueberry Bay, Maine.
The other half belongs to my cat, Octavius—or Octo-Cat for short. It may not seem like his nickname keeps things short, but trust me on that one. Every time he tells anyone his full name, he always adds at least one new title to the end. The most recent version is Octavius Maxwell Ricardo Edmund Frederick Fulton Russo, Esq. P.I.
Like I said, it’s a mouthful.
And he’s kind of a handful, too.
While my spoiled tabby is undoubtedly my best friend, he does have a way of making my life harder. For instance, he’s been catnapped, ordered to court for arbitration, and even repeatedly threatened to kill our new dog.
Did I mention that all happened in the span of just one month?
But that’s Octo-Cat for you.
Love him or hate him, there’s no denying he’s a true individual.
And even though he’s just about as stubborn as they come, he does occasionally change his mind about things.
That new dog we adopted? She’s a sweet rescue Chihuahua named Paisley. She liked him from the start, but it took Octo-Cat much longer to warm up to her. Now I am proud to report that the two have become close friends. In fact, one of my cat’s favorite hobbies has become stalking and pouncing on his dog and then wrestling her to the ground.
Yes, his dog. That’s how much the tables have turned these past few weeks.
Together, the three of us live with my grandmother, Nan. Although she’s the main one who raised me, she lives in my house.
And I live in my cat’s house.
Yup, Octo-Cat is a trust fund kitty, and his stipend is more than generous enough to pay the mortgage on our exquisite New England manor house.
It’s a bit ridiculous, I’ll be the first to admit that. But, hey, when life gives you lemonade, it’s best if you drink up and enjoy!
Speaking of, I’ve been dating my dream guy for about seven weeks now. His name is Charles Longfellow, III, and he’s my dream guy for good reason. Not only is he the sole partner at the law firm where I used to work, but he’s also incredibly smart, kind, attentive, handsome—and, okay, I may as well just admit it—sexy.
Not that we’ve…
Anyway!
I can talk to my cat. I probably should have mentioned that earlier, seeing as it’s the most unusual thing about me.
I can talk to my dog, too, and most animals now.
Long story short, I got electrocuted at a will reading, and when I regained consciousness, I heard Octo-Cat making fun of me. Once he realized I could understand him, he recruited me to solve his late owner’s murder, and the rest is history.
From there, we realized two things. One, we make a really good crime-solving team, and two, we were stuck with each other for better or worse. Usually, things are bet
ter, but he still has his hissy fits on occasion—and so do I, for that matter.
And I guess that brings me to today.
Today marks the two-month mark since we first opened our P.I. outfit for business, and in that time, we’ve had exactly zero clients. Even my normally optimistic nan can’t spin this one in a positive light.
No one wants to hire us, and I’m not sure why.
I’m well-liked in town, and it’s not like people know I can actually talk to animals. They think including my cat as a partner is just a gimmick, and I prefer it that way, honestly.
But I’m starting to worry that we’ll never bring any business in.
At what point do we give up on our entrepreneurial enterprise?
Octo-Cat is pretty happy sleeping in the sun most of the day, but I prefer to have more in my life. I even quit my former job as a paralegal to make sure I had enough time for all the investigative work I felt certain would fall into my lap the moment we opened for business.
Yeah, I was more than a little wrong about that one.
I need to figure out something, and fast, if I want to keep my operation afloat, but how can I trust my instincts when they were so wrong before?
Here’s hoping Octo-Cat has a bright idea he’d be willing to share…
It was Wednesday morning, and I’d spent the better part of the last two days handing out flyers to any person, business, or animal who would take one. Out of desperation, I’d even visited parking lots and shoved the brightly colored papers touting my credentials under the windshield wipers of each car in the lot.
Still, not one person had called to share a case with me.
Not one.
Nan had left the house early to serve a volunteer shift picking up litter around town. We’d both agreed the animal shelter, while in need, wasn’t the best place for her to share her generous heart—because we both knew she’d end up adopting almost every dog and cat in that place.
Our house was already full enough, thank you very much.
I sat in the front room of the house, sipping a can of Diet Coke. The coffee maker still scared me silly, given that the last time I’d used one I’d been electrocuted, and tea just wasn’t the same without Nan to keep me company.
Paisley and Octo-Cat scampered around the house in their perpetual game of tag, and I wracked my brain for any kind of idea that would help get us some clients.
The electronic pet door buzzed, and both animals ran outside.
I smiled and watched them zigzag through the yard. Mid-autumn had hit Maine, and now most of the fire-colored leaves had fallen from the trees. While I tried my best to keep up with the raking, it wasn’t easy given the fact that an enormous forest flanked my property on two sides.
Leaves blew into our yard all the time.
Like right now.
I sighed as a gust so strong I could practically see it swept through the trees and deposited at least five landscaping bags full of leaves on the front lawn. Leaves of every color carpeted the greenish-yellow grass—red, orange, yellow… turquoise?
“Mommy! Mommy!” Paisley cried from outside, and I went running. The sweet and innocent Chihuahua got upset fairly easily, but her small size also made her incredibly vulnerable. I never took any chances when it came to her safety, and neither did Nan or Octo-Cat.
One of us was always with her whenever she ventured outside.
And even though I knew Octo-Cat was out there now, I still needed to make sure nothing had happened to frighten her.
Both Paisley and Octo-Cat were waiting for me on the porch when I stepped outside. Paisley even had a turquoise piece of paper clamped within her jaws.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it from her.
“It’s one of your papers, Mommy!” the little dog cried proudly.
I glanced at the bright paper in my hands and then back out to the yard where dozens, maybe even hundreds, more had mixed with the autumnal leaves.
She was right. This was my paper. In fact, it was the flyer for our P.I. firm that I had so painstakingly distributed the last couple of days. I’d handed out every single one that Nan had printed for us—I’d made sure of it.
So why had they all followed me home?
And how?
A squeaky laugh underneath the porch gave me a pretty good idea.
“Pringle!” I yelled, stomping my feet as hard as I could to try to force the raccoon out of there.
I knew he was mad at me ever since I’d banned him from entering the house, but to sabotage my business? Really?
Chapter Two
“Pringle! Show yourself!” I cried, stomping so hard the impact raced up my foot and all the way through my calf. I tried to be fair to the animals that had made themselves part of my world, to accept them for their unique selves. Most of the time that was easy…
But this particular raccoon was driving me straight in the direction of the nearest asylum.
His laughter continued from under the porch, but Pringle made no move to answer my call. I had half a mind to widen the hole he used as a doorway and climb under there myself when Octo-Cat graciously intervened.
“Angela, that’s not how this is done.” He paced the edge of the porch with tail and nose held high. Whatever he was about to suggest, he was obviously very proud of it.
I stopped stomping and placed a hand on my hip, widening my eyes as I waited for Octo-Cat to enlighten me.
“Paisley, stay,” he said to the Chihuahua, then trotted down the stairs and approached the edge of the raccoon’s nearly hidden burrow. “Sir Pringle, would you kindly give us the distinct honor of your presence?”
I heard the raccoon before I saw him. “At your service, dear Octavius.”
When I peeked over the railing, I saw him making a deep bow toward my cat. For whatever reason, he idolized the tabby. At least that was his excuse for stealing so many of Octo-Cat’s things. I still didn’t know where his occasional fairytale knight mannerisms came from, but he clearly enjoyed this particular brand of make-believe.
Normally, I’d play along, but I was too angry to play by the raccoon’s ever-changing rules today.
“What’s this?” I demanded, waving the brightly colored flyer in the air.
Pringle bared his teeth in irritation. “I’m not at your beck and call, you know.”
I bared my teeth right back, just barely holding in an irritated scream. I’d never hurt a hair on his thieving head but hoped I could at least scare him into good behavior with the threat of it.
“Pray, answer the fair maiden’s question,” Octo-Cat intervened yet again. Oh, jeez. I’d have to block whatever medieval fantasy channel he was watching on TV when I wasn’t around to supervise. Even though I realized he was trying to help, this whole thing was turning into one giant migraine.
The raccoon ran up the porch steps, climbed the railing, and plucked the paper from my hands. “That’s mine,” he said then tucked it under his armpit before running back to the yard and out of my reach.
I placed both my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him. “Actually, it’s mine.”
“Finders, keepers.” The smile that crept across his face now was far worse than his earlier show of aggression.
“What? No!” I cried. Just as I’d never hurt him, I knew Pringle would never cause me physical harm. At the moment, I was feeling rather emotionally attacked, however.
“Mommy, do you want me to chase the big bad raccoon away?” Paisley wagged her tail in excitement, refusing to take her eyes off the masked thief for even a second.
“Oh, no, sweetie, you don’t have to…” My words trailed away as I watched Pringle dive into the newly distributed leaves and gather up the remaining flyers.
“Actually,” I said, changing my mind in an instant. “Go for it.”
The little tri-color dog took off like a shot, barking at the top of her lungs. “Hey, you! Nobody messes with my mommy!”
Pringle lowered himself to all fours and shook his head. “C
all off your hound. Let’s discuss this like the civilized creatures I know at least one of us is.”
Paisley ran a wide arc around the yard and then returned to my side. “He’s still there,” she pouted, then instantly brightened again. “Should I try again, Mommy?”
I smiled and bent down to pet her silky fur. “You did great. Thank you.” Rising again, I marched straight over to Pringle. “Okay, let’s hear it. Why did you take all my flyers?”
“They’re pretty,” he explained, hugging the disheveled stack to his chest. “I like pretty things.”
“But they weren’t here. I put them up all over town. How did you even…?”
He shrugged. “So I hitched a ride. Sometimes I like to go on adventures, too, you know? It would be nice if I didn’t have to invite myself, but since you’re not doing the job.” He shrugged again. If I wasn’t mistaken, the beginnings of tears had formed in the corners of his giant black eyes. Strange how sometimes my animal friends seemed more human than any of the people I knew.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” I squatted down to face him head on. “I didn’t know you wanted to come, too.”
“Of course I wanted to come!” he shouted. “I like adventures just as much as the next forest animal, you know.”
I chose not to mention that distributing flyers begging for work was hardly an adventure. “Tell you what, next time we’ll invite you along, too. Deal?” Or at least the next time after I’d had a chance to cool down. As it was, he’d wasted a day and a half of hard work when I’d have given him colored paper had he just asked for it.
