Raccoon Racketeer (Pet Whisperer P.I. Book 7)

by Molly Fitz

  I hadn’t felt like catching him up on the phone, preferring instead to talk in person. Besides, I knew he’d be distracted until he was able to get away from the office. “Nothing. And according to Paisley, they spent that time away from home in a motel.”

  “A motel? But Nan has plenty of friends. Why didn’t she stay with one of them?” Charles hadn’t known Nan that long, but even he understood how weird this all was.

  I burrowed deeper into his arms, safe there even as the rest of my world crumbled around me. “I’m worried about her. She looked so different when she came home today. So empty. Whatever this secret is, it’s weighing heavily on her. I’m honestly not sure whether she’ll ever be ready to talk about it.”

  He rubbed reassuring little circles in my shoulder. “Are you okay with that?”

  I closed my eyes and thought about it for the millionth time since Pringle handed me that old letter. No matter which way I looked at the situation, my answer always remained the same. “I wish I could be, but no. I need to know.”

  Charles nodded. “I understand. If it were me, I’d want to know, too.” Thank goodness for understanding boyfriends. It wasn’t just that he understood, either. He wanted to help.

  Remembering our newest puzzle piece suddenly, I pulled the picture of Nan and William from my purse and handed it to him. “The animals found this in her room today.”

  He held the old photograph between us, and we both stared down at the faces caught in time. “The mysterious William, I presume?”

  I nodded. “Pringle and Octo-Cat found it in her room.”

  He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to my temple. “Those two.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled, but only a little.

  Charles sat up straighter. “Those two,” he said with more vigor this time. “They’re quite the duo. Why don’t you bring them here?”

  I looked up at him with unblinking eyes, not quite understanding what he wanted—or why he’d invite the trouble-making raccoon into his abode.

  He stood and pulled me to my feet with both hands. “Before I bought this house, it belonged to Nan, and for more than thirty years at that. What if there are still some old secrets hidden inside?”

  The last little flickering bit of hope burned brighter. “Charles, that’s a great idea.”

  “Thank me later. Right now, let’s get the rest of our search team and inform them of the plan.”

  We drove back to my place together and gathered the cat and raccoon for the journey. Octo-Cat was less than enthused, but Pringle whooped with joy to learn he’d be accompanying us on an off-property adventure—no stowing away required.

  “This is where I grew up,” I told him once we’d arrived.

  He scrunched up his nose as if something smelled bad. “You and Charles grew up in the same house together? Isn’t that a little…?”

  When I explained this to my boyfriend, he laughed. “I live here now, but until a couple years ago I lived in California. That’s where I grew up, and it’s just about as far away as you can get and stay in the same country.”

  Octo-Cat patrolled the room; his nose also twitched in disgust. “I wish I could say I like what he’s done with the place, but that would be a lie.”

  “What’s he saying?” Charles asked me.

  A wicked smile crept across my face. “That he wants to say hi to his old friends Jacques and Jillianne,” I said, referencing Charles’s two hairless cats. They’d been crucial to a previous murder investigation, which meant we had spent plenty of time in their company. Octo-Cat found them creepy and tiresome, though, especially since they only spoke in rhymes and riddles.

  “That was uncalled for,” my cat hissed, then slinked off to hide beneath the dining room table. Although he was still in clear view, I decided to leave him alone. As he’d pointed out earlier, it was hard to search without fingers and opposable thumbs. I didn’t want to force him only for him to be frustrated and mopey the rest of the night. He’d help if he wanted to.

  “Well, unless we can get the cats on board, that leaves three of us for the search,” I summed up for Charles. “Are you ready, Pringle?”

  He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m off to find the attic. See you kids later.”

  We both watched him scamper away. “You do know there’s a pretty good chance he’ll steal from you, right?”

  Charles shrugged. “Small price to pay if it helps.”

  “So where do we start?” I asked. Even though I’d grown up here, this was his place now and I worked hard to respect that.

  “When I moved in, there were still a couple of boxes tucked away in the garage. I say we start there.”

  I nodded and followed him out of the house.

  “How are you taking this all?” he asked once we had the boxes pulled out and opened in front of us.

  “Not well,” I admitted with a sigh, growing increasingly frustrated as I rummaged through the various gardening supplies that filled the boxes.

  “This is hopeless,” I whined and sunk to the garage floor in a crouch. “Nan kept this secret for almost fifty years. Why do I think I have any chance of solving it now?”

  Charles bent over me and forced my chin up so that we could look into each other’s eyes. “Because you’re Angie freaking Russo, that’s why. You’re the smartest, the prettiest, the best, and you’ve got this.”

  My heart soared. “Charles, you’re—wait!”

  His eyes crinkled around the corners with curiosity as he studied me.

  “Turn around and look up. Look there!” I cried and pointed toward the rafters above. There, a dusty old box sat tucked into the corner. The aged cardboard had faded to the color of the wooden planks that held it aloft, making it almost impossible to spot unless you knew what you were looking for. Well, I’d seen it, and something told me it held important information.

  “I’ll get the ladder,” Charles said, popping to his feet. “You spot me while I climb.”

  With a bit of fancy maneuvering, we were able to hoist the box from its hiding place and wrestle it to the garage floor. Inside, we found the jackpot of memorabilia—an old letter jacket, school projects, a collection of homemade clay sculptures, and a photo album.

  “Bingo,” I said on the wings of a happy sigh, wasting no time before I began flipping through the pages. I recognized pictures of my great grandparents and of little Nan. Normally, seeing these new family memories would give me special warm fuzzies, but we were on a mission here.

  “Wait, look there!” Charles cried, slamming his index finger on the page before I could turn it again. He’d pointed to a young man wearing a light-colored suit and standing before a church sign that proclaimed:

  Easter Services

  This Sunday

  8 AM 10 AM 6 PM

  “Look familiar?” Charles asked, lifting his finger and pointing again in excitement.

  I strained harder as I eyed the picture, finally noticing the dimples that lined either side of the man’s smile. The rest fell into place shortly after that. “It’s William McAllister.”

  “And look at the sign,” he urged me.

  When I read the service times aloud, he shook his head and pointed higher. “The name of the church, there.” More pointing.

  “Faith Baptist Church, Larkhaven, GA. Est. 1903,” I read. “Do you think the church is still there? That they would have information on William or his heirs?”

  Charles’s smile widened. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  My hands shook as I punched in the number Charles and I had found on the church website. Sure enough, it was still standing, still serving the small community of Larkhaven, Georgia.

  But would the people who worshipped there now remember my nan and her William from all those years ago?

  Part of me hoped they would, but another huge part was afraid of what they might reveal. William’s letter had hinted at trouble. Did I want to know if he and Na
n had been engaged in some kind of nefarious doings? Or what if Nan was innocent in all this, but William had hurt her? What if she just wanted to forget, but I was forcing all those terrible memories to the surface?

  Charles sat so close to me that our legs touched from hip to knee. “You can do this. Deep breaths.”

  “It’s the moment of truth,” Octo-Cat said sagely from across the room. He’d found a sunbeam filtering in from between the slatted blinds, and now he and Charles’s Sphynx cats lay sunning themselves like tiny sea lions on a thin outcropping of rocks.

  “Also, you can do this,” Octo-Cat added with a supportive purr.

  Pringle still hadn’t returned from his investigation of the attic, but I had all the support I needed to take this next step. The only thing holding me back was my own fear.

  And I’d faced down murderers before and lived to tell the tale. How could this be anywhere near that bad?

  Just one little phone call…

  I finished entering the number and put my cell phone on speaker.

  “First Baptist of Larkhaven,” a woman with a perky drawl answered. She seemed nice, like she’d want to help.

  “Hello?” she repeated when I didn’t immediately jump to explain myself.

  “Oh, hi. My name’s Angie, and I’m doing some research on my family. I was wondering if you might be able to help me?” I bit my lip and waited.

  “I’m here for another few hours today. Would you like to stop in for a chat?” the woman said.

  Charles squeezed my knee and mouthed, “You’ve got this.”

  I kept my eyes on him as I spoke to the lady on the other end of the line. “Actually, I live out of state and—well, it’s kind of a complicated situation, but I was wondering if maybe you knew a man named William McAllister? He attended your church in the late sixties, and I think he’s my long-lost grandpa.”

  “Oh, dear.” She took a deep breath, and my heart sped to a nervous gallop. “That was before my time. Sad to say I never knew a William.”

  Another dead end. Shoot.

  “Okay, thank you for your ti—”

  Apparently, she wasn’t done speaking yet, though.

  “But the McAllisters still attend services every Sunday,” the woman continued. “Would you like a phone number for them?”

  Charles gave me a thumbs up and bobbed his head enthusiastically. He smiled wide, and I couldn’t help but smile, too.

  “Y-y-yes.” I stumbled over the short word, one that should have been easy but was impossibly difficult. “Please.”

  “You’ve got it, sugar. Just a second.” The friendly secretary returned a couple minutes later and rattled off a number.

  Charles typed it into a note on his phone while she read.

  “That’s for a Miss Linda McAllister,” the church receptionist continued. “She’s the oldest of the bunch so the one who’s most likely to remember your grandfather. Good luck!”

  “Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful,” I said as new tears began to form in the corners of my eyes.

  We said our goodbyes, and I sat silently holding my phone and crying huge, relieved tears while Charles placed a supportive arm around my shoulders.

  “Are you going to call her?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I mumbled, biting my lip again. “I’d rather Nan tell me than me having to find out from somebody else.”

  “Maybe. But she’s not making a peep,” Pringle said, returning with an overloaded armful of booty from Charles’s attic. “And don’t you think you deserve to know the truth about your own life?”

  “What’s he saying?” Charles asked, eyeing the raccoon with trepidation.

  “That we should call,” I said simply. Leave it to Pringle to want to learn whatever secrets he could, even if it stirred up drama.

  Charles nodded and looked back toward me. “And what does Octo-Cat think?”

  My cat stretched in the sun, blinking slowly. “Octo-Cat thinks Angela is smart enough to make her own decisions.” It was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to me.

  “He says it’s my decision,” I translated with a smile.

  “And so it is. What about Jacques and Jillianne? What do they say?” Charles asked next. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I loved him for it. He was giving me the time to make the decision for myself, proving that there was no wrong call here.

  The two Sphynx cats, however, had been strangely quiet this whole time. Even now Octo-Cat spoke for them.

  “This whole thing is already a riddle, so they don’t have anything to add. They’re kind of nice when they shut up, aren’t they? Good nap buddies.” He yawned and rolled onto his back.

  I laughed. “They have no opinion, “I told Charles.

  He laughed, too, and squeezed my hand. “And here I always assumed they were these great intellectuals.”

  “What do you think?” I asked, turning into him.

  “This time I agree with the cat. Your cat. Only you know the right course of action.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, and for a little while, I found myself lost in loving surrender.

  “I can’t believe he’s copying my line, using my words to do… well, that,” Octo-Cat said with a shudder. “Well, J and J. It’s been swell,” he said to the two hairless cats on his way out of the living room. “But that’s my cue to go.”

  “Let me guess,” Charles said with a laugh. “He thinks we’re disgusting and doesn’t want to be around us anymore.”

  “Yup, but at least he didn’t call you UpChuck this time. That’s real progress.” I sighed happily. No matter what happened next, I’d still have Charles, Octo-Cat, my mom, dad, and even Nan. Nothing had to change. I could choose what to do with the information once I had it. This was still my life, and I could live it how I wanted.

  Charles kissed the part in my hair, then rested his cheek on my head. His voice rumbled through me as he said, “Well, what will it be, Angie?”

  I took a deep breath, sat up straight, and placed the one call I knew I needed to make to get my life back on track.

  This was my decision, and I was ready to deal with whatever consequences came with it.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Several hours later, I sat on my front porch with a fresh mug of tea warming my hands against the chilly night air. I leaned back against the side railing with both legs stretched out before me. Paisley sat snuggled in my lap while Octo-Cat lay snoozing at my side. Pringle had already absconded into his private apartment with the new treasures Charles had allowed him to steal from his attic, and my boyfriend had gone home so that I could have this moment to myself.

  “Thanks for agreeing to talk with me,” I said to the elderly woman who sat on the nearby rocking chair, holding a full cup of tea in her hands as well.

  “Of course, dear,” she answered with a far-off smile that seemed to take almost all the energy she had. “I should have spoken with you about this much earlier.”

  I turned the mug in my hands, searching for the right words to move this conversation forward. It seemed an apology was the best place to start. “I shouldn’t have given you an ultimatum, but—”

  “Say no more.” Her voice was soft and reassuring. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to that point. Thank you for giving me the chance to explain for myself first.”

  “Nan, you know that no matter what happened back then, it doesn’t erase all the amazing years we’ve had together. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re the person I love most in this entire world. You’re my best friend.”

  Octo-Cat stirred in his sleep, just enough to grumble a protest.

  “Well, you and Octo-Cat,” I amended with a chuckle.

  “Show me what you found,” she said without further delay. I knew this was hard for her, but I was so appreciative she was facing that discomfort to give me the answers I craved.

  Instead of calling the number the church lady had given me, I’d decided to call my nan and come clean, to
tell her I’d been searching for answers and may have found some but would much rather talk to her first if she was willing.

  She’d asked for a few hours to gather her bearings but said we could talk that night. And now here we were.

  “You’ve already seen the letter and birth certificate. Pringle took those back. But we also have these two pictures.” I set my tea to the side and rose carefully, holding Paisley as I stood.

  “Ahh, William,” Nan said, memories sparkling in her light eyes. But did they spark joy? I couldn’t quite tell.

  “Who was he to you?” I asked, still so confused by all I knew, all I still didn’t know.

  She touched the photo of his face with trembling fingers. “He was my best friend growing up. We did everything together. Almost like a brother and sister, until we hit puberty, and then suddenly our relationship felt very different.”

  “You fell in love,” I finished for her.

  “I did,” she admitted with a sad shake of her head. “And for a while I thought he loved me, too, but then Marilyn Jones came along.”

  “The name on the birth certificate.” I remembered that first night standing out here by myself as I read the shocking contents of his letter, saw my mom’s real birth certificate for the first time.

  She nodded. “Your real nan.”

  “I don’t understand. What happened?” I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, urging her on. There was still so much more that hadn’t been said.

  “I don’t know what happened to Marilyn, only that William said she was gone, and he was going back to war. He was worried about his daughter, about Laura, your mother. And he was right to worry, because he died in battle later that year.”

  Tears pricked at my eyes for the friend Nan had lost, for the grandfather I’d never gotten the chance to know. “Oh, Nan, I’m so sorry.”

  She sniffed and smiled up at me. “By then, I’d met and fallen for your grandfather. We legally adopted your mother and raised her as our own, always fearing that Marilyn would come calling and take our daughter away. For years, we looked over our shoulders. Not hiding, since I was in the public spotlight given my choice of work, but always watching.”