by Molly Fitz
I approached the widened hole carefully so as not to be greeted by a shovelful of dirt to the face and dropped to my hands and knees, lowering myself all the way to my stomach. With the flashlight’s help, I could now see most of the space beneath the porch for the first time ever.
“Oh my gosh,” I squealed, forgetting to keep my voice low so as not to be overheard by Julie inside. “It’s like a dragon’s lair under there. No wonder he thinks of himself as some kind of fairytale knight.”
I just could not get over how much the raccoon had managed to stash in such a confined space. Everywhere I looked, slim boxes, messy stacks of paper, bits of trash, foil, and assorted odds and ends from inside our house crowded the edges of the lair. I spotted a throw pillow that had been missing for weeks. Even one of Octo-Cat’s prized teacups. Oh, he was going to be livid over that one.
“Do you see my angel?” Julie asked from behind me. I hadn’t even heard her come outside, but now that she was here, I needed to be extra careful with how I proceeded.
Sweeping my light around the hidey hole a second time, I tried to focus on anything that caught and played with the light. I’d just about given up on finding it without having to physically get into the space when a little sparkle of shining gold caught my eye.
“Yes! Yes, I see it!” I cried excitedly. The sooner we could return Julie’s stolen treasure, the sooner we could get her out of here and the better we could protect my secret. I reached into the hole as far as I could but came up at least a foot short.
“Paisley,” I called. “Can you help Mommy get the angel?”
The Chihuahua, always eager to please, ran over with a joyous bark, then dived right back into the hole.
I continued to stretch my arm toward the angel and pointed. “Right there. Bring it to Mommy!”
Paisley darted toward the angel and clutched it in her mouth. Unlike Octo-Cat, she didn’t mind when I talked to her the way humans normally talked to animals. She was just so happy to be a part of Nan’s and my life, she never really questioned anything we did or how we chose to do it.
“Good dog!” I gushed as she made her way back to me. “Good dog!”
Charles helped me back to my feet, then Paisley emerged with the prized possession still held securely between her jaws.
“Oh, that’s it,” Julie said with yet another sniffle as she bent down to accept the trinket from Paisley. “That’s my angel. Thank you. Thank you so much!”
“Sorry about that. The good news is that a little polish should have it as good as new,” I said, hoping this observation would prove to be true.
“Clearly we need to do something about that raccoon,” Nan added with a heavy sigh as she shook her head.
We stood in silence for a few moments, until…
A chittering yowl hurtled through the air, an angry raccoon following close behind it. “My home! What have you done to my home?” Pringle yelled, lifting both hands to his head and looking as if he were trying to push his brains back in through his ears.
“Get back!” Julie cried, keeping her eyes on Pringle as she backed slowly toward her truck. “That thing could have rabies.”
“Rabies?” Pringle fell to all fours and ambled after Julie. “That’s speciesist, and I don’t appreciate it… Hey, wait, that’s mine!”
“Stop!” I shouted just as Pringle raised himself to his hindlegs again and was making ready to swipe the angel straight out of Julie’s hands.
Everyone turned toward me, waiting to see what my big plan was. Um, I didn’t have one. Not yet, anyway.
“Julie, you should go. I’ll call you later to check in on your case. First I need to deal with our raccoon friend here,” I muttered.
I just hoped my use of the word friend might soften Pringle to what was coming next.
Chapter Eight
We all watched in silence as Julie hightailed it out of there. I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to escape the disaster unfolding in my front yard. The poor thing had been framed for mail theft and property damage, had something special stolen right out of her vehicle, and then, to top it all off, she’d been chased after by an angry raccoon.
Unfortunately, what was a horror show for most people was just another day in my zany, critter-filled life—and this one wasn’t even close to over yet.
Pringle turned on me, fury filling his dark eyes. “Hey, lady. You’ve got some serious explaining to do.”
“Me?” I screeched. Finally, I could be as loud as I wanted without fearing discovery. “You’re the one who stole my flyers, Julie’s angel, and apparently half the neighborhood, too.”
Pringle clicked his tongue and stared down his nose at me. “Haven’t we moved past the flyers?”
“No, we have not moved past the flyers! Why do you keep taking everything that isn’t nailed down?” A sudden shocking thought occurred to me, sending a shiver straight through my body. “Are we going to have to start nailing everything down?”
Pringle flashed a devilish grin my way. “You can try, but I know how to use a hammer.”
My goodness! He knew how to read, how to use a hammer, how to break his way into a car. Was there anything this crazy creature couldn’t do?
“Stop messing with my life,” I said between clenched teeth.
He took a staggering step back. “Me? Mess with your life? I’ll have you know that I was here first, Missy.”
“Um, Angie dear?” Nan broke in at a good moment considering I had no idea how I was going to respond to his latest jab. “Do the two of you need some privacy?”
“No. Of course not,” I said, shaking my head with a huff.
“Actually, yes,” Pringle countered. “If we’re going to have it out, it’s best that there aren’t any witnesses.”
I gulped hard, blinking in disbelief. “Did you just threaten me?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I did. The question is what are you going to do about it?”
Paisley jumped into the fray, angrily kicking her feet up behind her in a move that resembled chicken scratch. “Nobody hurts my mommy!”
“Relax, half-pint. I’m not going to hurt her,” he told the dog. “Although I should, considering what she’s done to my beautiful home. It’s in ruins!”
“Give me a break. You literally live in a hole in the ground,” Octo-Cat mumbled.
Pringle sank back onto his haunches and shook his head. “That cut me deep, Octavius. Real deep.”
“Um, maybe you guys should go,” I told Nan, seeing as we were getting nowhere with all the intrusions to our conversation. Pringle and I needed to have this out without my cat mocking him or my dog threatening him, and I just needed to be done with this whole migraine-inducing ordeal. “Take Paisley and Octo-Cat, too.”
Charles squeezed my shoulder before reaching down to scoop up the agitated Chihuahua. “Let’s go, guys,” he said.
“This isn’t over!” Paisley shouted in her adorably squeaky and very non-scary voice. “It’s not even close to over!”
“Shh, baby girl. Shh,” Nan cooed.
And together the two humans and two animals marched back into the house, the animals less than enthusiastic about leaving me behind to deal with the raccoon drama on my own.
“Why are you stealing things?” I demanded with my arms crossed over my chest once Pringle and I were alone in the yard again.
“I’m not stealing.” He stopped to roll his eyes as if talking to the biggest moron on the planet—I most definitely did not appreciate that implication. “Look, it’s a simple case of manifest destiny. Right? I’m not stealing things. I’m claiming them in the name of Pringle.”
“How is that different?” Did he really just trot out one of the terms I’d learned in middle school U.S. History and then use it to justify his crimes? This was going to be a long night, and I could feel it getting even longer.
“Look, I’m no dummy. I’ve read your human history books. I know all about how this country was founded. Well done, I might add.
Those guys decided they wanted more land, so they took it. I decided I wanted more treasures, so I took them. So what?”
“This is not the age of exploration,” I countered in disbelief. “And it’s not okay to take things without permission. It wasn’t really okay then, either, but hindsight and all that.”
“Well, sorrrrrry. I didn’t realize the rules changed depending on who they applied to.”
The worst part was how Pringle absolutely nailed his argument against humanity. Any argument I made would sound unintelligent by comparison, and I didn’t want to resort to being a bully.
Luckily, Pringle kept right on going. “If you’re going to be such a wet blanket about it, then take all your stupid human trash back. I didn’t find what I was looking for anyway.”
Well, this was new information.
“What were you looking for?” I asked breathlessly, more curious than annoyed now.
The raccoon lifted both hands into the darkening sky and shook them in a bang-on display of jazz hands. “Secrets,” he whispered dramatically.
That took me by surprise. “What do you mean secrets?”
“Exactly what I said. I like reading and watching TV as much as the next guy, but it’s all fake, made-up stuff. The drama is far more interesting when it’s real. Don’t you think?”
I swallowed hard, then sputtered, “Um, what do you mean?”
“I’m talking secrets, honey.” Pringle raised one eyebrow and shook his head. “Have you really forgotten already?”
I was almost afraid to ask the next question, but I couldn’t keep it in. “What secrets do you have under there?”
“Most of them are pretty tame. The MacIntyres are behind on their utility bills. A kid a few blocks over has an arraignment next week on shoplifting charges. Mild stuff. Well, most of the time, anyway.”
And just like that, all the remaining pieces clicked into place. “So, it was you taking the mail?”
“Of course it was me!” He threw both hands up in the air as if he couldn’t even deal with my slow human brain anymore.
But I still had more questions. “Why did you vandalize the mailboxes?”
He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Aren’t you going to ask about the big secret I have?”
I shivered. Yes, I was curious, but this had to end somewhere, and I worried that by taking too much of a visible interest, Pringle would assume his bad behavior was justified. “I don’t really like gossip, so no. Thank you, though.”
“That’s too bad,” the raccoon said, a sinister smile spreading from cheek to furry cheek. “If it were me, I’d want to know.”
“Know what?” I asked, hating myself for playing right into his sticky little hands.
He dropped to all fours and closed the distance between us. Placing one hand on my shoe, he stared up at me with wide, intelligent eyes. “Know that the one person I trusted the most in this world has been lying to me my whole life.”
No. No way. It couldn’t be.
Why was I even listening to this? Clearly, Pringle was just trying to stir up trouble, and yet…
“Nan?” I asked, my voice shaking.
Pringle nodded, a solemn expression overtaking his dark face. “Guess it’s not a secret anymore.”
Chapter Nine
According to the raccoon that lived under my porch, my nan had some kind of deep, dark secret that would change everything. We’d already established that Pringle was a thief. Could he be a liar, too?
I should have turned away and refused to hear any more, but I just couldn’t help but wonder… Might the raccoon be telling the truth?
Pringle placed a hand on my leg and gave me a short series of pats. “There, there, princess. I can see you’re taking this hard. I can also see that you haven’t decided whether or not you believe me, so let me do you a solid.”
He turned away ruefully and slipped under the porch, emerging mere seconds later with an aged envelope gripped in his hand. He lifted it toward me in offering. “Be careful with this. I don’t want you getting any dirty human fingerprints on it or otherwise contaminating the best secret I’ve ever collected.”
My hands shook as I accepted the thin letter. It had already been covered in actual dirt from its time within the raccoon’s lair, so I didn’t see how my touching it could make things any worse. The envelope had been torn clear across the top, and there was a single sheet of cream-colored paper folded and placed inside.
Dorothy Loretta Lee was written in a tight, controlled script. The top corner didn’t have a sender’s name, only an address somewhere in Georgia. Seeing it firsthand, I had no doubt the letter was authentic.
“Read it,” the raccoon urged, watching me with a shiny, probing gaze.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, still not ready, doubting I’d ever be ready.
“From your nan’s things,” he said with a slow nod. “It was a couple weeks ago. I noticed her going up into the attic, and then I remembered that I have a private entrance into that place, so I climbed through the hole in the roof, and—”
“Wait. There’s a hole in my roof?”
“Not the point of my story.” He paused, presumably to make sure I had no other questions or arguments before he continued. “Anyway, I climbed through the hole in the roof, but I couldn’t find anything good. So I watched and waited. Eventually she went back, and that’s when I saw she had a special hiding place tucked into the wall. There was this wooden border between the floor and the wall.”
“Baseboard trim?” I suggested gently. Why was I getting caught up in the details?
“Sure. Whatever. Point is if you kick it, it falls out, and behind it, there’s a hole. I found a lot of pretty green papers there, too.”
“Green papers?” I gasped. Could he mean…? “Would you show them to me?”
“Sure thing, babe.” Pringle went back under the porch and was gone for a little longer this time. As tempted as I was to read the letter, I still couldn’t bring myself to face whatever truths it would reveal. Would I still be able to look at my beloved nan the same way once I knew?
The raccoon returned with a giant wad of bundled bills in his hands. One-hundred-dollar bills.
“Pretty, right?” he asked with a smile. “They’re not exactly the right shape, but I thought they might make nice paper cranes once I get going with my origami.”
“Give me that,” I said. At the same time, I grabbed the currency from his paws. “This came from Nan’s hiding place in the attic?”
“Yeah, it was with the letter and some other papers. They were boring, though.” He tilted his head to the side in thought and then amended his previous statement with, “Well, all except one.”
“Can I see them?” I asked, just short of begging. Anything to stall a bit longer.
Pringle shook his head and clicked his tongue. “How about you read the letter, eh? I’m going to need it back, so just get on with it already.”
He was right. I couldn’t stall any longer. Reaching into the envelope, I pulled out the antique letter at last and attempted to smooth the wrinkles before lifting it toward a beam of light from the porch.
“Careful with that. It’s important to me,” Pringle hissed, but I had already tuned him out and lost myself in the words that waited for me on that page.
* * *
Dear Dorothy,
* * *
Dorothy, that was my nan. I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to read the next couple lines.
* * *
I know what I did to you was wrong and that you’ll probably never forgive me. You don’t owe me anything, but I have no one left to turn to.
* * *
That sounded awful. What had the letter writer done? And if it was so bad, why had she kept this letter tucked away all these years? I would definitely be asking Nan, but first I had to get through this short but apparently earth-shattering missive.
* * *
Don’t punish little Laura for my mistake
s.
* * *
Laura was my mother’s name. Could she be the “little Laura” in question? Oh my gosh. What had happened? What did this mean?
* * *
Give her a chance at a better life, at the life we always dreamed of living together.
* * *
Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I almost stopped right there, but it was too late. The cat was already half out of the bag. I might as well get it all the way out into the open.
* * *
I’ll be home on leave in two weeks’ time and will wait for you in our place that Thursday night.
* * *
A secret meeting. Did she go? If so, what happened? What did he want? Was it a he? It seemed that way with the reference to the life they’d dreamed about living together. There was just one little line left, which I read with teary eyes.
* * *
Please be the better person. Please come.
W. McAllister
* * *
I finished reading, even more confused than before I’d started. Who was W. McAllister and what had he wanted with my nan? Did he know my mom? Was she the Laura in the letter?
“I found this in there, too.” Pringle raised another sheet of paper my way. Apparently he’d collected it while I’d been engrossed in the letter.
Of course, I recognized the official nature of the document right away. It boasted an intricate colored border and at the top of the page read Certificate of Live Birth.
The mother was named as Marilyn Jones, and the father had been listed as William McAllister, most likely the same W. McAllister that had written the letter to Nan. The place of birth was that same unknown town in Georgia, and the baby had been named Laura—my mother’s name.
