Bark Side of the Moon: A Paranormal Animal Cozy Mystery (Spellbound Hound Magic and Mystery Book 3)

by Jeannie Wycherley

  This was familiar territory for Toby, and he relaxed a little. “Dom’s your hooman?”

  “Yes. He’s known by lots of different names but Dom’s the one I use.” The lion dog stuck her tongue out and panted a little. “Who’s yours?”

  “Clarissa,” Toby replied, and realised he’d said it without hesitation. The pain of Old Joe’s loss would never go away, but he knew instinctively that he and Clarissa were made for each other.

  No matter how grouchy she might appear to be about that sometimes.

  Toby wagged his tail. “I know what you mean about decent reading material. Everything Clarissa reads seems to be on a screen. I haven’t mastered the whole making-the-screen-thing work for me yet.”

  “It’s just a matter of time,” the big creature nodded knowingly. “Fortunately, Dom doesn’t do much with screens. He’s old fashioned like that. But the little Doms do.”

  “Little Doms?”

  “He has children.”

  Toby pictured the scene and laughed. “Oh, I see.”

  “They’re not really that little anymore, quite big in fact, away from home mostly, but they’re wizards when it comes to all that gadgetry.”

  “Do you get on with the Little Doms?” Toby asked. He hadn’t had much to do with children of any size, apart from the grotty little ratbag who had nearly sent him to the Big Sleep at the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary. Hayden, Jayden or Kayden or whatever his name had been. Toby shuddered at the memory.

  Horrible child.

  “Oh yes, they’re wonderful. I loves them lots. But I’m Dom’s girl.”

  Toby tentatively stepped a little closer to the enormous creature in front of him and stretched his head out to sniff her.

  “Careful you don’t step on the ants,” she said.

  “What are you?” Toby asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, are you a dog or a horse, or a grizzly—”

  “I’m a dog, like you are, silly!”

  Toby stared at her in astonishment. King, the German Shepherd at the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary, had been a big dog, but this lady took the prize. She would have struggled to fit through the door of his house, let alone get into the back of Clarissa’s old Nissan.

  “I’m a Leonberger. That’s a mix of a Newfoundland, a long-haired Saint Bernard, and a Great Pyrenees.”

  Pyrenees! Toby latched onto the word as something that finally made sense. “Oh well, that explains why you’re as big as a mountain, then.”

  The other dog snorted politely, as though she hadn’t heard the same joke several thousand times. “My name’s Star,” she said. “What’s yours?”

  Clarissa nibbled on a piece of dry skin on the back of her thumb as she dawdled along the path. Somewhere in this park, assuming the intelligence she’d received had been correct, there had to be a contact from the Ministry of Witches. The Special Agent from Corker’s Pies.

  The thought of meeting a genuine James or Jane Bond quite thrilled Clarissa, but at the same time she felt slightly overawed by the prospect. What would they make of her? Would they trust her enough to impart any useful information about Miranda Dervish or The Four Stone?

  She stared through her sunglasses at anyone who walked within a fifteen-metre proximity to her, assuming she should keep an eye out for somebody in a long mackintosh and a deerstalker hat, equipped with their own dark shades and perhaps a golfing umbrella or something similar to hide behind. Because that’s what Special Agents looked like, right?

  Even the children couldn’t evade her scrutiny, until a young woman glanced up from her mobile phone and caught Clarissa studying her son—dressed as a pirate—with curious interest, and sharply called the boy back to her side. The woman threw Clarissa an evil glare for good measure and Clarissa grimaced and backed hurriedly away.

  After that, Clarissa focused only on the adults, but although one or two of them heading her way caught her eye and nodded or wished her a good afternoon, for the most part they avoided eye contact and continued with their business.

  Clarissa’s route should have taken her around the duck pond, but that would have meant losing sight of the bench, so she turned about and took shelter behind a large weeping willow. She kept an eye on the bench from her vantage point, peering—with some difficulty—between the fronds draping themselves around her face.

  The long-haired man who had disturbed her had leaned back and closed his eyes, his face turned up to the sun. He might have been asleep, so peaceful did he look.

  How annoying, grumbled Clarissa.

  He obviously wasn’t overly concerned about his dog either. If she’d lost Toby, she’d have been frantic to search the park. Not so this chap. There didn’t appear to be any imminent danger of him moving any time soon.

  Clarissa sighed. The best-laid plans of mice and men. She’d informed the mysterious voice on the phone that she would be on the bench in front of the bowling green overlooking the pond. Perhaps if she went in search of the bearded hippie man’s dog and found it, then reunited them, he would move on and she could get down to her own Very Important Business.

  She decided that although the weeping willow offered a good measure of cover, it wouldn’t help the Special Agent locate her. She scuttled back into the open, disentangling herself from the trailing branches and dashing her hand at things that tickled her forehead and the back of her neck. A wasp lazily buzzed around her face. She blinked and emitted a quiet shriek, running away from it only to find that it followed her easily. She ran back down the path, twisting and turning, the wasp keeping pace, mysteriously attracted to her right ear.

  “Get away! Shoo!” she said, batting at it with her open hand and hoping she wouldn’t be stung if she caught its back end. Her wafting fingers snared up in her sunglasses and they flew off, bouncing along the pavement and landing at the feet of the long-haired, bearded hippie man.

  He opened one eye and stared at her.

  “Everything alright?” he asked.

  “Wasp,” Clarissa tried to explain, and the wasp flew dangerously close to her mouth. “Oh, my life!” She ducked again, weaving around the bench, bending and twisting and shrieking.

  “Have you been eating sweets?” the man asked, opening his other eye and sitting up. “Wasps can be drawn to sugar.”

  “I had a mint.”

  “There’s a lot of sugar in most mints,” the man told her.

  “Is that right?” Clarissa flapped at the air. This time she made contact with it, hitting it hard enough that she sent the flying beastie some distance. “Rotten things!”

  “Aww. That’s not very nice. They have a role to play, same as any other insect.”

  Clarissa eyed the space between her and the wasp with evident mistrust. “Is that so?” What a know-it-all this man was.

  “It is. They eat caterpillars and larvae and things that otherwise might blight vegetable crops.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind the next time I’m growing courgettes in my garden.”

  The long-haired man laughed. “Yes, do that.” He bent down to retrieve Clarissa’s sunglasses. “Oh. I’m sorry. Looks like these have broken.” One of the arms dangled uselessly. He stood and held them out to Clarissa.

  She took them, struggling to hide her embarrassment. “Not to worry. They were only cheap.” But all I could afford, nonetheless.

  “You didn’t find her then?” the man asked.

  Clarissa looked around hurriedly. The Special Agent? She’d forgotten to keep an eye out for someone acting secretively. How did Dom know it was a her?

  “My dog?” the man prompted her. “I thought you might have spotted her underneath the weeping willows.”

  “What?” Of course that’s what he meant. “Oh. No. Sorry. I haven’t seen a loose dog. There wasn’t one…” she grimaced at the idea that he’d witnessed her attempt to hide, “under the trees.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll track her down.” He nodded at Clarissa and began to walk past her. “Have a lovely day.”

  “Than
ks. You too.” Clarissa, flushing a hot pink, plonked herself back down on the bench and studied her built-up Dr Martens. What an idiot, she thought. I’m obviously not cut out for this Secret Agent malarkey.

  She sighed and slumped against the back of the bench, flipping the broken arm of her sunglasses back and forth and swivelling her head around to try and identify someone—anyone—who might be actively looking for her.

  But nobody was.

  The rest of the world kept right on doing its own thing, ignoring her and her concerns and her desperate need to locate The Four Stone.

  Clarissa remained seated there for a long time, listening to the sounds of delighted and excitable children playing, ducks quacking, and somewhere—from the direction of the main gate—a dog with a deep voice, barking a welcome for her owner as they reunited.

  “Izz feelin’ mighty hungry.”

  Toby’s plaintive voice interrupted Clarissa’s reverie. She’d given up watching out for the Special Agent some time ago. Evidently Corker’s Pies had gone back on their word, or perhaps none of their personnel had been available to meet with Clarissa in the park.

  Too busy saving the world, maybe.

  She’d been staring into space for the past ten minutes, thinking about nothing in particular, just completely losing track of time.

  “Can I have this pie?”

  “What?” Clarissa, brought abruptly back to the present, frowned and reluctantly focussed on Toby. He stared up at her, his paws neatly squared, his bottom on the floor, his tail scattering the dust on the path as he wagged it.

  “Sorry,” he corrected himself. “May I have this pie, please?”

  Clarissa furrowed her brows. “No. I meant ‘what pie’?”

  “This one, of course.” Toby slipped sideways and nosed a parcel at the opposite end of the bench.

  Clarissa slid along the bench and reached for the plain white bag. It had a good weight to it, and a warmth that told her it was indeed a pie or a pasty of some kind. She unfolded the top and the smell wafted around them, meaty and delicious. Her mouth watered. Toby wasn’t wrong. This was indeed a pie.

  Could it be a Corker’s pie?

  She scrutinised the bag, but it had no logo, no branding, nothing that would give her a clue as to the purveyor of this particular delicacy. It looked perfectly ordinary; nothing magick about it. Clarissa crumbled the side, breaking the pie apart. Nothing inside but steak. It was warm rather than hot, suggesting it had been sitting there for a while.

  Perhaps it had belonged to the long-haired, bearded hippie man.

  “May I?” Toby entreated, his eyes oozing desperation.

  “No.” Clarissa folded the top of the bag over.

  “But—”

  “Under no circumstances.”

  “Free pie!”

  “I’m going to throw it in the bin.” Clarissa jumped to her feet and walked towards the nearest receptacle.

  “What?” Toby cried in horror. “Why would you do that?”

  Clarissa swivelled to face him. “Think about it, sweetheart. Anybody could have left that pie there. It could be poisonous. Or have something awful inside.”

  “Like celery, you mean?”

  Clarissa snorted. “No. Like razor blades or nails or something equally as awful. There are so many strange people around.”

  The Pointy Woman, for starters.

  Even left unsaid, Miranda Dervish’s presence hovered in the air between them.

  Toby had to admit defeat. He understood that Clarissa had his best interests at heart.

  “Alright. It’ll be teatime soon, anyway.” He shuffled away, heading along the path for the gate, his tail between his legs. Clarissa rolled her eyes and threw the pie into the bin along with her ruined sunglasses, then jogged after him to catch him up.

  “Sorry mate,” she said. “How about I make some gravy to add to your dinner tonight. That’ll make your dog food more pie-like, won’t it? I’m not sure pastry is particularly good for you anyway.”

  “Okay. That will be nice.” Toby wagged his tail. Just a little.

  They walked along side by side; he matched his stride to hers. He could sense her frustration and tiredness in the way she dragged her feet. Almost as though she didn’t want to leave the park. He lifted his head to look at her. “Your contact didn’t show?”

  “Nope.” Clarissa groaned. “Oh, Toby. I feel like we’re getting nowhere. We have to find The Four Stone. It’s our only hope of justice for Old Joe.”

  “That’s a shame.” How could Toby cheer her up? He raised his tail to its usual buoyant height. “I met a nice dog. She was enormous. At first I thought she must be a bear or something. Anyway, it turns out her name was Star and her… coincidence or what? Her owner is a wizard, would you believe?”

  “A wizard?” Clarissa pulled up.

  “Yep. Small world, eh?”

  “And this was a big dog?”

  “The biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  “And what did this wizard look like?” Clarissa peered down at Toby and raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. Old though, probably. He had kids. She was off the lead and helping me investigate an ant colony.”

  Clarissa shook her head. What was he talking about? “An ant colony?”

  “She knew a lot about insects.”

  Ants. Insects. Wasps.

  “Nooooooooo.” Clarissa slumped into a crouch beside Toby and put her head in her hands. “He was sitting next to me all that time. I didn’t realise.”

  Toby looked confused. “Star’s owner was?”

  “He must have been the contact I was supposed to meet. I didn’t realise.” She recalled how she’d hot-footed it away from him and then slipped under the weeping willows to hide. Unsuccessfully. The memory made her groan again. “Nooooooooo!”

  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” Toby placed a gentle paw on the side of Clarissa’s thigh.

  They’d arrived home and Clarissa had filled the kettle and placed it on the stove to boil, but then she’d sat at her computer, bowed her head and burst into tears.

  “You’re a little tired and overwrought,” Toby added. “Hungry, maybe?” He nuzzled against her. “A sammich would help you out.”

  Clarissa sniffed hard. “Do you ever think of anything except your belly?”

  “It’s your belly I’m thinking of this time,” Toby kindly pointed out. “A cheese sammich is good for the soul. Especially a toasted one.”

  Clarissa swiped at her eyes. “That does sound nice,” she admitted, albeit a little grudgingly. “We have cheese and given the bread’s a bit stale, that’s a perfect solution.”

  “Exactly.” Toby removed his paw and stood. “Come on, I’ll help you grate the cheese.”

  He couldn’t help her of course, but as she grated cheese onto a plate, he stood between her and the cabinets and tidied up all the stray bits as they sprinkled over the floor.

  “You’re doing a great job there, partner,” Clarissa approved.

  Toby jiggled his back end, pleased to note that Clarissa already sounded a tiny bit happier. Cheese sammiches, especially toasted cheese sammiches, were total magick in his opinion, and he didn’t understand why they couldn’t be offered on prescription.

  “Can you make sure you get cheese right into the corners of the toast, please?” Given she was only likely to tender him her crust corners, Toby wanted to make sure the most interesting protein element was present in her meagre offerings to him.

  “Don’t worry. I will do.”

  Clarissa reached for the Worcestershire Sauce in the pantry.

  “Ah-ah!” Toby sounded alarmed. “Not on my bit.”

  “I can add it to mine, though,” Clarissa argued. “I like the sauce grilled on my cheese.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “I’ll make sure it stays in the middle, look.” Clarissa popped the cap and prepared to sprinkle.

  “No!” Toby cried, his voice properly anguished.
“You’re going to contaminate my sammich!”

  Clarissa stopped mid-spray. Blinking, she looked down at Toby. “I cannot believe I am having a conversation about my supper with a dog. I’m not making you a sammich.” She shook her head. “You’ve got me saying it now. It’s not a sammich! It’s a sand-wich.”

  “Well maybe you should be negotiating with me about it,” Toby replied, grumpy now.

  Clarissa pouted and Toby stared up at her, a glint in his eye. “I mean, I have to keep my strength up if we’re going to go looking for Star and her wizard.”

  “Why would we go looking for them?” Clarissa returned the sauce bottle to the counter and frowned at Toby. “I had my chance in the park and I blew it. I’ve never seen that man before, not in all these weeks that we’ve been going there on a daily basis. We don’t have the first inkling of where to find them.” She narrowed her eyes at Toby. “Do we?”

  “I was thinking about that,” Toby said, his eyes large and round. They stared at each other and he licked his lips.

  “Go on…” Clarissa growled.

  “I think better when my tummy is full.”

  Clarissa sighed and reached for the grater. “You can have one slice of grilled cheese on toast with no Worcestershire Sauce—which you can only eat after it has cooled down—and then you have to tell me what you think you know.”

  “Deal!” Toby performed the Schnauzer-collie-whippet-terrier-thingie dance of joy.

  “How many farms can there be with Honey in their name?” Clarissa glowered at the laptop screen, her spicy cheese toastie languishing forgotten on the plate beside her. Toby eyed it with concern, wondering whether he should put aside his dislike of Worcestershire sauce and make a case for eating Clarissa’s forgotten supper. “I mean, look at this list. There are hundreds.”