by Molly Fitz
“To the shelter?” I asked, just to be sure.
“To the shelter!” Nan called in a rallying battle cry, then flung the front door open so that the three of us could march into battle.
This time, we took Nan’s little red sports car instead of my old clunker. “We want them to know we have money and that we aren’t afraid to use it,” Nan offered as an explanation.
“Is that the whole plan?” I wondered aloud. Once again, I was worried that Nan had chosen to view complex problems far too simplistically. The world inside my grandmother’s head and the world as it actually was didn’t always line up perfectly. God bless her.
Nan shot me a warning look as she twisted the key in the ignition. “Of course not!”
“Then fill me in already.”
“You’ll see when we get there,” she said with a wink and then pushed down hard on the gas pedal.
Whatever happened next, I was ready for it.
Although I hoped Trish wouldn’t be there this morning; otherwise, Nan’s whole feeble retiree on a fixed income act from yesterday evening would fall apart the very moment she was spotted pulling up to the shelter in an expensive sports car. It seemed unlikely we’d run into Trish, given that Paisley had sworn up and down that she’d never seen the mysterious volunteer once in her entire life.
But, still, I had to wonder…
We got there quickly, thanks to Nan’s penchant for driving at least ten miles above the speed limit wherever she went. And it wasn’t Trish, but rather Pearl—the kindly, older volunteer I’d met on my own yesterday—who greeted us upon our arrival.
“Back so soon?” she asked with a warm grin. It took me a moment to realize that her smile wasn’t intended for me, but rather Nan.
“You know me,” my grandmother crooned. “I just can’t stay away.”
Turning to her side, Nan motioned toward me but continued to address Pearl. “This is my granddaughter, Angie, and of course you already know Ms. Paisley.”
Paisley barked in acknowledgement.
I simply nodded and forced a grin.
“Hello, Angie,” Pearl said as she regarded me with a blank expression. Did she really not remember meeting me only yesterday? “Now, what can I do for you, Nan?”
I found it downright hilarious that this old woman was calling my grandmother Nan of all things, but I at least managed to keep a straight face throughout their exchange.
Nan brought a hand to her heart and sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about these poor animals and the trouble you folks are having.”
“Oh, don’t worry about us,” Pearl answered with a sad shake of her head. “We’ll find a way. We always do.”
“Surely, there must be something I can do,” Nan pressed.
Pearl rose to her feet and placed a placating hand on Nan’s arm. “I promise we’re doing all we can. It’s just the funding’s been cut, and we’re still trying to find a way to work within our new budgetary constraints.”
Nan chewed her lip. Whether she was honestly disheartened or just putting on a good show, even I couldn’t say for sure.
“I understand, I do,” she mumbled, “but—hey, I’ve got it!”
Pearl and I both waited to hear what Nan would say next, and she, of course, kept us waiting to heighten the anticipation.
“Well? What’s your big idea then?” Pearl prodded.
Nan flashed a toothy grin before revealing her grand idea. “What if I were to put on a big fundraiser to help save the shelter?”
“We’re not really at the point of needing saving, but your heart is in the right place. Tell you what, I’ll take you to Mr. Leavitt, so the two—” She paused and glanced back toward me with a nervous smile. “—I mean, the three of you, can discuss this in private.”
Nan gave a single affirmative nod. “Thank you, Pearl. That would be lovely.”
The other woman smiled and led us toward the door that led deeper into the shelter. As we followed her back through the long room of kennels, Nan reached out and squeezed my hand. I was still flying blind here as far as her plan went, but at least we seemed to be making forward progress.
I only hoped that would continue…
Chapter Twelve
Mr. Leavitt welcomed Nan, Paisley, and me into his office with huge smiles for everyone. And unlike Pearl, he remembered meeting me the day before.
“Welcome back, Angie,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder as I passed through the door and into his office. “I’m starting to suspect you may be our own personal angel here at the Glendale Community Animal Shelter. You not only wrote us a generous donation of your own, but you came back the very next day with a new donor. Please, both of you, come right in.”
That’s right. I had given him a check. Had that really been less than twenty-four hours ago? And was it cashed at the same time and place as Nan’s donation? So much had happened in that short span, I’d forgotten to look into it.
“I’m going to do so much more than write a check,” Nan told him, lowering herself into one of the chairs opposite Mr. Leavitt’s desk. “I’m going to put together a fundraiser so lots of people can write checks. How about that?”
Mr. Leavitt’s eyes grew wide with the promise of a large cash infusion. “Well, now, I love the sound of that,” he chortled. “Now, tell me. How can I offer you my assistance?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Nan chortled right back. “I won’t need much, I promise, but I am going to need some time to get a feel for the facility and the animals who live here. That will help me make sure I’m planning the right type of fundraiser. After all, why throw a bake sale when what you truly need is a gala?”
“Too true, too true,” Mr. Leavitt said, bobbing his head as his eyes grew wider still. “It would be my privilege to give you a tour of our facilities. If you’ll just give me a few moments to finish a few things first, I’ll—”
“Actually,” Nan interrupted. “I’d much rather walk around by myself, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you understand. I need to feel the place out, not listen to a speech about its history.” She crossed her legs and sat straighter, spoke more commandingly.
And Mr. Leavitt immediately fell under her spell. “Oh, of course. If you need anything—”
“Then I know who to come and find. Thank you,” Nan finished for him, then rose back to her feet and walked out without waiting for me and Paisley to follow.
I had to power walk to catch up. “Now what?” I whisper-yelled as she strode confidently through the kennels.
“Now we’re going to chat with some of the animals and see if they know anything.” We. Yeah, right. It was my neck that was on the line here.
“Nan, what if someone catches us?” I asked fearfully, silently adding, What if they overhear our suspicions and decide to hurt us to keep us quiet? It had happened before. It could most assuredly happen again. One thing I’d learned well during all my months of sleuthing is that criminals hated being caught. Obviously.
Nan didn’t seem worried in the slightest, however. “I’ll stand guard, and if anyone catches us, you can just pretend you were talking to me or to Paisley,” she explained with a no-nonsense expression. “But be quick, I doubt we’re going to get another opportunity like this one.”
Paisley, right.
I sure missed having Octo-Cat as the Watson to my Sherlock.
The little dog was nice enough, but I still didn’t know how much Paisley actually understood about the mystery we’d uncovered.
Guess it was time to find out.
“Hey there, Paisley,” I cooed, lifting the dog into my arms. “Wanna help me with a little game?”
“A game!” the Chihuahua barked. “Like fetch? Or keep-away? Or, or chase the cat? Yes! I love those games!”
“Not exactly,” I hedged, biting my lip for a moment as I thought. “This game is called Detective. We play by trying to figure out a secret.”
Paisley rearranged her face so that one of her lower canines overlapped her upper l
ip. She looked so stinking cute as she said, “I don’t have any secrets. Can I still play?”
“Of course you can,” I assured the tiny black dog. “In fact, we already know what the secret is, but we don’t know who it belongs to. Do you think you can help me figure that out?”
“I will try my best, Mommy!” Paisley promised, shaking with newfound glee.
“Great, that’s the spirit!” I gave the doggo a wet kiss on her forehead followed by an enthusiastic scratch between the ears. “Okay, the secret is that someone is stealing money from the shelter, but we don’t know who is doing it.”
“What’s money?” Paisley asked, quirking her head to the side in interest.
“Forget the money,” I said, backtracking fast. “What I meant to say is that someone at the shelter is being very bad, and it’s up to us to figure out who.”
“Hmm,” Paisley said, her ears twitching like miniature satellite receptors. “I bet it was a cat!” she shouted after a few moments’ thought. “When these things happen, it’s usually a cat.”
This made me laugh. “Actually, I’m pretty sure a human is to blame this time.”
The little dog whimpered. “But all the humans here are so nice,” she argued. “They feed us and walk us and play with us and help us find homes. Nobody is bad, and definitely not very bad.” She actually shuddered at the thought.
Oh, dear sweet Paisley.
She really did see the best in everyone. Even the cat at home who’d threatened to kill her and the people at the shelter who were stealing resources from the animals in need. As much as I wanted her help, I doubted I’d get her to see the truth even if it happened to come out and stare straight into her soul.
“Okay, tell you what,” I said, changing tactics. “You keep Nan company, and I’ll talk to some of the other animals and see what they have to say. Sound good?”
“Okay, Mommy!” Her tail wagged so fast it became a blur. Oh, to be that happy!
I set Paisley down, and she immediately bounded over to Nan and stretched her tiny paws in the air, begging to be picked up and cuddled. “Keep an eye out,” I mumbled, then jogged to the last cage at the very farthest end of the room. Might as well be organized about my investigation.
An enormous wrinkly dog stared up at me with sad eyes. At his side sat a much smaller hound mix whose sole focus was biting and chewing one of his hind feet.
“Hey, there,” I cooed, absolutely hating the air of sorrow around this place. These two at least seemed older and wiser than Paisley. Perhaps that would be to my benefit. “My name is Angie, and I was hoping you could help me. A very bad human is stealing from the shelter. Any idea who that could be?”
“All the humans here are nice,” the big dog informed me with zero hesitation.
“Yeah,” the hound added around a mouthful of foot. “If anyone is being bad around here, it’s probably a cat.”
“Oh, yes. Thanks for your help,” I said, forcing a smile. We’d only just begun and already it was abundantly clear that I wouldn’t be able to learn much from the dogs here. Still, I spoke to several more before finally giving up and heading to speak with the cats as suggested.
The cat area of the shelter was much smaller and offered no privacy, which wasn’t a problem since every set of kitty eyes and ears fixed on me from the very moment I entered.
“Hi,” I said nervously, even though I fancied myself a cat person. I loved Octo-Cat when he wasn’t being needlessly cruel and dramatic, but the thought of twenty of him in one place scared the living daylights out of me. “My name is Angie, and I’m trying to find a very bad human who works at the shelter. Do you know—?”
“Darling,” a flat-faced fluffball drawled, cutting off my question at the quick. “Look around. All humans are bad.”
“They’d descend into chaos without us cats around to keep an eye on things,” an orange tabby with an angry face insisted.
No wonder cats and dogs disliked each other so much. They were as different as two creatures could come. Still, at least they didn’t blindly trust everyone’s motives. Maybe they’d be able to offer some kind of clue if I asked my questions right.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Is there one human that’s worse than the rest? Maybe someone who is stealing money from the shelter?”
“That’s like asking if there’s one blade of grass that’s greener than the rest,” the flat-faced cat spoke again. “There are just so many of them, and they’re all green besides.”
The other caged felines meowed their agreement, and I officially gave up on finding any leads via the shelter animals.
It was time to do things a little differently.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have any idea how.
Chapter Thirteen
Octo-Cat sat waiting for us in the living room when Nan and I returned home. I’d left the bedroom door open before we headed out just in case he might want a change of scenery, but I hadn’t exactly expected him to take advantage of it.
Luckily, Paisley was already tucked securely into Nan’s arms, so she couldn’t be tempted to make a run for the ornery feline. Couldn’t Octo-Cat see how much she already loved him? How much she wanted to be his friend?
Judging by the tabby’s furrowed brow and tense posture, that was a hard no.
“Well, look what the cat dragged out,” I quipped, part relieved to see him and part worried about what he might demand next.
“Hardy har har,” he said dryly and then, “I see you’re still playing house with that imposter.”
Well, as it turned out, we’d made no progress at all. “You saw right. Now don’t you think it’s time for you to stop your pouting and rejoin the living?”
Had I made a mistake by kowtowing to his demands about the Fancy Feast and the Evian and the exquisite manor house? It had been easy to do regarding mere things, but now another life was involved. I refused to send Paisley back to that overcrowded shelter, especially when its future was so uncertain.
I knew it wouldn’t be so easy, but still my heart ached when Octo-Cat responded with, “Bad things happen when good cats remain silent.”
“But that’s exactly what you’re doing!” I argued. “Giving me the silent treatment. Haven’t you had enough?”
“Haven’t you had enough?” he shot back in a deep, ominous voice. Something told me there was no right answer here.
“Mr. Octopus Cat,” Paisley squeaked, drawing both of our attention to her big black eyes and tiny pink mouth. “I know you don’t like me, but I promise I’ll do anything to make things right. I want to be friends.”
“Aww, how could you say no to this face?” I cooed, scratching Paisley under her tiny, quivering chin.
Her whole body squirmed in response, and Nan had to make quick adjustments to avoid dropping her.
“Easily,” Octo-Cat spat, unmoved by the show of love. “Very easily, indeed.”
“Are they finally playing nice?” Nan asked, a hopeful sparkle in her eyes.
“Um, not exactly,” I answered with a sigh. “But this is progress, nonetheless.”
“Say, dog,” my cat lisped, rising to all four paws. “Will you really do anything to make me happy?”
“Oh, yes!” Paisley cried, her shaking thus renewed. “Yes, I will do anything!”
I waited in silence for the big reveal. Would Octo-Cat’s demand be one we could meet? I’d do almost anything to bring peace to our divided house.
The cat’s large, amber eyes narrowed, and he spoke very, very slowly. “Then run far, far away and don’t ever come back.”
The Chihuahua whimpered, which made our evil feline overlord laugh. “Do I really have to, Mommy?” Paisley asked, a pathetic whine lacing each of her words.
Oh, that cat! He made me so angry sometimes!
“No, of course not. He’s just being mean!” I scowled at my unruly pet, but he didn’t look the least big apologetic.
“Hey, I know what I want.” Octo-Cat flicked his tail in one direction and the
n the other. “And also what I don’t want. The dog needs to go.”
“Hush up, Octo-Cat. You’ve been outvoted,” Nan said, even though she couldn’t understand any part of the conversation other than mine.
Paisley wriggled and licked Nan’s hands, whether to derive comfort or to agree with what had been said in her defense, I couldn’t be sure.
“Unbelievable,” my cat mumbled as he hopped to the floor and skulked out of view. A few moments later, we heard his electronic cat flap lift open and admit him into the outside world.
“And stay out until you’ve had an attitude adjustment!” I shouted after him.
“Don’t worry about him, you sweet girl.” Nan kissed the Chihuahua’s head and then set her on the floor. “Let’s go make ourselves some lunch. Huh?”
We all moved to the kitchen, where Nan took out three chicken breasts to grill on the stovetop and I began working on the fixings for a Caesar salad. “I’m making one for Paisley, too,” she explained with a grin.
Oh, the little dog would definitely love that.
We’d almost finished our lunch preparations when a loud crash sounded from the foyer. I glanced toward my feet and found that Paisley had left us some time ago.
“Why does everything keep breaking around here?” Nan grumbled as she removed her pan from the burner and marched out to locate the source of the disturbance.
I spotted the mess before she did. One of Ethel Fulton’s antique Tiffany lamps lay in pieces by the entryway. A priceless heirloom. Great.
Paisley stood beside the mess, howling. “I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I don’t know how it happened. I was just minding my own business, and—crash!”
“It’s okay, sweetie. We know you didn’t mean to,” I coaxed as Nan began to sweep up the mess.
“Unbelievable,” Octo-Cat mumbled and then ran up the grand staircase, presumably back to his self-imposed prison in my bedroom tower.
Funny, I hadn’t heard the electronic pet door buzz open even though we were standing directly beside it.
