by Molly Fitz
“Well, what if she wasn’t the one stealing money? What if someone else was doing it but let her take the fall?”
“You think she was framed?”
Nan’s even tone bothered me. Did she really not believe that I was on to something here?
“I’m not sure, but it’s a possibility. All the evidence was too neatly stacked against her,” I explained, using the same wild hand gestures my Italian-American father often used while trying to make a point. “Either she’s a terrible criminal, or she’s not one at all.”
“Interesting,” Nan said and dipped a cream-filled cookie into her tea.
“Think about it. She was the one sneaking around after closing time. She’s the one who shredded that paper. I saw her in Dewdrop Springs the same night our checks were cashed there, and she wasn’t exactly subtle about buying those stolen pet supplies in broad daylight.”
“But didn’t she also tell those massage people that the shelter had its funding cut?” Nan pointed out as she stared deep into her teacup. “Charles checked and said that wasn’t true.”
“Yes—but oh! When we went back to the shelter the next day, that old woman, Pearl, also said the funding had been cut.”
“Who you calling old?” Nan’s voice finally picked up some passion. “She’s at least fifteen years younger than me.”
“Sorry, Nan,” I muttered. “But how well do you know Pearl? She seemed to know you quite well but couldn’t remember me.”
“She was in my community art class over the summer. Remember that?” She finished her tea and set the cup and saucer on the coffee table, then leaned back in her chair.
“Would you say she’s the type to steal money from the animal shelter and then lie about it to others?”
“Certainly not. She was always on and on about her volunteer work with the shelter. She loves those animals as if they were her own.”
“Then who else would have the means, opportunity, and motive to take that money?”
“Trish did mention being short on cash when we bumped into her outside the shelter,” Nan reasoned. “Then again, money is its own motive, whether you have it or not.”
“It has to be somebody inside. Somebody with access to the finances.” I picked at a hangnail as I thought, a bad habit I’d thought I’d seen the last of. Apparently not.
“And somebody who could weave a narrative about funding cuts that others would willingly believe.” Nan nodded and bit her lip. What a pair we made.
We both thought a little while longer, and then suddenly we had it.
“Mr. Leavitt!” we cried in unison, turning toward each other in excitement.
“Oh, he is going down,” Nan promised the universe.
“We need to get him to confess somehow,” I said, because apparently it was up to me to state the obvious here. “Any ideas?”
“Excuse me,” Octo-Cat said, still beaming proudly from behind his unsettling gift. I hadn’t even realized he was paying attention. “I think I might have an idea,” he said and then let out a contented chuckle.
He was back, baby!
Chapter Nineteen
One week later…
My mom held a microphone to Nan’s face, beaming at her with daughterly pride. “And to think, it only took you two weeks to plan this gorgeous affair.”
My grandmother wore her hair in a French twist and sported a bold red lip. She’d even commissioned a special gown to wear to the gala. Silver beaded pawprints lined the neck and sleeves of her pink satin dress, creating a stunning effect.
Despite the quick event planning turn-around, it seemed all of Glendale had shown up to support Nan’s fundraiser for the Community Animal Shelter. Half the people from our neighboring towns, too. My mother and her cameraman had also shown up to film a human-interest piece for the local news.
Yeah, it was a pretty big deal.
While Mom interviewed Nan, I did another round through the house. Yes, we’d decided to use our own home as the location for the event tonight. Mr. Gables from the downtown council also helped to secure a series of large, impressive-looking tents, which we’d set up outside to expand the venue’s workable space.
The charity gala included a catered dinner, silent auction, and the chance for attendees to write generous checks to support our shelter. We’d arranged to have all the VIP players inside the house so that it would be easier to keep an eye on them. If all went according to plan, we’d be able to oust a weasel before the night was through.
I’d chosen to wear a little black dress, so I could sneak around if it became necessary. A hands-free communications device had also been tucked into my ear so that Octo-Cat and I could keep each other updated throughout the evening. As long as I made it look like I was discussing something related to the gala, then I could speak freely and without question.
We’d blocked off the upstairs to discourage guests from exploring the upper floors and also to help hide Octo-Cat where he sat perched near the spindles that lined the hallway. His job was to watch the guests below and report what he saw via our FaceTime voice call.
He’d actually been the one to come up with the idea for tonight’s ambush. Nan and I had just seen to the details. Paisley, too, by keeping everyone’s spirits up with her constant optimism and kindness.
She believed the bad guy would be caught and that we would all win Detective once and for all.
And I chose to believe that, too.
“The eagle has landed,” Octo-Cat rasped in my ear. He’d been joining Nan for her spy movie marathons lately and had picked up the lingo quickly. Since no one could understand him but me, I preferred he speak plainly—but I guessed whatever made this fun for him was okay by me.
I turned toward the foyer just in time to see our target, the shelter’s Community Outreach Coordinator, Mr. Leavitt, enter my home. He wore a very becoming black tux and an enormous grin that stretched from cheek to cheek.
“Hello, stranger,” I said after I made my way over to him, hating the taste of those flirtatious words in my mouth. My heart belonged to Charles and Charles alone, but still I needed to get our prime suspect to play straight into my hands and was willing to do whatever it took.
Well, within reason, that is.
“You and your grandmother have really outdone yourselves,” he exclaimed as I led him toward the cash bar we’d set up in the dining room. “This place looks fabulous!”
“It doesn’t just look fabulous. It is fabulous,” I responded right on cue. Nan and I had practiced my role in this charade many times, and while I didn’t have an exact script, I knew all the points I was expected to hit as quickly and naturally as possible.
“We’ve already raised over twenty thousand dollars just from the table reservations alone. By the time the silent auctions and donations come in, we could be over one hundred thousand. Not bad for one night’s work, huh?”
There, I’d said all the most important things. Nan would be so proud if she were here to witness my debut performance.
Mr. Leavitt’s eyes widened with poorly concealed avarice. If he’d been carrying a drink, I imagine he may have choked on it. Instead, he merely stuttered his next words. “O-o-one hundred thousand dollars? You don’t say.”
“Oh, but I do.” I placed a delicate hand on his shoulder and laughed. “It turns out people are very generous when it comes to saving the animals.”
“Yes, I’ve always thought so.”
The bartender handed him a glass of white wine and refilled my seltzer and lime. I wasn’t much of a drinker under normal circumstances, but tonight I needed all my wits about me. I also needed to redirect Mr. Leavitt to the foyer so that Octo-Cat could keep an eye on things as they went down.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” I said, drawing my phone out of my strapless clutch and pushing send on the message that I had already composed earlier that evening.
Smiling up at Mr. Leavitt, I said, “There. Now that that’s done, let’s enjoy the party. I have so many people I�
��d like to introduce you to. Did you know Nan was a famous Broadway actress back in her glory days? She has many wealthy friends from her time in the city, and several of them came out to support her—to support the shelter—tonight.”
“Fantastic,” Mr. Leavitt said and took another sip from his glass.
A loud tapping followed by a burst of microphone interference filled the room, causing everyone to fall silent.
“Excuse me, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Nan cried into the mic. “I just wanted to say a huge thanks to a donor who asked to remain anonymous. She just gave us a fifty-thousand-dollar donation, single-handedly putting us over our fundraising goal for the evening. Thanks to her big heart, the shelter can stay open for another two full years and we can help all of Glendale’s stray pets find their forever homes.”
Everyone clapped politely. Some even gasped in awe.
What an amazingly generous gift… had it been real.
“Oh, this night has already exceeded our wildest expectations,” I gushed to Mr. Leavitt, continuing the carefully planned facade. “Nan and I had hoped our little gala would be a success, but we had no idea it would raise so much money.”
Nan snaked through the crowd and joined the two of us in the foyer. “Mr. Leavitt,” she enthused. “I wanted to hand you this check personally. A fifty-thousand-dollar donation. Can you believe it?” She pressed the check into his hand, which was my signal.
“A problem with the vegetarian dinner option?” I shrieked into my headpiece. “No, no, no. We can’t have that, especially not at a fundraiser for animals. I’ll be right there.”
I pressed my Bluetooth device to imitate ending a call and then turned toward Nan with a panicked expression. “C’mon, I think this one might require both of us. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Leavitt. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“It’s all you, bud,” I mumbled into the headpiece as Nan and I rushed outside. “Operation Red Dot is in full swing.”
Chapter Twenty
As much as Octo-Cat had hated being tricked by the red dot when I had to capture him for our vet visit, that little moment of treachery served as the entire basis for our plan to catch Mr. Leavitt red-dot-handed.
“It’s not about the red dot,” Octo-Cat had waxed philosophically. “It’s about what the red dot represents.”
He’d gone on to explain that, for cats, the red dot itself is irresistible and basically impossible to ignore. My cat then urged us to find Mr. Leavitt’s red dot, and by that time Nan had already said it best: Money is its own motive, whether you have it or not.
From there, we flew full force into planning the charity gala and, with it, our master plan. So, the fifty-thousand-dollar donation was a total fraud. We had fake checks printed with a fake name and fake address and even a made-up account number, counting on our bad guy to do the bad thing and steal it.
Officer Bouchard had gone undercover in plain clothes to stake out the bank in Dewdrop Springs. At the end of the day, Mr. Leavitt had a decision to make. He could either continue to slowly embezzle funds from the failing animal shelter, or he could grab the big check and make a run for it. Our hope was that the fifty-thousand-dollar carrot—or red dot, using Octo-Cat’s preferred analogy—was enough to encourage him to do the latter.
“He’s leaving! He’s leaving!” Octo-Cat cried inside my ear while I pretended to be busy examining a tray of broccoli florets.
“Text him,” I told Nan, who had a text to Officer Bouchard ready to go on her phone. As much as I hated being left out of the action, my role in this ambush had officially ended.
“Good work, Octavius,” I said before removing my headpiece. After that, I pulled my phone out of my clutch and sent a quick text to Charles.
May I have this dance?
He found me a short while later, and together we swayed on my front lawn until the stars came out…
Actually, that would have been incredibly romantic, but we did have to face one minor distraction first.
“He’s got him.” I heard Nan’s words only moments before I felt her arms wrap around me from behind. She joined Charles and me in our dance as she whispered in my ear. “That fool went to the same exact bank as before. Turns out it had been him the whole time, except for the last two checks, of course. I’ll tell you more when I know more.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and then wandered off.
“Your nan just pinched my butt,” Charles told me with a laugh.
“Nan’s gotta Nan,” I responded, rolling my eyes. She and I could have a talk about boundaries later. Right now I wanted to enjoy my evening held tightly in Charles’s strong arms.
“How’d you know it wasn’t Trish?” he asked me.
“It was too perfect,” I murmured, ready to put this whole thing behind me and enjoy the rest of the gala as best I could.
“Kind of like you,” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah, sure,” I joked, but snuggled closer to him all the same. If he wanted to believe I was perfect, then I refused to stop him.
It was Harmony of all people who finally gave the info that would solve the case. Remember that mean masseuse? Yeah, her.
Turns out Trish had visited Serenity day spa because Stone—whose real name was Declan—also worked at the Dewdrop Springs branch of the First Bank of Blueberry Bay. He’d helped Mr. Leavitt cash his stolen checks and then frame Trish for it.
And Harmony—whose real name was truly and legitimately Harmony—heard enough to testify against him. From there, he cracked wide open and confessed everything.
Paisley hadn’t seen Trish before because Trish didn’t technically work for the shelter. The sweet but forgetful front desk attendant Pearl was her grandmother, and for weeks Mr. Leavitt had been threatening to let her go due to her age and the suspicion she had early onset dementia. He’d used that threat along with a few carefully constructed lies to con Trish into carrying out his dirty work.
And when he sensed me and Nan hot on his tail, he set Trish up to take the fall for all of it. He’d sent her to cash the checks with Stone. He’d also sent her to buy the stolen supplies, instructing his lackey to purposefully end up in the wrong lot and force her to walk all about town with the hopes someone would discover her suspicious behavior.
And, yeah, I’d played right into his hand.
If it weren’t for my pets and that disgusting dead mouse, I may have never realized that we’d accused the wrong person.
Luckily, my pets were gross, and Mr. Leavitt—whose first name is Alex, by the way—would be going away for a long, long time. Now someone who really believes in the animal shelter’s mission will be taking over as the Community Outreach Coordinator.
Pearl.
A doctor quickly dismissed the dementia diagnosis and ruled her completely in good health and of sound mind. So now, she runs things, and her devoted granddaughter Trish has taken over as the first face you see when entering the facility.
Nan and I, for our part, plan to continue organizing fundraisers to help the shelter get back on its feet.
So I guess you can say we all lived happily ever after.
Well, until the next case anyway…
What’s Next?
Lately my life has seemed pretty perfect—great house, great gig as my own boss, great new boyfriend, and the world’s most awesome talking cat. Turns out I shouldn’t have let my guard down…
Even though my private investigation firm is brand new, I’ve already got some not-so-friendly competition, and it’s coming from the sticky-fingered raccoon who lives under my front porch. I have no doubt he’s robbing his clients, since he’s stealing from mine, too.
Things go from irritating to downright dangerous when he foists a little trinket from my attic, one that suggests dark secrets and spells big trouble for my beloved Nan.
I need to learn more, but that’s not going to be easy since the person of interest lives under the same roof. Can I trust this raccoon racketeer with something so dear?
Unfortunately, I haven’t got any other options.
Pre-order to save! RACCOON RACKETEER is just $2.99 until it releases on October 24.
Get your copy here!
mollymysteries.com/RaccoonR
Sneak Peek: Raccoon Racketeer
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. 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 in 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.
