by Molly Fitz
While everyone’s attention was on the cat and dog, the raccoon exited the RV the same way he’d initially entered, through the bathroom vent up top. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my tree house, starting my third watch-through of the cult reality classic Survivor.”
I turned away from my parents and called out to him. “Pringle, wait. Come inside and join us for dinner. I’m sure Nan has something wonderful prepared.”
Nan’s face lit up. “I sure do. We’re having blackened salmon and risotto.”
My stomach turned at the mention of salmon, but I worked hard to keep my face light and happy.
“Sounds delicious.” Charles threaded his fingers through mine and then raised our joined hands and pressed a kiss to them.
“Everything’s ready. Just step inside.” Nan guided us back into the house. “I even brought out the good china. Why, it’s not every day my favorite granddaughter gets engaged.”
“And it’s not today, either,” I pointed out with a chuckle. “We got engaged yesterday.”
“Oh, hush, you.” But Nan laughed, too.
Pringle scampered in after us and climbed up onto the table.
“Manners,” Nan said, fixing him with a stern look.
He hesitated before climbing down onto one of the chairs. His face barely cleared the surface of the table, the cutie.
“I’ll go get you a booster,” I said, heading toward the entry closet where Nan kept all kinds of strange knickknacks. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found a booster chair there, too.
A light tapping at the door drew my attention away.
I opened it up and found Bravo and Abigull standing on the porch together. “Hi, guys. What’s up?”
“Angie, Angie,” the young bird cawed. “We found her!”
I was almost afraid to ask. Mostly because I already knew the answer. “Found who?”
“Your long-lost grandmother,” Bravo confirmed. “She hasn’t left the state. Just moved. We found her somewhere in the middle.”
“Near Mount Katahdin?” I ventured.
“Affirmative,” Bravo squawked.
“How did you know?” Abigull asked, tilting her head to the side.
I let out a tired sigh. “Because with the way my life has gone lately, it just makes sense.”
“We can take you to her. Are you ready?” the elder seagull asked.
“I’d like that very much, but first I have a dinner engagement. Can you come back tomorrow?”
When both birds agreed, I said goodbye and rejoined my family in the dining room. There would be time to tell them all about the seagulls’ discovery later.
Tonight, we would celebrate.
Tomorrow, we could chase after our next big mystery.
Want More?
We hope you enjoyed Grizzly Grievance! It's part of the “Pet Whisperer P.I.” series, which you can keep reading HERE.
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The next book in the series, Persian Penalty, is already on pre-order, so make sure to grab your copy straight away.
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Looking for other zany mysteries starring talking cat sidekicks? Learn more about Molly Fitz, her awesome books, and where you can find her at www.MollyMysteries.com.
The Magical Mocha Latte
by R. A. Muth
About this Story
THE MAGICAL MOCHA LATTE
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A Russian Blue travels through the mountains of Georgia
Hi! I'm Tziporah Esther Graham, but everyone calls me Zip. I live on top of Mulberry Mountain with my aunt who took me in after my parents died, and I'd do anything for her. When she asked me to make a delivery for her small business, I didn't think twice about it. The route was one I had driven plenty of times, and I took my cat along for the ride.
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But a flat tire, a new puppy, and a coffee mishap added precious time that I didn't have to waste. When I finally returned home, my aunt was missing, and the only person I could call on for help was my former high-school sweetheart. Could we work together to find my aunt and keep my new pet's secret? Or would my aunt's enemies catch up to all of us?
Copyright © 2021 by R. A. Muth.
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
You would think that graduating from college would relieve some of my daily amount of stress, but nope. As it turned out, waking up to another empty page in my day planner triggered my anxiety worse than cramming for finals ever did. I had fun taking the classes required for the botany degree hanging on the wall over my desk. Finding a job that would let me stay on Mulberry Mountain posed a bigger challenge. Aunt Corliss was my only living relative, and besides, I didn't want to live anywhere else.
After many years of an early-morning class schedule, my three-legged cat, Basil, remained stuck in our former routine. A furry paw batting at your closed eyelids and pushing its way into your mouth at the crack of dawn was more effective than any alarm clock. As with any other morning, my attempts to ignore Basil failed to discourage his relentless attempts to get me up and on my feet.
I spat the paw from my mouth and forced my body into a sitting position. "Fine. You win. Again."
The sound of Basil's gleeful purring filled the room, and he butted the top of his head against my chin. I could only imagine what he'd say if he could talk.
"Let me guess. You can see the bottom of your food dish?" I kept the bowl filled to the brim, but Aunt Corliss wasn't as eager to please my feline friend. She only filled the dish when it was empty.
Scents of freshly-cooked muffins wafted up the steps to my tower bedroom. Aunt Corliss might not feed Basil until he had eaten every last morsel, even if it was food from the previous night, but she always ensured that I started the day with breakfast made with healthy ingredients.
I hopped out of bed and ran a brush through my hair before fixing it into a braid that hung down my back before sliding my feet into slippers shaped like lattes. The white furry foam brushed against the tops of my feet. "Let's get some grub, bub."
Everyone on Mulberry Mountain said that Aunt Corliss had the power to imbue magic into the mouthwatering foods she cooked. Every time someone was sick or in mourning, she'd whip up a recipe that soon had them feeling right as rain.
The rumor must be true. Here I was, following the smell of breakfast down the stairs to the kitchen, and the church bells hadn't yet chimed eight o'clock.
Basil pounced along three steps in front of me until we reached the bottom stair when he raced to his food bowl. Sure enough, an empty space the size of a shiny new penny was like a bulls-eye in the center of the otherwise heaping portion of cat food. On any other day, I'd use the toe of my slipper to move the food around and trick my cat into thinking his bowl was full. The way Basil woke me, however, told me that he already knew, so I added a little food to fill the depressed area.
"You spoil him," Aunt Corliss said as I took my place at the kitchen table.
A cup of coffee waited for me, and I took a grateful sip. "So? You spoil me. It should be illegal to have to get out of bed this early."
"If you think this is early, try getting up with the chickens."
"Ugh. No, thank you," I replied.
Aunt Corliss wasn't being metaphorical but referred to the Mother Cluckers, her flock of free-range Buff Orpingtons in the backyard. Next to me, they were the things she loved most in the world.
She set a plate containing a giant breakfast muffin on the table in front of me, and I sniffed at mouth-watering pastry. "Thyme, rosemary, and, hold on. I know this one. Lemongrass?"
"Close. Lemon balm."
I helped myself to a generous bite of the quiche-like muffin and took my time enjoying the way the ingredients cr
eated an explosion of flavor. "These might be your best ones yet," I said around a mouthful of food. I swallowed before adding, "The more I eat, the happier I feel. Hey, wait. You didn't magic these up, did you?"
Aunt Corliss slapped her palm against her chest. "Tziporah Esther Graham, would I do that?"
"It wouldn't be the first time."
When I first moved in with Aunt Corliss, the grief over losing my parents weighed heavy on my nine-year-old shoulders. She convinced me to attend school in town by promising to bake magical cookies for when I returned home. Of course, she later confessed that she added a little rosewater and lemon balm to a standard sugar cookie recipe. Over the years, she served me magical tea to cure womanly cramps, magical pot roast to cure a broken heart, and a host of other recipes she would magic-up to help me get over whatever life threw at me.
"So, tell me, why are you buttering me up?" I bit into a thick slice of toast slathered with herbed butter, and my eyes rolled back in my head a little as bits of joy surged through me. Yes, my aunt was literally buttering me up for something.
"I need you to make a delivery."
"Okay," I dragged the word into extra syllables. "Basil and I can take it to the post office after breakfast."
"Not that kind of delivery. This one's in Harmony Ridge, and you'll need to receive a cash payment for it."
I gasped, which caused me to almost choke on the next bite I'd taken. I gulped down coffee to help push the food down and recover my senses. "But that's three hours away!"
"And?"
"And, uh, what if I had plans?"
Aunt Corliss cackled. "That's a good one, Zip. What plans have you got?"
My plans included surfing social media on my phone while watching reality television, but that answer wouldn't fly with my aunt. Instead, I replied, "I have to look for a job."
"You've looked for a job everywhere on this mountain, and nobody's hiring." Before I could reply, she added, "Besides, making this delivery is a job. I can't get ingredients for my next batch of orders if I don't get paid for this one."
"When can I help you in the workshop?" I reached down to pet Basil, who head-butted my calf.
Aunt Corliss sighed. "I don't need an assistant. Besides, even if I did, you're not ready."
"Fine. You'll want me to take the truck?" I sneaked Basil a pinch of the muffin. My cat spent several minutes batting it with his paws like it was a live mouse before he at last curled up at my feet to eat it.
"I reckon you'll have to if you're planning to go there and get back before supper time."
"And you don't mind if I take Basil with me?"
"You can take the ghost of Frank Sinatra as long as you're back by suppertime."
Through the rest of breakfast, Aunt Corliss entertained me with the most recent gossip from her knitting circle. Her impressions of the various women were so spot-on that it was like having the other women around the table, too.
After we finished eating, I loaded our dishes into the dishwasher while she wiped down the stove and table.
Once the kitchen was spotless, Aunt Corliss lay the keys to her vehicle and a well-worn map on the countertop while I attached Basil's leash to his collar. She disappeared into her workroom and returned a moment later to add a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine.
"Who needs a map when you have built-in satellite navigation on your phone?" I asked after grabbing the keys and the package with my free hand and stuffing them into my oversized purse.
"You young people and your technology. If you don't have WiFi or electricity, then it's pretty useless."
I kissed Aunt Corliss on the cheek. "Sorry for sassing you. I'll take the map, but I'm sure I won't need it."
"Thank you," my aunt replied with a satisfied grin.
The last thing I did before leaving the house was fold the map in half and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans.
Chapter Two
Driving the truck was always a treat. It had none of the modern conveniences of a newer vehicle. The exception was a phone holder that suctioned to the windshield. It was as close as I would get to a heads-up display.
I navigated the truck down the mountain to Mockingbird Springs: Population 734. Some of my favorite people, including my best friend Maribel, lived in the town proper. Most of the residents, like Aunt Corliss, lived back into the mountain despite having a Mockingbird Springs address. They made regular trips into town to purchase groceries and other supplies, attend events like book club and town council meetings, or pick up their mail from the mail shed. You heard me. Our post office is in an actual shed.
At the edge of town, a black SUV turned onto the road that led toward home. Aunt Corliss's customer database spanned between Blueberry Bay, Maine to Crabapple Canyon, Texas and everywhere in between. Once, she sent a package of her special herbs across the country to Disneyland. Seeing a vehicle of that calibre in Mockingbird Springs didn't surprise me in the least.
I popped a cassette tape into the truck's radio and started singing along. It was the mixtape my father made for my mother when they were in high school. Although I had created a digital version, listening to this cassette made me feel closer to them. And after more than a decade of listening to it on repeat, I knew all of the song lyrics by heart.
Basil curled up in the passenger seat and slept under the rays of morning sunlight that streamed through the truck's windshield. If he minded that I sang slightly off-key, he didn't complain to me about it.
The Rembrandts were halfway through "I'll Be There for You" for the second time when, all of a sudden, my phone screen went blank. When I reached in my oversized purse for the charger, my hands clutched emptiness.
"What the actual flamingos," I muttered.
A quick glance revealed that the cord wasn't hanging from the truck's cigarette lighter like usual, and I remembered that I had loaned it to Jones, my former boyfriend.
This was terrible. Everything was on my phone. I pulled over in an abandoned parking lot and dug the map out of the back pocket of my jeans. If Aunt Corliss were here, she would be quick with the "I told you so"s.
If texting and driving was dangerous, then how did anyone ever use a paper map while driving? When expanded to its full size, it took up the cab of the truck. I exited the truck, spread the map out across the hood, and spent the next few minutes trying to figure out where I was, which was easier than I expected.
Once I had a better idea of where to go, I hopped back into the truck and fastened my safety belt. Basil stretched, yawned, and went right back to sleep. I cranked the tunes and pulled back onto the road.
Twenty minutes later, I heard a loud pop and the truck swerved hard to one side. I fought with the steering wheel to maintain control and, by the time I was able to slow the vehicle, I heard the telltale thud-unk, thud-unk of a flat tire. At this rate, I wouldn't make it to Harmony Ridge by dinnertime, much less there and back home again.
Before I could decide whether to wait for help to come along or start walking, a tow truck pulled alongside me with a noisy rumble that shook the pickup a little.
"Hey!" the driver called to me through the open passenger window. "You got a flat tire!"
Convinced the man would never hear me over the sound of his vehicle's engine, I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.
"You need some help?" he asked, pronouncing the last word "halp."
This time, I smiled and gave two thumbs up while nodding with enthusiasm.
"All right! I can tow ya into—" his tow truck backfired and I missed the name of whatever place he said. "You sit right there! I got this!" he promised and pulled his tow truck in front of the pickup, where he spent the next few minutes rigging them up together.
Please don't be an axe murderer, I thought as he walked around to talk to me face-to-face.
"Don't worry," he said with a guffaw. "I'm not an axe murderer or anything. Name's Bobby Jack. Im'ma haul you to the service station."
I started to give another thumbs up, but
changed my mind and said, "That would be awesome. I'm Zip, by the way, and this is my cat, Basil."
"Well, don't you worry that pretty face of yours, Zip. We'll have you back on the road before you can call a hound dog a hound dog."
I had no idea what that thing he said about the hound dog meant, so as he walked away I called out, "Thanks so much!"
The pickup bumped along behind the tow truck as it drove toward wherever we were headed. At first, I liked the idea of staying in the truck. By the time we arrived at our destination, I felt no different than if my aunt's truck was a paint can stuck in a shaker at the hardware store.
Bobby Jack opened my door. "All safe and sound?"
"Yep! This was very nice of you." I hopped out and took a look around, Basil's leash in my hand. I waited until the cat leapt to my side before closing the door. The tow truck idled in front of a service station on the outskirts of the tiniest town I'd ever visited. From here, I could see a diner, a general store, and a post office. When I looked back to the service station, I noticed for the first time an alligator-shaped sign that read GATOR'S TOWING & REPAIR.
A burly man stepped around the tow truck, shook his head, and spit onto the pavement. "Bobby Jack, what did I tell you about draggin' helpless females into town?"
Indignation surged through me. I wanted to argue that I wasn't helpless, but the circumstances that led me here didn't work in my favor.
Bobby Jack hung his head. "Sorry, Gator, but she was all alone aside from her cat."
"She was all alone aside from her cat," Gator sneered in mimicry of the tow truck driver before he set his sights on me. "You're here now, so let's get you on the road as soon as possible. What's wrong with your ride?"
