Молли Фитц - Dog-Eared Delinquent

“He likes you,” Nan said with a wink. “Why don’t you pick him up?”

“I’m really more of a dog person,” Peter said hesitantly.

“A dog person?” Octo-Cat asked in horror. “Blech. Gag me with a spoon. But, yeah, I can smell that canine stink all over this one. Totally not surprised.”

Peter flinched, then cracked his neck on either side. “Should we go try the desserts? After all, that is why you invited me. Right?”

“Yes, dear. Come along.” Nan led him toward the dining room while Octo-Cat and I stayed behind in the foyer.

“Was it just me, or…?” I began but let my words trail off. He’d flinched in response to what Octo-Cat had said. I was sure of it, and yet… there was no way. It was far too crazy to be believed.

“He reacted to me,” Octo-Cat agreed. “I thought so, too.”

“It was probably just a fluke,” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to be overheard by Nan and Peter in the next room.

“But if it wasn’t…” Octo-Cat shook his head and took a deep breath. “Now I’m just as curious as you are. Something’s off about this one, and I’m going to prove it. C’mon, Angela.”

He trotted off and I trailed helplessly behind, wondering what my cat could possibly have planned now and also wondering if Peter might really be like me. Did he get zapped by that old coffee maker, too?

I desperately hoped I’d have the answer by the time the evening was through, because if this big production didn’t work, we probably wouldn’t get another chance.

Peter already seemed on guard that evening. Had he finally realized that we might be on to him just as much as he was on to us? And if he didn’t want to be found out, then why was he working so hard to push my buttons?

Was everything in my overworked imagination, or was my entire world about to change?

I honestly didn’t know which option I preferred…

Chapter Six

Nan looked utterly beguiling in her getup for that evening. She’d even woven jade chopsticks through her hair in a fancy upswept hairstyle that complemented her angular bone structure quite nicely.

She often wore Asian-inspired garments, preferring their smooth, flowing lines to the more rigid structure of traditionally Western clothing. Between her style choices and my predilection for all things eighties, we really did make quite the pair.

I preferred eighties fashion simply because it was great fun. Nan, on the other hand, had done a brief tour abroad during the Vietnam War—not as a soldier, but rather an entertainer—and she’d fallen in love with everything about that part of the world. She’d managed to visit Japan, China, and Thailand over the years, too, and was greatly looking forward to the day when I’d finally agree to accompany her for an extended visit of all her favorite places. As for me, I wanted to get to know myself a little better before I ventured so far from home. Luckily, I was getting closer and closer to accomplishing just that with each passing day.

As loathe as I was to admit it aloud, Octo-Cat had made a huge difference in my life and had been a huge part of my recent self-discovery. I had a feeling I’d done the same for him as well. That was the thing about the people you loved— sometimes they made you crazy, but they would always be there for you in a pinch.

And this thing with Peter was the pinchiest situation we’d encountered yet. With the murders we’d investigated together, we at least knew what we were dealing with, what we were looking for. But with Peter? We now had questions on top of questions. As afraid as I was to discover where the answers may lead us, at least the three of us were firmly in this together.

Nan waited until Peter and I were seated at the table, then disappeared into the kitchen to plate up her sweet creations.

“Nice house,” Peter remarked, twiddling his thumbs in front of him. “How’d someone like you manage something like this?”

“It’s my house,” Octo-Cat announced, jumping up onto the table and plopping his rear right in front of Peter. “And I don’t think I want you in it.”

“Don’t mind him,” I said, pretending that everything was as normal as could be. “He’s just a bit suspicious of new visitors.”

“Nice kitty,” Peter said, reaching a hand toward the tabby.

“If you touch me, I bite you,” Octo-Cat informed him with a low growl.

Peter instantly recoiled. Was it because of the growl or the words that preceded it? Hmm.

“Good human,” Octo-Cat said in that condescending way I’d grown to love. “If you poke the tiger, you’re going to lose some fingers. That’s how the saying goes. Isn’t it?” He tilted his head to the side and flicked his tail, keeping his unblinking eyes on Peter the whole time.

Peter laughed nervously. “So, Angie, how long have you been working at—?”

“Don’t talk to her.” Octo-Cat hopped back onto his feet and stared Peter down with his ears folded back against his head. “Talk to me. Who are you, and why are you such a jerk? Huh, big guy? You think it’s nice to pick on my human?”

Peter leaned back as far as he could in his chair and looked toward me with large, pleading eyes. “Um, could we maybe put your cat somewhere while I’m here? I think I might be allergic.”

“More like afraid,” Octo-Cat said, then punctuated it with his signature evil laugh. I’d never seen Peter so shaken. Granted, I hadn’t known him very long, but still, it really did seem as if he could understand what my cat was saying to him.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s harmless,” I said with a dismissive shrug.

Octo-Cat growled again. “Oh, she has no idea just how harmful I can be,” he told Peter with a low rumble.

“Who’s ready for some heavenly confections?” Nan sang as she floated back into the dining room with an artfully arranged silver serving platter, completely unaware of what Octo-Cat had been up to during her brief absence.

I widened my eyes as I moved them between Nan and the cat, trying to let her know that this was his show, but she didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Bon appetit!” she cried, setting the tray between Peter and me.

“This looks amazing.” Peter wasted no time in grabbing a rich puff pastry dessert and shoving it eagerly into his mouth.

“You want to know what’s really amazing?” Octo-Cat asked, keeping his eyes trained on Peter. “My jokes. Seriously, I dare you not to laugh.”

I selected a mini cheesecake bite for myself and smiled as I waited to see what would happen next. Octo-Cat’s jokes were generally pretty terrible, but Peter didn’t strike me as the type with a sophisticated sense of humor anyway.

“Okay, get this.” Octo-Cat sat again, coming right up to the edge of the table so that Peter had to scoot back to avoid touching him. “What do you call a dog with a brain? Anyone? Anyone?” He paused and looked around. “No, nobody knows. Okay, I’ll tell you— a cat!” He whooped and laughed hysterically while Peter attempted to make small talk with Nan.

I watched the whole thing in quiet fascination, smiling to myself as Peter struggled to maintain his composure. He certainly didn’t enjoy getting a taste of his own medicine, the poor baby.

Octo-Cat yawned. “That one didn’t get you. Hmm, okay. Well, I have lots more.” He waited for Peter to take another bite before asking, “What’s the difference between cat puke and a dog?”

Peter seemed to choke a little but recovered quickly.

“One’s a slimy pile of disgusting excrement, and the other’s cat puke. Ha!” Octo-Cat flopped over on his side and rubbed his back on the dining room table the same way he often did in the freshly cut grass outside. This was him luxuriating in the moment. He seemed to love taunting someone who deserved it.