Молли Фитц - Dog-Eared Delinquent

I chuckled quietly, eliciting glances from both Nan and Peter.

“Everything okay, dear?” Nan asked, stopping the small talk she’d been making with Peter. I’d been so focused on the tabby’s antics, I didn’t even have the faintest idea what they’d been talking about.

“Yes,” I answered quickly. “I just think it’s funny how Octo-Cat invited himself along to the party. He seems to be really taken with you, Peter.”

“Yeah, well.” He cracked each of his knuckles and looked away.

“Tough crowd,” Octo-Cat spat, pacing the length of the table once more. “Good thing I saved the best for last. Okay, who here knows why dogs can’t tell jokes? No one? It’s because they lose their minds whenever someone says knock, knock!”

At this, Peter snorted and then, at last, broke out into a full-fledged laugh. Gotcha.

I jumped to my feet and pointed at him. “I knew it! I knew you could understand him!”

Peter blanched and fumbled the dessert he’d been holding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Oh, can it, honey!” Nan shot in. “The jig is up.” I was pretty sure Nan didn’t know what we were talking about, but it felt nice to have another ally on my side. She stood, too, and together we glared at Peter.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” I demanded.

“You invited me,” he sputtered in equal parts confusion and irritation. “But if I’m not welcome anymore, I’ll just go.” He pushed his chair back and sped toward the door, but Octo-Cat leapt after him and sunk his claws into Peter’s shoulder, hanging on for dear life as the lanky man tried to fight him off.

“Ow, what the…?” Peter cried as he spun and shook, but still Octo-Cat refused to let go.

“Say you can hear me,” the cat hissed viciously. “Admit you understand.”

When Peter said nothing, Octo-Cat sunk his claws in even deeper. Telltale droplets of blood appeared on his neck and dampened his shirt.

“Ouch! Fine!” Peter shouted. “I understand you. Now let go.”

Octo-Cat hopped down and raced over to Nan, who’d taken a seat on our old Victorian couch while she watched this entire scene unfold. “Now that’s the spirit,” she told Peter. “And here I was afraid we’d have to tie you up before you’d willingly confess a thing.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked, wiping at his wounds with a defeated scowl.

I crossed the room and stood before him with my arms folded over my chest. “What do you want from me? You’re the one who started all this.”

“I thought you might be like me,” he explained in that whiny, nasally voice I’d come to hate over the last couple of days. “And, clearly, I was right.”

I shook my head, refusing to admit anything. “So, why taunt me?”

“Why not? I was just having a little bit of fun.”

“Need me to cut him again?” Octo-Cat asked, racing over to defend me.

Peter curled into himself defensively. “Please, no!”

“You need to tell me how you knew, and you need to do it now,” I yelled, towering over him now.

Peter’s voice came out muffled. “Or what? You’ll sic your cat on me again?”

I tilted my head and smiled at Octo-Cat who bounced at my side, ready for more action.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” I said, yanking Peter’s arms away so that he’d look me in the eye again. “Now, are you going to talk or what?”

Peter shook his head. “Not here.”

I nodded to Octo-Cat, and he took another step toward Peter. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said. “And I have the right to defend the indefensible.”

Indefensible? Ouch. I was pretty sure he was just quoting something he’d seen on his favorite TV show, Law & Order, but still.

“I’ll talk. I will!” Peter cried. “I promise I will. It’s just… it’s not safe here, okay?”

Oh, Peter. How quickly he’d transformed from villain to victim.

“If not here, then where?” I demanded.

“If not today, then when? If not me, then who?” Nan chimed in, but was ignored by both of us.

Peter shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a black business card printed with silver lettering. “This is the address. I’ll see you there Friday night. Around ten?”

“Fine,” I said, yanking the card from him even though he seemed willing to give it freely. “And until then?”

“Just act normal at work. Not a word, I mean it.” His eyes darkened for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off. “So, if we understand each other, then I’m getting the heck out of here. Bye.”

I watched in silence as he charged out of the house and sped off into the night.

“Well, that was interesting,” Nan said after emitting a low whistle.

“Did you translate my jokes for her? They were some of my best yet,” Octo-Cat said with another chuckle.

I just shook my head and wondered what Friday night would bring. I’d never met someone else like me, and frankly, I hated that the first other of my kind had to be someone as vile as Peter Peters. But now I was one step closer to figuring out why I could talk to animals, and maybe if I learned more, I could use my abilities more effectively. I could talk to more animals. I could solve more crimes.

Could Peter really have the answers I’d been looking for all this time?

Well, I’d know soon enough.

Chapter Seven

Friday couldn’t come fast enough. Now that I knew there might actually be answers, I needed to hear them. My poor, tired mind was in overdrive trying to anticipate what Peter would say when we finally got the chance to talk things out.

Why could I talk to Octo-Cat and only Octo-Cat?

How could a quick zap from a faulty coffee maker land me with paranormal powers when the rest of the world carried on just the same as ever?

And how did Peter Peters factor into all of this?

I looked up the address he’d given me on Google Earth. It belonged to a squat brick building right in the heart of Glendale’s tiny downtown area. Despite having lived in the area for my entire life, I’d never noticed that building before. Perhaps my eyes had always been drawn to the more colorful, vibrant storefronts, or maybe it was new.

I even drove past one day in search of clues and was disheartened to see a FOR LEASE sign taped inside the darkened window.

Right before I left work Friday, Peter pressed a folded-up Post-it note into my palm without offering a single word about it. I tried to act naturally, but the tiny yellow paper felt like it was burning a hole right through my flesh. Once tucked safely inside my car with the doors locked, I unfolded the note and read the single word that was written there: Claw.

Well, that made absolutely zero sense. I took a picture with my phone and texted it to Nan. Peter just gave this to me. Any idea what it means? I asked.

I waited for a few minutes. When her reply still hadn’t come, I tossed the Post-it on my passenger seat and started my journey home. Nan often forgot her phone in various parts of the house and didn’t realize it was missing until hours later. I could just ask for her feedback in person. After all, I’d be there soon enough.

At the stoplight, I glanced toward the note again. Maybe the trick was in how the word had been written rather than in what it said.

Only the note wasn’t waiting on the passenger seat where I’d left it.

I did a quick scan of the floor, assuming it had fallen. No.

I groped under the seat, but the light turned green and the car behind me honked impatiently, forcing me to return my focus to the road.

The remaining minutes of my drive were grueling. Peter’s note had to be somewhere. It just had to be. I needed to look harder to find it. It’s not like it could have disappeared into thin air.