Молли Фитц - Terrier Transgressions

Until Charles yanked the phone right out of my hand.

“It’s way too early in the morning to be calling a nineteen-year-old student. You think she’s going to want to talk to us if we wake her from a dead sleep?”

I cringed at his choice of words, but ultimately agreed. “Later then.”

“Do you think we could try the animals again today?” Charles asked with a similar puppy dog expression to the one I’d seen on Yo-Yo’s face when we’d first met.

“Sure. Why not?” I answered. We had to do something. Maybe I could put in a call to Michelle when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Okay,” Charles said before letting a relieved whoosh of air escape from his lungs. “Let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” I called after him.

He’d already grabbed his things and made it halfway out the door. Talk about eager. Charles turned back to me, properly chastised. “What’s wrong?”

“We need a plan first.” I returned to my seat and flipped to a new page on my bright yellow legal pad.

Charles sat back down, too, but began to bounce both legs nervously.

When I was sure I had his attention, I continued, “We need to treat the animals just like we would any other witness, and we need to approach Yo-Yo as a vulnerable witness. You saw the trauma he went through at the mere suggestion his owners might be hurt. We can’t upset him like that again or he may close off to us completely. Also, if we push too hard, I worry it could negatively impact his long-term mental health.”

Charles thought about this for a moment. By the time he spoke again, his nervous bouncing had ceased. “Do you think Yo-Yo saw the murder?”

“He definitely could have seen it,” I said with a nod.

Understanding sparked within his pine-colored eyes. “He saw it, and then he suppressed the memory to protect himself.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” I brought the pen to my mouth but stopped short before I began to gnaw at the cap. It was a nervous habit of mine—a disgusting habit—I definitely didn’t want to trot out in front of Charles.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. “So how do we get him to acknowledge these hidden memories in time to save Brock?”

“We don’t,” I said, recapping the pen and placing it back onto the desk. “I think Yo-Yo can still help even without remembering what happened or knowing that his owners were killed. I mean, who knows a person better than their dog? He saw their daily routines for years. He would definitely know if anything had changed shortly before their deaths.”

“Smart,” Charles said with a nod while my heart secretly swelled at the compliment. “Do you want to take the lead on the questioning?”

“Yes, I think I do.” I could talk to animals for a reason. At first I thought helping Octo-Cat solve Ethel’s murder had just been a fluke, but more and more it seemed like this was my calling: to uncover justice one fluffy critter at a time.

A couple hours later, we’d prepared an exhaustive list of questions and prompts, and even role-played how a conversation with Yo-Yo might go. That only left one variable for which we hadn’t properly accounted—Octo-Cat.

His mood changed so regularly, it would take far too long to draw out the various scenarios we might be faced with while trying to secure his compliance. Also, I was too embarrassed to admit to Charles how much I let my cat walk all over me on a daily basis. Instead, we planned to just show up at my house and tell Octo-Cat what we expected of him, plain and simple.

Oh, he’d definitely find a way to punish me for it, but I could handle a little cat puke or a fresh claw wound if it meant saving an innocent man from a life in prison and protecting a sweet terrier’s innocence.

We stopped off at Cliffside Apartments to grab Yo-Yo, then made a quick detour to the pet store where we purchased a leash and harness for Octo-Cat. Unfortunately, the only get-up they had in his size was bright neon green with a series of fluorescent bones patterned along the leash.

This would make it that much harder to convince him to wear it, but we didn’t have time to stop off at multiple stores just to assuage my cat’s vanity.

Sure enough, Octo-Cat baulked when presented with his shiny new walking gear. “So let me get this straight. You not only want me to spend more time talking to Dum-Dum while you make heart eyes at Upchuck, but you also expect me to wear this monstrosity? Ma’am, I am a cat, not some common, mouth-breathing dog.”

I crossed my legs and sat down on the floor in front of him, arranging my face in the best approximation of puppy-dog eyes any human could hope to muster. “Please. It’s just for a little while, and I wouldn’t ask unless it was really important.”

He flicked his tail a few times before responding with, “So you’re asking then? That means I have a choice. I choose no.”

I gave Charles the signal we had discussed, knowing in advance that it would most likely prove necessary. I watched as he slowly slipped his hands into a pair of oven mitts and tiptoed toward Octo-Cat from behind.

“I want you to know…” I told my soon-to-be furious furr-enemy. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

Octo-Cat’s eyes widened with the knowledge of my betrayal at the same time I shouted, “ Now!”

A furious cry ripped through the house as Charles scooped my cat into his arms, clutching him tightly and very much against his will.

“Unhand me, Upchuck!” he screamed as he swiped his claws in any and every direction. “I will not be disrespected like this!”

“Shh,” I said in a futile attempt to coax him into a belated agreement as I worked his arms through the harness. “You do this for me, help us find who killed Yo-Yo’s owners, and I will owe you a favor. It can be any favor you want. I swear. Please just help us. We need you. And, if you’ll recall, it wasn’t so long ago I risked my life to help you get justice for Ethel.”

At these words, all the fight drained from his furry little body, and Octo-Cat sighed heavily. “Fine,” he growled as I clipped the harness under his belly.

Charles set him back on the ground, and Octo-Cat took a few tipsy steps. His fur stuck out in various directions from the struggle, and he twitched spasmodically while keeping his posture low and defensive.

“You owe me a big favor,” he shouted in my direction. “The biggest favor you’ve ever given anyone in all your nine lives!”

I nodded, eager to put this confrontation to an end. I’d braced myself for a much bigger fight than he’d given me, and things could still go south if I wasn’t careful. “You’ve got it,” I promised. “Anything.”

Octo-Cat let out a maniacal chuckle that made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, too.

“What?” I asked, my voice suddenly shaky and unsure.

“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll all see!” He swept a paw toward Charles, which only increased my worry—but my crazy cat’s demands could be dealt with later. Thinking of which, I should also probably put parent controls on the TV later to discourage this kind of crazed villainous behavior. Right now, though, we had to move on to the next phase of our plan, just in case he suddenly changed his mind and retracted his offer to help.

“Let’s get out of here while we still can,” I told Charles while bending down to clip the leash to Octo-Cat’s new harness.

“Fully unnecessary,” the tabby grumbled. “What makes you assume I’d run away? Remember, I chose you despite your many, many shortcomings.”

“It’s more for your safety than your compliance,” I explained.

Even if Octo-Cat fully intended to stick with us on this trip, he had a tendency to become a different cat from the moment he stepped paw outside. Inside the house, he was a cool intellectual who freely offered an unsolicited running commentary on my life. Once he got out into the wide open, though, he became flighty, unpredictable, and highly excitable. For all I knew, he could spot a butterfly and run three miles straight before realizing we weren’t right there chasing it with him.