Молли Фитц - Terrier Transgressions

He just kept walking without so much as looking at me.

I took his silence as agreement. “Ask him if he likes all the people who live in this neighborhood.”

“He says, ‘yes, very much,’ then he told me about the time he saw two red cars in a row right on this block.”

I needed to keep both of them talking, but I also needed to keep them on topic. “Were Bill and Ruth particularly close to anyone in the area?”

“Apparently they liked everybody, and everybody liked them,” Octo-Cat relayed. I was beginning to wonder if our terrier friend might not be the most reliable of witnesses. It seemed he saw the best in everybody—and every situation, too.

“Anything yet?” Charles asked.

I shook my head and kicked at a pebble in our path. “No. Unless you count knowing all the best places to mark your territory along this block.”

Charles laughed, but I could tell he was at least a little—and probably a lot —disappointed. I was just about to suggest we head back when Yo-Yo barked defensively. He stopped walking and grew stiff, pointing his nose to the next yard over.

“What is it?” I asked my cat as excitement surged through my veins.

“He says that’s the bad lady. He wants her to go away.”

I followed Yo-Yo’s gaze to the “For Sale” sign down the block. There, a blue and white notice announced that the property was being sold through Calhoun Realty, and a picture of Brock smiling beside his twin sister, Breanne, graced its countenance.

“Lady, right?” I asked carefully. “Not man?”

“Definitely lady,” Octo-Cat concurred. “He said that she always shoved him into a closet whenever people came to visit and that made him sad and scared.”

“Hmm, I wonder if that could be the same closet that Bill and Ruth’s bodies were found inside.”

Octo-Cat took a deep breath and turned toward Yo-Yo.

“ Don’t translate that!” I shouted.

“What are they saying?” Charles nudged by arm while wearing an expression of utter glee. “Do we have a lead?”

I glanced from the sign to Yo-Yo and then to Charles. “Well, the dog that likes everyone has a very negative impression of Breanne Calhoun. It seems we might need to pay her a little visit.”

As we walked back toward the car, Charles placed a call to Breanne —or at least he tried to get through to her.

“Straight to voicemail,” he said with a frustrated groan.

“Text her?” I suggested.

Charles did, and we heard back from her almost right away. He handed me the phone, so I could read the message for myself:

Showing houses to a client. Everything okay?

I gave the phone back to Charles, who deftly composed his reply while speaking each word aloud to keep me in the loop. “Can we meet about the case?”

A quick series of pings followed, and Charles relayed, “She can’t tonight, but says we can stop in tomorrow any time after lunch.”

“Great,” I moaned. Tomorrow would be Thursday, and my mom’s story was set to run Friday. That sure didn’t leave us much time, especially if Breanne turned out to be yet another false lead.

“So what now?” I asked.

“I’m kind of hungry,” Charles answered. “Do you know of any place we can get a good lobster roll? I’ve been craving one ever since I moved here.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Are you serious right now, Charles Longfellow, the Third?”

“What? What did I do?”

“You’ve been in Maine how long and haven’t had one of our famous lobster rolls?”

He laughed. “Have I mentioned I’m kind of a workaholic?”

“This won’t fly, Chuck,” I said, finally feeling comfortable using his nickname. “Since you’ve waited this long, not just any lobster roll will do. You need the best.”

“I’m definitely okay with that. Which place has the best?”

“C’mon, we’re headed to Misty Harbor and a little place called the Little Dog Diner. I just know you’re going to love it.”

Chapter Ten

Our dinner detour in the nearby town of Misty Harbor proved to be just the thing both Charles and I needed to ease our frazzled nerves. Of course, we’d stopped by my house to drop off Octo-Cat along the way—a fact for which he was exceedingly grateful—but we brought Yo-Yo with us and dined at one of their outdoor tables that looked right onto the bay. We even got the pup a fish dinner of his own, which he devoured with aplomb. I saved a small portion in a to-go box for Octo-Cat as a thank you for his help that day, and also with the hope he’d go easy on me whenever he revealed the favor I’d need to grant him in return.

Charles and I sat and chatted over lobster rolls until the sky began to darken and another restaurant-goer needed our table. I thought I recognized the woman with red, fluffy hair, who approached us with a smile and a request to take over our spot, but I couldn’t quite place her. Anyway, it looked like she was busy, because the moment we gathered our things to leave, she plopped down and unpacked a laptop from her bag. That was before the busboy had even managed to clear away our plates.

I felt bad for her, having no one to dine with her on this beautiful Wednesday night, even though I’d be home in my jammies fighting with Octo-Cat by now if it weren’t for this impromptu outing with Charles.

“See,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his own. “At least I know not to mix work and lobster rolls.”

Work, ugh. Yes, our momentary break from the case had come to an end. There wasn’t much time left now.

“Can we try calling Michelle now?” I suggested as we made our way back to the parking lot.

“Sure, use my phone,” he said. “I have her number saved just in case.”

I tried my luck but got sent straight to voicemail where a robotic voice informed me the mailbox was full and thus unable to take any new messages. “So much for that,” I said with a defeated sigh.

“Hey. At least tomorrow’s a new day,” Charles told me with a wistful glance in my direction.

Yes, a new day—and the last full one we had when it came to proving Brock’s innocence and stopping my mom’s big exposé. Even with the animals’ help, this was not turning out as easy as I’d hoped.

Could we possibly hope that a new day would make that any different?

THURSDAY

Charles and I put in a full morning at the firm before heading over to Calhoun Realty around noon. He’d practically insisted we bring the animals with us, but fortunately I was able to convince him that we should meet with Breanne on our own before getting Octo-Cat and Yo-Yo involved—especially since we had no idea how the little dog would react to seeing Breanne in person. If she was our killer, all heck could break lose once Yo-Yo’s memories came rushing back. And, judging by his reaction to seeing her printed image yesterday, that was a very real possibility.

We had to wait more than half an hour before Breanne ushered us back into her office. Even though I was sure she was a very busy person, this immediately soured her to me. One of my biggest pet peeves was people who didn’t respect others’ time. Didn’t she know her brother’s freedom was on the line here?

“Sorry about that,” the realtor said when at last she waved us back into her private office. Of course, she didn’t seem the least bit apologetic despite her words to the contrary.

Charles and I sat in the matching pair of chairs in front of her desk and waited for Breanne to settle herself. She seemed rather put out by our arrival even though she’d known we were coming.

“How is everything?” Charles asked, putting on the same drawn expression I’d seen him use when speaking with Brock at the prison.