Молли Фитц - Terrier Transgressions

I brought a hand to my chest and said, “Awww, that’s so sweet.”

Octo-Cat shrugged his little kitty shoulders. “Yeah, dogs might not be the smartest, but they are loyal. I guess that’s their one redeeming quality.”

Yo-Yo licked Mitch a few more times, then untangled himself from her arms and came to sit right next to me. He let out a string of four or five barks, keeping his eyes trained on me the whole time he spoke.

“He didn’t see much, but he remembers her smell now,” Octo-Cat said. He lifted a paw to his mouth, but then thought better of beginning a new grooming session at this key investigative moment and dropped his paw back to the ground.

“Her, right.” So far everything was lining up with what Charles and I already knew—or at least theorized—and things weren’t looking very good for our realtor friend. “Who was it?”

Sure enough, Octo-Cat confirmed my suspicions with what he said next. “He says it was the lady selling the house.”

“Breanne, I knew it!” I shouted before turning to Charles. “Give me that picture of Breanne from her flyer, please.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a moment before finally reaching into his messenger bag and retrieving the requested photo.

“Is this her?” I asked, holding the paper up to Yo-Yo.

He let out a bark that quickly turned into a growl.

“See!” I said, shoving the paper back at Charles. “You let your crush on Breanne blind you to the truth. It was her this whole time.”

Octo-Cat pawed me again. This time with a bit of claw.

“Ouch!” I cried. “What now?”

“That’s not what he said,” he told me with a smug smirk.

Not Breanne? How could that possibly be? We already knew it wasn’t Mitch. Glendale wasn’t very big. How many five foot seven redheaded killers could we possibly have in our small town?

I widened my eyes at him, waiting.

“He said it wasn’t the lady on the paper,” Octo-Cat explained, visibly losing patience with each word. “It was the other one.”

“What?” I asked as my heart crashed to my feet. “All this just to find out it really was Brock all along?”

Octo-Cat turned to the terrier, and the two spoke quietly back and forth for a couple minutes before he looked back to me.

“Not the man,” he said. “The other lady.”

“Charles,” I said, reaching out my hand. “Give me a photo of Brock to show Yo-Yo.”

Mitch, who’d kept quiet during this whole exchange until now, piped up. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she asked, “Are you actually talking with that cat?”

“It gets less weird the more you’re around it,” Nan explained with a kind chuckle.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Charles added with a laugh that was way too generous for his bad joke.

I didn’t have the time to worry about some college student learning my secret. I was so close to figuring this out, and just in the nick of time, too. We only had about ten hours before my mom’s story would run. Maybe—just maybe—it would actually be enough.

Charles held up the picture of Brock, and Yo-Yo made a high-pitched yipping noise.

“Not him,” Octo-Cat translated.

“Then who does he mean when he says it’s the other one?” I complained. Something just wasn’t clicking. Maybe Yo-Yo wasn’t the key to solving the case, after all.

“Brock is the other one,” I insisted, speaking to Octo-Cat but keeping my gaze on Yo-Yo as I did so. “Who else there?”

“I’m calling Breanne,” Charles announced already mid-dial.

“Give me that,” I said, yanking his cell phone right out of his hand.

“Hello?” Breanne answered full of an energy and friendliness I certainly hadn’t heard from her before.

I caught the eye of each of my companions and raised a finger to my lips to let them know they needed to be quiet. “Hello, Breanne. It’s me, Angie Russo, the paralegal on your brother’s case.”

“I thought I told you I didn’t want you working on it anymore,” she growled, every ounce of kindness having evaporated within a split second.

“I’m off the case after today,” I explained quickly. “But Charles asked me to drive up to Michelle Hayes’s school and see if I could find her. She only had a few minutes before her class started, but she told me the realtor did it.”

Yeah, like I was about to confess my strange abilities to someone who already hated me.

“Impossible,” Breanne spat back. “I didn’t do it, and neither did my brother. It’s awfully funny that she’s blaming me now when she swore she didn’t have a clue in her statement to the police.”

I made a tight fist and then let it go, bracing myself for what came next. “If you didn’t, then who did? I mean, who else could she possibly mean?”

Breanne made a series of infuriated noises that started with a huff and ended with a yell. “That’s it! I’m definitely calling Mr. Thompson to file an official complaint.”

“Please just answer the question,” I insisted, praying she wouldn’t hang up on me before offering anything good.

“The realtor,” Breanne yelled. “That could mean absolutely anybody. Do you know there are more than three-thousand realtors licensed just in the state of Maine? It could have been any of the ones who showed up at the open house or had a showing before that, or even the one who was helping them to buy their new house. Anyone could have had access to the lockbox. Anyone could have killed them.”

“Wait,” I said. My breathing hitched, and I shook from the sudden excitement of my realization. “Go back.”

“Anyone could have access. The fact you insist on blaming me when I’m the one paying—”

As much as I knew she liked yelling at me, I had to cut Breanne off in order to keep her focused. “Not that. Before,” I begged.

“Despite your fondness for blaming me, Michelle could have literally been talking about any other realtor. If she had some insider information, then why hasn’t she shared before now?”

“Forget about that for now,” I said. “You mentioned another realtor. You’re not the one helping buy their new house?”

Breanne drew in a sharp breath. Maybe she was finally beginning to understand now. “No. I mean, I wanted to, but they already had someone picked out before they came to me to list their house.”

“Do you know who that other realtor was?” I asked, then held my breath as I waited.

Her answer would determine everything.

Chapter Seventeen

All eyes watched me as I waited for Breanne’s answer to come through the line. Even my heart seemed to beat more quietly for fear of missing a single word.

“I don’t understand why this is important,” the realtor grumbled, disappointing us all.

Charles grabbed the phone from my hands and practically shouted into the speaker. “Breanne, it’s Charles. We think the other realtor is the key to clearing your brother. Can you tell us who it is?”

I followed after Charles as he paced a small path, making sure I remained close enough to hear both sides of the conversation.

Surprisingly, Breanne seemed just as irritated with Charles as she had been with me. “Really?” she shot back sarcastically. “Because a couple seconds ago your assistant accused me of killing the Hayeses.”

Charles shot daggers in my direction but kept his voice even for Breanne’s benefit. “I promise that’s not what she was doing. She just… has a hard time expressing herself clearly sometimes.”

“I want her off my case,” Breanne reminded him with a heavy sigh. “And you should really consider getting yourself a new assistant, anyway.”

Charles’s voice became small. “Could you please just—”

“Oh for Pete’s sake!” Nan shouted, yanking the phone away from Charles and delivering it to Mitch, who stared down at it in confusion.