Molly Fitz: Himalayan Hazard (Pet Whisperer P.I. Book 8)

Yeah, there was no way I would be sitting out the next leg of our investigation. I turned to the young red-headed worker and held my hands out in supplication. “Dan, may I please borrow your light?”

He reluctantly handed it over, and I turned back to Dad with a giant smile of triumph. “You were saying?”

He chuckled at let out a low whistle. “You are just like your mother sometimes. C’mon, we’re going to go nose around outside and see what we can find.”

“Will you stay with my wife?” Dad asked Dan, and they shared a manly nod.

“I’m coming, too!” Octo-Cat called, jumping off the bed and joining us at the door.

“And I’m staying,” Grizabella said, crossing her paws in front of her.

“Let’s go, Dad,” I said, lifting the lantern high as I followed him to the end of the car. We found an exit toward the outside there, but it appeared to be jammed up tight. In the next car over, we found the door already slightly ajar, having swung back into the car a couple inches.

“Hopefully, somebody just needed a cigarette break really, really bad,” Dad told me with a shrug and then pulled the door open the rest of the way so we could exit into the tunnel.

Very little space lay to either side of the train. Dad and I could walk side by side, but not comfortably. The stone walls pressed in close as we studied the gravel beside the tracks. Add in the intense darkness and it was almost like we’d been buried alive. Creepy.

Dad stopped walking and put out an arm to stop me, too. With his other hand, he pointed a few feet ahead. “Blood.”

Sure enough, dark red droplets stained the light scattering of stones and pebbles. Even creepier.

“Did you see any earlier?” Dad asked, sweeping his phone light back toward the exit we used.

I shook my head soundlessly, then continued forward to see if the blood might form a trail.

“Stay by me,” Dad called out, a quiver moving through his strong voice. “We don’t know how close the murderer still is. For all we know, he could be right here hiding in the tunnel just a few feet away. And I’m not risking losing you.”

I gulped and returned to his side.

Dad hooked his arm over my shoulders and pulled me close. “We do this together. Understand? You have my back, and I’ll have yours.”

“Awww. That’s great for you guys. I’ll go check things out on my own, though,” Octo-Cat said, trotting off in the direction I’d just abandoned.

It worried me, him going off on his own, but what reason would a murderer have to hurt a random cat? There’s no way the culprit could know that Octo-Cat was investigating this crime.

Dad and I moved slowly, using my light to illuminate our path and his to search the gravel. “I’m not seeing any more blood,” he said. “Are you?”

I’d never been so disappointed not to find evidence of a violent crime. At least if we had a proper trail to follow, we’d know that the killer had left the train—and we may even be able to follow the drops to find him.

“No,” I answered with a racking sigh. “Someone was definitely out here, and given how close the exit and the blood are to Rhonda’s room, I’m guessing it was our killer. But I don’t think he was injured. It’s probably a bit of Rhonda’s blood that dripped off his hands or something.”

“But if he had the blood on his hands, wouldn’t it be on the door?” Dad pointed out, continuing to move the tiny point of light from his phone around the path. “And also, why are we assuming the killer is a he?”

“Touché,” I said. “It could definitely be a woman. Good thought, though. Let’s go check out that door.”

We closed the rest of the distance back to our entry and exit point, and I was just about to step through into the train when an anguished cry rang out from deeper in the tunnel.

A cat’s cry.

“Octo-Cat!” I shouted and took off running. There was no way I was leaving him to face whatever danger lurked nearby on his own. I just hoped Dad could keep up.

Chapter Twelve

“Angie, wait!” my dad yelled, but I kept running as fast as I could toward the spot where Octo-Cat had cried out into the black night. By the time I found him lying on his side amidst the gravel, I’d practically run out of breath both from the burst of exercise and my pumping adrenaline.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Praying hard, I scooped him into my arms and clutched him against my chest. “What happened? Are you okay? Octo-Cat, talk to me!”

“Oof, take it down a couple notches, would you,” he muttered, shaking his head as if my volume had physically injured him.

“What happened? Did you see the killer?” I demanded, searching his glowing amber eyes for answers.

“The killer? Of course not. I’d tell you if I found the killer.” He actually had the audacity to laugh at me.

“Then why did you scream? I thought you were hurt.”

Now that I knew my cat was okay, I wanted to wring his furry little neck for striking such fear straight into my poor pet-owning heart.

“I am hurt,” he said with a low growl, then shifted in my arms and shoved a paw into my face. “I got a little rock or something stuck between my toe beans. See.”

“That reaction was about your toe beans?” I practically screamed but then, remembering the need not to disturb the other passengers on the train, dropped my voice to a whisper yell.

“Don’t act like you don’t love them.” He laughed again, and it took all I had to keep listening as he spoke. “Now can you please be a good human and dislodge this thing for me?”

Quickly, I plucked the pebble from his paw and tossed it away, then set him back on the ground.

“Thank you,” he said, walking back toward our exit door with an exaggerated limp that I had no doubt he was faking for my benefit.

“What happened?” Dad asked, concern still etched in his features despite my utterance of the ridiculous phrase toe beans.

“Cat drama,” I explained in a growl, still beyond angry at Octo-Cat for worrying me needlessly. “C’mon, let’s go back to Mom and Dan.”

We marched single file back toward the open door with me leading and Dad following. Once aboard, we stopped to inspect the door handle but found no blood marring its smooth surface. We did, however, find another spot on the carpet, only a few feet from the door, but—given the fact that each car was close to a hundred feet long—quite far from Rhonda’s room.

Any dripping blood fell infrequently. No gushing here.

It was fully likely we’d find more if we continued investigating outside the train, but the whole toe bean incident had spooked me thoroughly. It also made both Dad and I realize how vulnerable we were out there with no real way to protect ourselves.

“What did you find?” Mom asked, greeting us at the door to Rhonda’s room and throwing her arms around Dad as if they’d been separated for days and not mere minutes. “I heard something, but Dan wouldn’t let me go investigate.”

“Good man,” my dad said, giving the young redhead a fist bump.

“Nothing happened,” I explained, then took on a cutesy voice I knew would drive my cat crazy. “The wittle kitty just got an ouchie in his wittle paw.”

“Angela!” he cried, mouth gaping open in horror. “Not in front of another cat!”

Grizabella laughed, which made me laugh, too.

Dan just looked at me like I was certifiable. Maybe I was.

I returned his lantern to him, then caught everyone up on the droplets of blood Dad and I had discovered. “Did you find anything more in here?” I asked once I’d finished.

“Nope. You weren’t actually gone all that long, you know,” Dan answered, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.