Molly Fitz: Raccoon Racketeer

A moment later she’d scurried out of the crawl space and dropped the rest of the distance to the carpeted floor below. Her knees bent a little on impact, and I worried she’d broken something.

Racing to her side, I gently pulled her back into a standing position. “Oh my gosh! Nan! Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. What do you take me for? Some kind of invalid?” Both her knees and her voice shook, but shockingly she wasn’t any worse for the wear. Not like Octo-Cat and his poor, damaged pride.

What do I take you for? A seventy-something woman, that’s what! But I didn’t push it since she appeared to be perfectly okay. Maybe one day I’d be in as good of shape as my grandmother, but somehow I doubted it—not when she was part Betty Crocker, part ninja.

“Do me a favor, because you know I worry,” I begged. “Next time you want to go in the attic, grab me first—or at least grab a chair.”

She waved my concerns away. “No need to worry. I’m done for now.”

“Did you get rid of lots of stuff?” I asked, only now noticing the two large trash bags that sat to the side of the closet.

“A good chunk of it. What have you been up to this morning?”

I filled her in on the reappearing flyers and the confrontation with Pringle, ending with the most unbelievable part. “And get this? He says he needs them so he can do origami!” I exploded.

“Oh, good,” Nan said with a pert nod. “I was worried he wouldn’t be able to find any craft supplies.”

“Wait. Are you the one who turned him on to the Japanese art of paper-folding?” Why was I even surprised?

She shrugged. “I had an old book. It wasn’t sparking joy for me, but it seemed to spark joy for our raccoon friend, so I handed it right over.”

“But a book? Does he know how to read?” How could he read if Octo-Cat, who’d lived much more closely with humans, couldn’t?

Nan chuckled. “Well, that’s a question for him, dear. Not me.”

I rolled my eyes hard and let out a long, extra breathy sigh.

“No need to get snippy now,” Nan scolded as she charged toward the door.

I followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just I’m trying so hard to find clients for Octo-Cat’s and my business, but nothing seems to be working.”

“Oh, you need clients?” Nan raised an eyebrow my way while filling our tea kettle at the sink.

“Of course we do. It’s been two months, and still we have zero clientele to show for our efforts.” Talk about depressing.

My grandmother set the kettle on the stovetop and turned back to me with a giant grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I happen to know someone who is in desperate need of your services.”

“What?” I gasped. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Nan hit me gently with a hand towel. “Calm down, you. I just found out yesterday, and I was quite busy at the time.”

With her Marie Kondo-ing, right. I rearranged my features into a placating smile. Even though I loved my nan more than anyone else in this entire world, sometimes her roundabout methods could be a bit infuriating.

“Well,” I said when she still hadn’t said anything after a full minute. “Who is it?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face away. “Apologize first. That’s twice you’ve snapped at me in the space of five minutes.”

“I’m sorry.” And I was. I loved Nan’s quirkiness and wouldn’t change her for the world. For all her faults, my grandmother was still my best friend and my idol.

As soon as that final syllable left my mouth, she whipped back toward me to make her big reveal. “I prefer to let you be surprised, but I’ll ask your new client over for dinner tonight so she can give you all the details. I feel quite sure she’ll hire you on to help her out.”

“Thank you, Nan!” I sang, wrapping her in a solid hug. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter that she was playing coy with the details. Nan had found a client, a real, honest-to-goodness client!

Finally, things were looking up for Octo-Cat’s and my P.I. business.

Chapter Four

When the doorbell chimed a spirited rendition of the Village People’s YMCA, I knew two things. My first client was on the other side of that door, and Nan had obviously been having some fun at my expense.

Nan, of course, had refused to divulge any details pertaining to the case or the client, preferring not to shade my judgment, or so she said. I personally believe she just thought it was more fun that way—well, at least for her.

So when I pulled open the door to reveal our mail lady Julie, I was completely taken by surprise. “Julie, hello! How are you today?” I asked cautiously, not quite sure whether she was the client or simply here on urgent US Postal Service business.

“I’ve been better, that’s for sure.” The normally smiling woman stood uncertainly on the porch, a giant frown marring her cherubic features. She wrung her hands and let out an enormous sigh.

“Well, invite our guest in already!” Nan called from the bottom of the staircase. I hadn’t even heard her approach. I’m telling you, she’s part ninja.

“Thank you, Dorothy.” Julie nodded and moved to stand awkwardly in our foyer. She was one of the few people around town who knew and used Nan’s God-given name rather than her preferred nickname.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss business in private.” Nan swept away, hips swinging as she made her way toward the kitchen.

“Oh!” she cried as she twisted back to face us from across the room. “Be a dear and take the cat with you. He has a horrible habit of getting in my way lately.” She paused, opened her mouth, and then shot me a giant, exaggerated wink that Julie surely couldn’t have missed.

Octo-Cat growled as he hopped onto the lowest step. “Just because she can’t understand me doesn’t mean I don’t understand her, and that was hurtful.”

I wanted to comfort him but simply couldn’t with Julie watching us both so closely. “Let’s head up to my office,” I said instead.

What had been a mere guest room when we’d moved in was now my favorite room in the entire manor. Brock Calhoun—who now went by Cal for short—had done a fantastic job converting the space into a luxury library and office, but the crowning feature was the six-foot-long window seat that overlooked the estate’s back gardens. The huge vaulted ceilings and antique crystal chandelier weren’t so bad either, nor were the built-in bookshelves that took up two entire walls from floor to ceiling.

“Wow,” Julie whispered in reverence as she took it all in. “I bet you hardly ever leave this room.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said amicably, even though that wasn’t entirely true. While I definitely spent a few hours reading in my library each week, the fact I hadn’t managed to book any clients to fulfill the office function of the space depressed me. Most days I found it easier to read in my bedroom rather than face my own inadequacy as a private investigator.

Well, that all changed right here, right now, and all thanks to the blessed woman before me.

“Nan says you have a case,” I started once Julie had settled onto the leather fainting couch opposite my large walnut desk and swivel chair. “Catch me up.”

Octo-Cat paced the perimeter of the room, trying—and failing—to act naturally. We’d have to talk about that later.

“I do.” Julie glanced toward the tabby, then turned back to me and cleared her throat. “For the past couple of weeks, mailboxes on my route have been getting vandalized. And mail I know I delivered is also getting reported as never having reached its destination. I know I’m not making any mistakes, but I’m on thin ice at work. The office is blaming me and threatening to put me on administrative leave or even dock my pay to cover the cost of replacing the mailboxes.”