Pet Whisperer P.I. Books 7-9 Special Collection by Molly Fitz

Author:Molly Fitz [Fitz, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whiskered Mysteries

12

“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.

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