Retriever Ransom (Pet Whisperer P.I. Book 10) by Molly Fitz & Blueberry Bay

Author:Molly Fitz & Blueberry Bay [Fitz, Molly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sweet Promise Press
Published: 2020-01-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Nan, Cujo, and I arrived at the mayor's house for the second time in two days. I had an uneasy feeling about snooping around, sorely hoping Nan didn't plan on breaking and entering today as well.

We'd been lucky enough to explain our unexpected presence yesterday, but if Mark caught us today, he would surely figure out that we were investigating him just as much as the disappearance of his dog.

“Is that the mark?” Cujo asked, panting heavily beside me. He’d stuffed his giant slobbery face between the two front seats and over the armrest. Funny that he didn't get winded at all during the run, but this new excitement of the investigation had his tongue lolling freely from his enormous maw.

I scanned the horizon just in time to see the mayor pulling away in his luxury sedan.

“I’ll tail him,” Nan said, nudging me in the ribs. “Get out. You can look around here, and I’ll follow him wherever he’s going.”

As tired as I was, I also knew better than to argue. At least I’d be able to move at my own pace now.

But no.

A moment later, I found myself standing in the fresh snowfall with Cujo at my side. “Why didn't you stay with Nan?” I asked him, not so secretly wishing he had.

“And miss all the action? No thank you. I hate that metal dogsled, anyway. I’m supposed to be pulling, not sitting.” He chuffed and pawed at the snow impatiently.

“Well, c’mon then.” I tromped up the unshoveled drive. I’d have thought the mayor would ensure his home was one of the first on the local snowplow's route. Then again, it was probably hard for the city to keep up, given the record-breaking snowfall Glendale had seen during the past week.

“What are we looking for?” Cujo asked. “I don't like standing here wasting time. Not when we have a job to do.”

I'd only stopped for a few seconds, but apparently that was long enough for the hyperactive work hound. “I'm not sure,” I answered, bracing myself for the insults I had no doubt would be coming.

Luckily, whatever he’d been about to say died on Cujo's lips as a frigid blast of wind crashed into us face-on.

“Ah, that feels good,” he said with a happy sigh, then his entire body stiffened as he took a long, exaggerated whiff of the air.

“I smell something,” he informed me.

“Smell something, like what?”

“Pee.”

Oh, great. “Yeah, um, we were here yesterday for a tour, and the mayor pointed out that Marco always peed on that side of the yard.”

“No, that’s not right.” Cujo barked and turned his head in the opposite direction. “It's coming from over there!”

He pointed toward the woods, one paw raised mid-step.

“Are you sure? Nothing's back there,” I explained.

“So trusting, you humans. I’d wager a healthy bit of skepticism is just as important to a private investigator as a snow hook is to a musher. At least it should be.”

“Oh…kay,” I said slowly, neither wanting nor knowing how to argue this point with him.

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