I looked over my new office. Flipping open the typewriter case, I saw it to be a standard ribbon writer. I sat and opened the lock box and pulled out the pistol. A Roaring, model 520. I checked the grip. Not bad. I took a whiff and caught the scent of factory oils, grease, three kinds of metals, not to mention the paws that put it together. Mmm, no other owner then. Neat. The palm grip was made of red maple wood and well etched for a better grip. Expensive. I opened my black vest and slid it inside my holster. Fits too. What more could I want? I slid it back into the lock box. I'll need a new cleaning kit for it, plus darts. I'll do that later.
The small office had a good reading light above. I turned it on and opened Ms. Pierpont's case file. She has neat paw writing, I commented internally on seeing the few pages she had not typed up and started to read.
After two hours had passed, I lowered the file. She knows her business. She hit all the points I had. She also checked on the stolen book. However, that makes me wonder. Did Mr. Sullivan's team mention the book? If so was it missing at that time? If it was, why wasn't it reported? This made me shake my head. Somehow I get the feeling that book is the pivot point in this case. How is another matter. I leaned back in the chair and put my paws behind my head to run through her tracks at the museum. Hmmm, she makes no mention of the book, which could mean it was missing at that time, but then again if it had been there she'd have no reason to mention it, as she might not have known it held some bearing on the case. She did, however, catch the same smells I did at the Cat-A-Mite Museum's emergency doors and determined rightly Mr. Sullivan had his own keys.
I scratched under my muzzle and sat up straight to reread some pages. Tenacious too; she returned to Ms. Nelson's burrow that night but found nothing but the same mystery in dig sights. She also noted my appearance. I used a fingernail to aid in my reading. “Ran into a bodyguard or police detective. I'll have to check him out. Seems competent. A little daring, though. He should have known that rope wouldn't hold him. Good looking, too, for his age,” I snorted at this. “If I were into wolves and the circumstances were different, I'd have asked him out.” That raised my eyebrow.
I turned a couple of pages and started reading about her visit with Ms. Giselle Deville. “Ms. Deville is a very active snowshoe hare. She keeps her burrow using notes left by college students and the occasional adventurous female or grown male. It appears Oscar Sullivan was one of these, which proved informative. His nephew, Bryn Nelson, has for the past year or so worked to have Oscar committed for psychiatric review. As far as I could discover, Oscar believes it's simply a ploy to obtain guardianship of his finances.” Hmm, I hadn't confirmed that as yet, but it had crossed my mind. It's good to know I was right without any true facts. I looked around the cubical to give my eyes something else to look at for a moment before re-immersing myself in her words. “Here Ms. Deville laughed and said candidly, 'Sweet Oscar, he hasn't a bank note to his name anymore. Everything he does is for favors. I give him kickbacks on students he sends my way and he does odd jobs to collect notes for other things.' Ms. Deville did mention though, 'I think the sweet fox is a little touched, though. Last two times he was here, he talked of being shadowed. He had nothing rock solid, of course, just a glimpse of shadows here and there, or a blurry form turning into a doorway or alleyway.'”
I sat back in the chair and automatically reached for my pipe. When I stubbed my finger on a different drawer knob, I snarled and laid back my ears. I see I'll also need to get a decanter for water along with a proper drinking glass. I shook out my paw. As Ms. Deville gave no clues to any place Mr. Oscar Sullivan might have gone, I think I'll replace my pipe. After which I'll see Ms. Catharine Nelson. Perhaps I missed something Ms. Pierpont found in Mr. Oscar Sullivan's room which led somewhere she doesn't mention here. Also, Ms. Nelson did find something she wanted me to look at.
I stood and shoved the pistol into my holster then turned and nearly ran into a leopardess passing my cubical.
“Watchit!” she snarled, and shoved me back inside.
Off balance, the back of my right pad kicked the chair wheel. This added to my stumble, which caught my tail at a bad angle on the countertop. I let out a howl and shifted at a jump to get my tail clear. Laughter rolled in over the cubicle wall. Not at all amused, my ears laid back and I had a will to rush out to get my paws on that leopardess. Instead, I held the counter, counted to ten, reset my vest and flat cap and with all my dignity in place, walked out.
****
New pipe in paw, I strolled along the pathway in the local park and puffed, rolling over the facts in this case, which weren't many. I'm sure Mr. Sullivan's disappearance is over that book. That's if he took it. There's the merest chance Ms. Pierpont purloined it. If so, why? Hmm… I pulled my pipe out and rubbed my neck. No, she had no reason to take it, and being a P.I. she had no reason to report it missing even if she knew it was missing. Hmm, I have to assume Mr. Sullivan has it. Regardless of who took it, Ms. Pierpont's disappearance seems over the top. If she was animal-napped, it doesn't necessarily involve Mr. Sullivan. It could very well be from another case she worked. Paws behind my back, I allowed my eyes to wander in the late afternoon cool weather. Thus you can imagine my annoyance when I spotted the leopardess from Mr. Palan's office, dressed in a simple blue blouse and black knee-length skirt, sitting on a bench. Once she spied me she stood, tossed her black hair behind her and strolled my way.
Her big yellow eyes targeted my ice blue ones, her approach casual, yet highly wound up. After our encounter in the office, I stopped my approach and palmed my pipe to make certain she didn't snatch it out of my mouth and toss it away. The extra steps she took to reach speaking distance set a tick off on her lip and her tail to twitch.
She let her right paw nails extend. Without pleasantries of any kind, once abreast of me she stabbed my chest. “I don't care who you are or what you mean to my boss, but you will return today and tell Mr. Palan you have no wish to pursue Zoe's case. That case is mine. Was mine before Mr. Palan assigned that airhead to it.” She curled her nails into my vest, poking holes in the cotton fabric. “You feel me?”
“What I feel is you buying me a new vest.”
I took her wrist in my paw and applied enough pressure to cause her to wince. Our eyes locked. Hers hardened. I applied a little more pressure. Her lips curled off her sharp teeth. She tried to pull her arm back. I kept my facial muscles as bland as could be, applying more pressure to emphasize that the amount of force she was using to extract her paw was causing me no amount of sweat to hold it in place, although the opposite was true. A glint in her maddening eyes showed she was about to do something to end our stalemate. Something painful to me, I was sure.
To keep that from happening, I said, “You try anything, and I plunge my nails into your wrist, causing you to lose functionality in your paw for quite some time.”
Between clinched teeth, she growled. “You wouldn't…”
“Try me.”
Her arm relaxed after she thought it over, so I let her go. She pulled it back and rubbed her wrist. I let my eyes and ears reflect my next words.
“Let me be perfectly frank with you. The fact you're a female gains no soft spot in my book. The next time you try to bully me away from a case, I'll lay into you until one of us is still standing.” I inserted my pipe between my lips, took a hold of my vest and straightened it out. I palmed my pipe and said in passing her, “I'll expect any notes you may have on the case to be on my desk by the end of day tomorrow. Also, I require a check or bank notes in the amount of thirty-two notes to accompany them for the replacement of my vest, or I will take the cost out of your hide.” This last was more bravado than any truth, but I had to make a point.
With the ugly matter hopefully over, I raised my tail high and strolled away more or less in the direction of the local pistol dealer, as they carried tranquilizer darts meant for public use. The stronger versions the police used were ordered by the police from the factory and sent straight to lock-up in the s
tation. This was a precaution by the city to make certain no civilian obtained the doses that could kill an animal in as little as two darts.
****
It was around eighteen hundred when I decided to call it a day. I'd gained new supplies, including a new pistol and pipe cleaning kit. I'd padded back out and visited city hall to make certain my paperwork was all in order. It was one thing to be told all the paperwork had been filed and another to see it for yourself. Satisfied all was in order, I'd caught a rickshaw and stepped out before my apartment building, unable to build up the nerve to visit Millie Ann's Moonlight Café just yet. If Joann is there… I shook my head. You chicken… I told myself and answered, Guilty as charged. Still, right now wouldn't be a good time.
My thoughts trailed off as I spied an old Sun Bear in worn-out blue jeans and vest making his way in my direction.
I raised an eyebrow. It's been what, three years since I've run across a Sun Bear? I let my mind question their rarity to take my thoughts off Joann. Maybe longer…
When he saw I was looking his way, the bear raised a paw. “Mr. Snow…” I barely heard him call out in a deep voice that had lost the strength to project very far. “Might I have a word with you?”
I stopped in my tracks, took a drag of my pipe and removed it. “How can I help you, sir?”
As the Sun Bear was the smallest of the bear family, when he drew close I found my eyes looking slightly down.
He ran his long tongue over his lips. He looked behind him a moment before he faced me. “I am speaking to Mr. Braxton Snow, oldest son of Mr. Elov Snow, correct?”
That caught me up short. Though most animals knew my name around the apartment building because of the lawsuits, nobody, and I mean nobody, knew of my family. Shock and confusion at hearing my father's name put me on the defensive. I snapped, “How did you…scratch that, who the hell are you?” I had a will to grab his vest and shake him vigorously, but I squashed that reaction to stand rigid and glare down at him.
My heated gaze fazed the Sun Bear not at all. He looked about him and told me, “My name is unimportant. However, the investigation you're digging into is. I must caution you, sir, you're padding down a dangerous path. For your own sake, please drop the matter and return to your fiancée. You'll live much longer for it.”
The bear started to turn but I grabbed his shoulder. “Wait a minute! How'd you know who I am and that I'm engaged?” I leaned into him and repeated myself. “Who the hell are you?”
His black eyes looked up into my ice blue ones. “I'm merely a messenger, Mr. Snow. If you want answers, it's best you get them from Mrs. Irina Yenin. You can find her in the history library near the college on most days.” He looked around yet again, as if worried some-animal might see us together, and pulled off my paw. “No more questions, please. For our mutual safety, I must go.”
I dropped my arm and allowed the sun bear to wander off. Although I had a multitude of questions for him, it was plain as the nose on my muzzle he was worried about being seen. This prompted me to look around as well. For good measure, I took in a few deep breaths. Out on the glacier, sampling the wind in such a manner could locate pry or give guidance about where I stood. Here, though, surrounded by countless animals and literally millions of smells, to mark something or some animal out of place was near on impossible. I did, however, have a small advantage. I'd been living in the apartments for twelve years. After some moments, I rubbed my muzzle and considered settling on a bench to keep an eye out for an animal who was out of place, but a yawn took over my mouth and I smacked my lips.
Best turn in and let my senses sort out any known smells. If I come across one at a later date, I'll have a clue as to where I sampled it. Another yawn. In the morning I'll hit my new office and write up this incident before heading over to the history library in search of Mrs. Irina Yenin.
****
With Joann's scent permeating my bed, it had been sometime before I could fall asleep, and that only when I moved into the bathroom and made my bed in the tub. Heartsick to hold Joann, I dressed, and sleepy-eyed, left for the office. It felt so different to look up on the facade of the Wilmar Knapp building and call it my place of work. As with yesterday, the same black bear stood under the canopy and gave the same greeting as he opened the door for me.
A standard salutation said over and over. How some animals could do this day after day… I nodded thanks and walked in, paying more attention to my surroundings. Although I unconsciously labeled the scents of the place yesterday, today I matched them up with their owners. Expensive Willow Wood paneling. A crystal chandelier high overhead to give the lobby a kind of dreamy effect. A painting by Katya Leitner, a renowned smooth-coated otter who used only paints gathered by her own paws. In the elevator, less expensive woods were used for the floor, walls and ceiling, since they would have animal contact every day.
On the ninth floor, the splendor of the downstairs lobby was replicated in everyday-ware items. Down the hallway and through the glass door, I nodded to the young owlet secretary behind the front desk, who with a smile for a greeting turned to move a peg by my name from “out” to “in.” Through the door marked “employees only,” I came to my desk in short order. There I found a small delight to help my low mood. A brand new white vest. However, the card with it left something to be desired: *Take this vest and shove it up your tail!* I smirked. A small victory, but an important one, if I remain here after finding Mr. Sullivan and Ms. Pierpont.
I looked around but found no accompanying file. Either she doesn't know anything, or she's holding out. Bet I can guess which is more likely. I shrugged the leopardess out of my thoughts and pulled out a ream of paper to type out my case notes. At least I don't have to write it all out… I mused to myself as my fingers flew over the typewriter keys. With my notebook beside me, I finished up my case file. Once done, I collected all the sheets and locked them in the 'Open Case File' drawer Mr. Palan had installed in each cubical so he could retrieve information any agent had gathered. Next came a thorough cleaning of my new gun. After a check of the darts and CO2 cartridges I was off to speak to this Mrs. Yenin at the history library.
Not bothering with pleasantries with the three animals present in the office, I left the Wilmar Knapp building and caught a rickshaw. A short hour later under a bright sun I disembarked the conveyance and looked at the five-story Library of History. To the right and left of the twenty steps that led up from the street stood twenty evenly-spaced poles. Each meticulously rose ten meters, {12 ½ yards} in height and bore a single animal family flag, the purpose of which was to inform the community all animals were welcome and all were represented within this building's walls.
Since the college campus was down the street, the prevalent animals about were students. After these were lawyer assistants gathering information for criminal cases and lawsuits. Beyond these were a sprinkling of everyday animals from the researcher of his or her kind to the simply curious. I adjusted my black flat cap to keep the breeze from stealing it and joined in the crowd. Above the double doors on a sign read *Knowledge is a force beyond Time to grasp* I stopped and eyed the words. I guess you have to be a scholar to understand that. With a shrug I walked up to the entrance window just inside the door and showed the golden jackal behind the glass my P.I. license.
“I'd like to speak with Mrs. Irina Yenin, if you please,” I said politely.
The female jackal scrutinized my document then called a gray wolf over and pointed me out, though she never said a word to him. The security guard nodded and came around to the entrance. “If you'll follow me, sir.” he said in a tone that boarded no other recourse.
As the jackal hadn't told him I was a P.I., I wondered if this was standard operating procedure for an animal who might be carrying a gun. I paid my five-bank-note fee to walk in and followed the wolf, who struck up a conversation as we walked.
“What brings you to the city?”
“How do you mean?” I responded with a glance at my closest relativ
e, species-wise.
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.”Beg pardon, I thought you were from the Ice Packs.”
“Ice Packs?” I inquired.
“You know, the Arctic Wolf Clans out on the glacier. I thought that's why Silvia pointed you out. We've only ever see one of your kind visit when one comes around to speak with Mrs. Yenin, but I can tell you're too civilized to have come from them.” He showed me the elevator. “As there are only a paw-full of arctic wolves within the city communities, you can understand her mistake. Since you're one of these civilized wolves, you may freely go up to the fifth floor to see Mrs. Yenin without an escort. Her office is to the right. Just look for her name printed on the seventh door you pass.”
I walked in the elevator thinking as he turned away, The clans come to see Mrs. Yenin? Hmm… My mind was abuzz. What does this all mean? Why does a sun bear warn me off this case? How does he know my father? And why do wolves come off the glacier to visit this scholar? The doors opened before me and I stepped out. This case gets more complicated by the hour. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to decide how to approach her. Like a citizen with flat cap in paw or as one of the Ice Clan wolves? Hmmm…
Seven doors down on the right, I read on the opaque window *Mrs. Irina Yenin. Scholar of glaciers and inhabitants.* Even though the door was opaque, I could see shadows moving about within. The tribes out on the glacier are harsh animals, I considered. The barren ice makes them that way. Hmmm…perhaps as a meek wolf. If she's a researcher on the inhabitants of the glaciers, acting submissive might get more information out of her. After a minute of thought I pulled off my flat cap and tried to look meek and abused, like a whipped puppy. If I do this right, I may get more then she intends to give out.
Braxton Snow P.I. (The Snow Adventures Book 1) Page 13