Hoppy Holiday Homicide (Pet Whisperer P.I. Book 9)

by Molly Fitz

  The bunny nodded slowly, her long ears flopping in the hay. “I'm sorry,” she sputtered in fear. “I didn't mean to make you angry, Mr. Cat. It’s just… I always have to be on alert or bad things can happen. Life isn’t so easy when you’re prey, you know? Anybody here could hurt me. Lots of bunnies don't get the chance to live as long as I've lived already, and I want to keep on living. I love my human.”

  Paisley joined us now. I had no idea where she’d been the last couple minutes, but we still seemed to be free of any newly arriving visitors, so I pressed on.

  “Do you—” I began, but Paisley interrupted me, which was very uncharacteristic of her.

  She let out a sad howl. Now her normally erect ears fell forward as she tilted her head and studied the bunny with an expression of sorrow. “Oh, you poor bunny. I can't imagine what life is like for you. Do you want to talk about it? I'm a very good listener.”

  I was just about to say something to get us back on topic when an increasingly perturbed Octo-Cat came to my rescue.

  “Once again, this isn't the Dr. Phil show, and we’re not here to talk about the bunny's feelings. We need information. We need to find Mags. Keep your eye on the prize. Keep your head in the game. Yada yada. And all those other favorite human clichés, too. Now,” he said, turning back to E.B. with flashing yellow eyes. “One of our humans has been kidnapped by dangerous men.”

  The bunny gasped.

  “Yes,” said Octo-Cat dramatically, nodding as he did. “Dangerous. And we need to get her back before it's too late.”

  He took two quick steps forward and unsheathed the claws on one paw demonstratively. “Now tell us what you know, rabbit.”

  The bunny’s nose never stopped wiggling even as the rest of her body grew still with fright. “I don't know what you expected of me,” she said weakly. “I'm sorry something happened to your human, but I don't know anything about it. Now, please, can I get back to my nap?”

  Octo-Cat licked his exposed claws while narrowing his eyes on the rabbit. I hadn't realized my cat was such a mafioso when it came to the pets of Glendale. I’d have to monitor his television-viewing habits a bit more carefully, it seemed.

  He began to speak, but I cut him off by placing a hand on his back. “More flies with honey than vinegar,” I mumbled.

  “Who would want flies?” the tabby asked. “Disgusting and completely off topic.”

  I rolled my eyes and focused them on E.B. “You've been here all morning watching as everyone comes and goes. Did you see anyone acting suspicious?”

  “I see everything,” E.B. said with a nod before freezing up again. “That's the difference between staying alive and becoming a snack.”

  “Okay…” I said slowly, given that she hadn't actually deigned to answer my question. “Did you see anyone suspicious?”

  One of her ears twitched, then the other. “I find every predator suspicious,” she said. “Including you. And especially that cat.”

  Octo-Cat laughed gaily as if this was the best thing he'd ever heard as well as all he'd ever wanted for Christmas.

  “I understand,” I said slowly, once again hoping Mr. Gable wouldn’t get back soon so we could pursue more productive means of inquiry. “Was anyone more suspicious than the others? Or suspicious in a different way?”

  E.B. thought about this. “Well,” she said at last. “Now that you mention it, yes. I did see some suspicious humans come through.”

  Now we were getting somewhere.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you know who took Mags?” Paisley asked, wagging her tail hopefully as we all stared at E.B. waiting to find out what she knew.

  “Who’s Mags?” the bunny asked distractedly. “Your human just asked me if I saw anyone suspicious.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I jumped in to steer the conversation back to the right path. “Tell me about those suspicious people.”

  E.B. tentatively lifted one ear, then set it back down. “Lots of people have come through, and almost everyone stopped to say hello to Mr. Gable and get their picture taken, but a couple people seemed in too much of a hurry.”

  “So you're saying they refused to have their picture taken?” I asked to make sure I understood.

  “They didn't even let him ask. It was very strange to see a predator behave in that way. One of them was looking all around, back and forth, like I do when I'm trying to figure out if danger is nearby. The other moved very quickly and raced right past us without so much as a hello.”

  “That is strange,” I agreed thoughtfully. “Can you tell me anything more about those two people? Did they come together? What did they look like? Did you recognize them?”

  E.B. blinked slowly and wiggled her nose. “Everyone else got their picture taken, but not those two. They didn't come at the same time, either. First one came, then some time passed, and then the other. I don't know who they were.”

  “Do you know, if they were male or female? Old or young? Can you describe how they looked?”

  E.B. turned her head slightly, eyeing Octo-Cat for a moment before returning her attention to me. “I don't know. All humans look the same, really. You don't even have any special markings on your coats to help show the difference. It makes it hard to tell you apart.”

  “Exactly,” Octo-Cat said, nodding. “Isn’t that what I’ve always said?”

  E.B. flinched. “That's all I know. I don't know anything else. Please will you go away now?”

  “Thank you for your help,” I told her, rising to my feet and dusting a light smattering of hay from my bottom, which by now was soaked completely through from the melting snow on the ground. So much for the hay creating a drying buffer. “We told Mr. Gable we’d watch you, but we can do that from a little bit farther away.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, watching us warily as we left the nativity scene.

  “Well that was pointless,” Octo-Cat hissed. If I’d taken the moment to look over to him, I’m sure I’d have seen him rolling his eyes. “I’m so glad we took time to ask the bunny.”

  “There's a lot of things she did help us with,” I pointed out, raising the camera in one hand. “E.B. mentioned that there were two suspicious people and that neither had their photo taken.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” Octo-Cat asked with a flick of his tail. “Look through all the photos on that thing and cross reference it with everyone who's attended the festival so far?”

  “For a start,” I said, impressed he had understood with no explanation on my part. Then again, he was becoming quite savvy with photography given his long-distance Instagram relationship with Grizabella.

  “There's more than one entrance into this place,” I continued on. “People can start from anywhere. There are, no doubt, many people who didn't stop for a photo who perhaps never even made their way over here.”

  “And,” Octo-Cat added, his amber gaze fixed on me knowingly,

  “what’s suspicious to the rabbit might not be suspicious at all. So there were two people she thought were acting funny, but it's possible that neither of them had anything to do with the murders or the kidnapping.”

  “I know,” I said with a sigh, “but at least it's a place to start.”

  I powered the camera back on and flipped through the last few photos on display. Before I could make it very far, however, several people converged on us at once.

  Nan and her gentleman friend, Mr. Milton, came from one direction while Mr. Gable returned from another. Lastly, my boyfriend, Charles, approached as well, immediately slinging an arm over my shoulder and giving me a kiss on my forehead.

  “I finished up my work early at the firm and thought I’d surprise you,” he said with a giant grin. “So tell me, what did I miss?”

  Mr. Gable groaned, Nan winced, and Mr. Milton looked pointedly at the ground.

  Octo-Cat had an answer for him, but it was one he couldn't decipher without my help. Also it wasn't very nice.

  Paisley barked and stood on her hin
dlegs, doing her sit pretty dance to get Charles’s attention.

  “Hey,” he said, lifting her into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead, too.

  “Why is everyone so quiet?” he asked, his eyes darting around our impromptu circle. “I really did miss something, didn't I?”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and gently informed him both of the murders and the kidnapping as well as the fact that we were pretty convinced the kidnappers meant to nap me instead of Mags.

  “All that in one morning?” he asked with an empty expression.

  I nodded sadly. “I don't know what to do,” I moaned. “Do you have any ideas?”

  Mr. Gable cleared his throat. “I've spoken with the other committee members, and we all think it would be best to shut down the festival. We’re circulating word to the vendors now and giving them the option of setting up at the local park. We’ll man the exits and send anyone who comes by over there instead while the police are doing their thing.”

  Mr. Milton nodded and raised a thumb and finger to his chin. “Lots to lose, canceling the biggest event of the year. Vendors aren’t going to be too happy about that.”

  “They'll lose money,” Nan agreed, “but at least they won't lose their lives.”

  “That's the goal,” Mr. Gable agreed.

  “Come on,” Charles said. “Let's go find Mags.”

  And even though I didn't need my boyfriend to save the day, I was very glad he was now here at my side.

  We would find Mags. We would.

  I wouldn't accept any other outcome.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do you think the crimes are linked?” Charles asked me matter-of-factly as I led him toward the spot where Mags had been abducted. He carried Paisley while I carried Octo-Cat, who had the good grace not to complain this time.

  “I just don’t know,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the ground as if it held some answer we had yet to discover. “I don't think they are, but I also don't want to overlook anything. Just in case.”

  “Good thinking,” Charles said, squeezing my elbow since I required both of my hands to carry Octo-Cat comfortably, lest I wanted his complaining to pick up again. “I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier,” Charles said.

  “That's okay. You didn't know. How could anyone know these terrible things would happen? And on Christmas Eve, too…”

  Charles remained quiet for the next half block, becoming lost in thought as he so often did. “Do you think it's possible they happened not despite it being Christmas Eve but because it's Christmas Eve?”

  “What you mean?” I asked, risking a glance at him even though I needed to keep both eyes on the street in order to avoid bumping into one of the many departing vendors.

  “Well, maybe the Holiday Spectacular gave our murderer and/or kidnapper an opportunity he wouldn't have otherwise had. Or maybe the murderer is somehow related to the festival itself. You said the victims were meant to judge the ice sculpture contest. Right?”

  “Well, at least one of them,” I answered. Thinking back, Officer Bouchard didn't recognize the woman, and I hadn't been back to chat with him because of what had happened to Mags.

  “I know every second counts right now,” Charles told me as we neared the ice sculpture garden, “but let's take a quick moment to check in with the police. They may have information that could help point us in the right direction for Mags, too.”

  Less than two minutes later, we found Officer Bouchard standing with a couple other police personnel near the giant Christmas tree sculpture. “Angie,” he said. “I'm surprised you weren't back before now.”

  “Didn't you hear? I asked, my voice dry and itchy. “Somebody took Mags. Kidnapped her right off the street.”

  “Mags? Your nice cousin? But why?” His eyebrows pressed together. “And why wasn't I informed before now?”

  That was right. We hadn't even stopped to inform the authorities of Mags’s abduction. Nan had probably assumed I would do it while I assumed she would. At least I could tell my favorite police officer now.

  “It's all been a blur,” I admitted “I can't believe I forgot to come to you, but I know you've been busy over here.”

  He sighed and rolled a kink from his neck. “Busy is an understatement.”

  “Learn anything new?” Charles asked, shaking the officer’s hand hello. “Anything that might help us find Mags while you hunt the killer?”

  “Hunt’s not exactly an appropriate word. Sounds like somebody's been reading too many Stephen King novels,” the officer quipped. “But yes, we were able to confirm that the female victim was our second judge. A Miss Zelda Benedict. She taught art at the university in Portland and drove up special to serve as our judge.”

  I sucked air in through my teeth. This just kept getting worse and worse. “What a way for us to make a good impression on outsiders. Come to Glendale's Holiday Spectacular where you just might get murdered.”

  “It is unfortunate,” Officer Bouchard agreed. “She was very well respected in her field. Her colleagues will no doubt ride us hard until we find out who the culprit is.”

  “Did she have any connection to Fred Hapley?”

  “As far as I know, the two of them never met a day in their life. At least not until they wound up dead side-by-side in the snow here. By the way, the murder weapon for old Fred was a gun. It must've had a silencer since no one reported hearing anything. But Zelda? She was stabbed straight through with an icicle.”

  “Why not kill them both the same way?” Charles asked, wrapping an arm protectively around my waist and eyeing the nearby ice sculptures warily.

  “That's what we wondered, too,” Officer Bouchard said with a nod. “Seems to me that somebody had come prepared to commit one murder but then had to commit a second when Fred here walked in on the scene.”

  “So we’re looking for someone who knew the festival well enough to plan a private moment with Zelda Benedict in the ice sculpture garden before most of the tourists arrived and the scene got busy. But also someone who didn't know the agenda well enough to anticipate Fred Hapley’s arrival,” Charles summarized.

  “That's what we're thinking.” Officer Bouchard bobbed his head and reached over to give Paisley a quick pat. “But now you tell me someone took your cousin, too. She didn't arrive on the scene until after both judges were slain and the murderer had disappeared. So why would someone take her?”

  “The murderer disappeared from view, but maybe he stayed close to keep an eye on things,” I ventured, hugging Octo-Cat tight to my chest for strength. “Maybe he watched us the entire time as we discovered the bodies, talked with you, and then got ready to guard. But then why wouldn't he take me too?”

  “Unfortunately, we’ve got a lot of questions and very few answers so far.” Officer Bouchard hung his head and sighed. “I’ll call Mags’s kidnapping in to the station. Even though our men are occupied with the homicide scene here, the neighboring police forces are all on standby given the size of our event, and the folks in Dewdrop Springs have dealt with their fair share of kidnappings over the years. They really are the experts on that kind of thing while murders are becoming far too common in our little town.”

  “Thank you for your help,” I mumbled, hating everything about how this day was turning out.

  “I wish there was more I could do. But if I know you, you're already halfway to finding her yourself.”

  We said goodbye, then Charles, the animals, and I headed toward the spot where I'd last seen Mags before she was hauled away and this whole nightmare had gone from bad to worse.

  Hopefully we would find a definitive clue soon. I still didn’t know where to go in the search for my lost cousin, and as time ticked steadily on, my heart sunk lower and lower.

  “Please, God,” I mumbled in a nearly silent prayer, looking toward the sky as fat snowflakes fell to the earth. “Please let her be okay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even though the snowfall had remained light that morning, it had a
lso been consistent. That meant the footprints I'd left when I chased after the van that took Mags had already mostly filled in with fresh fall. Nearly a dozen other pairs of prints wove through the street and around the block, too, adding a new layer of difficulty to retracing my steps.

  More and more people had begun to arrive for the festival, only to be turned right back around and sent on their way. Could this be the end of their town's most favorite tradition?

  No, that doesn’t matter now.

  “This is where they took her,” I told Charles, motioning toward an alley that cut between the shops. “He pulled through there, and then I lost track of him.”

  “I chased them, too!” Paisley interjected proudly. “But my little legs were no match for that big, bad van.”

  Sometimes I wondered whether my Chihuahua thought other humans could understand her, too. Either that or she just felt it was polite to talk to everyone, whether or not they had any idea what she was saying.

  “The snow has filled in most of the tire tracks, but I still see some slight grooves.” Charles stooped down and touched the ground. “Let's follow them as far as we can and see where that gets us.”

  “The kidnappers weren't the only ones to have a car,” Octo-Cat grumbled within my arms. “We’re in the middle of downtown. Practically everyone has a car. That's how we got here. UpChuck, too.”

  “Thanks for that observation,” I told my cat, thankful for the relative privacy of the alley.

  “What’s he saying?” Charles asked, both eyebrows raised.

  He definitely knew that Octo-Cat talked bad about him. After all, I was the one who had revealed my cat’s nickname for the guy was UpChuck. Still, I hated translating all the sarcastic barbs that came from my naughty kitty’s mouth.

  “Uh… nothing,” I said slowly, glancing down the alley and hoping to spot something that would help change the subject—preferably something that would also help lead us to Mags.

  “I can tell when he's being mean, you know,” Charles said with a self-effacing chuckle.