by Molly Fitz
“Not a friend. A client,” Pringle bit out the words, taking extra care to enunciate clearly. “Gloria’s just brought us a new case, and she’s already paid up front with this beauty.” He motioned toward the fish. “Isn’t that great?”
I could think of a lot of words to describe this situation, but not a single one of them was “great.”
Chapter Seven
“What have you gotten us into?” I whispered to the raccoon, all the while hoping that bears had poor hearing. I’d never come across one face-to-face, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect.
“Relax,” Pringle said, holding his hands out in front of him. “She just needs a small favor. It’s easy, I promise.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” I said from the side of my mouth, then strode toward the bear with a tight-lipped smile. I didn’t know enough about bears to determine whether showing my teeth would be construed as a threat, and with an animal as big and powerful as this one, I wasn’t taking any chances.
“Hello,” I called cheerfully, stopping several feet away. “Gloria, is it?”
The grizzly dipped her head in a nod. “Are you the Pet Whisperer P.I.?” she asked in a soft, feminine voice.
I hated the moniker that Nan and my mom had stuck me with. They thought it was a fun gimmick, but I thought it was way too close to revealing my secret. As it was, half the world thought I was crazy while the other fraction believed I really did have some kind of magical or psychic powers.
“I am,” I answered, mimicking the bear’s movement from before. “But I’m only here for the weekend. Can I help you with something before I go?”
Gloria padded forward on all fours, and it took everything I had not to flinch or back away from fright. “I won’t hurt you,” she said.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just my first time meeting a bear.”
She plopped into a sitting position and sighed. “That’s the thing. Everyone assumes that bears are so scary, but really it’s us that are afraid of you.”
I raised a finger and pressed it into my chest. “You? You’re afraid of me?”
She nodded. “You seem like a nice enough human, but so many others…” Her words faded away, and a shiver wracked her enormous body.
We looked at each other without saying anything.
Pringle hung back with his fish, but Charles crept forward and stopped at my side, threading his fingers through mine and giving my hand a good squeeze.
“Is this your mate?” Gloria asked, studying him with wide eyes.
“He is,” I answered decisively. Charles and I weren’t married—or even engaged—but animals tended to commit to each other very early on in their acquaintanceships. In the animal kingdom, Charles and I were basically like an old, married couple at this point.
“He protects you. That’s good.” Gloria gave an approving nod, then redirected her gaze toward the ground. “My mate was not so kind. He was at first, but as soon as the cubs were born, he tried to kill them—his own children—and so I ran away with the cubs and ended up here. It’s close enough to the humans that he won’t attempt to follow us here. But being close to the humans has created other problems for our little family.”
My heart went out to her. Of course, I would help if I could. I wasn’t even angry at Pringle anymore for bringing Gloria to meet me. Granted, I was still mad at him for half a dozen other things… but not this.
“How can I help?” I asked, suddenly viewing bears in a whole new light—or at least the female ones.
“We only woke up from hibernation a few days ago, but already we’re having big problems. The people who come to this park wander too close to our den, and sometimes they bring loud, exploding lightning that makes the little ones quake with fear.”
It took me a moment to realize she meant fireworks. No wonder she and the cubs were so afraid.
“I’m pretty sure people aren’t allowed to bring those into the park.”
“Well, they do.”
“If it’s already against the law, I’m not sure what I can do to make it stop.”
Gloria glanced back over her shoulder as if searching for something. When she continued, her words came out much faster. “There’s a woman who oversees the campgrounds. She’s in charge of looking after the visitors. Maybe she doesn’t realize what’s going on or how distressing it is—not only to the bears, but to all wildlife that call this park home. Would you please talk with her on our behalf?”
“You want me to talk with her?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
The she-bear nodded. “Be our voice.”
“Okay, Gloria. I’d be happy to do that for you.” I smiled, forgetting to keep my teeth concealed.
Gloria stumbled back, then caught herself. “Please promise me you’ll do it soon. I’m not sure my cubs can take another sleepless night.”
I bowed. “You have my word.”
“When it’s done, come back to this spot and call my name. I will bring you another salmon as thank you for your efforts on my family’s behalf.” She shifted back onto all fours, watching me closely.
I raised a hand in protest. “That’s okay. You really don’t—”
“I must. That way I’ll also know when it is done. Thank you, kind human. You do the animals in this wood a great service.” And with that, she turned and wandered back from whence she came.
Well, what was one more task before finally settling into our relaxing weekend? Ultimately, it wouldn’t make much of a difference for me, but it could be a huge help to Gloria, her cubs, and the other animals who called the park home.
Charles squeezed my hand, and I turned into his chest. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes, we just have to make a quick pit stop before we can have lunch. C’mon.”
Chapter Eight
Charles and I made quick work of the walk back to camp, mostly because my stomach was growling worse than a grizzly in distress. And now that I had an adequate frame of reference, I could totally make that comparison, thank you very much.
Pringle hitched a ride in the berry-stained picnic basket, which I carried while Charles handled the salmon. To prevent our little stowaway from getting dirty again, I padded the basket interior with Nan’s track suit jacket. Of course, this meant that my juicy booty was now exposed to anyone who dared take a peek at my derriere.
And that wasn’t the only thing I had to be embarrassed about in this campsite full of strangers. I also desperately clung to the hope that no one would ask us how we managed to catch this massive salmon without any fishing gear on us, because I had no idea what lie I could tell to get us out of that one.
That’s how we returned to the RV park—a hidden raccoon, a berry-stained track suit, juicy booty, and big fish to boot. Understandably, a few people paused what they were doing to openly gawk at us. But mostly folks let us go about our business.
“That’s her camper right there.” Charles pointed with his chin as we approached an older model RV with an army of pink plastic flamingos forming a makeshift fence around the front.
He took the basket from me, struggling to hang on to both it and the fish.
Pringle chittered something as he got jostled around, but it was too muffled for me to make out his exact words. Also I didn’t care. Frankly, the whole thing served him right.
“I’ll see you back at ours,” Charles said, dawdling off with a very awkward gait as he attempted to balance the salmon on top of the heavy raccoon basket. “Good luck. I know you’ll do great!”
Well, at least one of us had confidence in me and my persuasive abilities.
I ran my hands over the front of my pants to wipe off the dark juice that had transferred from the basket onto my fingers, then walked past the tango line of flamingos and knocked on the door.
When no one answered, I knocked again.
“If she’s not answering, feel free to go right in. Junetta has a door’s always open policy for folks at the campground,” someone called,
then popped her head through the open window of an aqua-accented Airstream parked in the adjacent lot to the right. She brushed her also aqua-accented curls out of her face and studied me with casual interest before pulling her head back inside.
“Thank you!” I called after her, then pushed the door open and stepped inside the dimly lit interior.
This was not nearly as luxurious as the model that Charles had rented for our weekend away. For one, it looked like the darker side of my normal wardrobe. Not everything about the 80s was fun and brightly colored. Some parts were brown and orange with avocado-colored refrigerators. I even spied a bit of rust around the faucet of the sink in the kitchenette. It all sort of clashed with the happy kangaroo logo on the outside.
Never matter.
No judgment. That wasn’t what I was here for. I was here to negotiate on behalf of the animals. I didn’t know this person, so I had no idea what to expect. Still, the worse she could do was say “no” to what I asked. Part of me wondered what she’d say to Gloria if she could’ve asked for herself. I chuckled to myself a bit at the thought.
“Hello,” I called as I tiptoed back toward the bedroom.
The door hung open just a crack—not enough for me to get a good look inside. Seeing as I didn’t want to catch Junetta in a compromised position, I knocked gently.
The door creaked open a little more, and a familiar, rotten smell wafted out to assault my senses.
“Hello?” I asked again, begging my suspicions to be wrong.
When no one answered, I held my breath, covered my nose, and pushed the door open the rest of the way.
On the bed, an older woman with a wrinkled face and unnaturally curly, copper-colored hair lay splayed out. One hand clutched at her stomach while the other groped the comforter—or at least it had until all life had left it. The bed had been nicely made, but a portion of the blanket had since been pulled and twisted.
The scene showcased a jarring mix of chaos and slumber. Junetta had suffered, but now she lay still. The smell I’d detected came from a puddle of pink-tinged vomit that had seeped into the carpet in front of the bed.
I stepped back out, taking care to shut the door behind me and give the poor woman some semblance of privacy. Partly just to shut the smell out. My fingerprints were already on it, anyway.
As I carefully retraced my steps back through the main living space of the camper, I spotted a half-eaten slice of pie sitting on the table. The fork had fallen to the ground, while the remainder of the pie was nowhere to be seen. Provided it had even been in here at all.
I stepped toward the table and examined the dessert. Mixed berry. Judging from the scene in the bedroom, my best guess was that it was poisoned.
I had to tell somebody.
Tearing my eyes away from the murderous pie, I rushed back out the door and jogged right toward the Airstream where the woman had stuck her head through the window to urge me into Junetta’s RV when she hadn’t answered the door.
This time, I must have knocked with a bit too much vigor because when the woman pulled the door open, her eyes darted back and forth wildly, her large, cat-eyed glasses making her look more like an owl as she attempted to make sense of the scene.
“Sh-sh-she’s dead,” I sputtered, taking a step back and pointing toward the flamingo-adorned trailer.
“What?” The woman clambered down the steps and stood to face me outside. While she’d stood in the doorway, I hadn’t realized just how tiny she was. If I had to guess, I’d say she barely cleared five feet.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out again before I attempted to explain. “Junetta. She’s dead. Someone poisoned her, I think.”
She squinted her eyes at me as if gazing into the sun—and given the angle she had to tilt her face to meet my eyes, perhaps she was. “Who are you?”
“I’m Angie. My boyfriend and I just arrived today. I had to talk to her about some-thing, and you told me to go right in. When I did, I found her body in the bedroom.”
She studied me for a good long moment without saying anything more. And even though I towered over her, and even with her resembling a lawn gnome from the 1950s, I still found her quite intimidating as she sized up me and my story.
Her eyes bore into mine as she announced, “I’m calling the cops.” Then she hurried back into her Airstream, slamming the door straight in my face.
Well, that had not gone as planned. Nope, not at all.
Chapter Nine
I returned to our RV to find Charles standing at the kitchenette with a spatula in hand.
“Hope you’re in the mood for grilled cheese. It’s the house, er rather, RV special today,” he said, but then he caught the look on my face, set both the spatula and the fry pan aside, and came to meet me where I stood. “What’s wrong? Did you talk to the camp manager? Was she not willing to help?”
I stared straight ahead, my head shaking and eyes unfocused, still recalling the horrible scene I had stumbled upon only moments before.
“Angie?” Charles prompted, placing a hand on my arm.
“She can’t help,” I whispered as I finally met his eyes. A shiver wracked through me. “She’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?” Pringle chirruped from the front of the camper, bringing me back to the present moment. I craned my head and spotted him in the driver’s seat where he stood gripping the steering wheel in his tiny hands, pretending to steer through traffic.
“Get back here,” I demanded. “Those windows aren’t tinted. Anyone could see you.”
Thankfully, and rather uncharacteristically, he didn’t argue. Which I was grateful for because I just didn’t have the energy for it. It also told me I needed to be suspicious of the mischievous procyonid. But I also didn’t have the energy to deal with the questions if another camper spotted him. Maine wasn’t one of those crazy states where you could have a pet raccoon. We weren’t like Delaware.
Pringle hopped down and then scampered over and hopped onto the couch. “Could, but didn’t. Now what’s your twenty, Mama Bear? I’m getting shutter trouble over here. Someone’s dead? Who? Do we need to pull stakes and put the hammer down before this place is crawling with Smokies? Or do we have another case on our hands?”
I sank down into the booth seat, propped my elbows on the table, and cradled my head in my hands. Pringle was exhausting at the best of times. Right now, though, it was like he was speaking another language.
“Sorry,” Charles said as he slid onto the seat beside me and whispered, “He’s been listening to the CB radio. Are you sure she’s dead?”
“Positive.”
“Do you need me to call the police or did you do that already?”
I shook my head and sighed. “I didn’t have to. One of the other campers already did.”
“Hey, that’s good, right?” Leave it to my lawyer boyfriend to remain calm and log-ical, no matter the circumstance. I appreciated that about him, but right now I needed him to understand.
“No, it’s not good at all. She called the police on me.” My voice cracked at that last part. “She thinks I’m the one who killed her.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous. You haven’t been out of my sight long enough to murder someone. Besides, who’s to say she was even murdered?”
I lifted my head and stared at Charles with wide eyes. “I say she was murdered, Charles. Most likely with a poison pie. At least that’s where the evidence is pointing.”
His face fell and voice softened. “Oh, no. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now with all the bodies I’ve managed to stumble upon lately.”
“Well, I love you because you haven’t gotten used to it.” He kissed me on the forehead. “But you do seem to have some kind of gift for stumbling across bodies.”
“Yeah, too bad I can’t return it,” I quipped. I went to drop my head back into my hands, but a blur of movement caught my eye.
Octo-Cat appeared bleary-eyed in the doorway to the b
edroom. “Why so much noise? Some of us are trying to keep up with our beauty sleep. And aren’t you all sup-posed to be out on a picnic?”
Pringle at least had the good sense to look embarrassed about the part he’d played in ruining this day. “10-44, good buddy. Smoke those brakes, it’s a long story. And it ends with a Windy City rollover on our shoulder.” When he was met with a sea of blank looks, Pringle brushed his face and added, “We’ve got dead body next door.”
Octo-Cat reared back and hissed. “Angela! This is supposed to be a vacation. Heaven knows I’ve needed it. You’re a lot to put up with even on your best days, I’ll have you know. You can’t just go around uncovering dead bodies while I’m trying to enjoy a long-overdue nap.”
I groaned. “I didn’t uncover the body on purpose, and I also never invited you to tag along. So no more complaints. I’m having a hard enough time dealing as it is.”
Charles rubbed my back in big, sweeping circles. “Are they giving you a hard time?” he asked.
“They always give me a hard time,” I moaned. This time we didn’t even have sweet Paisley around to help keep spirits high. No, I was stuck with sassy and sassier.
“We should probably head out,” Charles murmured. “When the police get here, they’ll want to talk to you.” He got up and moved back toward the kitchen, grabbing for the pan with the grilled cheese. Even off the heat for the length of time we’d been talking, one side was practically charcoal. He shook his head, then opened up one of the cabinets and took out a box. “You must be starving by now. Take this.”
He handed me a Clif bar, and even though I had been famished not even ten minutes back, my appetite had now disappeared entirely.
“Thanks,” I muttered anyway as I forced myself to stand.
“There are some folding chairs stashed in the cargo hold. I’ll grab those and then meet you outside. And Angie?”
He waited for me to meet his eyes before continuing, “It’s going to be all right.”
All right, yeah. Everything would be fine.