Persian Penalty

With no new P.I. cases coming my way and every possible combination of clothing exhausted, I was quickly running out of ways to keep my hands and mind occupied. I attempted to lose myself in my favorite book series. But my brain was too busy with all its myriad questions to focus on the words before me.

I checked social media, even my long since defunct MySpace account. Yes, I was that desperate for ways to keep myself busy.

I just wanted to get this whole thing over with, but I also knew I wasn’t strong enough to go on this crazy adventure by myself.

It was at that point a most excellent thought occurred to me. I could enlist the help of someone else to research my grandmother while I waited for my chance to go meet her in person. I had this thought on Wednesday—two days before Charles and I were scheduled to leave and three days before we’d actually get the chance to meet my grandmother, provided everything went well.

I had to do something to pass the long, anguish-filled hours, or I’d have found my grandmother but lost my mind.

Which brought me back to my would-be helper. She traveled a lot, but she was also the only person I knew with ties to the Katahdin area. And so I gave Sharon a call.

Sharon and her cat Chessy traveled up and down the coast in a luxury RV funded by their upcoming reality show. The cat was the real apple of the producer’s eye, but he and his human came as a package deal.

When I first met Sharon at the RV park just last weekend, I’d mistakenly assumed she was a killer. Hey, sometimes that happened in my line of work.

Once I figured out that she was just a busybody without a single mean bone in said body, I actually grew to like her a lot. She’d been kind and welcoming to Charles, Octo-Cat, and me when no one else at the campsite had taken any efforts to get to know us. That made her good people in my book.

Also, busybodies and private investigators were pretty much a match made in heaven. True, I needed her insights on a personal matter, but that just made me all the more eager to recruit her to my cause.

Sharon picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello? Hello! Are you still there?” she shouted into the phone. “Oh, please don’t tell me I’m too late! I just had to finish up in the bathroom, and— “

“Sharon,” I interrupted, having to shout so she could hear me. “It’s me, Angie. Do you remember meeting me last weekend?”

“Angie Russo, mother to one Octo-Cat and girlfriend to one of the most handsome fellas I’ve ever seen in all my life. Yes, hello, Angie. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, Charles and I are engaged now,” I said as a delicious smile spread across my face.

Sharon crooned happily at this news and then started recounting every wedding she’d ever attended.

I had to interrupt her again. “Yes, yes, we’re both very excited, and you’ll definitely receive an invite, but that’s not why I called.”

She sucked in a deep breath and then let out a long, belabored “Ohhh?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” I admitted.

“Do go on.” I could practically see her grabbing a snack and settling in at her RV’s booth seat. “Long stories are my favorite kind.”

And so I told her everything, leaving out any part that included talking animals, which was no small feat, let me tell you.

“So that’s why I’m calling,” I said after pausing only briefly so as not to invite any wild conversational tangents from her end. “To see if you can help me find out some info about my grandmother before I come out to meet her this weekend.”

“Now who’s this Bravo fella again? And why isn’t he helping to fill in these details, seeing as he’s the one who found her for you?”

“Just an old friend from… uh, Charles’s time in the service.” Well, that was almost true, except Charles’s service was to a militarized flock of seagulls rather than an actual government body. “He had to fly out of town for a bit, but I’m wondering if you’re still in Katahdin, maybe you could—?”

This time Sharon was the one to interrupt. “Darling, you just leave it to me. Tell me her name and whatever info you have, and I’ll fill in the rest.”

“Oh, so you are still there? Good!”

“No, but I’m turning this RV around and heading that way right now.”

I loved this woman. Seriously, how had I ever seen her as anything but a friend? “Her name is Marilyn Jones,” I said, picturing the old birth certificate Pringle had unearthed from the attic. “She’s in her eighties and lived in Larkhaven, Georgia, at one point, but I don’t know much more than that.”

“You will,” Sharon promised. “Just give me forty-eight hours.”

“Perfect, because that’s just about as much time as we have.”

“You’ll let me pay you a visit once you’ve checked in at Katahdin, won’t you?”

“Sharon, thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

“Don’t fret it, honey. That’s what friends are for. Plus, Chessy and I always did love a good mystery.”

It was at this point I realized Sharon was basically me minus the boyfriend and plus a decade or two.

Honestly, I kind of loved that.

4

That Friday, I was like a kid at Christmas waiting for Santa. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I just sat on the living room couch, watching for Charles.

I knew he would pick me up between two and three so we could make it to the Katahdin area before rush-hour traffic hit, but I still planted myself on that couch as soon as I cracked an eye open after one very restless night of failed sleep.

Sharon and I played phone tag most of that morning. I was always it, trying to catch her. Even though she wasn’t that old, she hated texting—said it took away that human connection society so desperately craved. Yeah, it’s not what I would have expected to hear from an up-and-coming reality star, either.

She’d managed to unearth some info about my long-lost grandmother Marilyn Jones but was being coy about it. If conversations were meant for the phone, she reasoned, important ones should be had face-to-face. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her to reveal her findings otherwise. This meant our calls were solely about finalizing our plans for meeting up.

Once that was taken care of at last, I was left waiting for Charles with only Paisley at my side to stick it out. Nan, of course, had disappeared, as was becoming normal for her these days. Octo-Cat complained that he had not enjoyed his nightly feline excursions because of how restless I’d been. Apparently, whatever he did at night was completely ruined by the very thought of me blearily stumbling upon his antics. I didn’t want to touch that one with a ten-foot cat toy, quite frankly.

“Is it time yet?” Paisley ruffed, hopping off my lap and pressing her paws into the back of the loveseat to peer out the window; her little tail beat furiously.

“Not yet,” I said with a moan. This was at least the hundredth time she’d asked me that day, and every time I had to tell her ‘not yet,’ her ears fell back against her head and she let out a sad whine.

“Oh,” she squeaked before sinking back onto the couch and curling into a tiny, shivering ball. As much as I hated to wait, I hated seeing her like this even more.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said, putting on the happiest voice I could manage, given the current circumstances.

Her deer-shaped Chihuahua head popped up, over-sized triangle ears erect once again as she tilted her muzzle to the side.

“Let’s play fetch,” I said as I slapped my palms against my lap to make this declaration even more irresistible and exciting.

Paisley flew off the couch in an impressive display of athleticism, then slid across the hardwood floor until she found the small stash of toys she liked to keep tucked away. She pranced back over with a tiny stuffed lamb clenched proudly between her teeth.

“Good girl,” I enthused. Octo-Cat hated being talked to like a baby or a pet, but Paisley lapped it right up.

She dropped the toy at my feet and began to kick her legs back in excitement, my sweet little chicken.

I picked up the toy, faked throwing it once or twice, and then launched it across the room.

Paisley scampered after it, barking the whole way.

I waited.

And waited.

When she didn’t return after a full minute had passed, I got up to check on her…

And found Octo-Cat nestled on top of her hoard of toys with the little lamb clutched between his paws, claws extended and pressed right into the soft fleece.

“Why?” I demanded, thrusting a hand on my hip.

“You’re anxious, which makes her anxious, which makes me anxious. It’s a whole vicious cycle,” the tabby said around a yawn. He let out a low growl as he so often liked to do when he was feeling testy, which was almost all the time. “I’m ending it here.”

“No, you’re only making things worse,” I countered, reaching down to snag Paisley’s toy from him.

Octo-Cat growled again and batted my hand away. He didn’t even bother to retract his claws first.

Paisley began to bark and kick back her feet again. Unlike Octo-Cat, who always had something to say, Paisley sometimes stuck to the pure guttural sounds of barking, whining, and woofing—no added context necessary.

“Ouch,” I cried, ripping my hand away. “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“It’s for your own good,” he answered, eyes narrowed and tail flicking. That thing was like a metronome, steadily counting the beats until his next tantrum.

I narrowed my eyes right back at him and crossed my arms over my chest. “No, it’s not.”

“Fine, whatever.” He sighed mightily, as if this very conversation were miles beneath him. “It just makes life more interesting, you know?”

I rolled my eyes. Why could he never give me a day off from his signature snark? And it was even worse when he admitted that he bugged me simply for entertainment’s sake.

“Well, I don’t exactly need your help with that,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“Because waiting by the window for Prince Charming to ride up on that white horse and rescue you from your boredom is oh-so riveting?” Octo-Cat shook his head then sneezed.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you subscribe to Disney+,” I shouted in a huff.

He let out a laugh worthy of a classic animated villain but refused to relent.

“Sorry, Paize,” I said at last, drifting away from the bad kitty and taking up my seat by the window once more.

Did my cat have a point? Yes.

Would I ever admit that to him? Oh, heck no!

Doing so would only make his sizable head even bigger. That cat was already vain enough without any added assistance from me.

“I’m coming, by the way,” the feline bully informed me once Paisley had finally stopped barking at him and come to settle on my lap. He walked over, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, tail and nose both held high. I imagined him on a tight rope in the jungle with angry crocs snapping underneath, but that only made me feel marginally better.

“Who says you’re coming?” I demanded, blinking hard to clear my eyes of the imaginary crocs.

“I do, and as you know, I’m the highest authority on this and all other matters.” He jumped up onto the coffee table and sat before me, padding at the polished wood as if it were a warm blanket.

“Why do you even want to come? Remember how you used to hate the car? What happened to that?”

“What can I say? I’m evolving. It’s possible for some, though not for others.” He shot a sideways glance at Paisley and sneered. Sometimes I really questioned his love for her, but he liked the little pound puppy as much as he could like anyone, I guessed.

I waited for him to go on rather than pointing out the slight to Paisley. It would only hurt her feelings.

He sighed when I didn’t take the bait. “Okay, maybe Pringle got me somewhat invested in his reality TV programming.”

“So you’re going because you want to see Sharon and Chessy again?” He’d hated meeting them both last weekend, so this made zero sense to me.

Octo-Cat made a terrible noise like he was about to barf on the carpet.

And then he actually did it.

“Eww, gross!” I cried. “What is wrong with you?”

He chuckled. “Oh, it’s not about what’s wrong with me. This time it’s about that whole messed up family dynamic you have going on, and I refuse to miss out on the big reveal.”

“So glad I have your support,” I mumbled, then went to get a roll of paper towels to take care of his mess.

If there was one thing my cat excelled at, it was adding the occasional injury to the steady stream of insults that worked their way off that sandpaper tongue.

Sometimes I really wished he would find a hobby.

5

“So how did you find this place again?” I asked Charles as we rolled up to a small bed-and-breakfast that sat near the shores of a beautiful lake. We’d elected to stay a short way out of Katahdin proper because Charles and I both liked it best when we were near the water—him being a California boy, me a Maine girl.

“One of the associates at work told me about this site that only lists hotels and rentals where pets are allowed,” he explained as he pulled to a stop in the small gravel parking lot out front. “I filtered by waterfront properties, and this was the closest property with a vacancy. It also had decent reviews, so I figured why not?”

“Decent, huh?” I asked, raising one eyebrow in extreme suspicion.

“Yeah, but don’t read too much into that. You know how online reviews can be.” He paused for a moment, regarding me carefully. “Not everything is a mystery just waiting to be solved.”

“Says you,” I shot back as I unbuckled my seatbelt and clambered out of the car. I held the door open so that Paisley and Octo-Cat could hop out, too.

“I love it here!” Paisley cried and then took off running in wide, looping circles. “Wheeeee!”

“Why did we bring her again?” Octo-Cat demanded of me with a sneer.

I didn’t get a chance to answer, though, because Paisley zipped and zoomed out of view. I was just about to call her back when a sharp yelp rent the air. We all took off running in pursuit of the sound.

Octo-Cat moved the fastest out of the three of us, which meant he was first on the scene. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard a mighty hiss followed by a low, ominous growl. When I finally rounded the corner, I found my tabby in a beach stand-off with an enormous orange Persian.

Paisley cowered behind Octo-Cat, shaking violently as the two cats stared each other down.

“Nobody hurts my kid sister,” Octo-Cat hissed at the strange feline.

The orange Persian extended his claws and took a swipe at Octo’s face.

“You s-st-struck me?” he sputtered in shock. “You actually struck me?”

The Persian wore a satisfied expression on his flat face. “Maybe next time you’ll remember who lives here and who’s simply an unwelcome intruder,” he said, then raised his tail high and sauntered off down the sandy beach.

“That does it! I’ll end him! I’ll— “

I grabbed Octo-Cat in my arms before the fight could escalate any further. The last thing we needed was to get kicked out of our accommodation before I even had a chance to meet my grandma.

“Be the bigger person,” I said through gritted teeth.

“There’s so much wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to begin,” my cat shot back. “Just keep that giant, fluffy wad of mouse breath away from me.”

Funny how much he hated this cat with its long hair and flat face, when his true love Grizabella was a former show Himalayan and looked quite similar if you ignored the coloration. I guessed that meant my cat wasn’t a breedist, and that was a good thing for sure.

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Paisley ground out, coming to stand at my feet. “I was just so happy to be out of the car.”

“It’s fine. It’s not either of your faults. Just calm down and try to put it out of your mind,” I cooed.

Charles grabbed Paisley and clutched her against his chest. “Everything okay?” he said, expression askance.

“It will be,” I assured them all. “It’s just been a long week for all of us.”

“So we’re staying?” Charles wanted to confirm.

“We’re staying,” I said with a tight nod, then motioned for everyone to head back the way we’d come. “Let’s go check in to our room. Sharon will be here soon, and I want some time to get ourselves set up first.”

Charles and I entered the sprawling ranch, each carrying an agitated pet in our arms. Just past the door, we found an elderly woman with dyed orange hair that matched the mean Persian cat’s to the exact shade.

“I’ve been expecting you,” she said, uncrossing her legs and placing the paperback novel she’d been reading face-down on the arm of her chair. “Mr. and Mrs. Longfellow, I presume?”

I smiled at that. It was the first time I’d ever heard it aloud, and I rather liked the sound.

“Almost,” Charles said with a huge grin to match mine. “For now, it’s Mr. Longfellow and Ms. Russo.”

“I see,” the woman said, tightening her expression. She drifted over to a desk at the corner of the room. “I’ll just update your reservation from a king to two doubles then. That’s an easy enough fix.”

Charles looked like he wanted to say something, but I nudged him in the side and shook my head. Separate beds would make the sleeping situation with the pets much easier anyway, since Octo-Cat threw a right proper fit whenever Paisley tried to snuggle up to him.

“My name is Millicent Strobel,” the woman droned, handing us the keys to our room. “I can normally be found here in the front room if you need anything. We don’t have room service, but I do serve breakfast from five thirty until eight o’clock.”

Wow, that was early, but I doubted I’d be able to sleep well tonight, anyway.

My guess was that the B and B lady gave this same spiel to all her guests, considering the dry, bored way she addressed us.

“Thank you, Millie,” I said when it became clear Millicent expected us to say something in response.

“No,” she corrected harshly, taking the opportunity to look us both up and down and shaking her head in apparent disappointment. “Don’t do that. It’s Millicent to you. Or better yet, Mrs. Strobel. Now if you don’t mind.”

I said nothing as she resettled herself in the chair and returned to her book.

With that dismissal, we left her behind as quickly as possible—for one, because she obviously was done with us, but also because Octo-Cat had begun to weigh heavily in my arms.