Blackjack Bikack And The Case Of The Near-sighted Nabber 4a5w1v

Blackjack Bikack and the Case of the Near-sighted Nabber by Maggie Claire This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing, LLC Pensacola, Florida Copyright © Maggie Claire Smashwords Edition Paperback Color ISBN: 9781955086509 Paperback ISBN: 9781955086516 eBook ISBN: 9781955086523 First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, July 26, 2021 http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com Smashwords Licensing Notes All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. Illustrator: BC Smith Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Chapter 1

The morning started out simply enough. At 5:30 a.m., after a delicious breakfast consisting of last night’s table scraps and some fresh water from the tap, I trotted over to the door and flipped the “open” sign so that anyone ing by my home office could see that “Blackjack Bikack’s Detective Agency” was ready for business today. For the first hour, my large paws nervously tapped on my desk, waiting and hoping for a case to fall at my feet. Every time I heard a car whiz by, my tail thumped wildly in expectation. My ears perked up when car lights shone through my window, anticipating the moment when the doorbell would finally ring, and I’d have a case to solve. As the minutes ticked by, I slumped behind my desk and shuffled paperwork, begging the phone to make itself useful and ring. Business had been slow for the last few months, and my paws were itching for some action. “If I don’t get a crime to solve soon, my detective skills will rust,” I grumbled, filing the last of my billing statements from four months ago into the cabinet beside my desk. Suddenly, a thought hit me so hard that I barked and whirled in my chair, growling at my assistant, “Greta Gumshoe! What are you doing? Why am I the one knee-high in paperwork? Isn’t that the secretary’s job?” My adorable yet sometimes flighty assistant stood up from behind the canvas she’d propped in my living room last week. Her paint set was dangerously perched on her left paw, and I immediately started tallying how much money it would take to get scarlet acrylic out of my carpet. “Oh, Blackjack! You know I have to get these paintings done for the Underprivileged Westie auction!” I tried not to howl with laughter at my assistant’s face; she had blue and green streaks dripping from her forehead and a long pink smear under one eye. “You know you’re covered in paint, right?” I muttered, failing in my attempt to sound stern.

Greta grinned, her dark eyes sparkling, “Well, what’s the point of painting if you can’t play in it?” “What will the clients think when they come in and find my secretary covered in acrylics while I’m doing her job filing paperwork?” I mumbled, struggling to hide my smile. “They’ll think that I’m one clever cutie to get my boss to do my job for me,” Greta yipped at me with a wink as she swirled her paintbrush in the water. “Underprivileged Westies, hmm?” I smirked, shaking my head at the thought. “How do you all manage?” While I was sure it was a good cause, I couldn’t help the twinge of anger that flared in my veins. Greta was a purebred Westie; she came from a loving family with all the best toys, food, chewies, and most of all, love. On the other hand, I was born a mongrel from the back streets that no self-respecting purebred would ever dare to visit. I earned every scrap of everything I’d ever had, and I worked hard to create this detective agency. Yet Westies had charities to help out their own. No one ever created an “Underprivileged Mongrel” fund to help those poor creatures on the streets, did they? “Blackjack, you’re muttering again,” Greta cooed, waltzing over to my desk. “What’s troubling you, old friend?” “I’m just bored!” I snarled, tossing a crumpled paper into the already full wastebasket. “We have no cases, and I need something to do! And before you tell me to paint, the answer is no! I’m not doing your charity work for you.” Greta huffed in annoyance, sauntering into the kitchen to grab a quick snack before completing her masterpiece. I ground my teeth as she disappeared, my nerves raw as I felt the seconds drag on while the clock snickered at me. Little did I know at the time, but the case I was seeking was far closer than I could have guessed. While I was brooding, Greta’s shrill yapping punched into the silence as she shouted, “Blackjack, come quick! Someone has been stealing from the food bowls!” I leapt from my desk in triumph. It didn’t matter that the thief was in my own home. Finally, FINALLY, I had a case!

The disarray in the kitchen knocked the wind from my lungs. Crumbs littered the tile floor, and water dripped from the upturned bowl that was a permanent fixture on my kitchen table. Some of the larger bits of food were soggy in the middle of the puddle. Chairs had been tossed away from the table as if someone ran into them without stopping. “Who would do this?” I wondered, nosing around the evidence, careful not to disturb it. “How did we not hear them?” Greta wondered, gingerly stepping over the food bowl on her tiptoes, so the mess didn’t mar her groomed paws and perfectly painted claws in Greta’s signature pink hue. There were no signs of prints; any tracks had washed away when the water overturned. One of the windows stood open, a curtain waving in the breeze as if it was saying farewell to a welcomed visitor. Calmly I sniffed the ground, searching for a familiar scent. “This one’s good—he left no real traces behind him.” There was an unfamiliar, earthy odor in the air, but having never smelled it before, I had no idea what type of creature it might be. Greta wailed as she trembled, her pink hairbow twitching with her fear. “It feels so wrong, Blackjack! How long was the burglar watching us? Were they still here when we opened the office this morning? The girls at the Underprivileged Westie Charity will not believe this!” Being a gentle soul, I threw my paws around Greta’s neck to comfort her. “Never fear, Ms. Gumshoe! I will find out who’s done this terrible thing!” “I have to go call Midge and tell her I’ll be late to the meeting today.” Greta slipped out of my embrace, trotting straight to the phone with her juicy piece of gossip. When she thought I was out of earshot, she added, “Bet none of the other girls have a story like this to share!” After a quick sample of the remaining food to be sure it was not poisoned, I slipped out into the backyard to see what I could find. It had rained the night before, and my paws sunk deep into the sticky mud. Greta giggled behind me as I shook the horribly smelly stuff into the grass, noticing that the odor was distinctly different from the scent in the house. “What fun!” she cried, launching herself at the nearest mudhole, all traces of fear

dissipating. “I do love a fresh mud bath!” I shook my head, cutting off her approach. “Not yet, Greta. Let’s examine it for clues first.” I tried not to grin when Greta’s shoulders drooped. Despite her breeding and prim appearance, my assistant was a mess magnet. If it involved dirt and grime, she loved it. As soon as I cleared the scene, I was certain she’d be rolling until her cottony white fur was matted with mud. Then my right paw raised on its own and pointed toward the ground. All at once, Greta’s attention focused on me, her smile fading as her eyes grew serious. “Always trust the paw,” I reminded her as I scoured the ground for clues. “It never lies!” Sure enough, beside my perfect prints, two different sets of tracks were clearly observable. One was unidentifiable—I had never seen such a strange print before. The creature had four long toes in the front, a fifth one in the back, and each one had a long-tipped claw. “Hmm…looks like it tried to hide its tracks,” I whispered as I caught sight of strange brush marks between the prints. “Pretty sloppy job, though.” “What is it?” Greta asked as she peered over my shoulder. I noticed she’d already taken off her hairbow, preparing for the impending dirt bath. “What kind of creature would leave tracks like this?” “I am not sure, but I know who to ask,” I exclaimed as I examined the other set of prints. These were easily recognizable to me, and the sight of them turned my stomach in knots. I would have to travel deep into the underworld of crime to find my answers. “Greta, get my coat. I’ve got to meet with Fatz McQueen.” “No, Blackjack! You can’t!” Greta’s mouth fell open in shock as she begged me not to leave. “See that?” I pointed to the other set of prints etched deep into the mud. “That was left by one of Fatz’s henchmen—I have seen it before.” I shuddered as I ed the first time that print had surfaced at a crime scene. The case of the rat clan murders still made my skin crawl. At each grisly attack, this print was clearly left behind, a calling card that still haunted my dreams. It was obviously a cat’s paw with one toe missing on the left side. In its place was a metal claw. If anyone knew about this feline assassin, it was sure to

be Fatz McQueen, the leader of the Scottish Fold gang down by the docks. “But Fatz hates you!” Greta cried, locking her paws around my front legs as she whimpered, “Aren’t you scared?” In truth, I was terrified, but I would not let Greta know that. “Fear cannot touch me, Ms. Gumshoe. Not if we want this crime solved.” She raced inside, bringing out my coat with tears in her eyes. Tossing it over my shoulders, I hurried out to my motorcycle, intending to hunt down the crime boss. I looked back through the gate before I left. Sure enough, Greta was on her back, coating herself with the stinky, brown sludge. “Don’t stay out too long!” I cried out, laughing to myself as Greta launched herself out of the mudhole, her chin matted with filth and looking a little sheepish at the thought of being caught playing in the dirt.

Chapter 2

My motorcycle wheels flew through the heart of the city, searching for the elusive Fatz McQueen. The Scottish Fold were smart, always moving from place to place to avoid capture. First, I checked the abandoned warehouses that lie on the outskirts of town. I found no traces of the rangy feline gang, but I did notice some recent tracks on the dusty floors of a few, and the locks had been broken. Something was going on there, but since it did not lead me to McQueen, I moved on quickly. Next, I wandered through the rundown streets near the race track, hoping to find an old friend who might have heard something. Last week’s race fliers fluttered on the boards, and the doors were locked tight. I rattled them anyway, hoping someone might be inside. Clearly, there were no races this week, and my luck for leads was running out. Striking out again, I pressed on to my next destination with hope for better results. However, it was late in the day to be at Spike’s Market, and most of the people had already picked over the daily spread of fish and vegetables. Vendors were already closing down their stalls, too busy to offer any tips to me. Finding no help, I resorted to an old acquaintance who worked at the city dump. “Hey, Wade,” I called as I cut off the engine of my motorcycle, wishing I could cover my nose to mask the stench. The odor was overpowering, but I knew if I reacted, Wade would take offense. He was a proud, hardworking laborer; he couldn’t help it that he was a skunk. “Blackjack Bikack! Howdy-do?” Wade cried, waddling over to my side. “What brings you out here this fine day?” “I’m looking for Fatz McQueen and the Scottish Fold. Have you seen them lurking anywhere around here?” I wheezed, tears welling in my eyes as I shook Wade’s paw, hoping he didn’t notice. “Maybe one of your workers has noticed an overly large amount of trash on their routes that might be around their hideout?”

“Can’t say I’ve seen or heard anything of the sort on my route.” Wade tapped his chin as he thought, his red hard hat slipping down over his eye. “None of the men have mentioned anything unusual either. And before you ask, I spray the perimeter of the dump every couple of days to make sure nobody sneaks into the place. Haven’t had any unwanted visitors here either.” Wade dropped his head meekly, embarrassed by the confession. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being who you are, Wade,” I exclaimed, putting my arm around his striped shoulders comfortingly. I knew I’d probably have to wash my coat when I got to the house, but raising a friend’s self-esteem was far more important than extra laundry. “If you see anything suspicious that makes you think you’ve stumbled upon the Scottish Fold, will you let me know?” Wade nodded excitedly and replied, “O’course! You know you’re one of the only non-skunks that talks to me? I’d do anything to help you!” Wade waved goodbye, then scurried off to complete his work. I hopped back on my motorcycle and whizzed down the highways, hoping to outrun the odor that lingered on my clothes. My stomach rumbled as I re-entered the city, and I knew I needed to head home for lunch before I continued my illfated investigation. I could not enjoy the sunny day as I rounded the corner on McGruff Street, where my home office was located. The flowers were fully in bloom, and the bees were swarming. Part of me wished I had been more grateful for having free time this morning. I dearly loved to chase bugs and frolic in the garden, and I’d missed the opportunity to enjoy these simple delights today. Regretfully, I had to push aside my longing and focus on the case at hand. Even the scent of the squirrels playing in the trees could not interfere with my work. Someone had broken into my house, frightened Greta, and stolen my food. No one could be allowed to get away with that! I opened the door to the home office, immediately overwhelmed by the delicious scent of chicken frying in the kitchen. My freshly cleaned assistant hurried to the door as the bell chimed. “You’re back! And you stink! Have you solved the case?” She bombarded me with questions, ushering me toward the table and continuing her train of thought without giving me a chance to answer her inquiries. “I’m making chicken before I go to the Underprivileged Westies

auction. Now, sit down and tell me all about what you’ve discovered!” “I’ve found nothing,” I lamented, wishing I had more news to give her. Greta returned to the stove, retying her black and pink apron around her middle. “I’ve searched half the town already, and I’ve found no clues. Then I went and saw Wade to see if he had any ideas about where the Scottish Fold might be holed up, but even that was a bust. I’m out of ideas, Greta.” Greta flipped a piece of chicken onto a plate, holding it out for me as she voiced her own worries. “Do you think the burglar will come back here?” “Probably not,” I replied between bites, savoring each morsel of the wellseasoned bird. Smacking my lips, I chewed as I added, “I’ll go back out after I finis—” “Nothing was taken from the kitchen. It appears the attacker only wanted to make a mess. I’ve cleaned up everything and—oh look! My chicken is shaped like a heart!” Greta cried, hoisting her plate up to my nose. “Isn’t that perfect? Cause I love chicken!” My assistant had many wonderful talents, and gourmet cooking was definitely on that list. It made up for her failings, like her lack of attention span. She flipped through topics faster than I can change channels on the TV. “Swell,” I muttered, wondering if she’d notice me stealing a bite off her plate. “Anyway, I’m going back out to check the rest of the city. It may be a late night for me.” “Me too! I have that auction, and I got my paintings done. They are just divine! Oh!” Greta sat upright in her seat, her tail thumping in wild circles behind her. “I’m going to be late! Got to fly!” Without further conversation, Greta threw a pair of neon pink goggles over her eyes and trotted out to her scooter. The door had barely closed before I heard her tires squeal against the pavement. “Bye then,” I murmured, reg myself to another trip into the city. I tossed my plate into the sink and made sure to lock the doors before I left the front porch. As I stepped up to my motorcycle once more, I noticed one of my informants, Stubbs Sanchez, lying about on the wooden slats of our neighbor’s privacy fence. His eyes were closed as he soaked up their warmth, his scales

shifting from leaf green to the brown of the fence posts. He did not hear my approach; only my shadow looming over him broke into his relaxation. “Hey, estupido! Get out of my sol! Don’t you know I need all the warmth I can get up here! Sometimes, I wish I was back down south in the valley,” Stubbs shouted, waving one arm at me before opening an eye. “Oh, it’s you, Jefe! What can I do for you?” “Welcome back, Stubbs,” I began, glad to see my friend had returned from his travels. He’d spent the last month with his family down in the desert. According to Stubbs, his relatives lived in a land of eternal heat and dry, warm sunlight. Every time he described the place, he always looked homesick. I couldn’t help but wonder, “Are you glad to be back?” “It’s cool and rainy six out of seven days every week in this place. Why on earth I come up here, I’ll never know,” Stubbs sniped, closing his eyes as he continued. “BJ, get out of the light, please. I’ve got to soak up the sun when I have it.” “You know as well as I do that you come up here for the bugs,” I teased, fishing out the jar in my coat pocket where I kept a few insects for hard times like these. While Stubbs was a good snitch, he always expected payment. Food was often the quickest means of getting the information I needed. “Got some big, juicy flies, fresh from the wetlands,” I replied as I slightly opened the jar. “But in exchange, I need some of your help. Think you are up for the job?” Stubbs was alert the minute I unscrewed the lid, his lips pulling back to reveal a row of sharp, pointed teeth. “Hey, I keep my ear to the ground even when I’m away, Jefe. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement that will satisfy us both. What do you need? I am at your disposal.” “Where can I find Fatz McQueen?” I kept my paw on the jar lid, holding it closed as I began my interrogation. “Ah, Jefe! You cannot be serious!” Stubbs shouted, shifting from dull brown to bright green at the mention of the vicious crime lord. Despite his hesitation, Stubbs’s eyes never left the jar, and I knew I was going to get my intel. It was only a matter of time. To force his hand, I sighed dramatically, tightening the lid on the jar once more. “Well, if you won’t help

me, Stubbs—” “I did not say that, Jefe!” Stubbs hopped from the fence to the jar, landing on my paw. “But you know why I don’t like Fatz McQueen,” Stubbs replied, pointing to the four grooves on his back from claws that had permanently scarred his scales. The damaged places remained brown and never shifted colors like the rest of his body. My eyes drifted over the stump where Stubbs’s long tail should be. It had never grown back after his narrow escape from the crime boss, earning him his nickname. I’d been the one to find Stubbs after that attack. He’d come to my home for help, and I had discovered him ed out on the front porch. I’d brought him into my house, and Greta had carefully stitched his wounds. “I that night well, Stubbs,” I murmur, my pulse racing as I recall that terrible night. And while I understood his current anxiety, I was in no mood to coddle him through this hesitation either. “I am not asking you to go after McQueen; you leave that to me. But I need to know where the Scottish Fold is housing their headquarters right now. One of the Fold’s henchmen has been sneaking around my property, and I want to know why.” Stubbs sighed, pushing my paw off the jar. He nudged the lid off far enough to fit his head into the glass. “Fatz set up shop across town in the flats. It’s a permanent residence, I think, which is odd for the Scottish Fold. They’re up to something, Blackjack,” Stubbs explained, smacking as he chewed. “An old shipping company had an abandoned building there. The place is called AlbaCo, I think. Be careful, Blackjack! You have no idea what you are up against!” The flats! Of course! The one stinking, rotten, fish mongering place that I had not thought to check. It was in the heart of the Pungent Sound on an isolated island, and you had to cross on a ferry to reach its shores. I’d never imagined that a bunch of felines would choose such a place, surrounded by their dreaded enemy: water. “Thank you,” I called out as I left Stubbs up to his back legs in my fly jar. I jumped on my motorcycle once more, but Stubbs’s warning echoed in my ears. Just what exactly was going down in AlbaCo?

Chapter 3

I made it across town in record time, driven onward by my excitement at the prospects of finding McQueen. I was fortunate that the police weren’t in the area because I would surely have been picked up for speeding. The desire to follow a new lead made my nose itch with anticipation. The only issue in my investigative plan was the inevitable long ferry ride. An annoyed looking beaver motioned me up to the first lane of parking for the ferry. “Be about half an hour before the boat gets back,” he shouted over the mechanical roar that deafened my sensitive ears. “You’ll get on first and stay close to the outer edge.” Perfect. I tried not to let his words bother me as I watched the crashing waves. Just the faintest glimpse of the white caps was enough to make my stomach churn. The subtle pulsing roar as they hurled onto the dock lulled my ears into their strange, otherworldly rhythm. My head drifted from side to side as I fell under the spell of the water, my mouth watering as my stomach began to heave. The beaver motioned to the next vehicle that approached the lanes, chattering and waving his hands toward the second lane. I tuned out his actions, trying not to appear seasick and hoping my face wasn’t green. I’m not sure if it was the movement of the water itself or the lack of control I felt as a enger, but I’d never been a fan of the ferry. My skin grew clammy, and my limbs began to quiver as the minutes ticked by. Sweat dripped down my brow when I heard the ferry’s horn blare, alerting the dockworkers of its return. I tried to calm my nerves as I revved my engine, preparing to board and wishing the ride was already over. As an added bonus, by putting me on the outer edge of the ferry, I had a bird’s eye view of the waters swirling around me. Looking toward the horizon did not solve my problems either, and closing my eyes just intensified the waves’ rocking. “How long to reach the flats?” I murmured to a kindly looking female beaver at the front of the ferry.

“It’s a forty-five-minute ride, love,” she replied, and I felt fit to faint. Minutes slowed to hours as my brain processed the beaver’s words. A soft whine erupted from my lips, and I felt my tail begin to droop. “T…t…thank y…you,” I stuttered through my chattering teeth. “Not a fan of the water?” the beaver deduced, slapping her tail on the boat’s planks. “Cheer up, love. I’ve done this loads of times and never lost a enger. You just trust ol’ Cassie, and I’ll make sure you get to the flats safe and sound.” I know she meant well, but I was hardly comforted by her exclamations. The minute the boat began to bob in the waves, I was hanging my head over the side, losing every bite of Greta’s delicious chicken dinner. “Why did I do this?” I asked myself, hanging my head in between my paws, feeling defeated. Was I a fool to believe I could be a detective? Has this all been for nothing? Doubts swirled through my thoughts, leaving chaos and worry in their wake. By the time I reached the docks on the island, my knees were wobbly, and my jaw was sore from clenching my teeth. The salty tang of the shipyard burned my nose, confusing my usually strong sense of direction. The loud horns of the boats coming in jarred my bones as they startled me. The hateful waves sprayed their sudsy foam onto the boardwalk, mocking me as I tried to regain my shore legs. My nerves were raw, and I grumbled under my breath. “What on earth possessed Fatz to travel this far out on the water?” I knew that whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything good if it involved the Scottish Fold. The old AlbaCo building rose up on the docks before me, its stone-gray sides covered in chipped red lettering. An old tuna canning company, the place reeked of rotten fish and sea sludge. A light gleaming in the second-floor windows caught my attention immediately. I wondered if Fatz sat there, watching my approach as if I was a mouse about to be eaten. It would be the perfect vantage point to see if an enemy was close, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking into a trap. Suddenly a long claw tickled my chin, a slender paw reaching out from the dark alley on my left. “What are you doing here?” a silky voice purred as she called me by name. “Blackjack Bikack, do you have a death wish?” My eyes caught a glimpse of the ebony fur on the paw holding me hostage. “Shadow McFarland? How long’s it been?” I’d met Shadow early in my youth

before she ed the Scottish Fold. I’d always liked her; she was pleasant and easy to talk to…for a cat. “Last time I heard anything about you, Fatz McQueen had sent you on business over in Maine. When did you get back?” “Are you asking on business or out of curiosity?” The swish of a tail tickled my nose as Shadow crept closer to me. Her brilliant golden eyes glowed brighter than streetlamps, twin stars in a sea of midnight fur. “I just wondered how you’ve been, that’s all,” I answered honestly, knowing Shadow would not tell me her past deeds. No doubt she’d been on a thieving spree for Fatz. Shadow was, after all, a prominent cat burglar for the Scottish Fold. She was notorious in law enforcement circles, and she knew I could turn her in to the cops. If I did, I would make a life changing profit on the reward money. But Shadow knew I wouldn’t snitch on her, as long as she helped me out when I needed her services. True to form, Shadow ignored my question, exclaiming, “What are you doing here, Blackjack? You know that Fatz doesn’t do business with your kind.” She hopped onto a nearby trash can, her watchful eyes scanning the skies. “What kind is that? Dogs or detectives?” I replied with a snort, feeling my nose flare indignantly. I knew it shouldn’t matter, but her words rankled me. Shadow rolled her eyes, boxing my nose lightly. “Either, Blackjack. Besides, Fatz—” “Hates me, I know.” I tried not to grimace as I ed why Fatz hated me. When I first opened my detective agency, Fatz McQueen had called me to discuss a partnership. The clever feline hoped to gain a spy in the law enforcement ranks, someone who could make sure that Fold business was not disturbed by investigations and arrests. Instead, she got something far worse, and the memory of our terrible first meeting still plagued me. “I’m looking for a detective, one that will not be suspected of being on my payroll,” Fatz had explained over the phone. “How’d you get this number? It’s not even listed yet,” I exclaimed, a little spooked to hear the infamous crime lord’s voice. I was barely making ends meet at the time, unable to even afford an assistant to answer the phones for me.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s meet and see if we can come to an arrangement. Tomorrow, 12:00, Woodland Park.” The line clicked off before I had the chance to answer. Eagerly, I jumped at the chance to meet with such a notorious criminal—only I hoped to find some kind of evidence that would bring down the Scottish Fold for good. “It will be the case of the century! The name of Blackjack Bikack will go down in the history books! If I can bring down the feline felons, then I’ll have my pick of cases for the rest of my days. I just know it!” I declared, sitting down at my desk to strategize my plan of attack. Unfortunately for me, I’d decided that the best way to soften the crime boss was to offer gifts. I had hoped that after Fatz got comfortable with me, I’d use my powerful interrogation skills to find the major weaknesses in the Scottish Fold’s organization. McQueen was too smart to have the meeting where important papers could be found, so I decided to wear a wire to tape the conversation. Once I had what I needed, I’d take it to the authorities and effectively end McQueen’s reign. I hurried to the store the next day to pick up some of the finest imported milk I could afford. But the costs of starting a new business had left my bank rather small. Plus, my nerves had gotten the better of me, and I was running late. The last thing I wanted was to keep Fatz—and the big reward I was sure to receive for my work—waiting. The wire’s tape chafed my shoulder, pulling hair with every step I took. I couldn’t wait to get this meeting over so I could rip off the wire and be free to move around without going bald. The combination of all of that left me feeling grumpy and careless. I saw a carton of milk that looked relatively cheap—perfect for my price range. In my rushed state, I never stopped to closely inspect the carton—specifically the “best if used by” date. It was three weeks overdue, so it had plenty of time to sour, grow mold, and turn completely rotten. Carrying my gift into Fatz’s office, I’d felt overly confident of my plan. “Welcome, Mr. Bikack,” Fatz announced as I slumped in a visitor’s chair, trying not to appear smug. “A gift for you, in honor of your generous offer.” I wheezed out the words, trying not to gag. The idea of working for a criminal—and a cat, no less—made

my stomach lurch. Fatz was never one to deny a gift, especially something as enticing as milk. However, one sip into the carton, and too late, I discovered my mistake. Fatz’s screeching howl after tasting the bad milk is a sound that had never left my ears. Sometimes when it’s quiet, I still heard the faintest ringing of the crime boss’s cry rattling around in my head. I’d been on Fatz’s blacklist ever since. “Boy, you unknowingly give McQueen one can of spoiled milk, and you never catch another break,” I mumbled to Shadow, focusing on the present once more. I hoped that this meeting would turn out far better than the last one. “Fatz took a big sip of that milk before realizing it was bad. Left a sour stain on your reputation, I am afraid.” Shadow chuckled as her golden eyes fixated on a bird overhead, her pupils narrowing to slits. She raised a paw and tossed a pebble at the creature, hissing in triumph when the bird disappeared. “What, are you on outside patrols now? What did the master thief do to deserve such a fate?” I couldn’t help the snicker that caused my lips to sneer into a smile. Shadow scowled at me, her eyes glittering with anger. “Fatz thinks I stole from the business. I am out trying to rebuild my trust. I’m starting to think I’ll never earn my way back inside. I was stuck out here in the pouring rain last night too!” Shadow sneezed for effect, then grinned at me slyly. “Let me take you inside, Blackjack! Make it seem like I caught you sneaking and spying. That outta win me some favor with the big boss!” I thought about her offer, weighing my options. It seemed like the quickest way to get inside AlbaCo, and Shadow would owe me a favor. Truth be told, I was getting the better end of the bargain. I couldn’t understand why Shadow would willingly give me such a good deal. We were on good , but I wouldn’t go so far as to call us close friends. Still, who was I to turn down such an offer? “Sure, Shadow. You’ll owe me one,” I declared with a wink. Shadow hopped onto my back, her claws digging into my skin through my coat. I tried not to growl; this was my favorite jacket, and I didn’t want to be patching holes. “Big baby!” She mocked before pointing to the left side of the AlbaCo building. “There’s a cracked door over there that we use to get inside.

Everything else is locked tight.” I took off in a jog, laughing when I heard Shadow yowl, desperately trying to hold on tight.

Chapter 4

“Get inside, you mangy cur!” Shadow shouted as she hopped from my back, slyly winking at me as she flew by my head, easily landing on the floor in front of me. I let my ears droop and dropped my tail between my legs to appear as if I’d been caught. Slinking inside the door, I carefully examined the building. Hundreds of empty AlbaCo tins rattled around on the ground, and the old conveyor belts moved in coughing hitches and sputters. Their jerky motions were accented by the colorful yowling of a ginger cat in the control room and the clattering of a wrench. My presence was immediately noted by the other of the Scottish Fold. Cats poured out of their hiding places to watch the “great detective” brought in to pay his dues. Most snickered and howled their triumph as I crossed the grimy floor. One particular Siamese hissed and spat at me as I ed, arching her back as her tail fluffed out and stood straight in the air. When I paused to sneer at this hateful cat, Shadow cuffed the back of my head for effect, retracting her claws, so no real damage was done. I played my part, wincing and whimpering as though I’d been hurt. “Upstairs,” she commanded, pointing to the rickety steps leading to the offices. The sight of the staircase truly made my stomach drop to my toes. Staircases have always posed a threat to my safety. No matter how hard I try, I always become a clumsy bundle of nerves, stumbling over my own feet. True to form, I was all paws as I loped up these steps, knees wobbling with effort. From the entrance, I could see Fatz’s chair was turned so that the crime boss faced the window. Warning bells clanged louder in my head; surely McQueen must have seen my approach. Did she know that Shadow had purposefully helped me inside? “Look what I found snooping around, Boss!” Shadow called out gleefully, practically prancing into the room. Obviously ignorant of the danger, Shadow proudly stood in front of Fatz’s desk, certain that she would be rewarded for my capture.

“Blackjack Bikack,” Fatz answered without turning around, but I could hear the suspicion in the crime boss’s tone. “Come to bring me more spoiled milk?” Geez, I’ll never live that one down, will I? I thought as I rolled my eyes. “That was an accident, Fatz. I had no idea the milk was bad. How many times must I say it? I’m sorry, but I really wasn’t trying to poison you.” I knew that the leader of the Scottish Fold would never be convinced of my innocence, but at least I tried. “Tell me,” Fatz continued, unfazed by my confession. “What were you and Shadow discussing before she led you inside? It hardly looked like an ambush to me.” I knew I had to think fast, but my words failed me. I had no answer for the crime boss. Helplessly, I looked to Shadow for an idea, but she stared back at me in stunned silence. “Boss, it’s like this—” Shadow began, the words hissing to a stop as Fatz interrupted her. “Cat got your tongue, Blackjack?” Fatz quipped as the cushioned chair turned around to reveal the notorious leader of the Scottish Fold. She was the biggest cat I had ever seen, with rolls of fur and fat spreading away from her thick face. Most of the world didn’t know that Fatz was a female; she took great pains to hide that fact from her enemies. She wore a chain around her neck with a letter “F” charm, and I had no doubt it was solid gold. Sunglasses perched precariously on her nose, and a large bowler hat was jammed tightly on her head. It only made her face look rounder. A dried crumb of tuna fish was lodged in her lips, but she was too focused on me to notice the uneaten morsel. I knew the minute I looked into her crazed eyes that coming to the Fold was a mistake. Raising my paws in surrender, I offered my explanation in the softest, gentlest tone I could muster. “I only wanted to ask about—” “You don’t get to ask me anything!” Fatz snapped, a feral gleam lighting up her features. “I have waited patiently, longing for the day you’d crawl back through my door. So, you need a favor? I need revenge!” She held up a large paw, pointing downstairs. “Shadow, take our guest to the milk bath, then get outside on patrol.” “But boss,” Shadow whined, her whiskers drooping. “I was hoping to stay inside after this. Haven’t I proved that you can trust me yet?”

“I saw you conspiring with him! You brought him inside to try and win favor, didn’t you? You think one action would be enough to fix what you’ve done? You stole my last bulk order tuna fish and wrecked the place before running off into the night!” Fatz slammed her hefty paw onto her desk, rattling a pile of empty tuna cans. “it it, Shadow!” “Wait! You had your food robbed too?” I barked in surprise. That information changed matters considerably. “You didn’t order the attack on my home to send me a message?” If Fatz had been hit too, then there must be another thief out there working alone. By why would he or she come after me and the Fold? There was nothing tying us together. Was it a coincidence, or was new trouble looming on the horizon just beyond my sight? “I didn’t attack you!” Fatz cried, her mouth pulling back to reveal her crooked teeth. “I may hate you, Blackjack Bikack, but as long as you leave the Scottish Fold alone, I won’t waste my time coming after you. But when you are on my land…well, that’s another story entirely. How could I resist such an easy victory when you waltz right into my territory so willingly?” Vaguely, I realized that Stubbs’s information was accurate—Fatz had created a permanent home for her operation. Whatever she was planning to do, it must be huge. However, I could not dwell on what she might be doing. My thoughts were preoccupied with the assassin’s footprint outside my home. “If what you’re saying is true, then why was your assassin at my home last night?” I asked, yelping as Shadow pulled my tail, attempting to drag me away. “I have proof, McQueen! I know she was there. It’s the same cat that attacked the rat clans—” “What proof do you have?” Fatz grew still as she questioned, her claws pecking on her oversized oak desk. I shook off Shadow’s hold on my tail, replying, “A print in the mud outside my kitchen door. I know—” “A print, ha!” Fatz cackled, her confidence returning. “For a detective, you are very foolish, Blackjack Bikack. You come to my territory and accuse me of spying, and your evidence is mud? A little water, and your clue disappears! I wouldn’t be surprised to find that your precious print is gone by the time you return home!” Fatz waved her paw at me in dismissal. “Take him to the milk bath.”

Shadow reached for my jacket, whispering, “Don’t make me get a leash, Blackjack. Come on.” Hearing Fatz McQueen dismiss my evidence so easily left me feeling like a junior detective fresh off the training field. This time, as Shadow led me back downstairs to meet my fate, my drooping ears weren’t just for show. I could smell it long before we reached the milk bath. The other cats from the Scottish Fold lined up side by side, creating a parade-like path for me to follow. Each one held their noses against the stench. Despite the odor nearly blinding me with my own tears, I managed to inspect the paws of the cats as I ed. None of them had a metal claw on the left side. “Maybe I was wrong,” I whined as I paced closer to the vat of rotten milk. Three of Fatz’s burly tom bouncers hoisted the heavy lid off the container, and the pungent odor quickly grew stronger. As stinky as it was, the thought of the milk bath did not worry me as much as the fear that I had been wrong. Maybe the metal clawed assassin wasn’t a part of the Fold; maybe I’d been wrong back during the rat clan murders too. Looking back at Fatz, I could see her large pink nose shoved against the glass in her office door. Doubts whirled in my mind as I watched her wild eyes gleam. The sound of her laughter boomed like thunder as it echoed down to me. “Get him in there, boys!” Then I noticed a pair of green eyes blink to life behind the crime boss. Hidden in the shadows, I saw the gleam of sharp teeth as he or she held up the metal claw. Curses! I thought, realizing that the assassin had been in the room during my interlude with Fatz. How did I not notice? That means he or she knows I’m investigating. I’ve got to get home to warn Greta! I watched in horror as the gleaming eyes winked out of sight, a shivering blur disappearing out the window. The onlookers formed a semi-circle around me, cutting off all chances of escape. Behind me, the vat of spoiled milk and bad tuna fish waited, tendrils of stinky smoke drifting toward me like claws seeking their next prey. Enough is enough, I thought, letting out a low growl. The cats froze at the sound, hackles raising on their necks as they prepared for the fight.

I rolled my shoulders with a loud crack, a menacing, deep bark roaring to life in my throat. “Another day, Fatz McQueen! We will meet again!” Then I launched myself over the heads of the nearest cats on my right, ignoring the sharp jabs of their claws as they tried to slow me down. Suddenly, a loud horn blared through the speakers, a light flashing red and white. Large metal grates fell from the ceiling, blocking windows and doors as I padded toward the exit. My nose managed to reach freedom right before the grate slid down, and I had to jerk myself out of its path. No escape, no chance of freedom. “I have waited too long for this moment, Blackjack Bikack,” howled the scratchy voice of Fatz McQueen through the PA system. A rope snaked around my middle, and Shadow deftly launched herself onto my back to secure the end. The rope jerked upright, lifting me until my feet hovered over the gray floor. The ginger cat that had been fixing the conveyor belt worked the controls of a cranelike metal arm, maneuvering a huge hook that hoisted me up by the rope. He continued shifting his gears, sending me lurching from side to side until I was right beside the milk bath. The rope released into the waiting paws of a brindled bouncer. He tied my binding through the vat’s handles, preventing any hope for a second escape attempt. “How long do I have to sit in this thing?” I grumbled, snapping at the nearest toms that got too close for comfort. “Oh, at least half an hour, I think. Maybe more if you keep trying my patience,” Fatz sneered as a Siamese beauty brought her another can of tuna to munch on during the show. I kicked my hat off my head before the cats could push me inside the stinking liquid. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. If I’m going, I’ll go on my own !” With a grin and a snarl, I took a deep breath, clenched my eyes closed, and dove headfirst into the vat of spoiled milk and tuna. I hoped the splash soaked as many of the nearby nosy kitties as it possibly could.

Chapter 5

A sharp tug on the rope around my middle drug me out of the milk bath. After half an hour of paddling to stay afloat, my legs were as limp as warm spaghetti noodles. The only thing that kept me upright was my fear for Greta. Had the mysterious assassin of the Scottish Fold harmed my assistant? I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to her. The horrible odor of the bath had permeated my jacket, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to get it completely clean. I coughed as I landed on AlbaCo’s gray floors, struggling to stand upright. Already my eyes felt droopy as if I would fall asleep right there in the center of enemy camp. Cats arched their sticky backs, scowls on their faces as I noticed their damp fur. I had been successful in hitting a few with the spoiled milk. It gave me an idea for how to get away. Smiling weakly, I did what dogs do best, shaking my body from nose to tail. Chaos erupted as yowling, spitting furballs scattered in every direction. “Gross! Get away! Get away!” They cried, searching for a hiding place where they would be safe from the raining stench. My soggy paw raised in salute to the office, where a hissing Fatz McQueen screamed at her minions. “Don’t let him get away!” “Thanks for the beauty treatment,” I sneered, grabbing my hat as I loped to the exit, now uncovered by the grates. Sometime during my bath, Fatz had switched off the alarm, lowering her guard. This time, my escape was easy. I ed out the cracked door, blowing by Shadow without a word. She looked genuinely contrite, but I did not have time to waste. My only thought was for Greta: was she okay? Had she managed to hold off the assassin with the metal claw? What kind of grisly scene would I find when I got home? Jumping onto the seat of my motorcycle, I prayed the ferry at the flats’ port was

close to shore. Waiting an extra half an hour for the boat to arrive would be unbearable. My bike thundered to life, causing the unsuspecting seagulls to screech as they took off into the air. I flew down the dock streets, barely slowing down as I hit the ferry’s dock. A beaver chattered angrily at me, his protests growing louder as his nose crinkled against my smell, but I didn’t care. The ferry was at the port, and that was all that mattered to me. This time, the ocean’s waves gently rocked me to sleep as the ferry waded across the Sound. It was just as well, for the boat’s crawling pace would have left me impatiently growling if I’d been awake. My dreams were troubled during that trip. I imagined the face of the assassin in various fur colorations and patterns, the metal claw raised high in the air. My Greta cowered in the corner, crying out, “Blackjack! Why didn’t you come save me? Where are you?” I woke myself up a couple times, howling and twitching as I attempted to run to her side. A sharp slap of a beaver’s tail roused me from my slumbers. “Time to go, stinky!” the beaver demanded, pointing his flag toward the exit as his free hand held his nose. Vaguely I wondered if this was what Wade felt every time he went out in public. I gained new insight into what it must be like to be a skunk, and I found myself feeling sorry for my friend. Then I was on the highway once more and struggling to outrun the fears for my assistant that haunted my every heartbeat. I raced through the streets of the city, rushing to my house on McGruff street. On the way, I kept one eye on the rearview mirror, searching for signs of emergency vehicles. Would one of the neighbors hear a struggle if Greta fought back? Would they call the police and try to help her? Or would they leave her to face an attacker alone, blinding their eyes and ears to her suffering in the hopes that the villain would spare them from the same fate? I tried to prepare myself for the worst-case scenario, but my heart couldn’t bear the thought of Greta injured or dead. Instead, I clung to hope that no signs of police meant that the assassin hadn’t returned to my home. Maybe, just maybe, everything was okay. Of all the things I’d considered, the sight I found when I stepped through the door was nothing like I’d imagined. I threw myself over the threshold as I barely wheezed out, “Greta! Where are you, girl?” I sniffed the floor in the kitchen, no signs of a struggle catching my eyes. Instead, I hear the soft tittering of laughter coming from the living room.

“In here, Blackjack!” Greta answered me airily as her water bowl clinked onto one of the tables. “Come meet my new friend.” Imagine my surprise as I entered the living room and found Greta lounging on the couch. I knew she’d been home a while after her charity auction because she’d changed into a simple work shirt and plain purple hairbow. Carefully examining her, I found no signs of injury or distress. If anything, she looked calm and genuinely pleased with herself. “Greta, are you okay?” “Oh, I’m fabulous!” Greta cooed, her tail thumping wildly. “Both of my paintings sold at the auction, one of them bringing the highest donation of the event! Of course, I bought it myself, but I just couldn’t part with it. I was thinking about hanging it over the mantle. After all, it is a portrait of you and me, which is perfect, don’t you think?” Greta barely took a breath before continuing. “A couple of hours after I got back, I heard a knock at the door, and that’s when I met my new friend! See?” A bowl of the finest cream I owned sat on my coffee table, and a gray and white cat rested in my favorite chair. She was scrawny and being underweight made her facial features severe. The cat stared at me with a defiant glitter in her eyes and a tiny smirk upturned one corner of her mouth. Only her tail showed any signs of impatience, flicking away from her body rapidly as she waited for me to speak. “Why did you come back here?” I barked, feeling my tail straighten in rage. My left paw lifted in a crooked point, scowling at the assassin. How desperately I wanted to throw her out of my chair and out of my house! “Now really, is that a way to treat a friend?” she purred, her metal claw gleaming under her chin. “I simply came by to chat. Your assistant has been most… informative. I feel like we’ve known each other for ages, Blackjack Bikack.” Her words did very little to comfort me. I couldn’t be sure, but I felt like every word she spoke was a threat in disguise. “You want to talk? Start with your name,” I snarled, rushing forward in an effort to startle the assassin. My moves only succeeded in making Greta blush; the fiendish feline barely even blinked. “Blackjack, please! Do not embarrass me in front of our guest! My hospitality is

famous around here, and I do not want my good manners to be tarnished,” Greta chided me, her bright eyes pleading. “Why are you acting this way?” “It’s fine, Ms. Gumshoe.” The assassin stretched her lithe form along the cushion before curling up once more. “And in answer to your question, Blackjack, I have many names by which I am known. In , I am ‘Le Chat Gris,’ which literally translates to ‘The Gray Cat.’ And in most Spanish speaking countries, I am called, ‘La Fantasma’ or ‘The Ghost.’ Why, in some parts of the country, creatures even fear to speak of me or say anything that might resemble my name. They believe I’m a fiendish spirit that can be conjured by their mutterings, the fools!” The cat’s mouth parted as soft laughter rustled in her lungs. The sound felt like a sandpaper tongue ran over my ears, and I tried not to cringe or shown any sign of revulsion. “However, you can call me Bones. I think it’s the most appropriate title I’ve earned, don’t you, Blackjack?” “That’s Mr. Bikack to you.” I bared my teeth at the rangy cat. The memory of the rat murders blossomed afresh in my mind, and I edged my way closer to the chair as subtly as I could manage. It was a tight squeeze, but I wanted to put as many obstacles between the assassin and Greta as possible. “Why do they call you Bones?” Greta asked brightly in an attempt to be polite, still not grasping the severity of the situation. “Because that was all that was left of her targets,” I muttered, the assassin grinning in response. “She’s a killer, Greta. She’s the murderer responsible for the deaths in the rat clans. She works for Fatz McQueen, and she was the one who stood outside the window last night.” Greta slowly turned to the chair where Bones sat, a look of terror forming on her slender face. She turned a little green as she made a half-hearted excuse and bolted from the room. I was grateful that she was gone, giving me a chance to talk business without interruption or fear for my assistant’s safety. “Was that really necessary? I have done nothing of reproach since I entered your home,” Bones sniped at me, closing one eye. “And believe me, I had plenty of opportunities. Your little assistant is so kind and gullible. I had no trouble convincing her I was harmless—and we both know that’s not the case, don’t we?” “You have entered my house without permission, and I know you were outside

our window last night.” I prowled closer, ignoring her taunts. Bones was only trying to rouse my anger. I couldn’t let her see that she was winning so easily. “You’ve threatened what’s mine. That’s enough to justify my anger, don’t you think?” The hair on the back of my neck raised, bristling as I waited for a response. Bones purred as she stretched her paws along my favorite chair’s cushion. As she drew them back toward her body, her metal claw sliced through the canvas covering, fluff drifting to the ground like falling clouds. “Oops! Guess now you do have a reason to kick me out.” She smiled widely, and I knew she had something up her sleeve. “But don’t you want to know why I was outside your house in the first place? Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Bones stretched her long, slender body, yawning as though she were preparing for a long nap after a good meal. “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know if Fatz McQueen ordered a hit on you or your darling aide?” Curses! She’s got me by the tail, baited by the hope of new information. What’s worse is that she knows it. “Okay, you want to play games?” I challenged, sitting down beside my favorite chair. I tried not to let my eyes wander over the ripped cushion. Seeing my distress would only give her more control. “Why were you outside my house last night then, Bones? Tell me whatever it is you so obviously want to share.” Bones hopped gracefully from my ruined cushion to the table beside the armchair, primly wrapping her tail around her skinny legs as she eyed the dish of cream. She lapped at the milky white delicacy with lazy grace, stalling for time and testing my patience with each ing second. “Glad to see you’ve given up the spoiled milk habits, Blackjack,” Bones purred softly, a milk mustache appearing just below her nose. It did nothing to quell the terror that rose in me when she continued speaking. “I watch you all the time, Blackjack. Ever since you investigated my other crimes. You got so close to me during the rat murders, and still, you had no idea. I was always in the shadows lurking, watching, and waiting, but you never noticed me. There were a few times I could have reached out and grabbed your coattails or brushed your whiskers with my claws, and you never knew.” I struggled to suppress the shudder that ran down my front legs. Bones grinned wickedly as she whispered, “I’ve kept tabs on you to make sure you dropped the rat clans’ case. To be certain that you were not tightening a noose around my neck.”

For an entire year, this feline assassin has been observing me unawares. My back rippled with goosebumps at the thought. A whole year to study and learn my habits, my likes, and my movements. I knew then how it must feel to be a fish in a bowl on display for all to see. “Well, I’m onto you now. I’ve seen you, ? I could draw up a sketch for the police. I could tell them you’ve as good as confessed to being a rat killer. What’s to stop me from shouting out to Greta to make the call right now?” “Don’t you want to know what I saw last night? It’s no fun if you don’t ask,” Bones taunted as she stirred the cream with her paw. The milky white surface spun like a hurricane in a dish, mesmerizing my eyes. “What did you see?” I muttered, hating that I was stooping to play such childish games with the assassin. Bones yawned once more dramatically, staring at her paws as though I bored her. “No, Blackjack. You know that’s not how this is going to work! I need some assurances first. In exchange for my information, you’ll keep my identity a secret. No calls to the cops. No sketches. Not even an anonymous tip about where to find me or the rest of the Fold. Agreed?” “Fine,” I grumbled, repeating my question under my breath. “What did you see last night, Bones?” “Nothing,” Bones cackled as a growl erupted deep in my throat. “At first, Blackjack, I saw nothing. I was high in your tree, scouting the scene before I crept closer to your window. I was even thinking about breaking in myself, skimming over your cold case files to see if you’d come up with any new leads. About halfway down the trunk, I happened to look up. In your open kitchen window, I noticed the strangest little creature waddling around your food bowl. It tipped over the water with its long tail, shuffling into the food. Two bites in, it squealed and tore out of the house.” “What was it?” I wondered, more to myself than to Bones. “No idea.” Bones arched her back as she deftly returned to my chair’s cushion, curling up on the fabric that was still intact. “Never seen anything like it around here before.” “Why tell me all of this?” I wondered, genuinely curious. “If you’ve been so

worried about getting caught, why suddenly let me see your face? What’s changed?” Bones smiled widely, her eyes sliding shut with a contented purr. “I think you and I should be allies. Scratch each other’s backs, as it were. Fatz doesn’t trust you, but I don’t have the luxury of maintaining long-term enemies like she does. If there’s a new player in town, I need to know. Your investigation is now one of my concerns. Right now, I think I will nap here.” Her claws kneaded into the cushions involuntarily, leaving small pockmarks in the fabric as she prepared to go to sleep. “When I wake, I’ll expect an answer.” “I don’t think so,” I whispered, deftly catching the assassin by the nape of the neck with my teeth. I highly enjoyed throwing her out into the front yard, smiling as she hissed and spit when my door slammed shut.

Chapter 6

“Is she gone?” Greta asked as she peeked into the living room, her eyes bright with worry. “Yes, she’s gone,” I mumbled, exhaustion quickly replacing my relief. “For now.” The events of the day were rapidly causing my eyelids to droop. Sleep whispered my name, taunting me with its waiting dreams of green fields and warm blankets. I hardly stifled my yawn as I inquired, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” “No. When I met her at the door, she said she was interested in hiring us. I let her in and started entertaining her like she might become a client, and we got along well. I thought…I thought she was nice.” Her nose twitched violently as she spoke, her ears twitching in agitation as she added, “I am sorry, Blackjack. I had no idea that Bones was—” “You couldn’t have known. That kitty’s too good at lying. If I hadn’t known she was a killer before I walked in here, I would have been duped by her charm too,” I replied as I crossed over to stand beside my assistant, nudging her chin softly with my paw. She gave me a small smile, but Greta’s fears still wavered like ghosts in her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Greta. It’s mine; I spoke too openly in Fatz’s office, unaware that the assassin was in the room with us. If I’d kept my trap shut, Bones would never have known to come here.” “Oh. Well, I guess we both made some mistakes,” Greta exclaimed, her ears perking up at the news that she wasn’t the only one to be fooled. Then, ever easy to distract, my assistant changed the subject to more pressing matters at hand. “So, what kind of creature has a long tail and waddles?” “So even though Bones was dangerous, you were eavesdropping,” I declared, trying to sound stern even though I knew Greta’s nosiness was a habit that would not be broken. “You know you shouldn’t listen when I’m with a client, Greta.” After all, sometimes private detectives needed to be confidential and discreet. Still, it was a relief to know I wouldn’t have to relive the conversations I’d had

with Bones to catch my assistant up on the details. “Well, I just wanted to make sure the cat didn’t attack you!” Greta growled in annoyance, embarrassed at the implication that she was spying. “Really, Blackjack! I’m not a rubbernecker! Besides, even if I was, who would I tell?” “Your friends at the Westie Charity, the girls at your beauty parlor, a complete stranger at the mall,” I teased, howling with laughter as Greta’s ears turned pink with her rage. “I’m kidding, Greta.” Then, I heaved a sigh, reality settling on my shoulders once more. “The fact is, the Scottish Fold were attacked by this thief too, which means I have no idea who’s behind it. I’m completely out of leads.” Dropping down on all fours, I put my head on my paws to concentrate. “I’ll tell Stubbs to keep an eye out for any strangers lurking about, but I think that’s the best I can do until he or she strikes again.” “Could it be one of the lesser gangs? That seagull gang—oh, what are they called? The Bonapartes, that’s right…or maybe the remaining of the rat clans?” Greta asked, tugging on my ear to get my attention. She’d brought me my favorite chew, a vice I had always had ever since I was a puppy. “It’s chicken teriyaki, Blackjack.” “You spoil me,” I grumbled as I took a bite, reveling in the flavor as I spoke between smacks. “The Bonapartes stay near the fishing docks most of the time, and the rats haven’t recovered from last year’s massacres. Besides, Bones did say this was an unfamiliar creature. She’d know the seagulls and the rats, wouldn’t she?” I carried my chew into the kitchen, pausing by the water bowl for a quick drink. “There’s a new player in town, Greta. An unfamiliar beast is burglarizing our streets, and I won’t rest until he or she is found!” “Oh, Blackjack, you are so—” Greta’s brow scrunched up as her nose wrinkled into a look of disgust. “What is that smell?” Greta dropped low to the ground, hunting for the strange odor, pausing only when she reached my front paws. “Blackjack! What did you roll in? It smells terrible!” Greta covered her nose as she waited for my answer, her eyes beginning to water. “You know I love dirt, but this is too much even for me!” “I got a payback punishment from Fatz McQueen while I was down in her headquarters. Maybe now I’ll finally be able to move past the spoiled milk fiasco of my earlier days in the business.” I sighed and nodded before Greta got the

chance to banish me outside. “I’ll go clean up.” “I’ll turn on the sprinklers,” Greta announced as she pushed me toward the door. “Don’t come inside until you smell like the flower garden.” She tossed a sponge out the door before slamming it shut behind me. “Use a lemon from the tree out there too; maybe the juice will cut through all that stink!” I followed Greta’s advice, but it took three of the sour fruits to completely erase the spoiled milk scent that stained my fur. I held out very little hope that my jacket would ever be the same. While I rinsed off in the sprinklers, I reviewed the facts of the case once more. It was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle without having control over all of the pieces. The most important bits were still unknown, and until I found them, I’d continue chasing my tail. I got so preoccupied that I barely noticed the sprinkler was moving back toward me. Its spray hit me in the face, and the sharp sting of the water was enough to pull me out of my thoughts. Deciding to blow off some steam, I played in the sprinklers, racing back and forth through the spraying water until I felt a genuine laugh erupt from my lips. The sound raised my spirits, filling me with hope that I’d somehow find a way to solve this case. “Blackjack! There’s a towel on the porch for you,” Greta called out when she determined that it was time for me to come inside. I was sure she’d watched me playing in the water, allowing me a few moments of fun before I had to return to work. “I’m going to turn off the sprinklers now,” she explained, immediately trotting back inside the house. Feeling refreshed, I raced for the front steps, quickly wrapping the towel around my shoulders. Greta had fluffed it in the dryer, and it was still warm. “You really do spoil me!” I cried as I reveled in the luxury of a heated towel, and I heard Greta cackle in delight from behind the door. Though I had no idea what to do next, my world was looking better every ing second.

Chapter 7

The next morning, I awoke with a song in my heart and a spring in my step. I practically danced out my bedroom door, humming to myself as I waited for Greta to serve breakfast. “Where are you, Ms. Gumshoe?” I called out when my trusty assistant did not appear. The faintest sound of murmured conversation perked my ears upright. “Greta?” I hunted for the speakers, sniffing the ground for any unknown scent. Yet, the only smell that filled my nose was Greta’s orange blossom shampoo. A faint trail was stronger than the others, and I followed it into the study where my office desk awaited. “Yes, I understand. I’ll tell Blackjack to come to see you immediately,” Greta calmly spoke into the phone’s receiver, but I could tell she was trying to get off the phone. She rolled her eyes as she added, “Yes, sir. I understand the importance of speed. As soon as Blackjack is in the office, I’ll let him know that you wish to see him.” “Who? What?” I mouthed, waving a paw to catch Greta’s eye. Instead of answering my questions, Greta raised an eyebrow at me, silently directing me to wait until the call was completed. I snorted, annoyed at such treatment, but I obeyed her command. “Well?” I demanded the second after she said goodbye. “Some skunk called from the city dump, claiming to have had an intruder break through the fence last night. He was pretty frantic, but I doubt that anyone would steal from something so stinky and foul.” Greta shuddered as she made a disgusted face. “That skunk didn’t happen to say his name was Wade, did he?” I wondered, grinding my teeth to keep from barking at my assistant. The way Greta turned up her nose at the thought of helping a skunk rankled my fur. “Well, yes, he did. So, you know this skunk then?” Greta mumbled, her eyes wide with shock. Clearly, she had never befriended someone of Wade’s status in society. The very thought of spending time with the riff-raff was enough to make Greta’s eyes bulge and her stomach heave.

It disappointed me to see her acting so mean about a good, honest working beast like Wade. “Your pedigree is showing,” I challenged, baring my teeth as I added, “If you’re going to be my assistant, you’re going to have to get used to working with mixed breeds, skunks, and all kinds of unusual creatures.” “I know that,” Greta replied, but her words came out sounding more like a question than a statement as if she didn’t truly believe she could handle this job. “You know something?” I wheeled on the desk, my paws slamming into the tabletop with a loud crack. “Just because someone’s different doesn’t make them lesser than you! Yes, he’s a skunk; yes, he sometimes smells. But Wade is also a wonderful, kind, gentle creature. You don’t see that, though, do you? All you see is his species.” Startled by my outburst, Greta stumbled for an answer, unable to look me in the eye. “I…I didn’t mean to—” “You know, not every animal comes from a highbrow, purebred family like you do.” Pointing to the portrait Greta had painted and hung over the mantle, I added, “I’m surprised you could handle posing yourself next to me, a low-born mongrel!” “Blackjack, please!” Greta yipped, hopping out of her chair and running to my side. “I didn’t mean anything offensive! I’ve just never heard you talk about—” I backed away from her, still furious. Stalking to the door, an idea struck me before I could get my second favorite coat out of the closet. “As a matter of fact, I think I need another set of eyes for this trip. Greta, get your hat. We’re going to the dump to meet with Wade together.” I barely breathed as I waited for Greta to protest. She stared at me in silence, weighing her options carefully. “Okay, Blackjack. Give me a minute.” She trotted out of the kitchen slowly, stalling for time, I suspected. However, my assistant surprised me when she returned in less than five minutes, wearing a simple hat and some sturdy boots. “Let’s go meet with your friend,” she whispered, trotting toward the door without another outburst. Wordlessly we hopped onto my motorcycle, and I steered us in the direction of the city dump. Tension rolled off Greta as she clung to the seat behind me. I couldn’t understand how she could love to roll in the mud and yet dislike skunks

because of their smell. Maybe Wade could change her opinion; after all, he was one of the nicest creatures I’d ever met. When we pulled into the dump, I hopped off the motorcycle before Greta even had the chance to move. “Wade? You here?” I howled, searching for the skunk even as I reluctantly held my nose. Despite my strong convictions about Wade, the smell did bother my senses too. However, it wasn’t enough to stop me from being there for my friend. “Round the back of the building, BJ,” Wade’s voice carried over the breeze. I hurried to find him, Greta hot on my heels. When Wade’s eyes landed on my assistant, he cowered and dropped his head. “I…I didn’t know you were bringing company.” “This is my assistant, Greta. Greta, this is Wade.” I made the introduction quickly, curious as to how Greta would respond. Greta surprised me once more by waltzing up to Wade’s side and holding out her paw. Despite the way she’d acted in the office, Greta was a picture-perfect example of welcoming grace. “Greta Gumshoe. I’m sorry if I sounded gruff on the phone this morning. We get prank calls sometimes, and I’m afraid I assumed you weren’t seriously in trouble. I apologize.” Her nose didn’t even wrinkle up against the pungent odor. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Gumshoe,” Wade replied, tentatively shaking Greta’s paw. “I didn’t take offense; you’re not the first to shun me because I’m a skunk.” Before Greta could speak again, Wade turned to address me. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I came in to check the perimeter and found the place like this.” Wade was clearly distressed, his feet stamping in place as he pointed to a hole in the fence slats. Around the opening, bits of trash were scattered everywhere, as if someone had trampled through the rubbish piles and drug bits of paper under their feet. “What? Why would anyone break into the dump?” I asked aloud, sniffing the ground. The earthy scent of the intruder filled my sense, but I still had no clue what he or she was. “I think…I think he or she was looking for something,” Wade suggested as he pointed to the scattered trash. “This looks purposeful to me. See the scratch marks in the mud around the piles? It’s like he or she was pawing through the

trash bags searching for a lost treasure.” “Are these piles organized or random?” Greta inquired, staring at the junk that littered the ground. Little bits of paper were slick with morning dew. Open cans, leftover bites of food, and all kinds of other items were dumped onto the ground where the burglar had strayed. “We have a simple organizing system that is based on a com. These piles are in the northeastern part of our land, which means they came from the northeastern part of town. That’s about all I can tell you, though.” Wade shuffled dirt with his toe, still cautious around a new face. Despite Greta’s warm introduction, Wade still didn’t seem to trust that she’d accepted him. “We live on the northeast side of the city; is it possible the burglar was trying to go through our trash?” Greta proposed, turning her eyes up to stare at me. “It’s possible, but there’s no way to be sure,” I exclaimed, pawing through the trash to see if I recognized anything. It would Greta’s idea if I saw something that looked like it came from my office. “But why go after Fatz McQueen too? Oh, I don’t understand any of this!” I slammed my paw into the pile of junk in my frustration. “Well, I’ve got to get that hole fixed before the big boss comes in; he’ll fire me for sure if he sees this mess!” Wade nodded his head once to Greta, mumbling, “It was really nice to meet you, Ms. Gumshoe.” “You too,” Greta whispered, and in her soft voice, I could hear her sincerity. “If you’re ever near the office, please stop in to see me. I’d love to cook you one of my famous meals if you’re interested. And I’d love to hear all the embarrassing things you can tell me about Blackjack!” “I…I would love it,” Wade answered, astonished at being invited into my house. “Thank you, Ms. Gumshoe.” Even though he was speaking about the invitation, I couldn’t help but wonder if Wade was thanking my assistant for her kindness too. It shamed me a little to think that I’d been so harsh toward her in the office. Perhaps I had misjudged Greta’s attitude altogether. “Well, Wade, I’ll leave you to your work. If you have any more attacks, let me know.” I patted the skunk’s shoulder before returning to the motorcycle with my assistant. Once we were out of earshot, I whimpered, “I think I owe you an

apology, Ms. Gumshoe. You handled the meeting with Wade very well.” “I don’t have a problem with other creatures, Blackjack,” Greta retorted as she climbed onto the seat. “But it did hurt my feelings when you thought I was being a snob.” Even though Greta tried to be strong and independent, I thought I detected the smallest teardrop leaving a trail down her cheek. My fears were confirmed when a telltale sniffle erupted from her nose. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, feeling like a fool. “I think I allowed some of my own fears to cloud my judgment.” It was difficult to confess such a thing, but once the words started pouring from my mouth, I couldn’t stop them. “It’s just that I have always feared that you considered yourself to be better than me. You have your Westie charity, and you have lived a high-class life. I’ve never had that, Greta. I’m a dog of the streets, you know?” I leaned heavily onto the motorcycle’s front seat, my head drooping over the side with lowered ears. “I’ve never understood why you chose to leave that life behind to work as my secretary. So, when I heard you snub Wade, I thought it was because you thought you were better than a skunk. I feared that the real purebred Westie was finally showing through your smile.” “Don’t you know me by now?” Greta snapped, suddenly angry as she bopped me on the head. “I’ve never acted like I was better than another creature in my entire life!” Her voice fell into a low grumble as her fury simmered. “I took this job because I wanted to be a part of something greater than myself! It was never about the money for me, Blackjack: it’s about helping creatures that are hurting, in danger, or in need of assistance. And it hurts me that you’d think I could be so shallow!” I felt sheepish the entire drive back to the home office, but I had no idea what to say that could possibly make up for the pain I’d caused. By the time we reached McGruff Street, Greta had stopped mumbling under her breath. Somehow, I knew that I had to figure out a way to make things right. Yet, I barely had time to cut off the motorcycle’s engine before a shrieking bark chattered right over my head. “I was robbed! Somebody, please, help me!” cried the opossum that rented out space in our oak tree. “Blackjack! Greta! Come quick!” Pacing over to the tree trunk, I called up to my friend. “I’m here, Henry! Come

down and tell me everything.” A light gray head poked out from the branches, clear eyes and crooked teeth almost touching my nose. A curly pink tail wrapped around the limbs of the tree, ing the round body of the opossum. His little paws reached down to my snout, pulling at my lips. A little squeaky voice quivered as he shouted, “Oh, Blackjack! It’s just awful! My entire cache of treasures has been ransacked!” Henry’s “treasures” consisted of unusual bits of junk that no other creature in the world would keep. He had a holey glove that he’d turned into a planter, and a bottlecap hat with a string strap to tie under your chin, a hammock made from a coat hanger frame and some of Greta’s yarn scraps, and countless other baubles that only had value in Henry’s eyes. I knew Henry picked through our trash before Wade came to collect it, and I chose to turn a blind eye to it. Any animal who could use our castoffs could have them without complaint or judgment from me. However, having seen Henry’s treasures firsthand, I knew there was nothing in them that would tempt a skilled thief looking for a profitable score. “Myrtle is terrified to leave the tree to forage; she’s certain the attacker will come back and try to carry her off in the night. I don’t know what to do!” Henry pointed up into the tree, where a shivering branch caught my attention. Poor Myrtle was always a gentle, sensitive soul. This incident would leave her terrified for weeks. “Did you see who did it, Henry?” I asked, already certain that the thief who’d wandered into my kitchen was the very same to visit Henry and Myrtle. It chilled my blood to know that the culprit had returned to his first crime scene without fear of getting caught. I felt like a target, and maybe I’d finally caught a break in the case. Was the beast attacking my house on purpose? Why would it do such a strange thing? “Honest, Blackjack, I didn’t see anything.” Henry shook his head, his snout whacking into mine as he scurried further down the tree. “He had some kind of disguise, like a bowl or a turtle shell on his back. I am telling you, everything was overturned—my whole cataloguing system is completely trashed. I have no idea what’s missing or where anything is anymore.” “What are we going to do?” Myrtle squeaked, her frail face peeking around the tree trunk. She’d crawled down far enough that I could see her tail was still

tightly wrapped around the branch, stripping leaves from their stems as she moved. “What if he comes back? We’re not safe up in this tree!” “Henry, Myrtle, come inside,” Greta insisted, hopping off the bike and heading for the front door. “Stay with us until we figure out what’s going on. There’s got to be a way to unmask this burglar.” “Why is he coming for us? What did we do? What is he looking for?” Myrtle’s questions poured out of her chattering teeth. She left a few claw marks on the tree bark when Henry skittered back up and tried to pull her down to the ground. “Come on, girl!” Henry urged, finally loosening Myrtle’s tail from its vice-like grip around one leafy branch. “Ol’ BJ will sort it out. Just give him time, and I know he’ll figure out what’s going on. Now, let’s get inside the main house where we’ll be safe!” Suddenly, a plan formed in my mind so quickly that it felt like I had electricity coursing through my veins. “I know what to do,” I declared, bolting up the front porch until I was nose to nose with my assistant. “We’ll discuss all of this later, but right now, I’ve got to get back down to the docks.” “What are you going to do?” Greta wondered, growing suspicious as I paced in place. “I’m going to find Bones. She wanted to make a deal with me; well, now I have need of her assistance.” My eyes drifted over my own reflection in the window beside the door. I realized I was as wild as McQueen had been when she had me thrown into the milk bath, almost delusional with the depth of my feelings. In that moment, I felt a keen insight into the crime boss’s state of mind. “You’re not going to hire her to kill the thief, right?” Greta questioned, and the words struck me as painfully as arrows through the heart. She’s lost faith in me, I feared. Was that how she felt when I questioned her so harshly? I vowed that I would figure out how to fix our broken friendship as soon as I nabbed this brazen bandit. “Relax, that’s not what I need from Bones at all,” I replied with a snort, trying to hide my true feelings. “I need Bones to help me set a trap. I’ll explain later,” I

cried, ripping the keys to my motorcycle out of my pocket once more. I barely heard her howling protests as my bike roared down the street.

Chapter 8

“Well, well, I did not expect to see you again so soon.” Shadow sauntered up to me as I waited beside AlbaCo’s rear alley. This time the ferry ride had barely bothered my stomach. My mind was too busy constructing my plan to notice the waves as they pummeled the boat. “Did you take a liking to Fatz’s milk bath then? Back for another dip?” My nose scrunched at the thought, and I sneered, “No, Shadow. I need a meeting with Bones. Think you can get a message to her without Fatz knowing about it?” Shadow slung a pebble into the sky, rewarded by the screech of a seagull. “Get away from our operation, Bonaparte’s filth!” “The Bonapartes are moving into the flats too? What’s up with the Scottish Fold, Shadow? What is so special about AlbaCo?” The Bonapartes were notorious for keeping their haunts near the fishing docks. It seemed like too much of a coincidence for the Scottish Fold and the Bonapartes to suddenly appear in the same part of town. Shadow grinned but did not answer these questions. One of the feline’s dark paws brushed against my cheek as she whispered coyly, “You know I’m in trouble with Fatz. Why would I help you sneak around behind her back?” “I realize it’s a risk.” I stalled for time, trying to think quickly on my paws. In my haste to get to the docks, I never stopped to consider that Shadow might not assist me. While I could understand her reasons for being hesitant, I was frustrated enough to bite. “I’ll owe you a slat of fresh fish from Spike’s Market?” Praying that was an enticing trade, I braced to hear her answer. “Hmm…Blackjack, I’m living at a tuna factory. The last thing I need is more fish.” Shadow made a face, her sandpaper tongue sticking out of her tiny mouth. “Try again.” “What if I told you I’m trying to find the creature that’s been stealing from us

both?” Shadow’s ears perked up, and I knew I’d found my bargaining chip. “If I’m lucky, I’ll have the burglar in custody by the end of the week, and you’ll be cleared of all wrongs with Fatz. Does that interest you?” “I will along your request to Bones, but I cannot guarantee she will meet with you,” Shadow answered immediately, needing no time to think over my request. Then her eyes grew serious, her mouth slipping down into a concerned frown. “Be careful with Bones, Blackjack. Don’t make an enemy of her. She can be unpredictable when she gets riled.” Too late, I feared, ing my behavior when I kicked her out of my house. “Do it now, Shadow! My need of her is time sensitive.” “Blackjack!” Shadow onished, her whiskers twitching as she yowled. “Bones does not contract outside the Fold. And I never thought I would ever see you ordering a hit—” “I don’t want her to kill anyone,” I snapped, a terrified howl building in my throat at the very idea. “I just need her sensitive, observant eyes. Now please, go get her for me, okay?” As Shadow hurried off toward the building, I added, “And bring me a couple of cans of tuna!” I waited outside AlbaCo for an entire hour with no results. Shadow did not return either, so I had no idea if my message had been relayed to Bones. Still, I was determined to stay at my post until I knew if Bones would meet with me. Each silent minute that ed by without any sign of the assassin grated on my already raw nerves. Finally, a familiar gray flash crept out of the upstairs window two hours and thirty-five minutes later, gracefully leaping down a rickety fire escape. In her mouth, I could see that she carried an unlabeled can of their tuna product. I hoped it would be enough for my purposes. “Why Blackjack! Fancy meeting you here! Rethinking your behavior toward me, you naughty dog?” Bones smirked after spitting out the AlbaCo can, watching it roll to my feet. “Been waiting long?” It took all my strength not to growl and bare my teeth at the assassin. Staring hard at her, I noticed Bones’s bottom lip appeared split like she’d just been in a recent skirmish. “What happened to you?” I wondered, trembling at the idea of

another death on her hands and fearful once more for Greta and myself. Were we next? Did she hold a grudge toward me? “Relax, Blackjack,” she mumbled her white paw pointing to the scratch on her face. “Got this from that old window up in the office. I’m not always as nimble as everyone seems to think. Sometimes I am a complete klutz!” She inched closer to me, her green eyes glittering in the light of the streetlamps that were just blinking to life. “Shadow said you wanted to see me. Did you think twice about my offer to forces?” “Maybe I was hasty this afternoon. Maybe there are a few advantages to befriending you,” I said, holding out a paw in a symbol of peace. I hated the idea of owing this assassin any kind of favor. “Maybe I could use someone with your talents for camouflage and surveillance.” Bones preened as she listened to my compliments about her abilities. Then a hard, jealous gleam filled her eyes as she accused, “Why didn’t you ask Shadow to help you? After all, I know she’s your friend.” I tensed, already growing tired of the assassin’s company. “Shadow tends to get irritated with these kinds of tasks. She likes the thrill of a fast-paced theft.” “So, you need someone who’s patient,” Bones observed, her thin lips curling into a sly smile. “Not good enough. What made you come to me, Blackjack? The whole truth this time, if you please. I can tell that you’re hiding something from me.” It was uncanny that Bones could read my face so well. “Well, knowing you’ve spied on me for so long makes you the best candidate for this job. You can be patient. Is that truth enough?” Being a creature of action rather than talk, my feet started to stamp in place as I tried not to lose my temper. Bones slowly wove in a circle around my legs, a mocking smile on her lips as she pretended to consider my request. “You know I will expect a favor in return —you scratch my fur, I scratch yours, and all that.” Bones winked at me, enjoying my anxiousness. I had no doubt she had already planned to aid me; she was just drawing out the conversation to watch me squirm. I nodded as a pit formed in my stomach. What would Bones expect from me? Would she ask me to look the other way when she performed her next hit? I’d be

just as guilty of the crime, and the thought was unbearable. Yet, for the safety of Greta, Henry, Myrtle, and myself, I knew I needed all the extra sets of hands and eyes I could get. “I don’t want to do anything illegal for you, Bones. If you try to use my favor to cover a crime you’ve committed, I will refuse.” Bones hissed suddenly, her hackles rising as she shouted, “If you owe me the favor, you don’t have the right to refuse! I’ll use it for what I wish.” Bones pressed her metal claw into my sensitive nose. “You don’t want the good name of Blackjack Bikack to be tarnished for being a dog that does not stay true to his word, do you?” What choice did I have? I pawed at the ground as I searched for another idea, but I came up completely empty. The only way I could find out who was attacking my house and my friends was to make a deal with the assassin, as much as I loathed it. “Fine, Bones. You win. I’ll owe you a favor if you will help me.” Bones lashed out her metal claw, slicing deep into my paw, a long scratch forming on my pad. “To seal our friendship. And to remind you of this evening when I come to collect your debt.” I had a feeling I would very soon regret this alliance with the master assassin of the Scottish Fold. “Come with me and bring the tuna can with you,” I sighed, my shoulders drooping as reality settled on my shoulders like a heavy weight. “What’s your plan?” Bones questioned, all traces of humor gone. The feline sitting before me was now the cold, detached assassin. She was completely serious and businesslike, and I found this side of Bones to be more unnerving than her changeable nature. “We’re going to set a trap. We need to stop at the city dump, then we’re going back to my house,” I declared, giving Bones a brief overview of my plan for catching the thief. “I will know the identity of the burglar before the week is over,” I vowed, limping on my freshly cut paw as I raced against time itself in my haste to solve this case.

Chapter 9

“Are you up there, Bones?” I rasped from my hiding place across the street. I’d chosen a bush with thick green leaves and pungent yellow flowers that would hopefully mask my scent. “Shhh!” Halfway up the tree, a pair of bright green eyes flashed in the darkness, and even though she said nothing else, I knew Bones was annoyed by my talking. Good, I huffed, smiling as I stared up at the assassin. I’m glad I could rankle your fur too. Her metal claw gleamed in the moonlight as she pressed it against her lips. I nodded, comprehending her meaning with a silent chuckle. I guessed that seeing me talk up into a tree would give away her position to the burglar. I wondered if the thief would come after my house tonight. We’d been setting up our trap every night for the last three days, and we all were ready for this to be over. My paw itched where Bones had scratched her reminder into the rough pad, the skin already beginning to heal and scar. “He’s got to strike tonight,” I whispered, and the words sounded more like a hopeful prayer. How long would Bones continue to help me stake out the neighborhood? Would she expect more favors? How many of these scratch IOUs would I earn before this case was solved? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, rattling the bush around me. “Stop it!” Greta hissed from her hiding place in a metal trash bin on my right. “You’re shaking all the flowers off that bush, and the thief is bound to notice!” “You never cease to amaze me,” I muttered under my breath, staring at the shiny metal bin. “Rolling in the mud, hiding in the trash…how do you still manage to look so clean?” “I heard that,” Greta huffed, the bin’s lid teetering on her head. “Now’s not the time, Blackjack. Now hush!” Glancing up to the house, I noticed the opossums were peeking outside of my house’s front door. “We’ll guard the house,” Myrtle had offered on the first night

of our antics. I’d explained my plan to my lookouts, and she volunteered to stay inside. I knew she was afraid, and I couldn’t blame her. “It won’t bother us a bit to help out from inside here.” Henry nodded silently, clutching his wife’s paw tightly in his own. I wondered how many of Henry’s remaining “treasures” had been crammed into my closets for safekeeping. I waved a paw to Stubbs, perched at the top of my neighbor’s privacy fence. Being a cold-blooded creature, the poor lizard was wrapped in a thick wool coat. Greta had hastily fashioned a set of fleece lined boots for his feet and a cozy looking hat to cover his head. Even so, I noticed a thin extension cord running down the fence post, and I knew he’d brought out an electric blanket too. “I shouldn’t have made Stubbs stay outside,” I mumbled as a soft breeze rustled the cord around me. “What if it rains? I mean, we’ve been fortunate for the last three days to have no storms rolling through, but how long can our luck last? It rains nine months out of the year, and if he gets caught on that blanket, he’ll electrocute himself! At the very least, he’ll have to scuttle down the fence, and that will give away his position. Oh, this is a disaster!” “Shut up, Blackjack!” Greta barked, the metal bin lid clattering in time with her words. Her stern gaze forced me back into my silent cage. I just wished the thief would make himself known quickly so we could all get out of there. With nothing else to do, I checked the trap that lay on our driveway. Everything appeared to be in order. A bowl of our finest food sat next to a tub of clean water. A few of the less important treasures Henry could part with lined the edges of the blanket. The open can of AlbaCo tuna drew flies. Wade’s bits of trash from the northeastern pile of rubbish filled the extra gaps on the blanket. “Remind me again what’s happening,” Wade whispered as he sidled up to Greta’s trash bin. As a garbage worker, his presence was harmless enough as he pretended to move from can to can, clearing out the trash. “We don’t know what the burglar was after,” Greta replied, gritting her teeth in annoyance. All the extra talking was really getting on her nerves. “We’re hoping that the pile of junk will draw the thief’s attention.” “Catchin’ him in the act.” Wade nodded his head, ing what to do. I sighed as I settled in for a long night; there was nothing left now but to wait for the thief to take the bait.

It felt like hours in that bush, the spiny leaves sticking into my nose. I felt mosquitos landing on my haunches, and no matter how I flicked my tail, I could not shake them loose. I watched the moon rise high in the sky, her full face shining upon our trap like a spotlight. How desperately I wanted to move. Suddenly I heard a hoot like an owl high in the tree. Bones was signaling—she’d caught a glimpse of the thief! I strained my neck to sit taller, my tail thumping in anticipation. There! On the edge of the street stumbled an armored creature I had never seen in these parts. My heart beat faster as I watched the strange animal inching closer to my driveway. It waddled up to the grass, its face leaning close to sniff the space before it stepped. Wait, I breathed, hoping my helpers would stay still and follow the plan. Let it get on the blanket, then move in. The creature nosed its way to the blanket, shuffling through Henry’s treasures. They clattered as the creature walked through them. “Oh! Oh no!” A voice like crunching gravel croaked as it jumped. Sniffing at the food bowl, the creature’s claws on its front right foot overturned the water container when it stepped too close. I heard it grumble as water dribbled down its scaly leg. Stubbs left his electric blanket on the fence and crawled through the grass, rustling the fronds as he neared the trap. The strange creature bristled at the noise, backing up to Wade’s bits of trash. “No, please no!” he shouted, scuttling into the AlbaCo tin. Sensing its alarm, I jumped from my hiding place, stalking across the street. “Don’t move! You are surrounded,” I bellowed as I ran to cut off his escape. “There’s no place to go!” The creature balled up into a tight sphere, tucking its head into its chest. It rolled off the blanket into the grass. Bones launched pebbles with wicked accuracy despite the darkness, but each one just bounced off the creature’s armored body. He spun away from the tree, heading straight for me. I stood my ground, letting the creature travel right up to my feet. Although he was moving at a good clip, he was too small to budge my muscular legs. When he thudded against my front paws, I put my nose on his shell. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk.” “Please.” A scaled helmet-like head poked up to stare at me. “I did not mean any harm.”

His words sounded genuine, but some of the best liars were convincing too. I kept my tone calm as I countered, “You’ve stolen from at least three—” “Not stealing! I have never stolen anything!” the creature cried, dropping his head back into its shell. “I may have made a few messes, but I couldn’t help it,” he added, his voice echoing from inside his self-made hiding place. “Lies!” Bones dropped from the tree, her metal claw raised as she stalked forward. “You made an enemy of Fatz McQueen! And I am here to make sure you pay!” Bones lunged, striking at the creature’s armor. “Nobody who steals from the Scottish Fold goes unpunished!” Despite her best effort, the claw also bounced harmlessly away from the thief’s shell. “I swear I haven’t taken anything from any of you!” the stranger begged, turning its beady little eyes on me. “Please! I can explain everything if you’ll just listen!” “Then why did you trash the old AlbaCo factory?” Bones snapped, her tail flicking behind her in annoyance. I smirked, enjoying the sight of the flustered assassin. She had not expected the thief to be immune to her signature weapon. Even as she waited for an answer, I saw Bones rubbing her metal claw as she pondered what went wrong with her attack. “Why did you go through my cache of treasures?” Henry squeaked from the open front door, his curiosity outweighing his fear of the stranger. Myrtle, on the other hand, sat at the front window, her nose pressed against the glass as she watched the scene from a safer position. “And why did you break into my kitchen?” Greta demanded, marching up to the creature’s side. The creature unfurled its body to stand on its hind legs, eyes squinting as it looked at me. He clasped his powerful looking front feet together as he told his story. “I am looking for my glasses! They are always the last thing I put on before I go out at night, so I always put them right by the entrance to my den. A few nights ago, I got ready to go search for food, but my glasses were gone! I have been searching for them ever since. You haven’t seen them, by any chance?” The creature leaned close, his chin whiskers almost touching my nose. He’s got

hair under that shell, too, I realized. That’s what made the strange brush marks in those footprints I found! “What are you?” I blurted, immediately feeling embarrassed by such a blunt question. “Hey, chico!” Stubbs scuttled up my back, settling on my shoulder as he stared at the stranger. His eyes were bright and amused as if they held a secret. “Your kind don’t live up this way! What’s your name? And what are you doing up here?” “You know him?” I craned my head to stare at my informant. Stubbs broke into a fit of laughter, his red dewlap flashing in between breaths. “I know his kind. He’s an armadillo; I see them all the time when I go south.” Stubbs slid down my leg, scurrying over to the armadillo’s side. “He’s telling the truth too; every armadillo I’ve ever met has terrible eyesight. How’d you get up this far north?” “My friends call me Goggles; I’m sure you can imagine why. I hitched a ride on a flatbed I saw at a gas station. I’ve got a cousin that works in the zoo up here; he teaches all you northerners about what it’s like to live in the desert.” Goggles wheeled to face Bones, jumping at her in his anger. “And I have never been to the AlbaCo building. I don’t even know what or where that is! I’ve only been here for a few days, so if someone’s stealing from you, it’s not me.” “Strange,” Bones replied, lowering her metal claw. “If it wasn’t you, then who?” “I was so sure the cases were connected,” I grumbled, annoyed that I was wrong. A whine erupted from my throat as I wondered, “Who would steal your glasses? It’s not like you’ve been in town long enough to have enemies. I don’t understand!” Yet, it was Myrtle that surprised us all as she crept out of my house. “Were you looking for these?” She held up a pair of black strapped glasses that were big enough that they could wrap around the creature’s head. “That’s them!” Goggles cried as he waddled up the porch to Myrtle’s side. She stood there trembling, certain that the armadillo would yell at her. Instead, Goggles was calm as he questioned, “Why did you take them?” “My Henry likes new and unusual things. He’s a builder and tinkerer of sorts.

So, when I happened across these, I knew it would be the perfect gift for his birthday. I had no idea they belonged to anyone. I am so sorry!” Myrtle whimpered, draping herself across the armadillo’s shell. “I’m just glad to have them back,” he exclaimed as he fitted the glasses onto his head. Goggles sidled up to Henry, looking a little sheepish. “I am sorry if I wrecked your stuff. I just couldn’t see what I was doing. Was any real damage done?” As Greta, Wade, and the opossums all began chatting about the events of the last few days, I stumbled over to Bones’s side. Having finally discerned that we were not in any serious danger from a burglar, I found that I was extremely tired. Still, one question remained. “So, who do you think attacked AlbaCo?” “Maybe your precious cat burglar Shadow isn’t as innocent as she seems,” Bones supplied, nodding her head as if the pieces fit together perfectly in her mind. “I think I’ll have to have a chat with her.” “I’m sure it wasn’t her,” I snarled, hating the idea of Bones interrogating my friend. “Maybe the Fold has another enemy you haven’t—” Suddenly a boom exploded across town, sending sparkles of fire in wild colors into the sky. I’d bet my hat it was coming from the flats, and I’d wager that I know who the culprit was. “AlbaCo!” Bones shouted, watching the fireworks a moment before she shot down the street. I’d follow her as soon as I squared things with Goggles. “If you agree,” I said to the armadillo with a smile, “I’d like for you to stay with us a couple of days at least. Let Greta make you one of her good meals, and we’ll visit with Myrtle and Henry. Maybe you could take us down to the zoo to meet your cousin too. Agreed?” “Come on in!” Greta hailed from the door, a smile on her face as she issued them all inside. “Blackjack, don’t stay out too late.” She closed the door quickly after everyone else entered, leaving my hat and bike keys on the stoop. That’s the wonderful thing about an assistant like Greta. She understands me

better than I know myself. I grabbed my hat and keys, sighing at the thought of yet another ferry ride to the flats.

Chapter 10

Fireworks still exploded as I rounded the corner near the AlbaCo factory. The windows were shattered, and I picked my way through the bits of glass carefully. A large hole gaped in the roof, and dark, acrid smoke rose up from unseen fires inside the building. Cats lined the walkway, their hair singed and smelling like smoke as they watched the factory smolder. Some of the braver toms carried water to put out the flames. It was a lost cause, but I didn’t have the heart to try and stop them. Others yowled as they watched their home disintegrate into a pile of ash before their eyes. Tuna cans rolled along the sidewalks, and I noticed that many of them were hollow and holey. Probably how they smuggled the fireworks into the place. I had a niggling suspicion that the Bonapartes were behind this explosion. It would explain why they’d been spotted in the area almost every time I came to AlbaCo in the last few days. I suspected that they’d slowly replaced good cans of tuna with the firework filled ones, biding their time until the fateful day of attack finally arrived. Sure enough, in the distance, I heard laughter as a line of seagulls landed to watch the scene. Fatz McQueen sat on a slightly burned pillow ed by four bulky toms, her eyes streaming with tears. At the sound of the gulls’ laughter, she slipped down from her perch. Creeping up to a trashcan, she scratched the tin with her claws. The terrible sound of screaming metal made my ears ring, and my teeth chatter. “Well, well.” One of the seagulls approached, staring at the scene in mock innocence. “Looks like you’ve had some trouble, Fatz. What will the Fold do now?” “How dare you?!” Fatz snarled, batting at the seagull with outstretched claws. “You come here and destroy my business when I’ve done nothing to you?! And you have the nerve to pick a fight when I’m grieving this loss?! You’ve got no respect for—” “You’re right, Fatz. I apologize.” The seagull snickered, smiling as she cackled,

“I’ve got no respect for you or the Fold at all!” “You want a war, Bonapartes filth! Well, you got it!” Fatz hurled a rock at the seagull. Her aim was terrible, and the stone rolled aimlessly on the boardwalk until it dropped into the Sound. “You tell Frenchie Bonaparte to watch her back! I am coming, and I’m coming for blood!” All this over a canning factory? It made no sense to me, and I knew there must be a piece of the puzzle I had not discovered yet. I slipped back into the shadows, leaving the felines to grieve and plan their next moves. They had no need of my services, and I was anxious to return to my home. The Case of the Nearsighted Nabber was closed, and I didn’t want to leave Bones with my friends for very long. However, in the back of my mind was a deep-seated fear. I knew that Fatz McQueen would make good on her word; she’d go after the Bonapartes as soon as she recovered. How far would she go? Was this the start of a terrible feud that would pit the gangs against one another and potentially destroy the town? Only time would tell….

Maggie Claire gave up a career in education to pursue her dream of becoming a published author. In addition to House of Vultures, she is the author of Attila the Hummer, a chapter book for middle-grade readers. She is also a freelance photographer who regularly posts her photos on her website and social media. She lives near Waco, TX.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10