As the psychology office came into view, Beth slowed, her eyes sweeping the building, probably checking for sniper nests or whatever it was private detectives did in their spare time.
“Here’s the plan,” she said, pausing near the door. “We go in nice. No threats, no drama. If someone there knows anything, we keep them talking. Last thing we want is to spook them.”
“Fine by me. I’m fresh out of threats, anyway.”
Beth grinned, and for a second, it was almost like the world hadn’t gone completely sideways.
But then I saw Henry’s face in my memory. Drawn, haunted, expecting bad news. This wasn’t a game. We had to find Alice. No matter what it took.
I glanced at Beth, squared my shoulders, and got ready to believe this was the clue that would crack the case wide open. Because if it wasn’t, we only had her friend Krissy left to talk to, and then… well, we had no case.
FOURTEEN
Emma
The animal’s screech hit me as soon as Beth swung the door open.
It started as a kind of rolling hiss, then it ramped up into a low growl that rattled somewhere near my unmentionables. Buster sounded like he’d graduated from pest control to full-on crime boss in the time it’d taken us to cross the entry rug.
Beth’s heels hit the floorboards so hard the wall art nearly vibrated.
I followed her at a safe distance, ready for, what, exactly? A possessed raccoon? A client in the throes of an existential meltdown? Hard to tell, really. This was Private Psych, where “normal” was anything but.
By the time I caught up, Beth was locked in a one-woman wrestling match with her tabby. Buster had gone full tiger, fur on end, pupils blown wide, with a white mouse squirming between his paws like a worm on a hook.
“Drop her!” Beth snapped, grabbing for the cat like she was defusing a bomb. “Let go right now or you’ll be getting your protein from the parking lot garbage for the rest of your life!”
Buster spat out a curse word that would’ve made a sailor proud and snapped his jaws just shy of Python’s tail. The mouse let out an ear-splitting squeak.
I hovered at the edge of the fray, halfway between jumping in and running for my life. The last time I’d seen Buster this worked up, someone had left chicken salad unattended in the break room. The carnage had taken hours to clean.
Beth managed a two-handed grab, swinging Buster away from Python.
She cradled the mouse in her palm, inspecting him for damage.
Python’s legs vibrated at hummingbird speed. His tiny sides pumped like he’d just run a marathon and lost the bet.
“Are you satisfied, Buster?!” Beth barked.
Buster yowled, tail whipping like he meant to take down a helicopter. “He’s working against us! You never listen, Beth! That mouse is plotting something awful. I can smell it. Every single day he lurks, taking notes!”
Beth’s cheeks went bright red. “Enough of your conspiracy theories! If you can’t keep your paws off the mouse, you’re getting your outdoor privileges revoked. That’s a promise, Buster. See how you like chasing leaves for dinner.”
Buster turned on her with those big golden eyes, and trust me, if he’d had an ounce more magic in him, he probably would’ve set the carpet on fire out of spite. He bristled. “You think I want to eat leaves? I’m trying to protect you! That mouse, he’sdangerous. He’s a saboteur. You’ll all be sorry when you’re knee-deep in?—”
“Out,” Beth said, jabbing a finger at the door.
Buster stormed away, every step a stomp, muttering under his breath the entire way. The sound of his tail thumping against the hallway wall echoed long after he vanished.
Beth glanced down, her whole body sagging.
“Poor little sweetie,” she murmured, stroking the trembling mouse with one careful finger. “I won’t let the big mean cat eat you. He’s just got a wild imagination and a seriously bad attitude.”
She brought Python to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his fur. “Don’t mind him. I’d never let you get hurt.”
Python finally seemed to revive. His nose twitched high-speed, and in a blink, he’d dashed off Beth’s hand and straight into a crack behind the bookcase. A flash of white and he was gone.
Beth stood, straightening her hair with shaky fingers.
