Paranormal Investigations 5: A Faint Whiff of Wet Dog

By EH Walter

Leo Fey is safe back in Barnet after her trip to Fae. Rose is still out of biscuits and Trevor still cheats at Risk. However, strange things are happening in London - celebrities have been seen committing crimes across the capital... and there is a Chihuahua on the loose in Hadley. And what is that lingering whiff of wet dog all about? There is only one person who can put these things right - the reluctant Seer - Leo.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EH Walter
• Release date: Dec 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311422187

EH Walter

EH Walter is from Hampshire, but now lives in North London where she lives the impoverished life of a writer. Follow her on Facebook or Twitter to be kept up to date and have the chance to contribute names for characters.

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EH Walter / A Faint Whiff of Wet Dog / 93

Paranormal Investigations 5

A FAINT WHIFF OF WET DOG

by

EH Walter

Copyright 2015 EH Walter

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Tirzah L Goodwin at http://acleverwhatever.blogspot.com

Discover other titles by EH Walter at Smashwords.com

Paranormal Investigations 1 http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101392

Paranormal Investigations 2 https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/113147

Paranormal Investigations 3 https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/149963

Paranormal Investigations 4 https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/170248

Snowbound https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/573107

Fallen http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/26601

The Reed Bed https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/250585

White Christmas - a short story http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/114199

Assassin in the Abbey – a short story https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/265823

Christmas Ghosts - a short story https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/501998

Paperbacks available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/ehwalter

Smashwords Edition, License notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dedicated to my friend Ellie, on the condition she actually finishes writing a draft of her novel. Ha! Get out of that one Randall!

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CHAPTER ONE

My LIfe and other Weird Shit

Tea? Rose enquired, sticking her nose through my office door.

I closed the ‘crap spot of the week’, which featured someone who claimed to have spotted Shane Richie robbing a Seven Eleven, and hid my copy of Heat magazine. I cunningly placed it behind a cardboard file on a dead case that I had positioned on the desk so I would look like I was doing work. I stretched out my arms and cracked my knuckles, using my three years of drama training to give the impression I had been hard at it all morning. Please.

We’re out of tea bags. Rose’s thin arm and hand reached through to my inner sanctum, palm upwards.

So that was why she had asked me.

I sighed and rummaged in a battered old drawer for my bag. I had to kick the drawer in the right hand corner and bang a fist on the top to get the bloody thing to open. It was thief proof, at least. A bit like an aggressive version of a Chinese puzzle box.

Rose would have to make do with purse shrapnel; that was all I had on me. I went to the door, taking my purse with me, and shook the contents into her hand. Copper coins fell with the random bits of fluff and twisted paper that always seemed to accumulate in the crevices of purses. On many occasions I had more fluff than cash. Scratch that – I always had more fluff than cash.

Rose’s nose twitched disparagingly at my meagre offerings.

I know, I said, you could be working down the Oxfam. I bet they have really good biscuits down the Oxfam.

Scottish shortbread, so Muriel tells me, she said without meeting my eyes. She uncurled a slip of paper that had nestled between a two pence coin, a five pence coin and a Waitrose charity token. What is this?

I snatched the betting shop slip out of her hand. Nothing. Not yet anyway. It might be something one day. I coughed. Do you know, we really ought to get a safe installed here – shouldn’t we?

I can ask my gentleman friend. He has a small business in safe and alarm installations. He also does fire extinguishers. We don’t have anything like that.

She looked around at all the hazards an unmaintained office in an abandoned complex presented. We didn’t have anything, no one knew we were still in the office building that had closed to everyone else when Lloyd’s Bank had moved out.

I nodded to the drip in the roof. We do have a state of the art sprinkler system.

She ignored me.

Should I ask him about a safe? I expect he will give us a reasonable price if I ask him.

I thought about all the nasties that had plagued me since I came into my calling as the Seer. My eyes slid in the direction of Rex’s office. None of us had possessed the courage to try the door again. To be invaded, in more ways than one, by a fallen angel was not a comfortable situation to reflect upon.

And an alarm, I said, Let’s get a safe and a really, really good alarm.

It was unlikely my accidental husband could return from the dead, but it was best not to take chances where fallen angels were concerned. The fact they were fallen meant they didn’t play by any rules.

Very well. I’ll ask my gentleman friend. She jostled the coins in her hand like a practised accountant, totting up the total. He will expect to be paid in real money though.

I swept the betting slip into my pocket. I do have real money. Just not today. And, given the date on the betting slip Jude had given me before she returned to her own time, not for some years.

She sniffed and placed her patent leather handbag over her wrist. It was the same type of bag the queen favoured. Please could you man the office whilst I am out. It was an instruction, not a request.

I nodded. Her desk had a computer and the Internet. Bonus. It’s not like anyone ever called or dropped by the office anyway. I waited until her heels clacked out of the door and I leapt upon her chair like a crafty ninja. Rose was shorter than me; I depressed the lever so my knees could fit under the desk and opened the Internet browser. Ah, browsing the web on company time was still satisfying even when you worked for yourself and were technically robbing your own pocket.

I was in the middle of ruminating what to post as my latest social media status when the phone rang. For a second I just stared at it. Wrong number? There was only one way to find out.

Hello, Paranormal Investigations. Leo speaking.

Leo, as in lion? a woman asked. She was breathy and sounded very well spoken.

As in lion, I confirmed.

You sound like a girl.

I am.

Leo is a boy’s name.

It’s short for Leonora.

Oh, I prefer Leonora.

Well quite clearly, I don’t.

Well Leonora, can you help me?

I sighed and drummed a pen on the side of the desk. What is it?

My Chihuahua.

I let out a deeper sigh. Another missing pets case. At least it would bring in some money. Until all the other weird shit kicked off, missing pets had been my bread and butter. I am very experienced in dealing with missing pets.

Well, he’s not missing exactly, she said curtly in her posh, clipped tones, "At least, not all the time."

So what is the problem?

"He goes off for great periods of time and when he returns he is… distrait somehow. You know."

Not really, no. I see. I tried to sound intelligent and caring whilst I bashed out the drum solo from Led Zeppelin’s Moby Dick on the edge of the desk.

So what I want to know is – where is he going and is he up to mischief?

You want me to follow your Chihuahua? This missing pet case was becoming a bit more like a cheating spouse case by the second. My second line of work before goats, trolls, fairies, angels, vampires, Wiccans and other randoms invaded my life. The good old days.

If you can. Check he is alright. Check he is not… causing problems. You see I’m worried – other pets have disappeared and what if he is next?

She was correct; last month I had investigated a spate of missing pets in New Barnet. I had discovered the cause - a baby griffin - and eaten it for dinner. Don’t ask. But if you want my advice, never accept a troll’s invitation to cook for you. Unless you're vegan and then you might just be safe as long as you like raw cabbage, served whole.

You want me to find out what your Chihuahua is up to?

Yes.

My fees are the same whether I find anything or not because of the time I have to spend in the field.

Ah, well… I’m on a small pension you see…

I don’t work for free… Although in fact, I had, many times.

How about an exchange? I make wonderful cinnamon buns and shortbread biscuits.

I sighed again. I definitely worked for biscuits.

"As an initial down payment that would be fine, but a more detailed investigation will call upon greater resources and thus incur actual money expenses."

Well, we can discuss that if it comes up. Come and meet me today…

I took down her name, address and details on a bright yellow post it note, then said goodbye. My new client didn’t, she just hanged up the phone a bit like Aunty Mildred always did. I wonder if they had gone to the same finishing school?

Any calls? Rose asked, drumming her fingers on the front desk.

I hadn’t noticed her return and started guiltily, banging my knee on the underside of the desk.

Ow!

Anything? she repeated.

I raised the post-it, stuck to the pad of my forefinger, and dangled it before her face. Ta da!

We have a client?

Kind of.

"Kind of?"

Well she’s promised to pay me in cinnamon buns and shortbread biscuits if I can find out what her Chihuahua is up to.

Shortbread? Buns? Are we running a bartering system now?

She’s a pensioner. But she happened to mention a lot of dogs had been going missing around her area and it’s rather well-heeled so I bet there are owners who would pay more in than baked goods to get their dogs back. There might be another pet eater on the loose, you never know.

Where does she live?

In a flat on the edge of Hadley common.

Rose pouted. It’s worth a go. Do you want me to run off some leaflets?

Please.

The new printer and its companion, the computer with an Internet connection, had been left over from our partnership with Rex. Rose had gone slightly crazy with the Publisher program and had designed me a dozen leaflets …for all the different work you do. You know the adulterers, the pets and the… odder stuff.

Speaking of promotional literature, she continued, you still haven’t given me the tag line you want on our new business card.

I’m still thinking.

There was a pause. Rose stared at me hard. Then I got her drift and leapt out of her chair with an ‘oh’.

Rose sat down and then looked at me. Her head was just above the level of the desk.

Have you adjusted it again? she asked, accusingly, looking like she had just stumbled out of Lilliput.

I tried to look innocent.

She set it higher. Then she extracted a linen handkerchief from her handbag, fastening the bag with a snap that would have done an alligator proud. She wafted the handkerchief over the computer keyboard. Then she gently stroked the leaf of the pot plant beside the computer. I could almost hear her thoughts, asking the plant if it missed her and if my presence had been too traumatic.

If you could bring me the leaflets as soon as possible, I said, vainly trying to exert some authority over my unpaid employee, then I’ll head over to Hadley.

She pushed back her glasses and nodded. Then she picked up her Mont Blanc pen with a scowl and I made a hasty retreat.

I went back to my office, the one place Rex’s refurbishments and the Internet had not reached. I was sometimes tempted to swap offices and see if Rex’s was better than mine, but the door was locked and we’d never managed more than a tentative turn of the unmovable handle. Even if we had managed it, I’m not sure we would actually have gone into his lair - you never knew what you might find. Fallen angels were a funny lot. In fact, all angels were a funny bunch. I should know, I had a guardian angel called Al who hated me and was as much use as the proverbial chocolate tea pot. Apparently I was an abomination and shouldn’t have been born. Something like that anyway.

I do check my browser history you know, Rose called from the other room.

I coughed and shuffled papers.

The last time I had a case where dozens of pets had gone missing the cause had been the baby griffin that one of the batty old ladies of New Barnet had adopted, thinking it a pussy cat. How had she been mistaken, you ask? Remember – people see what they want to. Most of this stuff is too much for people to take and so they allow the glimmer to alter appearances. I myself, had mistaken a griffin for a cat as a child when my father had deemed it a suitable pet for a future Seer. It hadn’t been. Now, I was much more content with my massive hound Cerberus and even more content that my neighbour Bob enjoyed walking him so I didn't have to. A massive hound needs a massive walk.

It was unlikely to be another griffin – surely? Even so, it was worth checking and that was why, en route to Hadley, I would make one stop. I had a troll to see.

CHAPTER TWO

Trolls

Trolls live under bridges and some were less fussy than others. Trevor’s particular bridge was not one of the fanciest, as under-bridge living went, but to him it was home. I had even attended the infamous griffin-for-dinner dinner party there on one not to be repeated occasion.

I stood on the bridge and dangled my head and shoulders over the railing.

Trevor, I called out, are you in?

A loud, phlegmy cough came from below. Then he spat. I could be entertaining you know, he said.

I bit back a retort and instead went for flattery. I need your help, some information.

Trevor appeared below, all two and a half feet of him. He stood calf-deep in the water of the Pymmes Brook and looked up at me. He had a cafetiere in one hand and a rather stained tea towel depicting the Battle of Britain in the other. Well, if it's info ya's afta, I is your troll.

There is no one else I'd ask Trevor, which was