And Chief Clarkson was waiting downstairs. They didn’t have time to wheedle Pixie from her hiding place. Ivy needed to retrieve the hat, return it to Celia, and tend to business with the chief. Now.
Ivy crossed the room to the wooden, four-panel Chinese screen. Painted dragons swirled up the panels like guardians of the lair. While not imposing mastiffs, the two-dimensional dragons were scary enough. She angled the hinged panel on the end toward her and peeked around it.
From the comfort of a thick, lumpy blanket, Pixie charged her with a low growl that erupted into a high-pitched, manic series of ear-piercing yaps. Baring her teeth, Pixie hurtled her wiry frame toward Ivy’s shins. Thank goodness she had on jeans, but Ivy was sure those sharp teeth could rip right through the cloth.
Ivy
