Detective Quinn, Pet Whisperer
Every mystery has witnesses. Quinn’s are just a little furrier.
Chapter Book • Ages 7–10 • Black & White Chapter Illustrations • Coming Spring 2027
Nine-year-old Quinn Pettifer has a secret: she can talk to animals. As the youngest of five children in a high-decibel household, she’s used to being overlooked, her ability dismissed as imagination, her place somewhere between the middle seat in the van and the bottom of the chore chart.
When an elderly neighbor’s cat goes missing, Quinn’s family launches an enthusiastic search. Led by adult logic, they overlook the clues Quinn has already gathered that point in a completely different direction.
Determined to prove herself, Quinn launches her own investigation. Armed with a hand-drawn map on a coffee-stained envelope, and accompanied by Con, her loyal but literal-minded golden retriever, she begins interviewing the witnesses only she can talk to: the neighborhood critters.
Her investigation is complicated by a gossipy basset hound, a band of shifty raccoons who trade intel for granola bars, and a hyperactive squirrel who can barely follow her own conversation. As Quinn sorts fact from fiction, she’ll have to decide whether trusting her unusual gift is worth risking the embarrassment of being wrong.
The first in a series, Detective Quinn, Pet Whisperer is a chapter book mystery featuring Quinn’s illustrated field notes and an increasingly marked-up neighborhood map.
By CJ Penland
Illustrations by Lizzie Penland
The manuscript is complete, the second book is being written, and chapter illustrations are now in progress. Visit again for behind-the-scenes artwork, preview pages, and publication updates as this book comes to life.
Detective Quinn Pettifer. Early sketch.
Detective Quinn and her golden retriever Con, draped over the fence asking questions. Early sketch.
Read Chapter One!
Quinn Tamara Pettifer, youngest of the five Pettifer siblings, let the screen door swing shut and plopped down. The porch boards radiated late-afternoon summer heat through her jean shorts. She took a bite of her peanut butter sandwich, then lobbed a second piece skyward.
Sharp teeth snapped it out of the air. Con chewed, then gulped politely before saying, “Heard Mr. Whiskers is missing.”
“Wh—” Quinn gasped mid-chew and choked, spraying crumbs over Con’s fur. He checked to make sure she was breathing before lapping up the crumbs. She wheezed a few more times and finally managed to gasp out, “Mi—cough—missing?”
Con, a golden retriever built like a roadblock of fur, hijacked the sidewalk daily, forcing the mailman to stop for mandatory ear ruffles. No one was ever afraid of Con.
Mr. Whiskers, on the other hand, was a bloated orange tabby with his claim staked on Mrs. Kavanaugh’s front porch. He’d raise one paw, claws bared, to threaten anyone who dared to trespass on his territory—like a guard cat who refused to sit up. No one was afraid of him either. “More like a lard cat!” Quinn’s older twin brothers had joked far too often.
Con bounced his chin. “Yup. Out last night as usual. Didn’t come home this morning.”
Quinn wiped her streaming eyes on her T-shirt sleeve and coughed one last time. “Oh, no! Mr. Whiskers always comes home before breakfast! Poor Mrs. K must be beside herself!”
“Beside herself?” Con peered at Quinn, head cocked. “Only saw one of her, but she’s been awful weepy. Patches is loving the drama. Racing around, yapping to anyone who will listen.” He rolled his eyes.
Patches, the basset hound who lived two houses down, bayed the news of every squirrel sighting and stray leaf like a breaking news bulletin. He served as the neighborhood’s canine reporter: PNN, the Patches News Network!
“Mom!” Quinn hollered into the house. “Mrs. Kavanaugh’s cat is missing!”
“What’s that, Quinnie?” The screen door opened and her mom stepped out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Behind her, a debate on chores was heating up between the thirteen-year-old twins.
“Mr. Whiskers—he’s been gone all day! Mrs. K is really upset. We’ve got to do something!”
Her mom shaded her eyes to peer down Banjo Road. Mrs. Kavanaugh’s tidy white house sat on the corner, the front porch weirdly empty without a lump of orange fur in the sunny spot.
“Hmm, I hope nothing happened to him. Of course, statistically speaking, cats do have a talent for vanishing and reappearing.” Mrs. Pettifer was a mathematics professor and said things like statistically speaking a lot.
“Not Mr. Whiskers, Mom! You know he never leaves his spot during the day.”
In the kitchen, twin chaos exploded. One tackled. The other tumbled. Together they smashed to the floor, followed by a familiar clamor of Thud! Oof! Hey! and an occasional rattle of things that probably shouldn’t be rattled.
“That’s true,” Mom replied to Quinn, then squinted over her shoulder. “Trey, Chad: up, off the floor now. Trash, both of you!” The squabbling dropped to an exchange of indistinguishable mumbles and whispers, followed by rustles and crinkles.
Satisfied, Mom turned back to Quinn. “Has anyone heard anything?”
A muttered “you’re trash at trash duty” floated through the open door. Mom rolled her eyes heavenward but didn’t say anything.
Quinn hesitated and glanced at Con, lying at her feet with his tongue lolling innocently. The rest of the sandwich had disappeared. “Well, Con said—”
“Quinn,” Mom interrupted, shifting to the you’re nine and too old for imaginary friends voice. Quinn bit her lip, remembering the puppy incident when she was six. But this was important.
“No, he did! Con said Patches has been—”
“All right,” Mom cut in, clearly not willing to let Quinn ramble on about talking with animals. “I’ll check in with Mrs. Kavanaugh in a little while.” She tossed the dish towel across her shoulder and sighed. “Why don’t you go play? I need to make sure your brothers haven’t broken any bones. Or worse, strewn trash all over the kitchen.” The screen door snapped shut.
Quinn looked at Con. He gave a quick headshake, ears flip-flapping once in a perfect canine shrug.
“I know,” she sighed. “But Mr. Whiskers is missing, so it doesn’t matter where she thinks I heard it. Let’s go find Patches.”