Barking with the Stars

by Sparkle Abbey

  “We’re looking for bonding and the ability to recognize if the owner is in trouble.”

  “I’ve heard some groups use a PAT or a Puppy Aptitude Test. Do you do that?”

  “Our dogs aren’t all puppies but we use something similar. Our test screens for social attraction, willingness to follow, acceptance of dominance, as well as how sensitive the dog is to touch, sounds, and sights. And then finally, how stable the dog is.”

  “Wow, how many wash out?”

  “Well . . .” He flashed a smile. “It’s not so much winners and losers as it is making sure the dog is right for the person and the person is right for the dog.”

  “Right. Makes sense.” I totally got that concept. In my line of work, I often dealt with pet incompatibility. A high-energy dog that needed a lot of exercise when the person didn’t have the time or inclination to keep up the pace resulted in a badly behaved canine and a frustrated owner. I’d often wished I could have been involved in the selection part of the process, rather than at the problem stage.

  His dog moved again to make sure he was between Jonathan and me. “He’s making sure you have space, isn’t he?”

  “Whiskey senses my tension, ma’am.” Jonathan patted the dog’s head and the canine responded to the affection with an adoring look. “I’m one of the Warriors for the Paws success stories. A couple of years ago I couldn’t even leave my house to get groceries. Hell, most days I couldn’t leave my chair. After two tours of duty in Iraq . . .” He stared off in the distance. “Let’s just say, I didn’t have a life. At least, not what most people would consider a life. Now, Whiskey and I go pretty much anywhere.”

  “Like here,” I noted.

  “My fifteen-year-old daughter is a huge fan of this Purple, the singer that’s doing the event. I’m going to be able to bring her to the show. I can do things with her now.” He swallowed hard.

  His pain and struggle for composure was so raw, I felt it like a stab in my own chest.

  “I’m glad you have him.” I wanted to give the big guy a hug but I knew better. I fought the lump in my throat. “And, Jonathan, thank you for your service.”

  He went very still, looked down, and dropped a shaking hand lightly on Whiskey’s head. When he looked back at me his dark eyes were full.

  With a brief nod of acknowledgement, he straightened his shoulders and pointed. “Looks like Rufus is available.”

  “You go first.” I could wait. I didn’t look forward to the re-telling of the Betty disaster.

  Rufus motioned to Jonathan and held out some papers. “If you’d look this over and then I can show you where we’re planning to stage the dogs.”

  “Caro, I thought you’d left.” Rufus spotted me.

  “I had but ended up running in to Mandy, Purple’s assistant.” I paused. “And, well, things went downhill from there.”

  I filled Rufus in on the situation and had to give him credit that he kept a straight face through the whole story.

  “Wow.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say about that one.”

  “I just wanted you to be aware.” I turned to go and then turned back. Jonathan Trimble had moved a few feet away to give us some privacy. “Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Thanks for answering my many questions.”

  “No problem.” He gave a wave.

  Back in my car, I checked my messages. The new client I’d tried to squeeze in today had cancelled, which actually worked out well. Liz Bennett had a Jack Russell named Domino and she’d pressured me a bit to fit them in. I’d only agreed because it was just an initial meeting to do an informal assessment of the pet and their family members. However, I really don’t like to rush those first meetings, so no problem. We’d reschedule for another day and take our time.

  I stopped by my office, grabbed some lunch, and had plenty of time to get to my next appointment—Nick and Bonnie Humphries and Rosie, their barking beagle. This was only a quick check-in as I’d been working with them for a while.

  Leaving the appointment, I noted that I had missed a phone call from Sam, my . . . uhm.

  Well, what was Sam? At thirty-three, I thought I was a little past having a boyfriend, but I wasn’t comfortable with anything more. In spite of the assumption on everyone’s part that Sam and I were on the fast track to matrimony, we were not having that conversation. Or rather, I wasn’t. He, on the other hand, had been hinting at commitment.

  I could hear my Grandma Tillie’s voice in my head saying, “Caro, you gotta fish or cut bait.”

  Is that where we were? I wondered. Right now, he was away on a business trip in New York. Maybe this was a good time for me to figure out where my heart was on Sam and me.

  I didn’t have enough of a schedule gap before the next house call to return his call, so I’d have to do that when I got home. I added it to my list.

  Yes, I’m a compulsive list maker. As a people therapist before I became a pet therapist, I knew my list making was a crutch in my attempt to feel in control of my life. But, hey, it’s a crutch that works for me.

  The rest of the day sped by with appointments. When I finally turned my car toward home it was with a sigh of relief.

  As I pulled into my driveway, my cell phone rang. It was another cancellation. This time a client I’d had since I’d first opened my business in Laguna Beach. My heart sank. They’d made an excuse about travel, but I knew that wasn’t it. With two cancellations and one outright your-services-are-no-longer-needed in twenty-four hours, Geoffrey’s campaign to destroy my business seemed to be working.

  I walked in the door thankful to be home. I needed to deal with the chaos Geoff had caused, but at the moment I just wanted to kick off my shoes, hold my pets, and forget about the day.

  “Hope you guys had a better day than I did,” I said to the fur crew.

  They looked at me as if they understood. I grabbed Dogbert’s leash, clipped it to his collar, and took him for a short take-care-of-business walk around the block. Once we had that handled and we were back home, it was clearly time to think about dinner. Thelma and Louise, my two felines, paced from the kitchen to their bowls like they hadn’t been fed in this century.

  “I know, girls, y’all are starving and I’m fixin’ to get you some food.” I reached into the pantry and grabbed the cat-food container. I’d tried a new brand and they seemed to be giving it their seal of approval.

  I tried to reach Sam but got his voicemail. I left a message so he would know I called, but with not knowing his schedule and with the east coast/west coast time difference, it might be hard to catch him.

  I searched to see what was available for my own dinner, settled on a chicken salad, and began assembling ingredients. Of course, as soon as I pulled the already grilled chicken out, all three fur kids were right by my side.

  We made short work of dinner and cleanup, and I decided a nice long bath was in order. I walked through to my bedroom. My house wasn’t big by Laguna Beach standards and was tiny by Texas standards, but I loved it. Loved the open layout, loved the neighborhood. Nothing like the house I grew up in, I’d chosen it because of the always soothing view of the Pacific and I’d decorated it with comfort in mind. Overstuffed furniture meant for you to sink into and an eclectic blend of other pieces that struck my fancy. The master suite had a big bath with a soaking tub, and that sounded perfect after chasing after celebrities and their dogs and then dealing with Betty and the trouble she’d caused.

  After a soak, I felt better. I pulled on yoga pants and a well-worn Pacific Marine Mammal Center t-shirt. Settled at my laptop, I tried to think where the online reviews that Shar told me about might be. I was sure the online sites had policies about creepers like Geoffrey posting multiple negative reviews, but it was irritating to have to take the time to figure all that out.

  I thought Yip was one of the sites that specializ
ed in pet-related services. I searched for it and then once I got to the site, had to create a login in order to really see anything. Once through that process, I looked up reviews for PAWS. That’s my business name, Professional Animal Wellness Specialist or PAWS for short. Much easier to remember.

  Dogbert had moved in close to lie against my leg and the two cats had situated themselves nearby. “Ah, here we go.” Dogbert perked up his ears. I shouldn’t have used the Go-word. “No, buddy, not that kind of ‘go’.”

  There were at least twenty reviews of PAWS on the site. A few from people who were clients I recognized, and a bunch from obscure email addresses. I clicked through them.

  My chicken salad suddenly felt like the chicken was pecking at my stomach as I read through the reviews. They ranged from claims that I was undependable (late, unprepared, etc.) to the more serious: incompetent and unskilled. There wasn’t any license in California for doing the type of work I did, so I’d always depended on my reputation. This blast of bad reviews could pose a serious problem.

  I’d started an email to the address listed in the help section for lodging a complaint, when my phone rang. I recognized the number.

  Can you believe it?

  It was none other than the lowlife himself.

  A better person would’ve just let the call go to voicemail.

  Not me.

  “What the heck, Geoffrey?” I didn’t even say hello.

  “Are you all right, Carolina?” The voice that used to give me chills now ignited an anger that made me want to reach through the phone and grab him by the throat.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I bit out.

  “You seem a bit tense.” I could imagine the smirk on his face. “Could it be that the rumors are true?”

  “You no-account bottom-feeder.” The calm in my voice should have scared him, but he was so full of himself there was no room for thinking about anyone else.

  “Now, now, let’s not get nasty.”

  “You listen to me, you yellow-bellied pond scum. I don’t care if you get all cozy with the celebrities or steal my clients. I don’t even care that you tell lies about me.” I took a deep breath. “But you had better not mess up this event. Because if you do, buddy, I’m coming after you.”

  I have no idea what his response was because I pulled the phone away from my ear and jammed my finger on the disconnect button.

  I was done taking the high road. This was too important to let Mr. Ego cause problems.

  I tossed my phone on the coffee table and sank back into the cushions. As soon as I did, it beeped to let me know I had a message. Probably another cancellation at this rate.

  Picking up the phone, I checked the number. I’d missed a call from Sam. I tried him back immediately but my call went straight to voicemail.

  Shoot. A call from Sam would have been great about now. He always managed to lift my spirits. Handsome, funny, thoughtful. There just wasn’t much wrong with the guy. Well, except for that aforementioned periodic pressure for more of a commitment on my part.

  As you might imagine, after a disaster like my marriage to Geoffrey, I was a bit gun shy. Who wouldn’t be, right?

  As I got ready for bed, I found my thoughts going back to Jonathan Trimble and Warriors for the Paws. In my mind’s eye, I could see Jonathan struggling for control as he shared his story. And his hands shaking when he talked about being able to do things with his daughter. Barking with the Stars was more than just a fun event for a great cause. It had the potential to make a life-altering difference for veterans like Jonathan.

  Before I went to bed, I wrote out a check for Warriors for the Paws and put it in an envelope to mail the next day. I wished I could do more. They deserved more.

  One thing was for sure, I would do absolutely everything I could to make sure that my ex-husband’s attempts to cause problems for me didn’t interfere with the event and that Barking with the Stars was a rousing success.

  Chapter Four

  THE NEXT MORNING, the first thing I did was call Purple’s suite to apologize for what had happened. There was truly nothing about the incident that was my fault, but still I felt an apology was needed. Also, I really did need to go over the dressing room accommodations for Lavender with Mandy and Purple. There was no answer. I made a note to try later.

  Figuring I might as well catch up on paperwork, I decided to spend the morning at the office. I took Dogbert on a walk around the neighborhood and then dressed for the day.

  Laguna Beach weather is almost always ridiculously wonderful. The locals were complaining a bit about the heat wave but it wasn’t intolerable. Heck, I’d grown up in central Texas where there’s no ocean breeze to cool you off. I dressed for the warmth in a new light-blue Maranda shift. A talented SoCal designer, her classic meshing of fabrics and materials made her one of my favorites. Sandals, bag, sunglasses, and I was out the door.

  It was a short drive to the office and I settled in to work on updating records. I share the office space with a real estate agent, a tech firm, and a psychic. We used to have an accountant as well, but he’s in prison now. But that’s another story. Verdi, our part-time receptionist, wasn’t working. Although there were many times I wished Verdi was full time, it mostly worked out. The adorable Goth girl also worked part time at the local coffee shop to make ends meet.

  A quiet morning was a nice change after the excitement of yesterday and I made short work of the paperwork. I kept my cell phone handy just in case Mandy or Purple called me back. Truthfully, I was also hoping for a call from Sam. He was probably so tied up in meetings that he wouldn’t have an opportunity to call until evening, but just in case he had a break it would be great to talk to a sane person.

  I was just wrapping up, when I heard the front door ding and looked up to see Betty Foxx standing in the doorway to my office.

  Today the little lady sported deep-gray velour, the pearls, and a sheepish expression. Unusually subdued for Betty.

  “Good morning.” I laid aside the list I’d been making. “No bumps or bruises from yesterday?”

  “Nope.” She stepped closer.

  “That’s good.” I motioned to the comfy conference chair by my desk. Sam called it my “shrink chair.” “Would you like to have a seat?”

  “I can’t stay long.” She twisted the strap of her purse. “Raider is waiting for me.” Raider was her St. Bernard. “We’re going to the dog park.”

  “Not—”

  “Don’t worry,” she interrupted. “He’s not in the car. I’d never do that. He’s waiting for me at the groomer’s.”

  “Good.” She was right. I had been about to deliver a lecture about leaving animals in vehicles. Leaving an animal in the heat for only a few minutes can be dangerous.

  “See, here’s the thing. I need your help.” Her eyebrows were a dusty rose today, and I tried not to be distracted by them as she talked.

  “With Raider?” I had worked with Betty and Raider when she first got the has-no-idea-how-big-he-is canine.

  “No . . .” Betty opened her pocketbook, pulled out a baggie, and handed it to me. “See when we got thrown out of that singer’s suite, I forgot to put this down, and I must have put it in my pocket, and I sorta left with it.”

  I held up the baggie which contained several bubble packs of medication. “Good grief, Betty, these are prescription meds that Purple or Mandy may need.”

  “I know, Carmen,” she huffed. “That’s why I need your help. I tried to call, but the front desk said they weren’t staying there. And I said, yes, they were. And then the lady put me on hold, and when she came back on she said she couldn’t connect me. I don’t think they want to talk to me.”

  “Hmmm, wonder why?” I imagined the hotel staff probably had orders to call security if they spotted a little old lady in satin
loungewear lurking about.

  “I just wanted to see what she looked like under there.” Betty didn’t sound all that contrite. “Plus, I read on the Internet that no one had a picture of what she looked like and I figured if I could get one, it’d be worth a lot of money.”

  “Betty! You were going to sell the picture?” I wasn’t sure she’d know how to go about selling a photo like that but I’d learned to never underestimate Betty Foxx.

  “And I’d be famous and that sexy reporter would be impressed.”

  “If you mean Callum MacAvoy, I don’t know why you’d want to impress him. Besides, Betty, what you did was very wrong.”

  “So, will you give that baggie back to Her Royal Purpleness and her keeper?”

  I didn’t think Mandy would appreciate being referred to as Purple’s keeper.

  “I will.” I sighed. “And will you promise not to try anything like that again?”

  “Sure.” She looked sincere, but she always looked sincere when she was lying.

  Betty turned to leave and then stopped in the doorway. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Give my love to Raider.” I’d almost said Melinda too, but my cousin and I had things to sort out and one of the first things we needed to do was to stop communicating through other people.

  When Betty left, I took a look at the baggie of medication. Checking to see what the drugs were, I hoped it wasn’t something either Mandy or Purple had needed this morning.

  The bubble packs were methylphenidate, more commonly known as Ritalin, which I knew was prescribed for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder or ADHD. As I mentally ran through the symptoms—trouble focusing, impulsivity, and hyperactivity—I wondered if Purple perhaps suffered with the disorder. It looked like the plastic bag contained at least a three-month supply. That amount wouldn’t be uncommon for someone like Purple who was on tour for long periods of time. I imagine she had, or rather Mandy had for her, a smaller supply of the meds in a more convenient container, but I still needed to get these to her as soon as possible.