“What kind of clue?” I didn’t tell him I was behind the wheel because I knew what Walter thought about cell phone conversations while driving, even hands free, and I didn’t want to incite a lengthy lecture.
Or face the possibility of my picture ending up on his “Beach Bum” blog. In my head I called it the “Grumpy Old Man” blog but I’d never in a million years tell him that. Walt delighted in catching people doing stupid things and then posting their photos with pithy comments. Most times it was pretty darn funny. If you weren’t the one in the picture.
“I can’t tell you over the phone. Can you meet me at the Koffee Klatch?”
I thought the Koffee Klatch was one of the least private places he could have picked, but after dealing with Queen Doggie, I was going to be ready for some caffeine.
“I’m fixin’ to pick up Lydia Custler’s Eleanor at the dog spa and drop her off at home, but I could probably make it by nine.”
“I’ll meet you there then.” Walt hung up without saying good-bye but then that wasn’t really unusual for him. When he was done talking, he was just done.
I pulled into the lot at the Divine Dog Spa and parked. I checked the doggie seat, making sure it was secure so it would be ready when I got Eleanor to the car.
When I walked into the spa, things were all abuzz with tails and tongues wagging. And a few of those were even the dogs. In Laguna Beach, the doggie spa is more of a gossip haven than any beauty shop in Texas.
“Hey, Jade.” I waved to one of the senior groomers. She was Eleanor’s favorite and I hoped to heck she’d had the pooch’s appointment today.
“Hey, Caro,” she waved back. “I’ll let Kendall know you’re here for Eleanor.” She patted the Labradoodle she’d been playing fetch with and said, “Hold on for just a moment, Hugo. I’ll be right back.”
Jade went through the swinging doors that led to the grooming area, and within minutes a groomer who I’d never seen before burst through the doorway carrying Eleanor. Tall and dark, with obvious Latin bloodlines, the guy pranced across the room like he was showing at the Westminster Kennel Club.
He stopped in front of me, looked down his hawkish nose and nailed me with dark flashing eyes. “This little bitch bit me.” He held the Corgi at arm’s length. He didn’t appear to be badly hurt, but I noticed he did have a towel wrapped around his right hand.
I also noticed something else. The folks who worked at the Divine Dog Spa were generally casually dressed. Like me, they knew when you’re dealing with rambunctious canines you’re not going to stay all neat and tidy.
Not this guy. He was decked out for an eighties disco party with tight retro bell-bottoms in a Dalmatian-patterned fabric (where did he even find those pants?) and a black ruffled shirt open to the waist. The pièce de résistance, though, was the pair of sequined platform shoes in what must have been at least a size twelve.
Eleanor whimpered, but I wasn’t sure if she was bothered by the accusation that she’d nipped him or by his fashion sense. Or lack thereof. I felt a little like whimpering myself.
I reached out to take her and he gave up the dog without hesitation.
“I’m sorry to tell you but Eleanor was a bad, bad girl.” His voice was a bit nasal and feminine but not really unpleasant. His attitude was cordial in spite of his initial outburst.
Eleanor nuzzled my hand and I rubbed the back of her neck. She was rarely temperamental and had never had a problem with biting, but it was possible something had set her off.
“Was there another dog nearby who might have caused her to feel threatened?” I considered it my duty to try to get to the bottom of her behavior.
“No, no other dogs even in the room.” He shook his head. “I’m Kendall, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
When I shifted the Corgi and reached to take Kendall’s hand, Eleanor let loose a deep growl. A warning growl. A get-your-hand-away-from-me- give-me-some-space-or-else growl.
Kendall yanked his hand back and swung his arm behind his body. “No, you don’t, girlfriend!”
As he moved, I caught a whiff of fragrance. “What cologne are you wearing?”
“Oh, this?” He sniffed his wrist, started to offer it to me to smell and then thought better of it. “I have my eau de toilette made especially for me at this little shop in Palm Springs. It’s called ‘Kendallicious.’ Do you like it?”
“I don’t mind it, but I’m afraid Eleanor finds it objectionable.” I could smell a hint of spicy pepper in the fragrance. I wasn’t sure if the scent had caused her to react but it sure seemed like it. “You might want to skip it when you’re around the dogs.”
His handsome face fell. “You don’t think the doggies like it?”
“I don’t think they like or dislike it, but many dog breeds are driven by their noses. Perfume and dogs don’t always mix.”
Kendall appeared crestfallen by this information. His shoulders slumped and the ruffles on his disco shirt drooped.
I’d spent longer at the spa than I’d intended and didn’t want to keep Walt waiting so I moved toward the front desk.
“I’ll get you signed out then.” Kendall clomped his way to the reception area, those size twelve platforms sparkling in the morning sun. I could almost hear “Disco Inferno” playing in my head.
“Great. You can just put it on Lydia’s account and she’ll settle up when she’s back in town.”
“You’re not Lydia Custler then.” Kendall was torn. I could tell he wanted to retrieve Eleanor until he was sure I was authorized to pick her up, but on the other hand—well, he didn’t want to provoke another nip.
“No, I’m Caro Lamont and I’m on Eleanor’s approved list.”
Kendall stopped in his very large tracks and turned. His lip-glossed mouth formed a surprised ‘O.’ “You’re the pet therapist.”
“Right.” I nodded, still keeping the little Corgi a distance away.
“The one who . . . ” His voice trailed off.
“I’m the one who what?” I was losing patience with Kendall and his drama. I just wanted to get Eleanor home and get to my meeting with Walt at the Koffee Klatch.
“The one who was the last person to see Kevin alive,” he whispered.
Kevin knew a lot of people, but I couldn’t, in any scenario, picture Kevin and Kendall together.
In fact, Kevin had never even mentioned knowing a dog groomer. I’d thought he usually took Zeus and Tommy Boy to a no-nonsense dog wash place in Dana Point in the spring and summer. Shepherds blow their coats twice a year and shed a lot. Other than that it was just nail trims, and I thought Dr. Daniel did those. Not much grooming needed.
Besides, you couldn’t have gotten much more “guy” than Kevin, and, unless I was mistaken, Kendall wasn’t into macho.
“How do you—did you—know Kevin?” Sometimes it was best to just ask.
“We were friends.” Kendall looked down at the floor and then away.
Jade picked that moment to re-appear. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine.” There was a wobble in his voice and the flamboyant groomer still hadn’t looked me in the eye. “Jade, honey, would you please check out Ms. Lamont and Eleanor for me? I’ve got to see to this.” He indicated his towel wrapped hand.
Without waiting for a response, he disappeared through the swinging doors and out of sight.
Noting my expression, Jade was quick to reassure. “Don’t worry. I don’t think it’s a much of a bite, but we have insurance.”
I signed Eleanor out and gathered her things. I didn’t think the bite was serious either. I’d received a nip or two from time to time myself. Goes with the territory in my line of work. But somehow I had the idea that Kendall’s quick exit had nothing at all to do with a dog bite.
The Koffee Klatch is a great coffee drinking and people-watching spot downtown, right on PCH. Walt and Millie were taking full advantage of their primo observation seat as locals, shopkeepers and tourists passed on the sidewalk and came through the a
ttached patio walkway. Walt was viewing the world through his ever-present camera lens and Millie was viewing the world through her ever-present ADD.
Before you get the wrong idea I should mentioned that Millie is Walt’s Norwich Terrier.
His dog, not his wife. A wife would never have put up with all the things Millie endured with good humor. Walt had lost his wife, the love of his life, over twenty years ago, and he’d been alone ever since. Millie had been with him the past five years and while she hadn’t completely softened Walt’s hard shell, she’d made a crack.
Millie was clever, scrappy, and lively but I honestly believe she was ADD. She can’t focus on anything for any length of time, and in spite of my best efforts, I’ve not seen much improvement.
Didn’t matter. Walt loved her just the way she was.
“Hi, Walt.” I’d picked up a sugar-free hazelnut latte and a croissant as I’d come through the Koffee Klatch. I slid my cup onto their table just as Walt snapped a shot of a lanky teen on a wave board. I could only imagine the caption it would have when it appeared on his blog.
He lowered his camera and eyed my croissant. “Now, that’s real healthy.”
“Don’t start with me.” I took a big ole bite, and the butter and jam dripped onto my fingers. I resisted licking them. Barely.
Walt’s deep chuckle belied his disapproving words. He raised his camera and snapped another picture, this one of a silver Jag running a red light. “You suck at driving,” he pronounced in his gravelly Sam Elliot voice.
“What kind of clue do you have for me?” I was already halfway through the croissant. And okay, I admit it, I was licking my fingers. (I do, however, want to point out to y’all that I had not had any breakfast.)
“The best kind.” Walt actually set his camera down and gave me his full attention. I knew just as with Millie, it was limited. “Do you know who Kevin Blackstone was making whoopee with?”
“Making whoopee?”
“Yeah, whoopee or whatever you young folks call it these days. Hanky panky, gettin’ busy, doing the horizontal hustle, parking the Plymouth—”
“Oh good golly, Walt. Stop!” My ears burned with the euphemisms, and I did not want those pictures in my head.
“You’re the one who was all curious,” Walt pointed out, his craggy face creased in a rascally grin.
“I know.” I took a sip of my latte. He had a valid point.
“Your dead guy, Kevin,” he paused for effect, “and Ms. Hot Yoga Burn were dancin’ in the sheets.”
“Mandy Beenerman?” Several heads turned our way. I lowered my voice. “Mandy? Really?”
“Really.” Walt nodded so vigorously I thought he might lose the Angels ball cap perched on his salt-and-pepper hair. Walt was a handsome scoundrel at sixty. Bet he’d had been a heartbreaker back in his day. It sounded like he’d been a one-woman man, though, and I admired that. There were too few of those.
“I just don’t see it, hon. I didn’t think they even liked each other.”
“Not a requirement for the four-legged frolic.”
“Walt, stop it.” I held up my hand. “Now you’re just trying to torment me. Did you look those phrases up on the Internet?”
Walt chuckled under his breath. “Just tryin’ to keep up with the times.”
I’d have to check Kevin’s book and see if there was anything hinting at something special between him and Mandy Beenerman. “How do you know they were . . . you know.”
“I heard it at the grocery store.” He grinned. “In the cracker aisle. There were two women talking about Blackstone and one said, ‘everyone knows he was having an affair with his neighbor.’ Beenermans on one side. Oliver Hembry’s on the other. Don’t think Blackstone had a thing with old Ollie.”
“No, but it could be someone else in Ruby Point, Walt.” I took a sip of my latte and tried to remember any references Kevin had made about Mandy. And vice versa. “It doesn’t have to mean his next door neighbor.”
“The ladies mentioned Mandy by name. I tried to get closer to hear better, but then they stopped talking altogether, and I had to just get my box of Triscuits and go.”
“Wow, Walt. Thanks for the tip. I’ll check it out.” I gathered my cup and dish to drop off inside the coffee shop. “I’m off to the office. You and Millie have a good day.”
“Hmmpf. Hey, did you give the police that book yet?”
“I called. Couldn’t reach my detective buddy.”
“Don’t forget about that.” Walt picked up his camera again as a huge Lincoln Town Car pulled up and stopped by the curb in what was not a big enough parking space. The large vehicle extended over the yellow lines. “You suck at parking.”
“Love you, hon.” I patted his arm, slipped Millie one of my special dog treats, and headed back to my car where I had parked properly between the lines.
Chapter Thirteen
Business was truly barking at my door. Paris handed me a stack of messages and I spent at least an hour returning phone calls. There continued to be a lot of calls with misbehaving pets from Ruby Point residents, and I figured those house calls would give me the opportunity to ask about the phantom landscaper. And now about Kevin and Mandy.
One of those calls had been from television star, Sharina “Shar” Summers. Shar had been mentioned in Kevin’s book but was one of the entries I’d had no success in figuring out. Since I had some time this afternoon, I decided to work her into my schedule.
Shar’s house was the smallest home in Ruby Point, but that’s not to say it was any slouch. The sunny yellow two-story boasted wisteria climbing up the trellis on the wrap-around porch, and it had an honest-to-goodness turret.
I’d run into Shar when I’d been out working with other pet parents in the gated community, but I’d never worked with her Chinese Crested, Babycakes. Shar’s dog was the Hairless variety and they can be sensitive to cold or sun, so when they were out walking she often had the pooch dressed in a doggie outfit to prevent sunburn. Usually something frilly.
That should have been a hint about Shar’s taste.
Gypsy Rose Lee (yep, the “let me entertain you” one) was an ardent breeder of Chinese Cresteds and helped to publicize the breed. Most Crested kennels can trace their dogs’ ancestry to one of two lines, the Gyspy Rose Lee line being the most famous. Since I’d started working as a pet therapist, I’d done a lot of research. In addition to the random animal trivia, my head is also filled with pet particulars so I hunted my brain files for what I knew about the breed.
I knew the dogs could be a touch high-strung if not properly socialized, but they’re extremely affectionate. Still, Shar had told me on the phone the little dog had become so nervous she couldn’t have friends over. If anyone made the slightest move toward Shar, Babycakes nipped.
I knew from experience when pet owners said “nipped,” if you talked with the nip recipient, they often reported it felt more like a “bite” to them.
Shar had handled Babycakes’s bad behavior by simply not having friends over. According to her phone call, this had been going on for a couple of weeks and she’d decided to take action.
When Shar answered the door, she held Babycakes in her arms. The dog and the girl were cuteness defined. Babycakes was petite and the silky fluffs of fur around her pixie face brought out her fine features. She wore a pink satin polka-dot jumper and a stunning crystal collar. My guess would be Swarovski. Her bright almond eyes looked me over with interest.
The human girl was pretty in pink, too. She was attired in a sundress with pink lace daisies. My guess would be Lily Pulitzer. Atop her blonde curls was a pink paisley baseball cap with the name of her television series, “Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo,” embroidered across the front. All the ‘i’s were also crystals.
They were both in full bling mode.
I suddenly felt underdressed and ancient at thirty-one. Not only underdressed and ancient, but also humongous. Both the dog and the girl were tiny.
“Hi Shar, I’m Caro.”
> “I’m so glad you could fit me in.” Her voice was high and girlishly breathless. “We’ve got to get this little girlfriend under control. She’s been a vawy, vawy, bad puddy dog. Haven’t you itty, bitty Babycakes?”
I hoped the baby talk was just a temporary thing. I know I may be in the minority, but I’m not wild about baby talk to animals, no matter how cute they are. But then, come to think of it, I’m not all that crazy about baby talk to babies, no matter how cute they are, either.
Shar escorted me into her living room and I think I probably took a step backward. At least mentally I know I did. I have never in my life seen so many frills, so much lace and so much pink in one room. It felt like I’d accidently stumbled into the princess castle at Disneyland. Or fallen down a rabbit hole.
“Would you like something to drink?” Shar offered. “We’re going to have a widdle dwinky, aren’t we, Babycakes?”
“Sure, I’ll take a wid . . . er, water or whatever you have.” I wondered why she didn’t just sing out a “bibbidi bobbidi boo” and make it appear.
“I’ll be right back.” Shar swished out of the room, her tiny legs power-walking to what I assumed was her kitchen.
I continued to look around in amazement.
I guess decorating a house like this would be a challenge for anyone. I mean look at the help Kevin Blackstone had brought in to assist him in figuring out his manly style. Shar was all of seventeen or eighteen, and had scads of money. She hadn’t yet developed to the point of having a style of her own.
So she had ended up with this. I hoped she liked it.
I didn’t know a lot about Sharina Summers. I knew she’d been a huge success on a television series about three girls who performed magic. On the show, they were triplets. In real life, they were all her. It seemed to be the hot show to watch with the little girlie-girl crowd, and I’d heard it had been picked up for another season. I believe it was on its third or fourth year but whatever year it was on, the show certainly had afforded little Miss Summers a very grand lifestyle for a teen.
Desperate Housedogs Page 9
