I tried to reach J.T.’s wrist but I knew better than to get into a fray with dogs in an aggressive state. I pulled my leg back, thinking I could kick the gun from his hand.
“Got it, Caro.” I didn’t know where Malone had come from but, boy, was I glad to see him. “Call them off.”
“Zeus. Tommy Boy. Aus! Off.”
They immediately obeyed and came to sit by me. One on each side.
Malone kept his weapon aimed at J.T. and reached down to flip him over. There was a lot of blood, but he seemed to be conscious.
“Thanks, guys.” I hugged the two dogs. “I’m so sorry.” I could feel the tears behind my eyes and buried my face in the dogs’ fur. I’d been so afraid for them.
The wail of sirens broke in and in a matter of minutes there were paramedics, uniformed officers, and crime scene techs swarming the place.
J.T. was patched up, read his rights, and packed up.
Zeus and Tommy Boy were hailed as heroes, and taken to be checked over thoroughly by Dr. Daniel, who would also remove the other microchip.
I owed them an extra-special batch of PAWS Good Dog Treats.
The paramedics insisted on looking me over, too. But I was fine. A little roughed up from my tussle on the ground, but nothing major. Malone insisted on taking my arm as he walked me to his car. But I didn’t care.
The media circus, which had descended out of nowhere, demanded a statement. Malone offered no comment with a look that no one cared to challenge. I’d begun to shake. Having dealt with enough trauma victims, I knew it was shock, but understanding it didn’t help me make it stop.
Malone helped me into the car, then got in himself, and shut the door. “Are you okay, really?”
“Please don’t be nice. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid like cry.”
“Fine.” He laughed. “Are you an idiot? I can’t believe you were going to kick J.T. when he was down. What kind of technique is that?”
I laughed too.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
We were quiet for a few minutes.
“What’s J.T.’s real name?” I knew it would be a while before we knew everything, but I wanted a few things straight in my head.
“Rocko Lamberti.” Malone shook his head. “He’s a real bad guy.”
“Spike killed Kevin?”
Malone nodded. “We’re still not sure if he meant to or not, but we know he killed Joe, the regular landscaper. Then he was sniffing around Ruby Point, trying to figure out a way to get to Kevin, or rather Kirk. The dogs made it difficult.”
“Probably it was Spike’s presence that made all the dogs in Ruby Point go a little crazy.”
“Could be. Like I said, we’re still sorting things out.”
“One more thing, Detective.” I turned to face him. “And then I want to go home.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Why keep Diana in jail?” It had been bugging me. From what Malone had said so far, the police had been looking at J.T. as suspicious since he’d arrived.
“Well, that’s a more difficult question than some of the others, Caro.” Malone rubbed his jaw. “It kept her safe. It kept the real criminal complacent because he believed we weren’t looking at him, and Diana wanted to stay.”
“More than just the dogs went a little crazy.”
“I agree.”
“Want to go with me to release her?”
“Yeah.” I buckled my seat belt, happy to see my hands were no longer shaking.
“Let’s go then.” He started the car.
I had an awful thought. “J.T. won’t be there will he?”
“Nope. We take the real criminals to Orange County lock-up.”
“What?”
Malone just smiled.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Fur Ball was only two days away. Diana and I were back at Zino’s. I was again in the seat by the window so I could enjoy the view of the vivid blue Pacific Ocean. We had notebooks and folders spread on the table so we could go over my list of last minute Fur Ball details one more time.
People kept stopping by the table and interrupting, so it had taken more than an hour to get through just the first page of my list. I thought if I had to say one more time how happy I was to be alive, I might just borrow Diana’s Taser and tase myself.
Diana was a lot better at this than I was. She graciously smiled and thanked each person. Then we’d get back to our Fur Ball list, and then another person would stop by our table.
Our food was getting cold, and our list was not getting done.
“I think my face is stuck like this,” Diana said, her mouth turned up in an exaggerated grin as the person moved out of earshot.
I nearly choked on my iced tea. It was so incredibly nice to have her back. I’d missed her bubbly sense of fun and snarky good nature.
“There really isn’t much to go over, Caro, honey.” She picked up the second page of the list. “You’ve got everything lined up and ready to go.”
“I think we have some great auction items.” I handed her the sheet with donor names and the prize packages.
Some were actual items while others were experiences. “We’ve got a safari, two whale watching excursions, an Alaskan cruise, dinner with the Governor, several autographed pieces.” I ran my finger down the list. “Your celebrity friends have been very giving. I think I might bid on the Sonoma get-away.”
“We’ve already raised thousands in ticket sales.” Diana patted the advanced receipts. “I hope Tivoli Too can hold the crowd.”
“They’ve assured me they can.”
“Well, I think you’ve just done a wonderful job, Caro. And I hope you’ll make me a promise to be co-chair next year.”
“I’ll promise only if you’ll promise to stay out of jail.”
“Deal,” she agreed.
We shook hands.
Diana was suddenly serious. “I do feel a little bad that I thought so poorly of Kevin Blackstone when here he was trying to do a good thing and let people know what that drug company was up to.”
“No one knew.” I touched her hand. “The information they were able to get from the microchips Kevin hid in Zeus and Tommy Boy will undoubtedly hold accountable several company executives. They may be sharing jail time with J.T.”
“What will the police do with Kevin’s book of secrets?” Diana asked.
“I don’t really know. Malone’s not saying. But I did want to tell you one more thing.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I dropped off some more dog cookies to Ollie. I’m afraid he may not be sharing them with the dogs.”
“You might think about selling those,” Diana said. “Mr. Wiggles and Barbary love them. And Abe, the goat, too. Though he’s not very discriminating in what he eats.”
“It wasn’t the dog treats I wanted to tell you about.” I sighed. “Ollie was the one who tore the missing page out of Kevin’s book. But it turns out it wasn’t anything about him or his family. The page he tore out was about you.”
“Caro, like I told you before, Ollie is a lovely man.” This time the smile reached all the way to her dancing blue eyes. “I might have to marry him to keep my secrets safe. How do you think I’d look in black leather?”
I actually snorted iced tea at the thought. Not very lady-like, so don’t tell my mother.
“Now,” Diana said, packing away my lists and folders. “Let’s talk about the important stuff. What are you wearing to the Fur Ball?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Damn her. Damn her. Damn her.
Please excuse my bad language but that girl is beyond polite language. I didn’t even know the brooch was gone until I was getting dressed for the Fur Ball.
I’d chosen a red Valentino. There’s nothing like a high-quality classic design to give a girl the confidence she needs. And I was already feeling great.
I could tell Mama I’d been on two, count ‘em two, honest-to-goodness dates. With two very eligible men-folk. Okay, one of
them was an afternoon Shake Shack rendezvous with Malone for a burger and a date shake. It still counted. Maybe the news would keep Herself in Texas where she belonged.
Diana was out of the clink.
J.T., or whatever the heck his real name was, was in the clink. Zeus and Tommy Boy were all healed up, and had applied to police dog school. All should be right with the world.
Emphasis on should.
Then I’d opened my safe and reached in to get the box where I’d oh-so-carefully placed Grandma Tillie’s brooch. I knew the minute I picked up the box that it was empty.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Okay, not very creative, but I was beyond mad.
I was fiery mad.
I was whatever beyond fiery mad is.
I was foaming at the mouth, rabid, bite-anything-in-sight mad.
Damn.
Grandma Tillie would have threatened to wash my mouth out with soap for all those damns. But I felt justified. Besides, I’d heard the occasional damn out of her mouth. Usually it involved Grandpa Montgomery or my mama.
I didn’t know how Mel had known to look there. I didn’t know how she’d figured out the combination. Well, damn. I did know.
I hadn’t used the obvious. Not my birth date, my address, my wedding date nor my divorce date. Those were all too easy to find out, even for a stranger who didn’t know me.
The date I’d used only someone truly close to me would know or realize the significance of.
That was the date of my freedom, the date I’d walked out of the Miss Texas pageant and told them I was done. That was the date I’d told my mother, no more. It was the date I’d stopped being everything everyone else wanted me to be.
That was the date I became me.
Mel had broken into my home and robbed my safe.
Worse, she had used what she knew about me to do it. Intimate cousin info.
There was going to be hell to pay.
(Continue reading for an excerpt of Sparkle Abbey’s next book and more information about the authors)
Coming Next from Sparkle Abbey
Book Two In The Pampered Pet Mysteries
Excerpt
Get Fluffy
Chapter One
Sometimes my emotions overruled my better judgment. Like the time I told my cousin, Caro, her husband was a cheating louse and she deserved better. Then there was the time I threw the Miss America Pageant. Neither situation warranted a Hallmark greeting card of congratulations. But they were defining moments in my life.
And then there were times like today.
The stakes were nonexistent, except to my pride. The high-and-mighty Mona Michaels had taken advantage of me for the last time.
She just didn’t know it yet.
Mona ruled the rich and famous of Laguna Beach with the wave of her aristocratic hand and her Black American Express card. She had her plastic surgeon on speed dial, injectables in her purse and her private chef on a short leash.
She was the one woman people equally envied and hated.
Unfortunately for me, she and my mother were childhood friends.
Today wasn’t the first time Mona had intentionally left behind her Afghan Hound, Fluffy, at my dog boutique, Bow Wow.
But it would be the last.
“Melinda, what are you waiting for?” a frosty voice ordered from inside the Mercedes.
That was Tricia Edwards, Mona’s best friend and business partner. The two of them were thick as fleas on a coonhound. And just as irritating.
Tricia’s long, French manicured, nails rapidly tapped the leather wrapped steering wheel as I practically shoved Fluffy into the backseat. Sixty pounds of sleek muscle, Fluffy had more attitude than an Orange County teenager.
She didn’t like me. Heck, she didn’t like anyone.
Here’s the deal. From behind, she looked exactly like her owner, Mona Michaels. A mistake I’d made more than once. It makes for an awkward moment. Especially when it’s the dog you’re addressing.
“Don’t let her rip my leather,” Tricia ordered.
For the ten-thousandth time, I wished my Jeep wasn’t in the shop. The last place I wanted to be on a warm early-fall evening was trapped with Tricia and her handful of pine scented air-fresheners hanging from the review mirror.
Tricia was forty-and-then-some. A lot of “then-somes,” if you know what I mean. She blended in with most of the women in Laguna Beach. Yoga-tight body, flat-ironed blonde extensions and boobs that stood at attention every second of the day.
Thank God I’m a transplant. A native Texan, I stood out from the reality TV housewives with my brown eyes, long brown hair and straight talk—minus the Texas twang I’d lost since living in California. (Okay, truth be told, I worked with a speech coach to ditch the accent. But when I’m really honked off, my southern drawl can strike like a gulf coast hurricane.)
“Take a Prozac and chill,” I muttered.
Once Fluffy was loaded, I unclipped the leash. She circled twice and then lowered her butt on the soft leather. Her golden hair covered her body, along with the backseat.
“No need to make a production out of it,” I said.
Dark almond-shaped eyes starred me down with pointed disapproval. I was unfazed. I’d seen far more condemnation on my mother’s face the night of the Miss America pageant.
I slammed the door and hightailed it into the passenger seat before Tricia stepped on the gas and left me in the dust. I barely had time to buckle my seatbelt when she peeled out of the Bow Wow Boutique parking lot, jumping the curb. Behind me Fluffy stuggled to stay up-right.
“Sidewalks are for pedestrians only.” I should have pressed Tricia to let me drive her car.
She shot me a fake smile revealing perfectly capped white teeth. “I thought you liked adventure?” Her know-it-all tone sucked all the fresh ocean air out of the car.
I loved adventure. Speeding down Laguna Beach’s Pacific Coast Highway, PCH to the locals, was not adventure.
Technically, it’s only speeding if you’re driving over the speed limit, which Laguna traffic made impossible. It was her constant lunatic lane changing that had me grabbing for the Oh-Crap-Handle above my head.
We zigzagged down PCH, straddling the painted white line at Tricia’s whim. The light at Ocean turned red. She blew through the intersection, just missing a bus.
“Are you trying to kill us?” I cried out.
I’m not normally prone to panicking, but Tricia was a horrible driver and I was seriously second guessing my insistence on personally returning Fluffy. I could have told Mona where to take her dog over the phone.
Damn my stupid pride.
I looked over my shoulder to check on Her Highness. Her ears laid flat against her head and she struggled to stay seated, the aloof expression she carried so effortlessly was replaced with doggie fear. I reached back and patted her reassuringly.
“Even the dog thinks you’re trying to knock us off.”
“You said you were in a hurry so you could get home to Missy,” Tricia explained.
Missy’s my English Bulldog and one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Her papered name was Miss Congeniality, and she lived up to it. She loved people and was always ready to share a rope of drool with a new friend.
Right now she was probably delicately snoring away on her animal print dog bed in front of the picture window, waiting for me to come home and take her for a much needed potty walk.
“Just get us to Mona’s alive and I’ll call a cab to take me home.”
Fluffy’s wet nose pushed against the back of my neck. Her stinky dog breath clung to my skin. “You need to invest in some breath mints.” I gently pushed her head away with a pat.
“I don’t know why Mona insists on owning such a beast.” Tricia sniffed delicately, frowning at Fluffy in her rearview mirror.
I wasn’t a big Fluffy fan either. She reminded me of my mother. But she wasn’t a beast. She was just a snob.
Here’s what you need to know abou
t Tricia and Mona.
Tricia designed dog wear, but didn’t own a dog because they were messy. (I know. It doesn’t make sense to me either.) Mona was the money behind Tricia’s label and not only owned a dog, Fluffy, but a dog “actor.” (Actor must be said with an English accent.)
In the past few years, Fluffy had won two Daytime Emmy’s for a guest role on a soap opera. She’d played a Lassie type character and saved some drama queen from drowning. Maybe the soap would still be on the air if they’d have killed her off. The drama queen, not Fluffy.
Never kill the dog.
Mona and her cohort had been badgering me for months to carry Tricia’s line. I had finally relented and agreed to talk about the possibilities. That was this afternoon.
So there we were, in the middle of an intense business discussion, when Mona had received an “emergency” call. Without a word Mona and Tricia had scurried away like roaches, leaving Fluffy behind.
I’d left numerous voice mails for Mona throughout the day, which, of course, she never answered. Instead, it was Tricia who’d finally sauntered through the front door after 5:00 pm looking for Fluffy as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
It was because of their “relationship” Tricia had thought she should be the one to return Mona’s prized pooch. Well, that and Mona had actually called Tricia and asked her bring Fluffy home.
Deep down, I knew it didn’t matter who returned Fluffy, but my snap judgment was in full throttle. Once in gear, it was difficult to apply the breaks.
I won’t bore you with the gruesome details, but I will say there was a heated argument between Tricia and I disguised as a discussion. In the end, I’d won.
On a normal day, there’d be a celebratory dance with maybe a little air fist pump. (I’m competitive.) But once I’d gotten what I wanted, I quickly remembered my Jeep was in the shop.
I had to swallow my pride and hitch a ride with Tricia.
“What is the big emergency this afternoon?” I asked hugging the door as the tires squealed around the corner.
She hesitated as if not wanting to rat out a friend. Or searching for a believable lie. “Jo needed to see her,” she said.
Desperate Housedogs Page 21
