A jumble of conflicting emotions squeezed my heart as I looked up at Grey. “Thanks for getting her. I bet she was happy to see you.”
Ever the gentleman, he pulled out my chair, then bent down and kissed my cheek. “Missy planted a few slobbery kisses to prove it.”
I grabbed his face and planted a big fat kiss of my own on his lips. “Just the kind you like. You’re the best.”
“Only because I like your dog.”
There was thirty pounds of truth in his off-handed remark. Missy jumped up on my leg, her pink tongue lapping the air. She was crazy, but she was my crazy dog.
“Sit down, Mel. Missy has no idea what’s going on. The food will be ready any time.”
“What?”
Grey regarded me with his intense green eyes. “She’s picking up your stress.”
Overwhelmed with exhaustion, I plopped onto the chair. Missy waddled back to Grey’s side of the table and returned to her resting place. She stared at me, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Grey was right. For Missy, the day was just like any other.
Alanis Morissette’s version of “Crazy” sang out around us.
“You have a new ring tone.” Grey took a drink of his bottled water.
I shook my head. “That’s not mine.”
“It’s coming from your purse.”
I reached into my tote, found my cell and held it up. “Not me.”
My purse continued to sing… “We’re never gonna survive…”
What the heck?
I rummaged around and found a second phone. I didn’t recognize it at first, but I was familiar with the name on the screen. Tricia.
“Holy crapola.” I had Mona’s phone. I looked across the table at Grey, and I saw the question ready on his lips.
Without thinking about the consequences, I answered. “Hello? Hello…?”
Silence answered on the other end.
“Did they hang up?” Grey asked.
I nodded. “I guess so.” I stared at the phone. How did I get Mona’s cell? Then I remembered calling her shortly after arriving at her house.
Well heck, I could have called Armando at anytime. I thumbed through the contacts and found his unlisted number. I pulled out a receipt from my purse and jotted down his information.
“Whose phone?” Grey asked calmly.
My head snapped up like a guilty criminal. I opened my mouth to answer, when Uncle Sal (he wasn’t really our uncle; that’s what everyone called him) yelled out our number.
“Food’s ready,” I said.
Grey slowly pushed his chair back; his rugged face looked tired and slightly worried. Missy lumbered to the other side of the table and under my chair.
I’m not sure why he was concerned. I didn’t steal the phone-I just accidently palmed it from Mona’s house. I’d give it back. But I wanted to snoop first. Didn’t everyone want to know who Mona had on speed dial?
I scrolled through Mona’s contact list, seeing the names and numbers of people I expected: Teri Essman (the mayor), Tricia Edwards, Armando.
“Holy cow,” I whispered. Darby Beckett’s number was programmed as “ICE,” In Case of Emergency. What was going on?
I looked around and saw Grey grabbing our food. I waved and blew him a kiss as my mind ran wild with questions. I leaned back, just out of his direct line of vision, then quickly did a little more snooping.
According to the phone history, Mona’s last outgoing call was to Jo at 4:00 pm, and the last incoming call before mine was from Darby at 4:45 pm. That was when I had called Mona.
I looked up and saw Grey with our food. I fumbled with the phone as I turned it off and dropped it into my bag. My heart raced. He’d ask about the phone again.
I tapped my purse nervously. Grey wasn’t a bend-the-rules-kinda-guy when it came to the law. He’d want me to turn the phone over to the police. Tonight. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but Darby was my best friend, and I had her back.
I had to talk to Darby first. Once the police had Mona’s cell, who knew what they’d think? Heck, I didn’t know what to think.
Grey placed the food on the table and sat. My stomach growled. He pushed the appetizers in front of me. I grabbed a ricotta stick and took a bite.
“Who called?” he asked.
I looked down at my lap and brushed off a few crumbs. Oh, Lord. I didn’t want to lie. I cleared my throat. “It wasn’t for me.”
“It’s not your phone,” he said.
I was at a complete loss for words and excuses. What’s the saying? The silence was deafening.
“I don’t want to tell you,” I blurted, sweating like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving.
“I see.” His face hardened. I could sense he was recalculating how to get the information he wanted.
By now my heart pounded so hard I was amazed Grey couldn’t hear it. “Trust me,” I said.
“If you’re in some kind of trouble-”
“I’m not in trouble. I-I can’t tell you right now. Honestly, it’s not even that big of a deal.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem answering my question.”
My nervousness started to grow into frustration. I dropped a slice of pizza onto my plate. “If you want ‘us’ to work, trust has to be a two-way street.”
Grey leaned across the table, his eyes flashing a potluck of emotion. “I trust you with my life, and you know it. You’re picking a fight for no reason.”
“I’m not picking a fight.”
“In my experience, when someone purposely hides the truth, it’s always a big deal,” Grey warned.
Warning noted and filed.
Chapter Ten
We’d survived Fluffy’s overnight. Missy and I had shared a queen-sized bed with a king-sized Fluffy, and I’d dreamt about Grey’s king-sized warning. By 9:00 am, I’d rolled out of bed a king-sized grump.
Once I’d walked the dogs (good grief; I didn’t like picking up after such a big dog), I’d brushed my teeth, washed mine and Missy’s faces, and pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail. Everything else would have to wait until after breakfast.
I shuffled around the sunshine-filled kitchen in my fuzzy bulldog slippers, Victoria’s Secret sleeping shorts and tank top (yes, I’d walked the dogs in my PJ’s; no one cares, trust me). I poured a bowl of my favorite cereal, Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries, then meandered out to the patio, leaving the French doors open so the dogs could join me.
I settled onto a wicker chair and propped up my feet. What I craved was a chai latte from the Koffee Klatch. If only they delivered. I closed my eyes, tipped my face to the sun and enjoyed the tranquility of the morning. I had a feeling I wasn’t alone. I opened my eyes, and there stood Fluffy. She’d followed as far as the doorway.
“What?”
Fluffy looked back at Missy, who was in the kitchen chowing her scoop of food with one side of her mouth, while managing to drool out the other side at the same time. I’d have to clean the folds of Missy’s face again after breakfast. If I didn’t keep her clean and dry she’d develop dermatitis.
Fluffy returned her attention to me. I knew what she was communicating. Missy was noisy and messy. It was true. Bullies snorted, drooled and passed a lot of gas. But it was that imperfectness that I loved so dearly.
“Sorry, Your Highness, you’ll have to deal with it.”
Unimpressed, Fluffy backed up a couple of steps, then disappeared inside the house.
Once I’d finished my cereal, I shuffled back into the kitchen. I rinsed out my bowl and set it in the sink. I’d worry about the dishes later. Or maybe I’d get lucky and Caro would “drop by.” I was in possession of the brooch, which meant she was bound to show up eventually. I had a new hiding place for the pin. Way better than the cookie jar.
No one truly understood our competition over that Godawful heirloom. Not even Grey. But the brooch was all we had left of Grandma Tillie. She’d had this way of making us feel special, as if we were the only ones she really loved
. It was possible that Grandma Tillie knew the brooch was the one thing that would keep Caro and me together.
Enough sappiness. I had more pressing issues. First things first, handing off Fluffy.
I’d lifted Cliff’s number from Mona’s phone last night. I headed to my bedroom and unplugged my cell from the charger. Bless her heart, Missy had followed me, snorting and shaking her head, leaving a trail of water and slobber on the hardwood floor.
I grabbed a hand towel from the master bath and quickly wiped up the slippery mess. I found a dry edge to blot the folds around her nose. Once she was clean, I tossed the towel onto the bathroom counter.
“Cross your fingers, girl.” I punched in Cliff’s number. Missy tilted her head, and we both waited as the phone rang and rang.
“Hello?”
I gave Missy the thumbs up. “Hey Cliff, it’s Melinda. Melinda Langston. I-” It suddenly dawned on me he might not know about Mona. “Uh, I just wondered if you’d heard about Mona?”
“Yeah. The police called last night.” He mumbled like he had a mouthful of rocks. Or I’d woken him up from a drunken stupor.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“The well’s officially run dry. Not that I’ve seen a single penny in the past month.”
Fluffy suddenly appeared in the hallway. I frowned at her as she shimmied her way in between Missy and me.
“Mona paid you support?” That was news to me.
“It was a private matter.”
I could hear the clinking of ice against glass and then a slurp. You know, that slurp men thought was appropriate when they drank Scotch. I’m no prude, but 10:00 am was a little early to be drinking.
“I had no idea,” I said.
“That’s why it’s called private,” he ground out.
Good grief, he could compete with Mona for Jerk of the Year.
Missy slipped beneath the bed looking for a cool spot to take a nap. Fluffy sprawled out at the foot of the bed, watching me with her intense eyes. I turned my back on her and cleared my throat. “Well, the reason I called was to arrange a pick-up time.”
“For what?”
“Fluffy.”
His dark manic laughter burst into my ear. “She’s as big of a pain in my ass as my ex. Unless it’s cash, Scotch or a trip to Vegas, you don’t have anything I want.”
I walked into the bathroom and closed the door, feeling the need for privacy. “But you have joint custody.”
“I only fought for custody so I wouldn’t have to pay Mona dog support. It bugged the hell out of Mona that I had her precious Fluffy.”
That rumor was true. What a cad. “But you’re supposed to take her every Wednesday.”
“I was. Now she’s yours.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Fluffy is not my responsibility.” I did not have the patience to take care of a high maintenance dog.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he said. “If she doesn’t get her afternoon snack, she’s a real pisser. Good luck.”
The line went dead.
As Grandma Tillie used to say, “He makes a hornet look cuddly.” No wonder Mona kicked his butt to the curb.
I opened the door a crack and peeked into the bedroom. Missy had come out from under the bed and was now lying alongside Fluffy, staring at me as if I’d lost my mind hiding in the bathroom. I closed the door so I could think without being stared at.
Now what?
Chapter Eleven
Fluffy was like an unexpected pimple the day of an eveningwear competition. As ugly and as painful as it may be, neither the pimple nor Fluffy were going anywhere soon. Fluffy wasn’t a bad dog. It was me; I’m a one-dog woman.
After quick shower, I threw on a pair of sand-colored cargo pants, a purple tank top, a hoodie and my flip flops. The dogs and I hopped in the Jeep and took a chance we’d find Darby at Paw Prints. It was time for a chat.
We were in luck. The “Open” sign hung in the door of the studio. I pulled into the empty parking spot behind the FedEx truck, which had selfishly staked out two spaces.
The three of us enthusiastically tumbled out of the Jeep, and the dogs instantly made a beeline for Bow Wow.
“Not today, guys. We’re here to see Darby.”
Missy twirled in a half circle, changing directions. Fluffy on the other hand, fixed her eyes on the Bow Wow door and barreled her way past me and toward her target.
I stopped so abruptly my purse slid down my arm and hung on the leash, halting Fluffy in her stubborn tracks. I swore under my breath.
“Listen. We have got to come to an agreement,” I demanded.
Her Highness turned in my direction. A wisp of fur fell into her eyes. She flipped it back with the shake of her head. Doggie language for “I’m not listening to you.”
“Google alert, Fluffy. It’s not all about you anymore.” By the time my dog-sitting stint was over, I’d have an ulcer.
Missy sat on the sidewalk, her tongue hanging out. If she could talk I’m sure she’d want to know why we were just standing there. My little Miss Congeniality. I loved her more than an A-list celeb loved their Hermes Birkin bag.
“Let’s go.” I headed toward Paw Prints, and the dogs followed-one happy-go-lucky, the other as pretentious as a bed-hopping politician.
We strolled inside the studio. “Guess who?” I called out.
Paw Prints was as unique as its owner. The studio was an unfinished high-end warehouse. Except for the lobby. It was straight out of the Victorian era, including a silver antique tea set on a side table.
The working portion of the studio was wide open with a variety of adorable and goofy pet portraits hanging on the walls, props stored on metal shelves, and a handful of lights and umbrellas.
Darby, in her bohemian wrap skirt and white, lacy sleeveless top, dragged a second Adirondack chair to her staging area.
“Hi,” she said as she turned around. Her white beret slipped off her head. She caught it one-handed. “Ah, you have Fluffy.”
“It’s my curse.” I unhooked the dogs and dropped the leashes on the front desk.
Missy bumbled over to the box of toys Darby kept for her clients. She rummaged around and pulled out a rubber chicken and immediately demonstrated she was the alpha dog.
Fluffy, on the other hand, sniffed the velvet covered couches in the lobby, not entirely sure of where I’d taken her, and if she was staying.
“I thought you dropped her off last night.” Darby pulled down a swimming pool backdrop, which set off her scene perfectly. All it needed was a couple of umbrella drinks.
“I tried.”
“So she stayed with you?” Darby asked, with a small disbelieving chuckle.
“Yeah.” I fumbled for what to say next. “Who’s coming?” I pointed toward her set-up, eager to change the subject while I searched for the right way to break the news about Mona.
“Mandy Beenerman’s bringing in her Lhasa Apso.”
I shook my head. “I can’t place her, but her name sounds really familiar.”
“She owns the fitness company, Mandy’s Place.” Darby continued to arrange and rearrange props as she talked. “Apparently Nietzsche has agoraphobia. Since your cousin has taken them on as clients, he’s gotten better, and this is his reward.”
“You’ve talked to Caro?”
Darby stood back and studied her masterpiece. “No. Mandy. But Caro did recommend me. I need to call and thank her. Unless you want to?” She grinned at me over her shoulder.
“You’re such a comedian.”
“So what’s going on?” she asked.
I walked over to one of the chairs she’d just positioned to picture perfection and sat, dropping my purse between my feet. “I’m taking the day off.”
She swiveled in my direction. “Why?”
Sometimes the direct approach was best. “Mona’s dead.”
Eyes wide open, Darby looked horrified. “What do you mean, dead?”
“Like someone whacked with her Fluffy’s E
mmy. Gone. Dead.”
She tripped over the light stand making her way to me. “She’s been murdered? Are you sure?”
“Trust me, she’s dead. I’ve seen her.” I shuddered, remembering Mona’s awkward pose.
Darby shook her head, obviously confused. “When?” her voice cracked. I watched her normally effortless smile slip away.
“Last night. I took Fluffy home, and she found her,” I continued, “Mona was lying on the floor with the Emmy…” I pointed to my head.
Darby looked around the studio and zeroed in on Mona’s dog, sprawled out on the cowhide rug on the far side of the studio.
“That’s awful.”
“I certainly could have gone my entire lifetime without seeing it.”
Darby suddenly jumped up and nervously repositioned the lighting. “Do the police know who did it?” Her tone suggested it was an afterthought, but her sideways glance cast a hint of guilt for even being curious. It must be those midwestern manners that kept her from admitting she wanted more details.
“The police mentioned it may have been a robbery gone wrong. That she might have interrupted someone ransacking Fluffy’s room.”
She picked up her camera and thoroughly checked it out. “You saw her. Is that what you think?”
Missy trotted over with her rubber chicken, her nails clicking on the cement floor. She dropped the toy in front of me for a game a fetch. “It’s possible. The room was a mess.”
I tossed the chicken to where Fluffy was napping. Missy chased after it, slipping on a throw rug.
“What about Jo’s dream?” Darby asked matter-of-factly, snapping pictures of Missy’s antics.
I rolled my eyes, thinking about psychic Jo. “She said she had a dream.”
She lowered the camera and looked at me. “You don’t believe her?”
“No, I don’t believe for one minute Fluffy came to her in a dream to warn her about something. Do you?”
Darby shrugged. “I don’t know.” She checked her watch. “I don’t mean to rush you, but Mandy will be here anytime.” She clipped the camera back onto the tripod.
I stood up and slung my bag onto my shoulder. “I just thought you’d want to know what had happened.”
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