Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series)

by Sparkle Abbey

  I finished my drink, gave Huntley a snuggle, and wished Davis a good visit with his daughter. I could hardly wait to call Malone and ask if he’d realized the name of the stabbing victim had been fake. I was sure he had, and, of course, they would have run Victor’s fingerprints, so maybe they already knew who he really was.

  I called Malone from my car, but got his voicemail, so I left a message for him to call me. Again.

  My next home visit was in Dana Point, so I turned the car south and enjoyed the beautiful drive along the Pacific Coast with the convertible top down. As I drove, I mulled the idea of why a man would choose a legendary con man’s moniker as his name. Where had that idea come from? Why did he need a fake identity? And why had someone wanted him dead?

  This call was one of the Greyhound owners Blanche had asked me to check on. Verdi had set up the appointment and supplied the address. I found the house without trouble and parked in the driveway.

  It was a stunning contemporary home, modest compared to the Ruby Point mansions, but with a panoramic view of the Pacific and of Catalina Island. Marjory Whedon answered the door and welcomed me. She was tall and willowy, and her white linen pants and flowing turquoise top blended with the Zen feel of the house. The inside continued the modern lines.

  Water flowed from a fountain in the foyer and created a feeling of serenity. I almost felt like I should offer to take off my shoes. The entryway opened into a living room which was nearly all glass on one side. I didn’t blame them—I’d want a glass house too, if I had that view.

  There were two white leather couches facing each other, and at one end were two Greyhounds sound asleep cuddled against each other.

  “This must be Havasu and Jett.” I glanced down at my file. “Havasu is the blue, and Jett is the black. Is that right?”

  “That’s right,” Marjory answered. “Please, have a seat.”

  I perched on the edge of the white sofa near the two dogs. “Have you noticed any behavior changes since the night of the fund-raiser or have there been any problems?”

  “No, no changes.” She settled on the other coach, leaned back and crossed her legs. “To tell you the truth, this is how they usually are. I have to encourage them to go outside for a walk or they’d just stay put right here.”

  “They’re striking dogs.” I reached out and touched the black one who was closest to me. The dog raised its head, looked at me, and then settled back in. “Have you had them long?”

  “Only a few months.” Marjory shifted a little. “Raymond, my husband, met Alice Tiburon at some business function. She introduced him to Blanche at Greys Matter, and, once we heard about the situation with Greyhounds who no longer race, we simply had to help.”

  She got up, knelt by the dogs, and laid her cheek against them. “I have to say, Ms. Lamont, until that night, I’d had my doubts these two were truly retired racers. I’d never seen them run that fast.”

  “Call me Caro.” I could tell she was truly attached to the dogs. “It was a mess, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was. That poor man.” She shivered slightly, as if shaking off the thought.

  “Did you know him?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “No, I didn’t.” She shook her head. “We talked about it coming home that night, and Raymond thought he might have seen him a couple of weeks ago at the Greys Matter office.”

  “Really?” That didn’t match up for a couple of reasons, one of which was that Blanche claimed she didn’t know Victor.

  “Well, that’s what he said, but he wasn’t sure.” She got up from her spot on the floor. “He’d stopped in to get copies of some additional paperwork we needed on Jett and Havasu for our vet, and he was in a hurry.”

  “And about Jett and Havasu,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you have any concerns?”

  “Not really,” Marjory sat on the couch beside me. “Raymond and I discussed it when your assistant called. While we haven’t seen any problems, we thought it was a good idea to find out what types of things we should be watching for.”

  “Mainly changes in their normal behavior, any loss of appetite, or nervous habits such as obsessive pacing,” I explained. “Basically, any signs of anxiety or anything that doesn’t feel right to you.”

  “So far, we’ve not seen anything like that.”

  “That’s good.” I gathered my things and stood. “It’s clear your two are well taken care of and loved.”

  Marjory beamed. “They bring a lot of love to our home.”

  “If you do see any changes, just call my office.” I handed her my card. “I’d be happy to come back.”

  “Thank you, Caro.” She walked me to the door. “I feel so relieved.”

  I grabbed a quick lunch while I was in Dana Point, and then took care of my afternoon appointments before heading home for the day. I was so late that I didn’t even go by the office to drop off my files and finish my notes.

  Sometime tomorrow I’d stop by the Greys Matter office and talk with Blanche. I needed to let her know the status of the list of clients anyway, and perhaps I could work in a question about whether Victor, or whatever his name really was, had been at the rescue’s office. And why she’d lied.

  Chapter Nine

  I WAS LATE FOR my very first self-defense class.

  It had been such a busy day, I’d forgotten about it, so I’d had to rush to get there. The class was called “Be Safe” and Sam had gifted both Diana and me with the six-week course for Valentine’s Day. You have to love a guy with a sense of humor.

  As I walked into the room and looked around at all the trendy workout wear, I wished I’d paid a bit more attention to my attire. I’d run home, slipped on my yoga clothes, and headed to the fitness studio where the class was being held.

  Diana was already there. She sported an orange Splits59 workout set. All the other women were similarly dressed in designer fitness togs. On the other hand, I’d thrown on old black yoga pants and a gray Nike tank top. Oh, well. I was there to learn, not to look fashionable, right?

  Even as I had the thought, I could hear my mama’s voice in my head saying, “Young lady, there is no reason you can’t do both.”

  Our instructor was Matt Bjarni. A big, red-headed beefcake. If you ever needed to cast a bodybuilder type in a movie, you’d pick him.

  Matt took us through an overview of what we would cover in the six weeks of sessions while two female assistants passed out brochures. The philosophy of the “Be Safe” program was to teach people to deal with real-world situations. I was happy to see avoidance and de-escalation of a situation were covered topics. It was all well and good to know some defensive moves, but the best case would be to never have to use them.

  There were a variety of ages in the class. One mature lady in the front appeared to have come in her pajamas. Leopard print no less. Accessorized with a single strand of pearls.

  At the moment, it sounded as if she were instructing Matt on proper classroom etiquette. Bless his heart, he just politely nodded.

  The assistants had completed their work and joined him at the front of the room.

  Matt faced the group. “Okay, let’s get started. The most important thing to remember about keeping yourself safe is not the defensive moves I’m going to show you. The most important thing is to try to stay out of dangerous situations.”

  Diana and I looked at each other.

  “Do you think Sam paid him to say that?” Diana muttered under her breath.

  “Maybe,” I whispered back. “Sure sounds like Sam, doesn’t it?”

  “If you do find yourself in a dangerous situation, your most valuable weapon is your brain.” Matt walked back and forth as he talked. “Use your wits. Don’t panic. Try to defuse before you defend.”

  The lady in the pajamas had her hand in the air.

  Matt either didn’t see it or was ignoring her.

  Undeterred, she eagerly waved it back and forth.

  Matt sighed a sigh we could hear even in the back of the
room. He stopped in front of her. “Yes, ma’am. You have a question?”

  “Name’s Betty. And you’re darn tootin’ I do, Mike.”

  “It’s Matt.” He smiled. It was hard not to smile at the picture she presented in her leopard-print nightwear.

  “I work retail,” Pajama Betty said. “What if I’ve got a shoplifter? I don’t have time for chitchat. I’m gonna have to move quick.” She made what appeared to be some karate type slices with her hands.

  “We’ll get to those kinds of situations later.” Matt dodged the deadly weapons, aka Betty’s silk pajama-clad arms. “For now, let’s talk about how to avoid situations where you may be in danger.”

  “Oh, boy.” Diana rolled her eyes. She was losing patience with the class quickly.

  “How many of you walk, jog, or bike?” Matt asked.

  The whole class, probably close to twenty women, raised their hands.

  “I’ll bet there are many times when you’re on one of the trails alone.” Matt stood, feet apart in a wide stance, his hands steepled. “While our community is very safe, it’s better to have someone with you. Walk or bike with a friend. If you don’t have someone who can go along, at least consider going at times of the day when the trails are busy.”

  He continued with admonitions for staying safe by making good choices. I thought to myself if I were someone who made good choices, the man in my life would not have decided I needed a “Be Safe” women’s self-defense class as a Valentine’s Day gift. (He’d also gifted me with a hefty contribution to the Laguna Beach ARL in my name and beautiful emerald earrings. Did the guy know me or what?) He’d given Diana the same. Well, not the earrings but the contribution and the self-defense class.

  And so, here we were.

  Next, Matt covered what he called “verbal self-defense” which meant things you could say to calm a potentially threatening state of affairs. I was all for using words instead of violence and he did a great job of explaining body language, verbal cues, and danger signs. The problem was really reading the person and knowing whether they would respond to attempts to be calmed. If they weren’t on drugs or not truly intent on killing you, you probably stood a chance.

  “If you use these techniques, you may not have to use physical force.” Matt continued. “Even if your attacker is much bigger than you.”

  “For instance, what if I approached this lady?” He moved in a menacing stance toward Betty. “What could she do to defuse and defend?”

  “I tell you what I’d do.” Betty’s voice carried from the front. “I’d knee you in your boy parts and make a run for it.” She demonstrated with a raised knee and, judging from the expression on Matt’s face, she’d made contact.

  “Let’s take a short break,” he croaked.

  After the break, Betty was escorted to the back row by one of the helpers. Back where Diana and I had chosen to station ourselves.

  “Hello, girls.” Betty shifted her purse to her other arm and held out a hand decorated with bright blue polish. “I’m Betty Foxx.”

  “Nice manicure,” I noted.

  “It’s from the Bow Wow Boutique. It’s paw-lish, spelled p-a-w, paw. I figure if I’m gonna sell the products, I should use them.”

  Diana started to say something, but ended up with a polite cough. She seemed awestruck by Betty’s drawn-on eyebrows which were artfully painted on—and not with a beauty product intended for eyebrows. It looked like she’d used orange lipstick, but maybe it was another Bow Wow Boutique item she was trying out.

  Betty pointed a blue-tipped finger at Diana “You have a dog?”

  “Several,” Diana answered.

  “We sell a lot of this stuff.” Betty turned her fingers this way and that. “I don’t get it, but who am I to say? I’ve got a job. Melanie’s a nice boss.”

  “Melinda,” I corrected without thinking.

  She swiveled my direction. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  Diana made the intro. “Betty, meet Carolina Lamont.”

  “Holy dog farts, you’re the cousin what’s always stealing Cookie’s brooch.” Her lipstick eyebrows went up an inch. “She was fit to be tied last time you took it.”

  “My brooch.” I corrected.

  “Uh-uh.” Betty shook her head. “You got it with you?” She looked around like Grandma Tillie’s brooch might be somewhere in plain sight where she could snatch it for Melinda.

  “Of course not,” I replied. “It’s somewhere even Mel can’t get to it.”

  “Well, where is it?” She was a persistent cross-examiner.

  “Oh, look.” I pointed. “I think Matt wants to get started again.”

  The second part of the class went quickly, with Matt and his assistants demonstrating escape moves. He promised next week we’d get into more of the defensive moves.

  “That was fun, girls.” Betty retrieved her shiny black patent-leather purse from the floor and joined Diana and me. She’d kept it on her arm for most of the class, and then finally had given in and parked it firmly between her feet. “When my daughter signed me up for this ‘Be Safe’ deal, I thought it would be boring, but I was wrong. See you next week.”

  And with that, the little pajama-clad lady race-walked herself out of the room.

  I looked at Diana. She looked at me. We burst out laughing.

  “Well, bless her heart, she’s an original.” I grinned.

  I wasn’t sure where Mel had found Betty Foxx, but the woman was an absolute hoot.

  Chapter Ten

  I CHUCKLED ABOUT Betty and her pajamas as I got dressed the next morning.

  Maybe it would simplify life for us all if we just wore our pj’s all day. Though I didn’t think my oversized P.U.P. (Protecting Unwanted Pets) T-shirt and plaid shorts had quite the same flair as Betty’s leopard-print loungewear and pearls.

  Malone had left a message on my cell phone letting me know I could come by the police station and pick up Grandma Tillie’s brooch.

  Apparently, he and the investigative team had decided my grandmother’s brooch had nothing to do with the stabbing. Go figure, huh?

  I was relieved they were releasing it. I knew my cousin, Mel, would have a difficult time breaking into police evidence to swipe it, but I’d feel so much better when it was back in my possession.

  And, of course, now she had Pajama Betty on the lookout for it as well.

  Not one to let any grass grow under my feet, I headed over to the Laguna Beach PD right away.

  A short trip from my office, the Laguna Beach police department was located in a row of brick buildings in the downtown area. City Hall, the PD and the Fire Department were co-located in the complex.

  There was an information desk as you entered the lobby and I approached it. Two familiar faces glanced up.

  Sally looked up and greeted me. “Hi, Caro,” Small and trim, she looked harmless but make no mistake, the lady could hold her own.

  “Hey, how’s our favorite pet shrink?” Lorraine, taller and tougher in appearance, turned from the desk where she was sorting papers.

  “I’m doing well. How are you, and how is Buster?” Buster was her new Pug. He was a sweetheart of a dog.

  “He’s great. I’m so glad to have him.”

  We were on a first-name basis because we’d gotten to know each other when Diana had been falsely accused of murder, and had spent some time locked up in the Laguna Beach pokey. I know it’s hard to picture, but Diana’s one of a kind, and believe me, it had been a one-of-a-kind experience.

  “Is Detective Malone in?” I asked. “He’s expecting me.”

  “Sure, go on back.” Sally gestured. “You know where his office is.”

  Unfortunately, I did. I didn’t really want to examine too closely the fact I had more than a passing knowledge of the location of the Laguna Beach Homicide Division’s office.

  I slipped through the door beside the front desk and walked the hallway to Malone’s office which was just the hole in the wall I remembered. He was on t
he phone, but gestured for me to take a seat.

  I perched on the edge of the folding chair across from him.

  “Yes.” His face was taut, and his body language said he wasn’t thrilled with what he was hearing on the other end of the line. “Yes, I understand.”

  He ended the call by putting down the receiver with a snap. I wondered if he’d learned the technique from my mama. Not quite slamming down the phone. It was a click. But with enough force that it communicated the disgust, the irritation, the I-am-done-talking-to-you-now finality. It was a skill and a talent.

  Until this minute, I’d only been on the receiving end of the click; I’d never actually seen it done.

  I raised my gaze from the desk phone to the detective behind the desk. His handsome face was expressionless. Judd Malone would make a great poker player. He leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed and body language neutral. The only “tell” betraying his frustration was the tap of his pen.

  He was obviously not having a good day. I’d just pick up my property and give him his space.

  “I came for my brooch.”

  He made eye contact, his steely blue gaze unwavering.

  “My grandma’s brooch,” I prompted. “You called me.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “What do you mean?” I scooted forward so fast I almost fell off the folding chair. “You lost it?”

  “No, the Feds have it.” He tossed the papers he held onto the desk. Again, a lot of disgust in the action. Really, he and Mama Kat had it down.

  “What?”

  “The investigation is now a federal case. The Feds have taken all the evidence. I am off the case.”