Just as she slid a gold cat-shaped ring onto her finger, an elegant woman with a cascade of brown curls down her back stepped forward and said, “That’s one of my best pieces, but it can’t compete with your lovely engagement ring. Tiffany’s, two carats, correct?”
“Right. Thank you.” Skye inspected the olive-skinned beauty. “Do you make all the jewelry yourself?”
“Yes.” She held out a slender hand. “I’m Lola Martinez, and you are?”
“Skye Denison.”
“I liked how you handled Alexis.” Lola’s brown eyes were full of loathing. “She’s always bitching about something, and if anyone says anything about it, she claims it’s not complaining, it’s motivational speaking.”
“Really?” Skye wasn’t surprised that Alexis considered her every word important and failed to understand that what she said affected others. The opinionated judge’s total lack of empathy had been apparent in every encounter Skye had had with her.
“Alexis is such a witch.” Lola’s mouth tightened. “And no one ever stands up to her.”
“I’m a school psychologist, so I’m used to handling mean girls.”
“Then you should do just fine with Alexis. Her maturity level is about the same as a thirteen-year-old’s, and that’s probably being unfair to the teenager.” Lola took a deep breath, shook her head, and changed the subject by holding up a pair of black-enameled cat-shaped earrings. “These would look good on you.”
Skye agreed, but once she completed her purchase, Lola hesitated before giving her the gold-foil box. Skye held her palm out, waiting, and finally the jewelry maker handed her the package.
Skye turned to go, but Lola’s voice stopped her. “Just FYI, keep your fiancé away from Alexis. Now that you’ve challenged her, she’ll make it her purpose in life to steal him away from you.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Skye tucked the jewelry box into her purse. “I’ll keep that in mind if they ever meet.”
As she walked away, she dismissed Lola’s concern. Wally would see through Alexis before the predatory woman could unsheathe her claws or fluff her fur. Besides, he’d never betray Skye. They’d gone through too much to be together for either of them to risk losing each other now. Not when they were so close to finally getting married.
While Skye made her way to the photographer’s cubicle, she noted that most competitors had packed up and left. The participants who lived within a reasonable driving distance would go home, drop off their animals, clean up, and come back for dinner at six thirty.
The ones who lived farther away had brought their RVs or were staying at the Up A Lazy River Motor Court, the local motel owned by Skye’s godfather, Charlie Patukas. He normally didn’t allow pets, but Bunny had somehow charmed him into making an exception for this weekend.
Although a few people still lingered in the vendor area, the photographer was already putting away his equipment when Skye entered his space. He was a nice-looking man in his early forties, but he reminded Skye of the Munchkin cat she had seen earlier. Sitting or lying down, the breed appeared average, but once the animal stood up, its extremely short legs were evident.
“I see you’re finished for the day,” Skye said, gesturing to the gear that was already packed up in various containers. “But if you have a minute, could you answer a couple of questions for me?”
“Sure.” He smiled pleasantly at her as she hovered at the entrance. “I’m Kyle O’Brien.”
“Skye Denison.” She shook his hand. “I’m working the event, not here as a contestant, but I’d love to have a picture taken of my cat. Would it be possible for me to bring him in before the show officially starts tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Kyle slipped a camera into its case. “The Best of the Best judging is at ten. I could meet you at eight and do three or four setups.”
“That would be great. I don’t want anything overly elaborate. Just a nice photo for my wall.” Skye hesitated, then said, “Bingo isn’t a trained show cat, so he might be hard to manage.”
“No problem.” Kyle grinned. “They call me the cat whisperer.”
“This is so bogus,” Justin complained as he returned to the grill for another tray of plates. “Frannie was in charge of the food. My area was accounting and judging, and I didn’t ask her to help me with any of that.”
“The two servers Frannie hired never showed up,” Skye explained. “So she drafted us.”
But empathy had never been Justin’s strong suit, and he muttered something about America having an all-volunteer army, then headed back to the bar to serve the remaining eight diners. One of whom was Bunny, who had elected to eat with her guests.
Justin’s attitude made Skye sigh as she took a seat at the counter. Her feet were killing her. As soon as she finished eating and helped Frannie clean up, she was heading home. Her cell phone charge had run out without her noticing, and Wally was probably wondering where the heck she was.
Justin returned, still grumbling, and Frannie led him away for a little girlfriend-to-boyfriend chat. Skye watched the couple as she ate her dinner. The spaghetti was surprisingly tasty and the salad had a nice light dressing, but she thought the garlic bread was probably a mistake—considering that the next event was speed dating.
After Skye finished eating and Frannie returned from her talk, the two women started to wash the dirty dishes that Justin had begun bringing into the kitchen from the bar.
As they worked Skye commented, “There seemed to be a lot of unique people at the cat show.”
“I guess unique is one way of putting it.” Frannie giggled. “I’d go with weird.”
“Especially Elijah Jacobsen.” Skye shook her head. “He seems to be the oddest of all.”
“At least he has an excuse.” Frannie’s expression turned sober. “He was in a terrible auto accident twenty years ago and suffered a really bad head injury.”
“How awful.”
“It resulted in his fiancée’s death and ended his career as a surgeon.”
“That’s awful.” Skye’s voice caught. “A traumatic brain injury can cause so much damage to cognitive functioning.”
“Yeah. It really messed him up.” Frannie handed Skye the last wet plate. “He said he has a lot of trouble with memory and concentration, and it’s hard for him to make decisions.”
“The poor man. It sounds as if he really has a lot to deal with.” Skye wiped the dish dry and slid it onto the towering stack on the shelf, then folded the towel and said, “That’s it, and I’m heading home.”
“Thanks, Ms. D.” Frannie sounded tired and her shoulders slumped. “You sure you don’t want to stick around for the bowler disco party?”
“I’m positive.” Skye felt her head start to throb at the idea of the loud music and flashing lights. “The servers Bunny has lined up for that event are coming, right?” Both Justin and Frannie were too young to serve alcohol, and there was no way Skye was moonlighting as a cocktail waitress. She didn’t have the figure or the tolerance for drunks that the job required.
“Yep.” Frannie pushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “The weekend lounge workers are covering both the speed dating and the party.”
“Are you staying?” Skye asked, wondering what Xavier thought about his daughter’s business venture. He had been a single parent for a long time, and she guessed that he would have a hard time accepting the young woman’s growing independence.
“Nah.” Frannie shook her head. “I hate disco and Justin’s off pouting somewhere.” She frowned. “It wouldn’t be any fun without him.”
“Why’s he in such a bad mood tonight?” Skye asked, giving in to her curiosity—her noninterference policy was driving her crazy. “He seemed just fine this afternoon.”
“Ms. Hightower yelled at him,” Frannie explained. “She wanted to see the scores so far, but the judges aren’t allowed to know how the cats did in the other rounds.” Frannie pursed her lips, indicating her disapproval of Alexis’s attempt to break the rules.
“When Justin said no, she tried to flirt with him, and when that didn’t work, she called him incompetent.”
“Ouch!” Skye winced. Justin prided himself on his intelligence and his computer ability. Alexis’s words would have really wounded his ego.
“Yep. Major ouch.”
“Hey.” The discussion about Alexis reminded Skye of a question she’d been meaning to ask all day. “What kind of qualifications does someone need to be a cat show judge? Is there a class you have to take?”
“We looked it up online and found out that to become a legitimate judge a person needs to have been a successful breeder whose cats have won ribbons at several shows,” Frannie explained.
“Is that all?”
“No.” Frannie scrunched her face in deep thought. “If I remember right, they also have to be on committees, work as entry clerks, and serve as show managers. Then they have to be trainees, pass tests, and apprentice with certified teachers.”
“That sounds like a lot of effort.” Skye bit her lip. “Since Alexis doesn’t seem as enamored of cats as everyone else here, I wonder why she went to so much trouble.”
“Maybe it’s the only place she can be the boss. I remember her saying she supports herself working temp jobs.”
“Ah, that might explain it.”
“Yeah. She said her last one was as some city official’s assistant, and he was a real control freak. He had a special phone she wasn’t allowed to touch, but he didn’t tell her that it was off limits until she’d already answered it. He expected her to read his mind about her duties and was always yelling at her.”
“Sounds like one of my bosses.”
Frannie giggled, then dried her hands and walked toward the bar door. “You want to take a peek at the speed daters?”
“Just for a minute.” Skye had only a vague idea of how the event worked.
When she joined Frannie in peering through the frosted-glass window, the young woman said, “See the men at all the little round tables?”
“Yes.” Skye noted that there were twenty guys ranging in age from forty to seventy seated facing the stage. One of them was Elijah, who had added a black velvet fedora to his outfit. Beneath its brim, gray-blond dreadlocks poked out in all directions.
Kyle O’Brien sat one table over from the ex-doctor. The photographer was dressed in nicely pressed khakis and a designer Kelly green polo shirt. Since he was long-waisted, his unusually short stature wasn’t noticeable when he was seated.
“See the women standing by the other door?” Frannie pointed to the left.
“Uh-huh.” Skye recognized Fawn, Alexis, and Lola among the group.
“At eight o’clock, the women will join the guys.” Frannie indicated the huge timer on the stage. “After ten minutes the deejay sounds the gong and the women get up and move to the next table.”
“Geesh!” Skye was astounded. “Ten minutes to decide if you like someone?”
“Yes.” Frannie nodded. “At the end of the event, each person ranks the men or women they’ve met from one to fifteen, with one being the guy or gal they would most like to have a real date with.”
“Putting couples together using that method sounds complicated.”
“Justin designed some computer program to match up the couples,” Frannie explained. “Which reminds me, he better remember he has to be in the bar at nine thirty to run the thing.”
“Do the matchees attend the bowler disco party together?”
“Yep.” Frannie nodded. “The only other people allowed in are the vendors and the judges.” Frannie winked. “Miss Bunny even hired a bouncer for the front door to keep out the local riffraff and any gate-crashers. She wanted the party to be exclusive.”
Skye rolled her eyes. Simon would have a fit when he found out his mother was excluding the regulars. Scumble Riverites didn’t forget slights like that, and there would be hell to pay for Bunny’s snubbing them.
CHAPTER 5
Curiosity Killed the Cat
Although Skye was tired, she found herself lingering until the conclusion of the speed-dating event. She was curious to see who would end up with whom. Frannie had to stick around as well. Justin was her ride home, and the computer wizard couldn’t work his magic and come up with the final couples until the very end.
Everyone watched intently as Justin keyed the numbers from the rating sheets into his laptop. Bunny stood by his side keeping up a constant patter to entertain the audience while he worked. She had changed from her fairly modest daytime attire into a short black dress with a bodice made of buckles, straps, and grommets that looked a little like a sexy version of a straitjacket, minus the overlong restraining sleeves.
A few minutes later, the small printer attached to the computer spit out a single sheet of paper. Justin looked up from the monitor and announced in a dramatic voice, “The results are in.”
Bunny snatched the page from the tray, squinted, then hissed at Justin, “I told you to make the font bigger.”
“For crying out loud, it’s Arial sixteen,” Justin protested. “If you can’t see that, you need to go to the eye doctor.”
Bunny’s scarlet fingernails pressed into Justin’s shoulder, but she addressed the spectators. “Everyone ready to find out their dream dates?”
Skye surveyed the crowd as they roared their consent to Bunny’s question. Most of their faces, including Kyle’s and Fawn’s, held a mixture of anticipation, trepidation, and hopefulness, but a few of the participants’ expressions were harder to gauge. Both Alexis and Lola were impassive, and Elijah stared at his cell phone with his brows drawn together and his eyes unfocused.
Bunny strutted over to the stage like the dancer she had once been, then ran up the three steps. Considering that the fifty-seven-year-old was wearing thigh-high black boots with four-inch spike heels, her swift ascent was nothing short of astounding. As were the red ribbons crisscrossing up the boots’ calves that fluttered saucily in the breeze.
DJ Wonka banged the gong, and once Bunny was sure she had everyone’s attention, she pulled a pair of rhinestone-encrusted glasses from her cleavage and started calling out names. As she slowly read from her list, pausing dramatically after each pair, there were screeches of excitement, groans of disappointment, and meaningful glances between the men and women.
Of the participants Skye could identify, Kyle was partnered with a cute little blonde, Lola got a dashing man who needed only a sword and eye patch to be a dead ringer for Hollywood’s version of a pirate, and Fawn and Elijah were put together—which actually made sense in a weird sort of way. The most astonishing combination was Alexis and a short, mousy guy wearing a cheap navy suit, thick glasses, and a really bad hairpiece. How had that happened?
Skye was surprised that Bunny hadn’t participated in the activity, since the whole shebang had started as a way for her to find a date. But as Skye turned to leave, she noticed the redhead slide into a chair next to a vaguely familiar, handsome man in his sixties. He kissed her cheek and tipped his head to whisper in her ear. Bunny giggled; then they both stood and slipped quietly out of the bar.
Evidently the wily redhead had saved the best guy for herself. It reminded Skye of her mother’s practice of setting aside the piece of chocolate she wanted before offering the box to everyone else. But at least Bunny hadn’t poked holes in the other men to see what they were made of before making her selection, which is what May did with the candy.
There was a message from Wally on Skye’s answering machine when she got home. Although it was close to ten thirty, she immediately called him back, and it was clear from his voice that he had been asleep.
“I’m so sorry I woke you up,” Skye said. “We can talk in the morning.”
“No, I just went to bed a few minutes ago.” Wally cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Where have you been and why didn’t you answer your cell?”
“I forgot to charge the battery,” Skye explained, then went on to describe her day, ending with, “See, I can be spontaneous
.”
“I never said you couldn’t.” Wally’s smooth baritone held a hint of amusement, but sobered when he asked, “How badly did Bunny injure you?”
“I have three scratches on my cheek”—Skye fingered the bandages as she spoke—“but at least I didn’t get the shiner Elijah predicted.”
“Elijah being the big guy who started out as a raving lunatic and then claimed to be a physician?” Wally’s tone was incredulous.
“Yeah.”
“I think you should go to a real doctor.” Wally’s voice was implacable.
“Why? I’m fine. Unless…”—Skye teased him, drawing out the word—“you’re afraid you might be marrying a scarred woman?”
“You know it’s not your outer beauty I care about.” Wally’s voice was sincere. “I just want to make sure your cuts don’t get infected.”
“That’s sweet of you.” Skye understood Wally’s concern, but he needed to understand that she had been taking care of herself for a long time without his help. “I’m perfectly okay. The scrapes are already healing.”
“I still think you should check with a doctor who graduated from a medical school located somewhere other than in his imagination,” Wally persisted. “This guy sounds messed up to me.”
“His name is Elijah, and he cleaned the scratches and told me to apply Neosporin twice a day for the next seventy-two hours,” Skye assured Wally. “He said as long as I’d had a recent tetanus shot, I’m good, but if the edges of the wound turn red, I need to have it looked at.”
“Someone should report him for practicing medicine without a license,” Wally muttered. “Maybe I’ll look into that when I get back.”
Shoot! Skye sat straight up in bed and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was quarter to seven. She had forgotten today was Sunday. How was she going to get Bingo’s picture taken, work the cat show, and still attend church?
Murder of the Cat's Meow: A Scumble River Mystery Page 4
