The young man on the ground lifted his forearm, and she laid her hand on top of it as she stepped down onto the red carpet. Then the young man sort of faded into the background as she seemed to float along the carpet.
The crowd went nuts. Cheering. Calling out her name. Pressing forward.
She moved a short way, smiling, nodding, bestowing a stellar version of the royal wave as she went amongst the peasants.
She stopped dead as Jimmy John and Fran came up to her. Then she offered her limp hand languidly to my granddad. He looked at it for a few beats before Fran elbowed him, jerked her head, and made a smacking sound.
"Oh," Jimmy said, finally getting it. "Right." He took hold of Sabrina's hand and brought it lightly to his lips, just like a gentleman of old. That old smoothie. For a seventy-plus dude, my granddad was something of a stud. "Mrs. Ramirez," he said. "You probably don't remember, but I—"
"Oh, I remember." Sabrina batted her lashes, simpered like a schoolgirl, and blushed—no kidding. Her famous Castilian accent falling from her lips like rose petals, she said, "I'm so very pleased to see you again."
He nodded. "Me too. Can't believe you remember me from that interview in Seattle a while back."
"I could never forget you, Mr. Jones."
Fran stuck out her hand. "Fran Upton," she said. "I run the shelter here. Pleased to meetcha, Miss Ramirez."
The Critter Communicator may have had a magical rapport with animals, but the cool stare she bestowed on Fran made me wonder about her people skills. She brushed by Fran, but only after she caught hold of Jimmy John's upper arm with both hands.
Another man, older and more burly than the first, whose hulking rectangular form made him look like a Lego character, emerged from the motor coach holding a pink fuzzy little thing that anyone who watched The Critter Communicator Show recognized right away as Rosie, Sabrina's beloved piglet.
The crowd sighed at the sight of her, and a sound of absolute adoration rolled through like a wave.
Rosie blinked her beady little eyes and flicked pointy little ears, as if she knew all the attention was for her.
And she might have been right.
Unless you count Porky, and he's not real, Rosie was probably the most famous pig on the planet. The piglet's mother, a lovely pink girl the size of a chubbed-out bulldog, had also been famous but had recently died. The piglet took her mother's place as Sabrina's companion and was evidently every bit as cherished as her mother had been. Princess of porkers, the sweetest of swine, the most perfect piglet—and from the looks of her, everyone treated Rosie accordingly.
Around her pink belly she wore a pink tulle tutu with tiny little hearts sewn into the netting. The sunlight bounced off the diamonds in her collar, a smaller version of the one Sabrina wore. And just like Sabrina, Rosie, too, was never seen without the diamonds encircling her neck.
Vader's tail began to wag so hard, it nearly got away from him. He whined then began to spin in circles. Rosie took notice, making a few squeals and delicate little snorts herself. It was looking like love at first sight. Vader strained against the leash. I picked him up. "Easy, boy," I said. "She looks pretty high maintenance to me." My little pug continued to stare at the piglet with wide, bright eyes. Yep, love all right, or at least infatuation.
Letting go of Jimmy's arm with one hand, Sabrina leaned over, rubbed Rosie's ears, and planted a big old juicy kiss right on her little piggy lips. I wasn't positive, but there might have been tongue involved.
Beside me, Tino made a weird sound. "She just..."
"I know."
The big man handed Sabrina the pink leash and set Rosie on the red carpet. Sabrina began to walk again toward the tent and the throne, and because she had a death grip on his arm with her free hand, so did Jimmy John.
Fran put her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and harrumphed.
Celebrity or no, fund raiser or no, I had a feeling Fran wasn't going to let Sabrina manhandle Jimmy John that way, but she seemed to be keeping her mouth shut for the time being.
Once Sabrina had been positioned just so on the throne and Rosie on the satin pillows, Jimmy John motioned, calling me over.
"Miss Ramirez," he began.
"Oh, guapo," she breathed, "you must call me Sabrina." Again with the batting of the fake lashes. "Or better yet, Rina. It is what all my closest friends call me."
Jimmy nodded. "Right. Well, Miss Ramirez, this is my granddaughter, Lizzie. You two have a lot in common. Lizzie's a real animal lover too. Going to veterinary school. She's the town's premier pet sitter and works some with the local vet. It was her idea to ask you to come to the event here."
She didn't look away from Jimmy's face for even a split second as she said, "Charming."
"Miss Ramirez?" It was Fran, and I noticed Sabrina didn't bother to ask her to call her Rina. "The line is forming for your readings. Will you be starting soon?"
This time Sabrina looked away from Jimmy John just long enough to evaluate the long line of people waiting to see her. The shrewd smile that came on her face was a little scary. She lifted one hand raking her fingers in a greedy gesture. "Bring them." Patting the seat of the smaller chair beside her, she ordered, "James, come, sit with me."
When nothing happened, she reached up and grabbed hold of Jimmy John's hand. "Please, sit with me."
He looked startled and maybe a little apprehensive. "You meant me? I'm James?" He looked over at Fran. "Didn't you say you needed me back up at the house?"
Fran looked at him, and I knew he was off-script and just trying to avoid spending the whole afternoon being Sabrina Ramirez's squire. It was my turn to nudge Fran, which I did as I gave her a lifted brow and one of those looks.
"Oh," she said. "Oh. Sure. Dontcha know I'll be needing some help with all those cat litter boxes all right."
I'd never seen a man so anxious to poop scoop as Jimmy John seemed to be. "Let's go then," he said and took Fran by the hand. "Time's wasting."
I'd been charged with watching over Rosie and taking her for a stroll around the grounds. It had been a pleasant chore, Vader prancing along with Rosie at his side. I'd been surprised that Sabrina relinquished her little baby to me, but she'd admitted I'd been entrusted, "Only because your James's precious granddaughter, and I know you're an animal lover just as I am. Rosie can only be handled by experts."
Perfect. But Rosie was a sweet little thing, and I didn't really mind.
Rosie and I had only just returned to Sabrina's side when Sarah and Aaron Pohoke's turn in line had come up.
Sarah and Aaron Pohoke had brought their cat to be read by the animal psychic. They'd recently adopted her when the cat's original owner was put in a situation where she could no longer care for her. The Pohokes loved Samantha, a pretty grey and white ragdoll cat, but they'd asked me a few times to come over and let them know if I felt she might have been depressed.
I didn't think so. I thought maybe Samantha was just one of those laid-back kitties like you see sprawled out and looking somewhat comatose in videos on Facebook.
Here they were today with Samantha in a beautiful purple cat carrier, pleading their case to Sabrina, asking if she could find out from Samantha what was wrong with her.
Sabrina unzipped the bag and took Samantha onto her lap, stroking her back. The cat began to purr.
"Oh," Sabrina said. "Really?"
The cat looked up at her with huge green eyes, her head cocked to one side.
"I totally understand," Sabrina said and tsk-tsked. "And I don't blame you one bit. Why anyone would feel exactly as you do."
Sabrina handed Samantha back to Sarah, who took her with a worried expression. "What is it?" Sarah asked. "What did she tell you?"
"Well, darling," Sabrina said. "It's her old life, you see. She feels linked to her old life—"
Sarah broke in. "Her life with that, that woman?"
Sabrina hesitated before replying, "Yes. Of course, that's exactly who she means—that woman."
"And how
can we help her?" Aaron, the town's preeminent attorney-at-law and honored Harvard grad, leaned in close to hear the best counsel of a woman who professed to communicate psychically with animals. The man must have really loved that cat.
"Her name," Sabrina said. "She says she'd like a new name if you don't mind."
The Pohokes looked first at each other, at Samantha, then back at each other. "What name does she want?" Sarah asked.
Sabrina leaned back on her throne, lifted her chin, and announced dramatically, "Pookie."
"Pookie?" It was all three of us—Sarah, Aaron, and me.
"Pookie." Aaron rolled it around on his tongue.
"I love it," Sarah said, rubbing her ragdoll behind the ears.
I, of course, had to be the fly in the ointment. "Pookie Pohoke? Really? You think Samantha depresses her? Wait'll you call her that a few times."
But Sarah and Aaron seemed to be willing to try anything to perk up their sweet kitty. They effusively thanked Sabrina and went on their way with their newly named cat, Pookie.
Catherine Cooper, Danger Cove's medical examiner, was next in line, being pulled to Sabrina's side by her big mutt, Fred MacMurray, another adoption from Second Chance.
"Hello," Sabrina said, looking deep into Fred's big brown eyes. "And what can I do for you today?"
Catherine sighed. "I'm hoping you can explain to him about our cat, Leo. Fred MacMurray always eats Leo's food and leaves his for Leo. I don't think Leo likes dog food because he's getting really skinny, and I want Fred to go back to eating his own food so that—"
Catherine stopped short as she was pushed aside by a rather dashing man with wild dark hair, eyes like burning coals, and a suave pencil moustache and goatee. Dressed in a three-piece tan-colored suit with an old-fashioned long-tailed jacket and pants that hugged his legs like riding jodhpurs, he looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a romance novel.
Sabrina jerked back in surprise when she saw him. "Carlos?" It was somewhat of a screech, and her accent was suddenly gone, replaced by a sound more like the Jersey shore than Seville. "What the hell are you doing here?"
The man's accent was thick and authentic, a la Ricardo Montalbán. "Sabrina, this time I will not be denied." He clenched his fist in emphasis. "This time I shall prevail, or I shall die in the effort."
CHAPTER THREE
All of a sudden everything went crazy, like someone had gone after the president or the first lady or Justin Bieber. The burly guy who'd brought Rosie the Pink Pig out to the red carpet launched himself at the newcomer, taking him down hard and holding him there with a knee on the back and a forearm on the neck.
While all this was going on, the younger, more dapper guy who'd opened the motor coach door and helped Sabrina down onto the red carpet had rushed to Sabrina's side and stationed himself in front of her, so anyone who wanted to get at her would have to go through him.
Sabrina stayed seated but raised a hand to her face and leaned out so she could see around her protector.
The people in line with their pets gasped and took a collective few steps back.
Sabrina's dry comment was a surprise. "Oh my God, Evan. It's just Carlos the Cockroach, for heaven's sake. Let him up."
The big guy, evidently someone named Evan, looked at Sabrina then reluctantly eased off the man he'd pinned to the ground, even going so far as to offer a hand up.
Once back on his feet, the dashing man with the sexy accent huffed and made a big production of brushing off his jacket and pants before lifting his chin and looking down his nose at Sabrina. "Really, Sabrina?" He threw his arms open wide, exposing his chest. "Why not just stab me in the heart?"
Sabrina pushed against her younger protector's leg. "Paco, for the love of Pete, will you move your carcass out of the way?" A low murmur came from the crowd, and Sabrina looked up and seemed to remember where she was. "I mean, Paco, thank you so much for throwing yourself in front of me. You, my most beautiful, angelic nephew, are my hero." The accent was back.
Carlos stood his ground beside Sabrina, waiting until she said, "Evan, I'm thinking now would be a perfect time for taking a break." She tipped her chin toward the crowd of gawkers.
The man with the chiseled features nodded curtly, but the look he threw Sabrina's way was all doe-eyed and adoring. "Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice nothing like I expected, but higher-pitched and sweeter. Before he turned toward the onlookers, he squinted at Carlos and used his index and middle fingers to point first at his own eyes then at Carlos. Yep, he'd be watching all right, him and De Niro. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Critter Communicator will be taking a short break."
The crowd groaned but began to disperse, most of the adults heading over to where the quilting ladies were still slinging dogs and burgers, and the kids to where the brightly colored jumpies were filling up fast. Some of the diehards stood their ground, evidently opting to wait and have a good spot in the queue for when Sabrina returned to her throne.
I started to walk away, not wanting to be a gatecrasher on whatever conversation Sabrina and the angry intruder were about to have, but Sabrina reached out to touch my arm.
"Stay, please. If my ex-husband feels so compelled to interrupt my appearance at this event, I may need a witness to his demands."
"Oh," I said. "He's your—"
The man swept a low bow then offered his hand. "Carlos Ramirez, late of Seville," he said, the Castilian lisp prevalent in the zees and esses. "Charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss…" He let his words hang.
"Jones." I blushed. The way he postured, I half-expected him to bow and kiss my hand. "Lizzie Jones."
"Lovely," he said.
"What is it you're after this time, Carlos? As if I didn't know." Sabrina rose from her throne and faced him, hands on her hips.
"I've come on bended knee, my dear." His voice was silky smooth. "Just a little cash to tide me over."
She glared. "A 'little cash,' Carlos? If it's anything like the last time you came around with your hand out, it isn't 'just a little.'"
"Oh, querida," he said softly. "You wound me. You know you owe me. You know you wouldn't have any of this." He waved an arm around. "Not if it weren't for me." He glared at Sabrina, and then seemed to notice little Rosie for the first time. "What kind of woman takes better care of her pets than her husband?"
Sabrina gasped and leaned down to pick up Rosie, cradling the fuzzy little thing against her breast. "Don't even look at her, you, you scoundrel. Paco, take her away from here."
Paco took Rosie in his arms. She snuggled in his embrace, burying her pink snout in his armpit as he walked away toward where the SUV and motor coach were parked.
"Don't worry. I don't want anything to do with your precious pig." Carlos sneered. "I never could stand the ugly thing anyway." He shook a finger at Sabrina. "A smart woman would take care of these matters in case a tragedy might happen."
What was left of the milling crowd took in a collective gasp.
"Are you threatening me?" Sabrina shrieked.
"No, querida, but there are others who might be at jeopardy." He turned and trudged off, hands balled into fists, head down.
Fran rushed up beside me. She'd been inside the house and had likely missed the ruckus.
"Geez," she said. "What's going on here? No trouble, I hope."
It was obvious to me she was worried about a disruption during the fund raiser. Second Chance Animal Rescue was close to her heart, and she had invested a lot already in terms of financing, labor, and love. Today's event was the first time she'd gone to the public for donations, and the future of the facility rested on the generosity of those attending.
We watched Sabrina's ex-husband go. "I'm hoping for no trouble too," I said.
Sabrina said, "No trouble. I'll see it to Evan escorts him off the property, and then I'll be back to finish up with the readings." She whirled and swept away in a flutter of gauze.
"Well, whaddya think 'bout that? The Critter Communicator's got problems just like the rest
of us."
Fran and I turned around. Dottie Holmes stood directly behind us, holding her little dog, Doogie, in her arms.
Dottie was one of Danger Cove's less fortunate residents. Behind her sat a grocery cart containing several big green trash bags, an open sack of kibble, and a raggedy dog bed. "Dottie," Fran said, eyeing the cart. "How ya been?"
"Not so good."
Dottie's Jack Russell terrier had been the benefactor of Fran's kindness on more than one occasion. Dog food, basic medications, grooming, and the occasional sleepover in the kennels had been offered to Doogie, and Dottie had accepted the help several times.
"Frannie," Dottie began. "I'm hoping you can take him for good this time." She stretched out her arms, offering up poor Doogie like the sacrificial lamb. "Put him up for adoption. It ain't no good for him to live in a grocery cart or a cardboard box with me."
"But, Dottie, you got a roof over your head, right? You're one of those who the town civic group picked to live in those Jack Condor apartments they prepaid," Fran said. "What happened?"
Dottie shrugged. "Ah, you know, same old crap. I fell asleep and left a cigarette burning. It caught, and there was some damage. Crummy of 'em to kick me out though. I mean, go figure."
"Didn't the manager tell you it was a no-smoking building?" I asked.
"Yeah. So…?"
I shrugged. "Just figured you would have…"
Dottie glared at me and looked back at Fran. "You gonna take the boy or not?"
Fran didn't even hesitate but stepped forward and took Doogie. "Of course. What a shame." But by the lack of empathy in her voice, it was obvious she didn't think it was a shame at all.
Divas, Diamonds & Death: a Danger Cove Pet Sitter Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 15) Page 2
