by Sparkle Abby
“No problem. Don’t worry about me. I can find a ride home.”
“I can take Caro home,” Sam volunteered.
“See?” I patted her arm. “No problem.”
“I’m afraid it’s more than that.” Her voice shook a little, which made me wonder about her emergency. “Would you be able to take Tobey and Minou with you? I hate to ask and wouldn’t if this weren’t so pressing. I’ll be home in less than an hour. If you could, just take them in the house and let them out of their carriers.”
“No problem,” Sam and I answered at the same time.
“Thanks so much, you two.” She handed me her house key, relief evident on her face. “I owe you. I’ve got my two fur babies in their carriers backstage, and I’ll let Virgil know you’re taking them for me.”
Kitty disappeared into the crowd. I couldn’t imagine what type of emergency a Hollywood publicist might have, but I knew Kitty dealt with some pretty high-profile clients. Probably some wardrobe malfunction or shoplifting scandal or meltdown captured on camera. Whatever it was, it was obviously important to the client—and to Kitty.
Sam and I made our way behind the dais and located the two cats. Tobey scolded us a bit, but Minou was calm or maybe just exhausted by her big evening. Bengal cats have a high-pitched meow, almost a squawk. In fact, about the same sound a squeaky dog toy makes. Something to think about if you’re considering one of these beautiful felines as a pet.
We got the cat carriers secured in Sam’s Ferrari and headed north on Pacific Coast Highway to Laguna Beach proper.
As we neared the downtown shops, traffic slowed to a crawl. Once we turned the curve at Blue Bird Canyon we could see why.
There must have been a bad accident on the highway. There were flashing lights from police cars and emergency vehicles. Orange County rescue pulled around the line of cars and stopped, EMTs piled out.
We inched forward as one of the uniformed officers began directing traffic down a side street. As we neared the intersection I could see the late model BMW, its front end nearly destroyed by the light pole it had careened into.
I suddenly felt sick.
I knew that car.
My heart thumped in my chest, and I fought to keep control. A few hours earlier I’d been in that car.
“Sam, stop.” I finally choked out the words.
He jammed on the brakes, and I jumped out and hurried toward the accident scene. I wouldn’t get in the way, but I had to be sure.
As I got closer, I knew. It was Kitty’s car. The vanity license plate “StarPR” confirmed it. I ran faster.
Chapter Two
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Wow. Déjà vu all over again, right? Except this time the one delivering the line was Laguna Beach police detective, Judd Malone. No less handsome, but much less playful.
“What the hell are you doing, Caro?” He grabbed my arm and turned me away from the scene.
A little empathy and kindness wouldn’t be out of line.
Just as soon as I had the thought, I took it back. If he were nice, there was the distinct possibility I’d lose it. My job is handling pet problems day in and day out, not dealing with life and death. The pets I work with just want to be understood, and the people I work with just want their pets under control.
“Caro?”
I guess I must have been standing there staring over Detective Hot-Shot’s shoulder while I sorted out the psychology of the moment.
“I don’t know. We were driving by. I recognized the car as my neighbor’s. I thought I should stop and see if she was okay.”
Malone crossed his arms and waited for me to continue.
I swallowed hard and searched his face. “She’s not okay, is she?”
“She’s not. She has very serious injuries. And, Caro, there’s nothing you can do here to help.” He laid his hands on my shoulders. I resisted the urge to bury my face in his solidness.
“It’s best for you to go on home.” He turned me away from the accident scene.
“I have Tobey and Minou,” I blurted, facing him again.
“You have who?”
“Her cats. I have her cats and her keys.”
“Wait. You were driving around with her cats?”
“No, no. We were at an art exhibition at The Montage, and Kitty asked me to take her cats home because something had come up. Something urgent. It seemed strange, but then the whole evening was strange with dogs and cats. Ones that paint, I mean. And Kitty would never leave her cats, but she did, so it must have been really urgent . . .”
Several emotions crossed Malone’s face, and I could almost see his brain synapses trying to decide which line of questions to follow.
“Detective?” An accident scene tech waved from a few feet away.
“Be right there.” He nodded to the young woman and then turned back to me. “Go home. Take the cats and go home. Don’t go into Ms. Bardot’s house. Stay at your house.”
“Okay, but . . .”
“No, Caro. No buts. Go home.”
Well, hell. I knew there wasn’t anything I could do here, but what a darn helpless feeling.
I made my way back through the crowd to Sam. We walked further down PCH to a parking lot where he’d left the Ferrari. Tobey and Minou, distressed over being abandoned in their carriers, were vocal with their displeasure. Again, that crazy Bengal squawk. They were not happy kitties.
Sam held the door for me, then walked around and slid into the driver’s seat. He waited a moment before starting the car.
“A bad accident?”
“Yeah. Poor Kitty. Such a great evening, then it ends like this. I hope she’s going to be okay. I explained to Detective Malone that I had Tobey and Minou and Kitty’s keys. He asked that I not go into her house.”
“Detective Malone?” Sam started the car and put it in gear. “A homicide detective? At a car crash?”
“That is strange, isn’t it?” I guess I hadn’t thought about the fact that Malone was at an accident scene.
It took us a while to get out of the traffic jam created by all the on-lookers, rubber-neckers and people just trying to get through. Once out of the mess, Sam headed the Ferrari toward my place.
As soon as we turned onto my street, I could see a Laguna Beach police cruiser parked in the driveway next door. I guess they figured there would be members of the media coming around, as Kitty was pretty well known in Hollywood circles.
Sam helped me with the cat carriers. As soon as we got inside, I released Tobey and Minou from their cages. They roamed the room checking things out.
Dogbert, my rescue mutt, loped down the hallway and sniffed but didn’t seem too interested in our new guests. He looked up at me as if to say, “How long are they staying?” and then back at them as if asking exactly what species they were.
“Will your cats be okay with them?” Sam asked.
“I think so. We’ll find out shortly.”
Thelma and Louise, my cats, leapt down from where they’d been perched on my bookcases. I think they imagined themselves very well-read felines. Thelma approached Tobey, sniffed and then hissed in his face and walked away. Louise performed the same ritual with Minou, complete with arched back and don’t-mess-with-me ears. Then the two walked away with a swish of their tails and strolled into the kitchen for a snack.
Wow, I think my cats might be “mean girls.” I was shocked at their lack of hospitality.
“Not so wild about having company, huh?” Sam chuckled.
“Apparently not. Maybe it will just take a little time.” I reached down to pet Tobey, who seemed unfazed by the exchange.
“That hissin’ thing was really rude,” I called to my two felines.
“I’m sure it will get better.” Sam knelt to sc
ratch Dogbert’s neck. Sam was a favorite with Dogbert, since Sam could always be counted on for a ball toss or a tummy rub.
“I sure hope so. If Kitty’s hospitalized for a while I may have to call in some help.” I knew Don Furry at the Animal Rescue League would fill in if need be. He’d love the opportunity to get to know a couple of Bengals.
“I don’t mind cat-sitting or dog-sitting for friends in a pinch, but taking care of celebrity cats is a whole different enchilada.” I immediately thought of my cousin, Mel, who’d been named the guardian of Fluffy, an Emmy-winning pooch, a month or so ago. Word was it hadn’t been exactly a walk in the dog park.
“I wonder if Kitty is the one who works with them on the paintings or if it’s someone else,” Sam mused.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Really, until Kitty started talking about this big event, I had no idea her cats painted.” Like Sam, I was fascinated by how the process worked.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m a terrible hostess tonight. Would you like something to drink? A coffee or tea? A glass of wine?”
“No thanks, hriso mou.” Sam leaned in and kissed my forehead. Sam’s Greek, and so he often lapses into his native language. I didn’t know the words, but the tone told me it was an endearment. Sometimes I asked for the translation. Other times, like now, I just enjoyed the moment.
“It’s no trouble.”
“It’s been a big night for you. I’ll let you and your zoo here get settled and hopefully get some rest. You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“I sure will, sugar.” I walked Sam to the door and then locked it behind him. The police cruiser was still in the driveway next door, I noted.
I turned back to the roomful of four-legged friends. All looked at me expectantly.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s set some rules here. No biting, no scratching, no hissing. Be respectful of each other’s space, and let’s all just get along.”
They looked willing.
Too bad it hadn’t been that easy with some of the beauty pageant contestants I’d been in competitions with back in Texas. Whether it was Miss Texas or the Cattle Queen of Dallas County, every pageant was cutthroat, and it was pretty much always a catfight.
Chapter Three
It really was a sense of déjà vu this time.
After my lecture on the rules to my roommates, I’d changed into my comfortable yoga pants and a PUP (Protecting Unwanted Pets) T-shirt, brewed a cup of chamomile tea and settled into one of the easy chairs to read a book. When out of nowhere—bam, bam, bam!
I recognized the knock. Loud, I-am-in-charge knock. The man never could seem to get the concept that I had a doorbell.
Getting to my feet, I hurried to the door. Okay, I admit I didn’t go there directly. I did a quick check in the hall mirror just to make sure I was somewhat presentable. Nothing to be done about the yoga pants and T-shirt, but I fluffed my hair a bit. Oh, and I might have applied some lip gloss.
Bam, bam, bam!
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” I unlocked the door and yanked it open.
Detective Judd Malone didn’t wait for an invitation, he came on in. His usual uniform of jeans, dark T-shirt, and leather jacket was no surprise. I imagined that was what he’d had on at the accident scene. I’d just been too shook up to notice at the time.
“Hello, Detective.”
He looked past me. “Are those your neighbor’s cats?”
I nodded.
“What kind are they? They’re huge.”
“They’re Bengal cats. Bengals are a hybrid. A cross between a domestic cat and an Asian Leopard Cat. It’s a relatively new breed. Most have . . .” Malone’s face said TMI. Fair enough, more info than he’d been looking for.
“I imagine you know I’m here about Ms. Bardot?” Malone was suddenly all business.
“Yes.” I held my breath and hoped for good news.
“Caro.” He paused. “She didn’t make it.”
“She—” I felt my throat close, and I swallowed hard trying to get control of my emotions.
“Are you okay?” Malone’s voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. At least when addressing me.
I gulped and closed my eyes. I could sense him waiting. Waiting for me to process what he’d just told me. Waiting for me to regain control. Waiting for the questions he knew would eventually come.
“Too many injuries?” I finally asked. Whatever her emergency had been, it had seemed to upset her. She’d been shaken, and Kitty was never shaken. I remembered her voice as she’d asked me to take care of Tobey and Minou and get them home. The cats. What would happen to the cats now? “Was she going too fast?”
“Not exactly.” Malone’s voice was serious and grim. “We won’t know until we have a lot more information from the crime lab. It’s too soon to tell, but it may have been a case of road rage. Kitty Bardot was shot.”
“Shot?”
To say I had trouble getting to sleep after Malone left would be an understatement. He’d admonished me to lock my doors and not answer any questions if the press came knocking or calling. He seemed to think they would.
I got ready for bed, but after an hour of tossing and turning, I finally gave up, moved to the living room, and switched on the television. Maybe a late night movie would turn off my racing thoughts.
But I’m afraid even my usual favorite classic movie channel couldn’t complete with trying to figure out how my neighbor went from top of her game, enjoying her life, to gone.
I wondered about road rage, and though I’d dealt with some clients with anger and impulse control issues, it was a big step to go from irritation to rage. A big step to go from, I want to pull in front of you and pay you back, to I want you to die.
And, of course, there was the huge step of carrying a weapon to actually pointing a gun at another human being and pulling the trigger.
The cases across the country where there’d been sniper incidents rolled around in my brain too. I hoped it wasn’t road rage, but I also hoped it wasn’t a random shooter because of the larger danger to the whole community.
And, because I have this curiosity (I think Malone might have called it nosiness) I wondered how the police were going to sort out what had actually happened. Pacific Coast Highway was a busy place even as late as the shooting had happened. Maybe someone saw something. If so, I prayed they’d come forward.
Whoever shot Kitty had ended a life, and I had every confidence Malone and his colleagues would track down the killer. I only hoped it was soon.
Chapter Four
By the time I finally fell asleep, there was nothing on but infomercials. The last thing I remembered was some thermal pants promising thinner thighs. It was no wonder I woke up with my brain foggy and my neck stiff.
I turned on the television and flipped it to a news channel as I brewed my morning coffee. Kitty’s death was the lead story on every station. Both local and national news.
I listened as veteran anchor Tom Patron and newbie Maggie Rameriz reported the incident. There was no comment from the Laguna Beach police department, but knowing it wasn’t a simple accident, I listened for any clue about what had really happened.
The Bengal cats were agitated this morning. As were Thelma and Louise. Dogbert, bless his little doggie heart, was an observer in the kitty-cat chaos, trying to figure out what was up.
I got dressed and checked the messages at my office. Nothing urgent. Only a potential new client with an out of control Chihuahua, who’d been referred by Diana Knight. Diana’s one of my best friends in the entire world, and I had plans to meet her for a late lunch. In fact, if I were going to get everything done and make our lunch date, I’d better get going.
I volunteer one day a week for four hours at the Laguna Beach Animal Rescue, and this was my day.
The br
ight SoCal sunshine was blinding as I backed out of my garage. The cloudless blue sky offered the promise of another beautiful fall day, and I was reminded again of why I’d chosen to live in Laguna. As I pulled my vintage Mercedes convertible out and hit the button to close my garage door, I noted the police cruiser still parked in Kitty’s driveway next door. A few news people had collected across the street. Only a couple of local stations’ vans and a handful of freelance reporters. Probably more were at her agency office and still more at the police station. I was certain Malone could handle them.
Thank goodness they had no interest in me. I headed into the Village area and made a quick stop at the Koffee Klatch for a caffeine pick-me-up.
Verdi, one of my favorite baristas, was on duty. She always took care of us regulars, somehow remembering what we all ordered, and she also maintained calm and patience when things got crazy during tourist season.
“Hazelnut latte, sugar-free,” she called back to the young man behind her. “Good morning, Caro. How are you today?”
“I’m all right,” I answered. “How about you?”
“Looking for a job, I’m afraid.” She pushed burgundy hair off her forehead with a hand that held more rings than I’d ever seen on one hand.
“Oh, no.” I was shocked. Verdi truly was one of the best workers they had. “Is the Koffee Klatch cutting back?”
“No, I only work here part-time. My other job is the problem. I also work at Purple Haze and by the end of next week they’re closing.”
I recognized the shop as being a retro clothing store that’d been in town for many years. A sign of the times, I’m afraid. Many of the local retailers had been hurt when the real estate bubble burst.
“Oh, sugar, I’m so sorry.” I took my coffee from her. “I’ll sure keep my ears open for any possibilities.”
“Thanks, Caro, I’d appreciate it.” Verdi handed me my change and moved on to the next person in line. Definitely multi-tasking was one of her talents, along with her great people skills. I wished I knew of someone in the market for someone like her.
