by Sparkle Abby
“How so?” I tore off a piece of bread absently and reached for the dipping oil.
April Mae looked around for listeners and leaned forward. “Well, between me and you, I had a few problems as a teenager growing up in different foster families. One of the families I was placed with was a mom and dad who were shoplifters. And, I tell you, they were good at what they did. They taught us kids how to steal things, mostly because no one pays any attention to the kids.”
“Ah, sugar, that’s awful.”
“It wasn’t for very long. I was only ten, and I told my family counselor about it. They got arrested, and I got transferred to a new family, but not before I’d picked up a few tricks.”
Oh, my. The pixie was a shoplifter.
“If you can figure out a way to distract your cousin, I can get the brooch.” She snapped her fingers in the air. “Piece of cake.”
I felt bad. I really did. I mean encouraging larceny.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I had to get my Grandma Tillie’s brooch back.
I knew exactly how to distract Mel. All I needed to do was waltz into the store, and all eyes would be on me.
Caro Lamont in the Bow Wow Boutique?
No one would be looking anywhere else. It could work.
Chapter Twelve
Thank goodness more exciting events were happening in the news, and media attention had waned on covering Kitty’s death. It was a great day when I came home, and all the news vans were gone from across the street.
I had every intention of staying out of Detective Malone’s investigation. I’d taken a mind-my-own-business vow. The police had this one. No innocent person was sitting in jail, accused of a crime she hadn’t committed. Malone and his crew were actively tracking down Kitty’s killer.
Too bad April Mae hadn’t taken the same vow. Once she’d gotten word from the attorney that she was cleared to stay at Kitty’s and that she was the primary beneficiary, the woman was on a mission.
Each day she had an update for me.
Today I was stopping by Diana’s to check in with Bella as promised, and then meeting my pal, Walt, for coffee. I’d asked April Mae if she’d like to go along partly to try to keep her out of trouble and partly because I wanted Walt to meet her. It was impossible to just describe her.
The guard checked us through the entry to Ruby Point, and from the awestruck look on April Mae’s face you would have thought we were entering Disneyland.
As I parked in Diana’s flower-lined driveway, and as we got out of the car, April Mae’s sharp intake of breath made me remember the first time I’d seen the place.
“This is where Diana Knight lives?” she whispered.
Graceful and elegant, the front of the mansion was lush with flower beds filled with roses and other blooms.
I couldn’t ever walk past Diana’s flowers without a flashback to a few months earlier. The police had dug up her flowers looking for a murder weapon. In fact, Diana was still plenty steamed about the roses. But that’s a story for another time, and one Diana loves to tell.
We rang the doorbell, and Bella answered. The barking in the background told me things were business as usual at Diana’s.
“Come in, damas.” The dark-haired Bella ushered us inside.
“How is it going, Bella?” I asked over the din.
“Not so bad, Caro.” Her musical Spanish lilt complemented her warm smile. “My nephew, he comes by and helps me take the dogs to walk. Like you say, they are better behaved when they get some exercise.”
I was a big proponent of making sure pets get plenty of exercise, and Diana was one of the few of my clients who always made sure her animals were exercised.
In the pampered world of Bark Mitzvahs, Mommy and Me doggie yoga, pet massage, paw soaks and peticures, and even pet chauffeurs to shuttle dogs and cats to their appointments, it was not a message always well received. Bella had heard my lecture before and supported the idea.
“This is my neighbor, April Mae.” I introduced the pixie who was busy taking in the splendor of the mansion’s foyer.
Elegant styling, high-end marble, and classic old world furnishings contrasted with April Mae’s fashion statement created sort of a through-the-looking-glass sensation. Her outfit of the day was a skin-tight pink and white plaid cami-top and white jeans. She’d accessorized with a large pink hair bow that completely dwarfed her tiny form. And shiny silver vinyl sandals.
Bella didn’t even blink.
“Nice to meet you.” She extended her hand to April Mae. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” April teared up at the kindness, and instead of accepting Bella’s hand, she hugged her.
All I could figure was they must do a ton of hugging in Eminence, Missouri.
Bella, bless her heart, hugged April Mae back and patted her shoulder.
“Is there anything you need? Anything we can help with?” I asked Bella. The noise had quieted, and Mr. Wiggles had scampered into the entry to have his belly scratched. Next came Barbary, Diana’s one-eyed basset hound, who also wanted some attention. April Mae and I obliged.
“I think we are good.” Bella reached down and patted the dogs. “For a zoo,” she added with a smile. “You know Miss Diana she got a second goat? La cabra, a girl goat.”
“No, I didn’t know.” I laughed. “What’s the deal with her?”
“She is from the animal rescue. Her name is Henny, and she has really big eyes.” Bella held her fingers like goggles. “Muy grandes. Very big.”
“Can we see her?” April Mae was, of course, thrilled with the idea of a big-eyed goat.
“She seemed to be not well. Falling down sometimes. I called Dr. Daniel, the animal doctor. He took her for a look. I hope that was the right thing to do.”
“Exactly what I would have done,” I assured her. “Let me know what Dr. Daniel says and if you need any help getting Henny picked up.”
“He said he will look her over and report.”
“All right then, we won’t keep you.” I tugged on April Mae’s arm. “You call if you need anything.”
Bella thanked us and held the pooches so they wouldn’t try to follow us out the door.
Just as we were about to get back in the car, I heard angry voices and a yelp from beyond the mountain lilac hedge that separated Diana’s yard from her neighbors’.
I pushed through the hedge. A big beefy man in a suit spanked a little black-and-tan Yorkie with a newspaper. A dark-haired delicate looking woman wrapped in a too-large sweater begged him to stop, her voice high-pitched and yippy.
“Stop it, you’re hurting her. Bitty didn’t mean to piddle in your shoes. She had to go, and you frightened her.” The woman tried without success to stop the assault on the dog, but the guy brushed her off as if she were a gnat.
“That little rat has got to be taught she can’t pee anywhere she pleases. I work damn hard for the things we have, and you can’t control her. Those loafers were Gucci.” His voice boomed, making both the woman and the dog cower.
Enough.
I saw red. I marched up to Bluto, yanked the newspaper from his hand, and boxed his ears with it.
“What the Sam Hill do you think you’re doin’?” I punctuated my question with another smack. My red-headed temperament comes out a bit stronger when I’m upset, and I was plenty upset. “Hittin’ a dog is no way to train it.”
“How does this feel?” I smacked him upside the head one more time for good measure. “Kinda makes you want to pee in your penny loafers, doesn’t it?”
The look on He-Man’s face was priceless. His meaty cheeks were stretched tight by his stunned expression, his eyebrows frozen like exclamation points. He looked like one of those cartoon characters just before steam shoots out the top of their head.
“I don’t know who you think you are coming onto my property and assaulting me,” he shouted. “But you can march your pretty little ass right back where you came from and mind your own business.” His face glowed with fury.
“Or I’ll call the police,” he added for good measure.
“Oh, yeah, let’s do that.” I pulled out my cell phone. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the woman reach for the dog. “Let’s make sure we ask for Sgt. Peterson who’s in charge of animal cruelty.”
I could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. I had him. He was unsure. Then like most cornered beasts, he went on the attack.
He stepped forward into my space, but I refused to give any ground. “You’ve made your point. Now, back off.”
He-man turned on his heel and headed toward a bright yellow Corvette parked in the driveway, climbed in, and squealed his tires down the street.
“Thanks.” The woman’s voice was so low I could barely hear her. Without ever making eye contact, she slipped inside the house, the door shutting with a click.
Adrenalin still pumping, I pounded on the door. Anyone who would pick on a little dog probably had no hesitation about smacking around the woman in his life. I had to know if she was okay.
After several minutes of ringing the bell and pounding on the door, it was clear to me she was not going to answer. I sighed and glanced at the newspaper still clutched in my hand.
I searched through my handbag and pulled out a PAWS business card and a pen. “If you need help, please call me,” I scrawled on it and tucked it inside the paper. I prayed she would know I meant help, not just for the dog, but for her.
I turned to go and ran smack into April Mae, who’d followed.
“You were awesome!” April Mae squealed as I pushed back through the hedge to my car. She followed, jumping up and down, her pink bow about to bounce off her head.
I couldn’t talk, I was still so mad.
“Get in the car,” I finally managed to say.
Leaving Diana’s driveway, I headed to the Ruby Point exit but drove slowly past the house next door. I didn’t know who Diana’s new neighbors were, but I would find out. I was still worried about the woman and the little dog as I drove out and back to downtown Laguna. You work with enough people and pets, and it becomes pretty easy to spot a bully.
Walt Cambrian is not only my pal, he’d been my stepfather’s college roommate and was a long-time Montgomery family friend. The Koffee Klatch was packed, but Walt had already snagged an outside table. He was busy snapping pictures. Birds, tourists, bad drivers. Anyone within range of his lens was a potential target.
“Walt, this is April Mae Wooben, Kitty Bardot’s sister. April Mae, this is Walt Cambrian. The grumpy one is Walt, the friendly one there is Millie.” I patted Walt’s Norwich Terrier on the head and gave her a snuggle.
“I’ll grab our drinks. What would you like?”
April Mae thought for a moment. “A café mocha with extra whipped cream.”
Of course. Any sprinkles or just plain?
By the time I got back with my usual hazelnut latte and April’s frothy drink, she was regaling Walt with story of how I’d single-handedly taken on the bad guy next door to Diana Knight with only a folded newspaper as a weapon.
“You shoulda seen it, Walt. Caro was awesome!”
I set the drinks down and slipped into the folding chair.
“How’ve you been?” I patted Walt’s knee, eager to change the subject.
“No complaints.” His gravelly voice still held a chuckle.
Well, I knew that wasn’t true. Walt always had a complaint. If the sky was blue, he’d complain we needed rain. If it were raining, he worried about flooding.
“Say Walt, you don’t know of anyone looking for a great employee, do you?” When I’d picked up our drinks I’d asked Verdi if she’d had any luck finding something to replace her soon-to-end full-time job.
“Don’t know of anything off the top of my head. Why do you ask?”
I explained about Verdi, and Walt said he would be on the lookout for any openings.
“Thanks, Walt.” I sipped my latte. “What’s the buzz around town?” If anyone knew the scoop around town, it would be him.
“There’s talk the police have video of the shooter from the security camera outside of Time Keepers. Apparently they’d had some vandalism and had security cameras installed. They think that’s where the shots came from.”
“Walt, stop. Not about that.” I could understand why he’d thought we’d be interested, but I truly had been trying to keep my nose out of Malone’s investigation. Also trying to not encourage the little hugging pixie to hunt for Kitty’s killer.
“What’s Time Keepers?” April Mae asked.
“Time Keepers is a watch shop on Pacific Coast Highway near where Kitty’s car crashed,” Walt explained.
“There hasn’t been anything on the news about video.” Okay, I couldn’t help myself. This wasn’t investigating. I wasn’t asking anyone any questions. Surely a girl could be excused a bit of simple curiosity.
And Walt was too good of a source to pass up. He was not only the grumpy-old-guy blogger, he was the best eavesdropper I knew.
“Not yet, but you can’t keep a secret around here. I heard at the Art Museum Ms. Bardot’d had an argument with Philippe Arman the day before she died.”
“Who is Philippe Arman?” April Mae pounced on the tidbit of gossip right away.
“He owns an art gallery up on North Coast Highway,” Walt explained.
“I think his was the gallery that’d been showing the cats’, Tobey and Minou’s, paintings,” I said.
I was sure Walt snorted, but when I looked at him, his face was expressionless.
April Mae had missed it; she was focused on the argument between her sister and the gallery owner.
She was determined to question Philippe Arman. I’d tried to explain it would be best to share the info with Detective Malone and let him follow-up, but she was not to be deterred.
We left Walt sipping coffee, taking pictures and feeding Millie dog treats, and headed back to my car.
Chapter Thirteen
“I understand if you don’t want to be involved, Caro.” She carefully buckled her seatbelt. “And if you want, you can just take me home, and I’ll go by myself.”
Well, heck no. I wasn’t going to let her do that.
“Would you at least call Malone and give him the information.” I owed the detective at least a minimum of effort before I got in over my head.
She agreed and made the call as we headed north on PCH to the Arman Gallery. She got Malone’s voicemail and left a message. I was familiar with the difficulty in reaching Malone live. I’d been down that road before.
“When we question this guy do you want to be the bad cop or the good cop?” April asked, serious as a heart attack.
“What?” I turned to look at her. How had this morphed so quickly? “April Mae, hon, I think it would be better if we didn’t really question the gallery owner. We might have better luck with him if we just kind of act like customers and see if we can get him to talk about Kitty. Sometimes it’s more likely a person will share information when they’re off guard.”
“Oh, I get it. Kind of like we’re undercover, right.”
I could hear Malone’s lecture in my head.
“I don’t see a badge, Ms. Lamont. When did you join the Laguna Beach Police Department?”
But I couldn’t let April Mae go it alone.
“Yes, kind of like we’re undercover.” It would be a miracle if we got through this without a leave-this-to-the-professionals speech from Malone.
“So, we should pretend we’re rich ladies, and we’re looking for pictures?”
“Art,” I clarified. I d
idn’t point out that one of us was a rich lady, or about to be anyway, and the other was just a fairly well-off lady with a trust fund and a decent animal therapy practice that kept her in Manolo Blahniks.
April Mae would eventually come to understand her inheritance was not only a helluva lot of money, it was a life-changing amount of money.
“Gotcha. We’re in the market for some art.” She was enjoying this way too much.
“That’s the general idea. We go in, we look at the art, then we ask some questions, and see if we can steer the conversation to Kitty.”
“Right.” She straightened her shoulders and then her bow.
“Hopefully we can get a read on how the man felt about your sister. Maybe he’ll even mention having talked with her the day before she died.”
“Got it.”
We’d found a parking spot near the Arman Gallery, which in Laguna Beach is a miracle in itself. Parking, even in the fall—outside of tourist season—is at a premium.
The first thing you noticed about Philippe Arman was his hair. A full head of wavy silver locks, set off by an all-over tan. A tan so even it could not have come from time on Main Beach.
“Hello, ladies.” He greeted us the minute we walked into the gallery. The walls surrounding us were adorned with colorful seascapes and intricate sea shells in singular portrait style.
“Hi, we’re rich and we’re looking for pictures,” April Mae spoke up. She looked at me for confirmation, and my face must have registered my dismay. Maybe I should have covered more clearly exactly what we’d say. “Art, really,” she corrected and flapped her eyelashes at him.
“What type of art did you have in mind?” He turned to me. I’m sure we presented an interesting pair. She, the curly-headed blonde sprite with a bow on top. Me, the tall red-haired, jean-clad Texas girl.
I towered over April Mae. And I’d worn flats.
“I like abstracts,” I offered quickly.
“Ah, if you’ll come with me.” He moved toward a doorway into another room and motioned for us to follow.
