“Yay! The poodle’s here,” Tommy cried as we walked onto the patio from the edge of the golf course.
“Glad to see you, too, Tommy,” I said.
“Aw, we can see you any old time. This won’t be Anastasia’s Poodle Springs hideaway much longer.” Anastasia was no longer shy around Tommy and wiggled her way to him.
“Whoa, that’s so true Tommy. You’re going to have to sin a little, use your black AMEX card, and get another dog. This place won’t ever be the same without a dancing poodle.”
“I’ll take the issue up with Father Martin next time I see him.”
“Uh, after you’ve got the dog, right? You know that old saying? It’s better to be permissive first and ask for forgiveness later. Once you explain, I’m sure he’ll forgive you.”
“Brien,” Kim laughed, “that is not how it goes! ‘It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission.’ That’s what you meant, though, right?” Brien didn’t blink as he stared at Kim as a big, dopey grin spread across the hunky surfer dude’s face. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to figure out what he’d meant to say or if he was paralyzed by a spell Kim had cast upon him.
There is something going on between those two, I thought.
“You’re right, Kim. Isn’t that what I said?” He asked with such a sincere quizzical expression on his face that it made me laugh.
“Close enough,” I said as I removed Anastasia’s leash. She was so well-trained I’d only had to tell her a couple of times before she got it that she was allowed off leash if she stayed on the patio.
“Whoa! Dudes and dudettes, Jessica’s got two arms!”
“So she has,” Betsy Stark said. “Congratulations on getting rid of that cast!”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bernadette asked. “You had on long sleeves when you came home. I didn’t even notice.”
“Trust eagle-eyes to spot it,” Kim said. “He’s got better than twenty-twenty vision, you know?” I didn’t know that nor did anyone else, apparently, since no one responded.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen for another week, was it?” Laura asked.
“Nope. I got time off for right-living and good behavior.”
“Uh-oh, maybe you should forget what I said about sinning a little,” Brien said. “Now I feel guilty. Ask for permission first.” I laughed heartily at that. He looked at Kim. “She didn’t mean that literally, did she?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Kim’s trying to help me make distinctions between literal and figurative speech.”
“Whoa, Dude. I’ve never heard you string words like that together. That’s gnarly and awesome and righteous,” Tommy quipped.
“He’s working on his vocab, too,” Peter March responded. The enormous man of steel, as we sometimes referred to the six-foot-six rock solid giant, was seated close enough to hold Betsy Stark’s hand. At six-foot-two and able to bench press more than her weight, she was no slouch in the rock-solid department either. A match made in heaven if ever there was one.
With the caterers bustling around us, I kept our dinner conversation on innocuous subjects. The mostly vegetarian and vegan, Mediterranean dinner was delicious. Lamb kabobs for the carnivores among us, but hummus, quinoa, salads, and freshly made pita bread for the herbivores.
“Thanks for the wonderful food. Betsy and I are trying to learn how to be better cooks at home. She’s new to vegan though, and I’m new to cooking, so we’ve got a long way to go before we can fix meals that are this good.”
“I’m glad you didn’t go off the deep end, though, and leave out all the really good stuff like meat and cheese.” That was the unregenerate meat-eater among us speaking.
“At least you ate the other stuff, too.”
“Yeah, I’m getting used to healthy food. Peter and Kim keep telling me ‘eat salad,’ ‘eat veggies,’ so I’m giving it a shot. Nothing will ever be as righteous as a big juicy burger or a bodacious barbecued chicken. Kee-no-a isn’t bad. I get that it’s a superfood and all, but you have to eat a ton of those tiny little bits of whatever they are to equal one steak.” I was about to correct his pronunciation when Betsy spoke up.
“Wow! You even pronounced it close to the way I heard it growing up in a household with my Cahuillan grandma and Mexican mother. They called it ‘kee-NO-ah.’ Close enough, though, Bro.” She gave him the shaka sign—moving her hand back and forth with her thumb and pinky up, fingers in between down.
“That’s how I learned it too. Not where I grew up along the Sea of Cortez, but when I started trading recipes with friends when I went to work in LA cooking and cleaning for people,” Bernadette added.
“Why haven’t you corrected me when I call it ‘keen-wah’ if that’s the case?” I asked.
“Because it’s what they expect to hear around here if you order it or ask for help finding it in a store. I’d correct you, but then they’d correct you back. Why bother?” The chit-chat continued as I marveled at the little cluster of odd ducks gathered around me. We couldn’t have been more different on the surface. Was it that difference that had brought our little group together, like proton and electron bonds that find each other and forge water from invisible bits of hydrogen and oxygen around us? Or was it a similarity on a deeper level, rooted in the shared experience of trauma and loss—strays as Kim had said—drawn together by what Tommy and Brien regarded as Bernadette’s “superpowers?”
The woman was at the epicenter of our group, that’s for sure. Bernadette had reached out to each of us in a very special way. Father Martin would have called her uncomplicated acceptance and love “grace” or “charity.” Why worry about it rather than just be thankful in my world otherwise too full of cheating husbands, psycho second wives, and one dead family member after another? I leaned back in my chaise, relished how free I felt without the cast on my arm, and how lovely it was to be inundated in the glorious evening of friendship. A breeze revealed a wish that bubbled up out of somewhere. Too bad Frank’s laughter is missing.
When we’d finished dinner, and waited for coffee to go with our dessert, Tommy and Brien began taking turns getting Anastasia to do tricks. As it turned out, she had a trick or two of her own.
“Fetch!” Tommy hollered and tossed a ball for Anastasia to retrieve, amazed when she did as he asked, repeatedly. “Isn’t she clever?”
“You’re easily amused,” Jerry said. “Don’t most dogs know how to fetch?”
“How would I know? I lived a pet-deprived childhood.”
“If you think that’s something, watch this,” Brien offered. “Get it, Girl!” With a flick of his wrist, he sent a Frisbee sailing and Anastasia ran, leaped, and picked it right out of the air.
“Wow! I must be pet-deprived too, because I’m amazed. I’ve seen dogs play Frisbee before, but she’s so graceful. I wonder who taught her that. I can’t imagine Beverly on a beach playing Frisbee with her.” Hearing Beverly’s name, the sweet pup did that little cocked-head quizzical puppy thing again. She came running over to me and I gave her a hug and rubbed both soft furry ears.
“Like Tommy says, she’s a smart dog. The golf course is a great place to play, too. Maybe she learned to play Frisbee while they were out walking,” Jerry said.
“Anastasia’s not just smart. She’s a genius,” Tommy added. “Watch this. Anastasia, come!” She did as he commanded. “Roll over!” She did. “Shake hands!” She offered a paw. “Nap time!” I gasped as the lovely creature dropped to the ground and covered her eyes with both paws.
“He’s been over here every day practicing. I don’t think he’s teaching her anything new, more like figuring out what tricks she knows,” Bernadette whispered. “Wait until you see the finale. The last trick’s his idea.”
“And now for Princess Anastasia’s dance routine. Hang on a second while we go and get ready. Come on, ballerina,” Tommy commanded as he and Anastasia dashed into the house, almost running over one of the servers ferrying a dessert tray from the fridge t
o the buffet table.
“Oh no. Don’t destroy dessert!” Brien shouted, closing his eyes as if he couldn’t bear to watch.
“It’s okay,” the server said as he did a pirouette of his own and added a few more dance steps as he boogied over to the buffet table. I clapped in delight at the antics, happy not to be dwelling on murder and mayhem for a few minutes. Brien made a beeline for the buffet table, almost on the heels of the server. Hysteria reigned for the next few minutes as Tommy and Anastasia stepped out of the house—both in tulle tutus.
“Let’s dance, ballerina!” Tommy went up on his toes. Anastasia was up on her hind legs and did a spin. Tommy imitated her, prompting her to do it again, and again, which she did.
“Two-step!” Tommy shouted. Anastasia was up on her hind legs, placed her paws into Tommy’s outstretched hands, and followed along as Tommy backed up toward us. I hoped Tommy knew where he was going as he moved closer to the pool. Thankfully, he stopped.
“Bunny Hop, Anastasia!” To my amazement, when Tommy turned around, Anastasia jumped up, put her paws on his back, and did several little hops with him. “Ta-da!” He said, taking a bow. We cheered and clapped. The caterers did, too!
Anastasia was so excited that she did another ballerina spin up on her hind legs. Then she took over as choreographer and must have decided it was time for another round of the Bunny Hop. She jumped up to put her front legs on Tommy. Catching him off guard, all it took was a little push to send Tommy into the pool backwards. It was “game on” as Anastasia dove in after him! Their splash sent up a wave of water that slapped at Brien as he was walking by and shoveling food into his mouth at the same time. At the last second, he twisted shielding his plate loaded with desserts from the water that soaked him. He paused, and then turned back toward the pool.
“Dude, was that really necessary?” That was it. We roared with laughter again as he shuffled back to his seat, shoveling food into his mouth as he went.
“We’d better get dessert before Brien is ready for seconds,” Bernadette announced.
“Hey, save some for me,” Tommy cried as he waded to the steps and climbed out of the pool. By the time he got to the last step, I had a big, dry towel ready for him and another one for Anastasia.
“Good job, Anastasia. What a pretty dance that was,” I said as I dried her off and removed the soggy doggy tutu. “You taught Tommy a new trick, too, didn’t you? Who knew he could do a back flip into the pool?”
“Without being drunk, you mean? I guess I need more practice as the desert’s dog whisperer, don’t I? Our training is going well, isn’t it?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to bring it up, but now that you have, you do know that there’s already a dog whisperer here in the desert, right?”
Laura asked. “That’s what everyone calls Matthew Whitaker, deservedly so from what I hear, although they might also be gaga about what a hunk he is.”
“Okay, okay, I stand corrected,” Tommy said with his hair standing on end from drying it with the towel.
“Wait, wait. I didn’t just bring up Matthew Whitaker to tweak you for your hubris,” Laura said.
“His what?” Brien asked, pulling a card out of his wallet and running his finger down one side and then the other.
“Hubris, arrogance, conceit, pride…”
“Found it,” Brien said. “You can go on now.”
“Thank you, Dude, for granting me permission, so I don’t have to ask for forgiveness later.” Brien nodded at Laura in a knowing way. “Anyway, what I was going to tell you is that he was Anastasia’s trainer. That’s why she’s so well-trained that she’ll even listen to you, Tommy.”
“Could be, but I don’t care. Anastasia is such fun, isn’t she? I bet Leslie misses her so much!” When Tommy mentioned Leslie’s name, Anastasia woofed.
“She must, but she’s overwhelmed right now, I’m afraid Anastasia’s not her biggest priority. Leslie’s flying back to take care of a couple of business problems at her office in LA and to arrange for more time off.” Anastasia woofed again, then stood putting both paws on my newly cast-free arm.
“Aw, listen, Anastasia misses her, doesn’t she?”
“It’s okay, Anastasia. Leslie will be back soon.” With that, she whimpered and walked away. I felt so bad for her. Tommy must have too, since color rose in the pale skin of his neck and spread to his face. That was a sure sign that Tommy was angry or upset.
“She’s the boss! Can’t she just call in and order one of her underlings to fill in for her?” He asked.
“Come on, you know it’s not that easy. As Jessica says, the woman must be torn in a million different directions. I can’t believe she can even face people at work,” Jerry said.
“She’s her mother’s daughter, I guess. Tough and resourceful—responsible, too. I’m glad we can take one worry off her hands by keeping Anastasia comfy.”
“It could be she’s not rushing to take Anastasia home with her because she doesn’t like her. There’s more to my story about how I found out about the drop-dead gorgeous dog whisperer. I was in the break room at work asking about sending flowers versus donating in honor of a friend who died recently. When Beverly’s name came up, one of the women asked me what was going to happen to Anastasia since her daughter’s not ‘a dog person.’ Apparently, that’s putting it mildly from what this woman said. Leslie’s afraid of dogs and wouldn’t go near them at the park where she and Beverly were both training their dogs.”
“What was she doing there if she doesn’t like dogs and her mother was training Anastasia?”
“This could just be gossip, but my coworker claims Leslie was going out with Coachella Valley’s resident dog whisperer.”
“Wow! That’s an ‘opposites attract’ situation, isn’t it?” Betsy asked.
“Can a dog whisperer find true love with a dog-phobic partner? That’s one for an episode of Cesar’s Way,” Tommy replied.
“Jessica, you’ve been to Beverly’s house several times. Is it true?” Bernadette asked.
Poor Anastasia. This is harder on her than I realized, I thought as she whined, wandered back to me, and put her head in my lap. I ran through my visits, trying to recall what interaction I’d witnessed between Leslie and Anastasia. Nothing came to mind.
“I can’t recall much interaction at all now that you’ve asked about it. Most of the time when I visited, it involved at least some business with my client and had nothing to do with her daughter. That would explain why Anastasia’s with us, wouldn’t it? I don’t know why she didn’t just tell me if she doesn’t want Anastasia with her. Do you think mentioning their names upsets Anastasia or is there stress in our voices talking about all of this?” Bernadette and I were both petting the poodle as she stood between us.
“Dogs are sensitive to the stress around them,” Betsy replied.
“Maybe she’ll be better off in my room where she can’t hear us talking about them.”
“No, no! Don’t banish her!” Tommy cried.
“We can spell the names. Even she’s not that smart,” Brien suggested.
“We don’t have to spell them. We can use their initials—‘L’ or ‘B,’” Laura said. “That way, she can stay out here with us. Please?”
“Oh, okay. Let’s try it.”
“Let me take her inside for food and water,” Bernadette suggested.
“What a sensitive girl you are, Anastasia. I’m sorry someone was mean to your mommy.” The sweet doe-eyed girl gave me a sloppy kiss and then followed Bernadette into the house with her tail wagging.
“Can you imagine anyone being afraid of her?” I murmured, feeling sad for Anastasia and for Leslie. On some level, I must have hoped that poodle puppy would be a source of continuity and consolation for Beverly’s grieving daughter. “Life isn’t fair. Not even for the daughters of privilege,” Father Martin had reminded me again recently as I railed at the cosmos about my mother’s close call.
“Time for dessert for my dessert,” Brien announced
as he took off for the tray left behind by the caterers when they cleared out a few minutes earlier.
“Sorry to miss tonight’s group session, but I’ve got to go. Social work is never done,” she said. Betsy’s the boss at the agency where she works, so she probably could have assigned someone else to run the training session she was headed off to deliver.
“Duty’s a powerful call,” I said.
“Yes, it is. For some of us, at least.” She stood, leaned over, gave Peter a kiss, and then saluted.
“Semper fidelis,” he said, returning the salute with a wink as she left. I was sorry to see her go as we faced the unpleasant task of trying to identify a murderous slug and her slimy accomplice.
Minutes later, Bernadette returned with Anastasia.
“That was fast,” I said.
“She ate and drank like a little wolf. Have you been training her too, Brien?”
“Not on purpose,” he replied, wiping his hands with a napkin. He had indeed wolfed down yet another serving of cake. Bernadette could be right since Anastasia stood watching him before she wandered over to me. She climbed up onto my chaise, squeezed herself into a surprisingly small spot near my feet. That made me want to take a snooze, but duty called.
“Time to go to work,” I said.
“What’ll it be, allies or alibis?” Tommy asked.
24 Allies or Alibis?
“Both are intriguing,” Laura said. “I get what you mean by alibis. What do you mean by allies?”
“We have a good idea of who’s who when it comes to the politicking that went on in the standoff at Araby Oasis between Be… ‘B’ and members of the HOA. Do you want to hear about that or do you want us to tell you where we are with their alibis?”
“What’s most helpful in figuring out who killed her?” Laura asked.
“How about alibis,” I replied. “We want to eliminate some names from that list since Kim and I have a name or two to add to it. Let me do a quick summary of the background information we have about where we are in figuring out what happened on Tuesday at Desert Park Preserve and at ‘B’s’ home—just to make sure we’re all on the same page.” After my recap and a few questions, we were back to the issue of alibis. “That brings us up to speed until today, anyway. Kim and I have updates for you, but let’s go over the old list of characters before we add new ones. Okay, Tommy and Jerry, who’s our leading suspect?”
4 A Dead Mother Page 23
