Groomer Has It

by Katie Hagen

  The drive took me past soccer fields bordered by thick cherry trees in bloom and small farms where horses and cows swished their tails in unison. Long driveways met the curvy two-lane road now and then, but I didn’t pass a single stop light, fruit cart vendor, bar, or multi-story home.

  I sighed and turned up the radio to drown out the screaming silence.

  When I pulled up to the apartment, I could hear Picklepuss barking from the parking lot.

  “Well, that’s fun,” I complained to myself as I climbed the stairs.

  Not that I wasn’t used to the sound of barking dogs. My significantly damaged hearing from years of high force dryers and barking proved that much, but I wasn’t used to hearing it coming from my own place, no matter how temporary.

  I also wasn’t prepared for the damage that one tiny dog with, unbeknownst to me, separation anxiety could do when left alone for a couple of hours.

  “Oh wow,” I whispered as Picklepuss danced happily by my feet.

  The smell hit me first. It seemed that the dainty Miss Picklepuss had not one, but several accidents on the hardwoods. That or she’d taken up skating and used her mess as skates. Every inch of the hardwoods seemed to be covered with it.

  Along with the potty mess, the bottoms of the long curtains on the far wall were torn to bits and two of Kitty’s throw pillows were emptied of their stuffing. To top it off, paper was shredded and tossed around the entire room.

  “I can see why your mom brought you with her now.” I picked up the little dog carefully, to avoid her dirty paws. My pants and ankles had taken enough of her mess already.

  Immediately I took her down to the salon and got to work bathing and blow drying her. Then, since I was already there, I pulled out Kitty’s grooming tools and tidied up her haircut. I hummed while I worked and felt more settled than I had since leaving my bed behind in Calabasas.

  When I was done sculpting her fluffy topknot and rounding off the bottoms of her long ears, I placed a new bow on the front of her head. Picklepuss was an angel the entire time and seemed to adore the attention and care I gave her.

  A knock on the front door shook me out of my trance.

  I tiptoed into the darkened front lobby and saw a familiar face peering through the glass.

  “Hey Frannie.” I opened the door and smiled politely.

  “Hey girl,” she smiled back, and I moved so she could step inside. “Oh, it’s so cute in here! I hope you don’t mind. I saw the light on back there,” she wandered over to the front counter and leaned down to look at all of Kitty’s little figurines. Picklepuss let out a wail from the kennel I’d put her in when I’d heard the knock. “Oops, sounds like you’ve got your hands full!” She laughed.

  “Yeah, it turns out she’s about as opinionated as I hear her mother was,” I winced at my own joke. “That was totally inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

  Frannie turned around and leaned on the counter. “No judgement here. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure that you were going to stop by my store tonight. We close at 6 and I’d really love to see you there.”

  “I think I’m going to swing by, if I can figure out what to do with Miss Priss back there.”

  “Bring her! I don’t mind at all. My place is a total mess anyway.”

  “Ok…sure. I’ll be there,” I shrugged. Honestly it was probably the most exciting thing I’d find to do at night in Glaney anyway.

  I saw Frannie out and closed the door as Picklepuss let out another wail.

  It was obvious that she did not appreciate being put in a kennel, but I had to keep her out of the apartment while I cleaned up the mess. We had a few small carriers in the back so I brought one up with me so she could watch while I worked.

  The curtains I threw in the wash, knowing I’d have to replace them later and the machine would probably only tear them more. I’d just have to use them tattered for a bit because I wasn’t about to walk around exposed and I had no idea how to use a needle and thread. The pillows were a loss and I tossed them and their misplaced innards into a plastic bag to take down to the trash.

  I swept the paper and leftover fluff into a pile and mopped the floors while Picklepuss snored from her carrier.

  I did it all in my underwear, my jeans and top having been tossed in the wash with the curtains.

  After what felt like hours of cleaning, I hopped into the shower, then right back out when I heard poodle screams from the living room. After moving the kennel into the bathroom and cursing Picklepuss once or twice for acting like a baby, I finally showered and dried my hair.

  When I came out, dressed in leggings and a loose sweater that I hoped said casual and completely comfortable with this murder celebration, I heard one of Kitty’s cat clocks announce in meows that it was 6pm.

  Frannie’s store, Paint N’ Tings had just closed.

  I poured some kibble in a little desert bowl from the cupboard and poured myself a mug of wine. I drank while Picklepuss ate and we both finished at about the same time.

  “What do you think? Should we take a walk?” Picklepuss burped her approval and danced to the door. “Oh, you know what that means, don’t you?”

  A knock from the back door nearly made me drop my mug and sent Picklepuss sliding across the floor.

  “Now what?” I muttered to myself. I’d already had more interaction with strangers after one full day in Glaney than I’d had for months in L.A. There was privacy it seemed, in crowds.

  “Kit?” I heard Carlie’s voice come through before she unlocked the door herself.

  I pulled down another wine mug and filled it and my own while waiting in the kitchen.

  Carlie came walking in wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days.

  “What are you wearing?” I handed her the mug.

  “Oh no, you’re not distracting me from the fact that you… got… a dog!” she pointed at Picklepuss with an exaggerated expression of shock.

  “I didn’t get a dog.”

  Carlie took a sip and pointed down at Picklepuss again.

  “She’s not mine. I’m just…dog sitting.”

  Carlie eyed me suspiciously. “What’s wrong with your face?”

  “Nothing!” I spat.

  “Your eyes look weird.”

  Maybe seeing death in person had changed me? Was a scarred permanently? Then I remembered.

  “I guess I forgot to put my lashes on.” I hadn’t gone without makeup in years but since being back in Glaney I’d let a few things slip. First my diet, now this. Glaney was already making me a slob.

  I gulped down the rest of my second glass of wine and ran to the bathroom to remedy the situation. Fifteen minutes later I reemerged.

  Carlie was sitting on the couch in a new outfit, a pair of jeggings and a ruched floral top, inspecting Picklepuss.

  “Is this who I think it is?” she asked when I sat down next to her.

  “Why? Who do you think it is?”

  “Oh man,” Carlie stood up so quickly I nearly spilled my wine. “This is Vicki Perring’s dog isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I can explain…”

  “Dude! She died today! Did you know that? Why do you have her dog? Did you…you know?” Carlie mimicked throat slashing with her hand then stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes.

  “No! I just went to refund her last grooming and I found her like that, I swear! It’s all in the report.” I made the sign of the cross, kissed my hand and held my crossed fingers to the ceiling. A solemn oath we’d created when we were kids.

  “Woah. Ok. So then, you just stole her dog?”

  “No Carlie. I didn’t steal her. There was no one to take her and the police didn’t seem to even know she was there. I couldn’t just leave her in an empty house, so I brought her here.”

  Carlie raised a single eyebrow at me.

  “I’m not keeping her.”

  Carlie took a sip of her wine.

  “I’m not.”

  “Ok,” she shrugged. />
  Carlie could be so aggravating.

  “So, what are you doing here, anyway?”

  Carlie scrunched up her face. “Just wanted to visit my big sis before she was hauled off to prison.” She moved to the cupboards and flung one open. “What, no ramen? Or soups I think is the correct prison-y term. You should probably get used to that, the lingo. What do they call prison lovers again?”

  “Oh, I think that word would be real useful right about now,” I smirked at her. “So, if you already heard about it then what was all that stuff about Picklepuss?”

  “I just like to watch you squirm. It’s so cute,” she attempted to boop my nose, but I slunk away.

  “You and Ashley, or should I say, Sheriff Trull, have that in common.”

  “Yeah she’s pretty terrible,” Carlie took a sip of wine.

  The cat clock meowed seven.

  I knew Carlie was holding something back but there just wasn’t time to play games with her. Maybe later I could pry it out of her. Maybe after a few more glasses of wine.

  “Want to join us for a little outing?”

  Since I hadn’t brought any of Picklepuss’ belongings, we first stopped by the shop to fit her with a harness and matching leash from the small retail section Kitty provided in the lobby before heading outside.

  The streets were still fairly well-lit but damp from the earlier rain. Picklepuss hesitated when I set her down. She seemed transfixed on the bushes beside the building.

  “This way,” I sung out to her, but she didn’t want to budge. “You know, walking means walking, not me carrying your furry little butt down the road,” I sighed.

  “Maybe you should cut her loose so she can take her natural place in the wild. Run free Picklepuss!” Carlie laughed at herself.

  “She wouldn’t last five minutes out there,” I smiled down at the little silver puffball.

  Picklepuss growled toward the shrubs.

  “Fine,” I said, scooping her up into my arms. “But just this once.”

  Carlie, Picklepuss, and I walked down the hill toward the rest of main street. The lamps clicked on as we navigated the wet sidewalks.

  We passed by the Cattail bookstore. All the lights were off except a dim one from somewhere in the back. The sign was turned. This time the window sat empty.

  Just on the other side was Paint N’ Tings. I stopped in front and looked down the dark alley between the shops.

  “What are we doing?” Carlie whispered in my ear, startling me.

  “I’m not sure. I was invited to some sort of gathering here.”

  “In the alley? I didn’t realize you were the type. L.A. has really been good for you,” she nudged me in the shoulder.

  “In the shop, you miscreant. We’re supposed to go to the back door and knock.”

  Carlie inspected the alley. “Is it like a speakeasy or something? Because we could just go down the street for a drink.”

  “I got the feeling it was sort of a club meeting.”

  “What kind of club?”

  “I’m not sure. But it had something to do with Vicki Perring. I think I need to go, but if you’re scared…”

  Carlie shook her head at me. “Don’t even try it. I’m going. I just like to know what I’m walking in to.”

  We moved forward into the ally. Surprisingly, at the other end, it opened up into a beautiful garden area with benches and a bird feeder in the center. On one side were loads of wildflowers, and on the other was a meticulously organized vegetable garden and a wall of mushrooms. Somehow the chaos and the order didn’t seem to match, yet they still looked beautiful as one.

  I set Picklepuss down to go potty before we knocked on an unassuming back door.

  A silver haired man answered wearing a brown fedora with several multi-colored feathers sticking out of it. He had freckles across a wide set nose and dark, playful eyes that betrayed his frown.

  “Well?” He grumbled.

  Carlie and I looked at each other.

  “Umm,” I stammered. “Frannie told me…” I look at Carlie who only shrugged.

  “Oh, I’m just teasin’ ya. Come on in. Frannie told me you’d be comin’.” He moved aside. “She didn’t mention you’d have such a pretty companion though,” he added with a wink to Carlie as we passed.

  Carlie giggled. “Hey Doc.”

  “Come on after me ladies, let me get you a drink.”

  “Music to my ears!” Carlie took his arm and together they practically skipped away. Well Carlie skipped. Doc sort of lumbered.

  I stood nervously in the little hallway, surrounded by framed paintings and coats hung on the wall, holding Picklepuss.

  The hallway was dark, but ahead I could see warm light and there was soft but strange music playing.

  Frannie’s head popped into the hallway. “You’re here!” She giggled and a splash of liquid hit the floor. I could only see her head, but I had to assume it was from a drink in her hand. Unless maybe she had a hot tub back there? “Shhh,” she hissed loudly when I reached her. “The walls have eeeaaarrs.” She pointed to the wall, gave me a thumbs down pouty face, and danced toward Doc and Carlie who were mingling by a table full of snacks.

  The room looked exactly like I’d expect the back room of an art supply store to look like. Lots of art supplies, cluttered counter tops, easels, paint splattered on the floor, and a bunch of artists.

  “Babysitter night.” Peter appeared by my side and handed me a plastic cup. “Everyone gets a little crazy.”

  “Oh, uh, so do you have kids?”

  Peter took a sip and motioned for me to do the same. The sweet, citric flavor of a mojito hit my lips.

  “Me? Nope. Just Charlie, but he’s more like a buddy than a kid. My ex-wife and I just didn’t get that far,” he shrugged.

  Nope. Not gonna go down the ex-wife road. Instead I directed the conversation another way.

  “Ex-wife you say?” Crap. Well, I tried.

  “Yeah. We ended it last year. That’s actually how I ended up in Glaney. I found this listing for an old theatre for sale and boom. Here I am.”

  I took another drink and set Picklepuss down to sniff out dropped snacks. “Poodle on the ground people!” I called out.

  When I turned back to Peter, he had stopped mid drink.

  “People step on little dogs. I just wanted to give her a fighting chance.” I shifted so that my hip jutted out and placed my hand on it for emphasis. “Wait, so why a movie theatre though?”

  “I always had a thing for old movies. Actually, I minored in film,” he said proudly.

  “Sexy,” I grinned. “So, what did you major in?”

  “Business.”

  “Huh.”

  “Not sexy?” he laughed.

  I shrugged. “It’s…smart.”

  He nodded his head. “Alright. I’ll take it. So, are you glad you came?”

  “To this? I’m not sure. Honestly I’m still a little fuzzy on what this is.”

  Peter set his drink down on the cluttered counter then casually put his arm around me and turned me toward the group. He smelled heavenly.

  “This is a meeting of Vovp.”

  “Vovp? That’s a mouthful.”

  “Victims of Vicki Perring. V.O.V.P.”

  I looked at the collection of victims. Me, Peter, Carlie, Frannie, and Doc. Five total, plus Picklepuss. Honestly, I thought there’d be more. Maybe the rumors about Vicki Perring being a monster were just that, rumors.

  “You’re wondering why there aren’t more of us, right?” Peter dropped his arm and picked his drink back up.

  A slow song came on the boombox stereo that sat precariously atop a mile of magazines on the opposite counter. Doc swung Carlie around and pulled her into a slow, side to side, dance. His fingers latched onto the top of her pants. Gross.

  “Kind of in poor taste, don’t you think?” I said more about the party than my sister’s antics.

  “That’s exactly why there aren’t more of us. Good taste is strictly exclude
d. Except, of course, when it comes to style.” Peter popped the collar of his blazer.

  I couldn’t help it, I giggled.

  Peter laughed and fixed his collar. “Basically, we have to keep the club on the downlow, and in a town like Glaney that can be hard. So, we have to be very careful about who we invite to our little meetings. Especially now.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Apparently, I’m the prime suspect, so…you know. You’re all good here.” I waved my hand around the room.

  “You?”

  “Well, I did just get here yesterday, and I’ve never met the woman in my life so yeah, I’d say the police are right on the mark.”

  Peter looked baffled.

  “It was probably just the dog hair.”

  “The dog hair! Right. Well if that’s all they have then I’m sure they’ll let it go.”

  I thought about Ashley Trull: sheriff, and hater of all things that are Kit Davis.

  “Totally. What was the plan anyway? With the club?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  A soft voice answered from the hallway.

  “To get rid of Vicki Perring, or course.”

  Chapter 5

  Sofia Bianchi set her purse down on the counter and was handed a drink. Her red hair hung in waves and a black scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck and shoulders. “Without malice, of course,” she smiled and took a sip.

  “Sofia!” Frannie bounced to her side. “Can you believe this?”

  “It’s a terrible thing Francis. Terrible,” Sofia’s tone was somber, and her voice carried reality through the room.

  Doc righted Carlie from the dip he was holding her in and cleared his throat. Everyone turned to face him. Someone turned down the music.

  “Sofia is right. So, ah, I guess I should start off by thanking you all for coming down here tonight. As I’m sure you’ve all heard, Vicki Perring was found murdered in her home this mornin’.”

  Several people glanced my way.

  “She was a terrible woman.” Doc shook his head. “But no one should go out like that.” He brushed a tear from his cheek.

  Frannie reached up and patted his back before taking the floor.

  “I didn’t like the woman,” she slurred a little. “I’m not gonna mincemeat with you. Always going around town…lying…telling stories about our…” She paused to hiccup. “businesses.”