Get Fluffy (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

Fluffy was like an unexpected pimple the day of an eveningwear competition. As ugly and as painful as it may be, neither the pimple nor Fluffy were going anywhere soon. Fluffy wasn’t a bad dog. It was me; I’m a one-dog woman.

After quick shower, I threw on a pair of sand-colored cargo pants, a purple tank top, a hoodie and my flip flops. The dogs and I hopped in the Jeep and took a chance we’d find Darby at Paw Prints. It was time for a chat.

We were in luck. The “Open” sign hung in the door of the studio. I pulled into the empty parking spot behind the FedEx truck, which had selfishly staked out two spaces.

The three of us enthusiastically tumbled out of the Jeep, and the dogs instantly made a beeline for Bow Wow.

“Not today, guys. We’re here to see Darby.”

Missy twirled in a half circle, changing directions. Fluffy on the other hand, fixed her eyes on the Bow Wow door and barreled her way past me and toward her target.

I stopped so abruptly my purse slid down my arm and hung on the leash, halting Fluffy in her stubborn tracks. I swore under my breath.

“Listen. We have got to come to an agreement,” I demanded.

Her Highness turned in my direction. A wisp of fur fell into her eyes. She flipped it back with the shake of her head. Doggie language for “I’m not listening to you.”

“Google alert, Fluffy. It’s not all about you anymore.” By the time my dog-sitting stint was over, I’d have an ulcer.

Missy sat on the sidewalk, her tongue hanging out. If she could talk I’m sure she’d want to know why we were just standing there. My little Miss Congeniality. I loved her more than an A-list celeb loved their Hermes Birkin bag.

“Let’s go.” I headed toward Paw Prints, and the dogs followed—one happy-go-lucky, the other as pretentious as a bed-hopping politician.

We strolled inside the studio. “Guess who?” I called out.

Paw Prints was as unique as its owner. The studio was an unfinished high-end warehouse. Except for the lobby. It was straight out of the Victorian era, including a silver antique tea set on a side table.

The working portion of the studio was wide open with a variety of adorable and goofy pet portraits hanging on the walls, props stored on metal shelves, and a handful of lights and umbrellas.

Darby, in her bohemian wrap skirt and white, lacy sleeveless top, dragged a second Adirondack chair to her staging area.

“Hi,” she said as she turned around. Her white beret slipped off her head. She caught it one-handed. “Ah, you have Fluffy.”

“It’s my curse.” I unhooked the dogs and dropped the leashes on the front desk.

Missy bumbled over to the box of toys Darby kept for her clients. She rummaged around and pulled out a rubber chicken and immediately demonstrated she was the alpha dog.

Fluffy, on the other hand, sniffed the velvet covered couches in the lobby, not entirely sure of where I’d taken her, and if she was staying.

“I thought you dropped her off last night.” Darby pulled down a swimming pool backdrop, which set off her scene perfectly. All it needed was a couple of umbrella drinks.

“I tried.”

“So she stayed with you?” Darby asked, with a small disbelieving chuckle.

“Yeah.” I fumbled for what to say next. “Who’s coming?” I pointed toward her set-up, eager to change the subject while I searched for the right way to break the news about Mona.

“Mandy Beenerman’s bringing in her Lhasa Apso.”

I shook my head. “I can’t place her, but her name sounds really familiar.”

“She owns the fitness company, Mandy’s Place.” Darby continued to arrange and rearrange props as she talked. “Apparently Nietzsche has agoraphobia. Since your cousin has taken them on as clients, he’s gotten better, and this is his reward.”

“You’ve talked to Caro?”

Darby stood back and studied her masterpiece. “No. Mandy. But Caro did recommend me. I need to call and thank her. Unless you want to?” She grinned at me over her shoulder.

“You’re such a comedian.”

“So what’s going on?” she asked.

I walked over to one of the chairs she’d just positioned to picture perfection and sat, dropping my purse between my feet. “I’m taking the day off.”

She swiveled in my direction. “Why?”

Sometimes the direct approach was best. “Mona’s dead.”

Eyes wide open, Darby looked horrified. “What do you mean, dead?”

“Like someone whacked with her Fluffy’s Emmy. Gone. Dead.”

She tripped over the light stand making her way to me. “She’s been murdered? Are you sure?”

“Trust me, she’s dead. I’ve seen her.” I shuddered, remembering Mona’s awkward pose.

Darby shook her head, obviously confused. “When?” her voice cracked. I watched her normally effortless smile slip away.

“Last night. I took Fluffy home, and she found her,” I continued, “Mona was lying on the floor with the Emmy
 . . .
” I pointed to my head.

Darby looked around the studio and zeroed in on Mona’s dog, sprawled out on the cowhide rug on the far side of the studio.

“That’s awful.”

“I certainly could have gone my entire lifetime without seeing it.”

Darby suddenly jumped up and nervously repositioned the lighting. “Do the police know who did it?” Her tone suggested it was an afterthought, but her sideways glance cast a hint of guilt for even being curious. It must be those midwestern manners that kept her from admitting she wanted more details.

“The police mentioned it may have been a robbery gone wrong. That she might have interrupted someone ransacking Fluffy’s room.”

She picked up her camera and thoroughly checked it out. “You saw her. Is that what you think?”

Missy trotted over with her rubber chicken, her nails clicking on the cement floor. She dropped the toy in front of me for a game a fetch. “It’s possible. The room was a mess.”

I tossed the chicken to where Fluffy was napping. Missy chased after it, slipping on a throw rug.

“What about Jo’s dream?” Darby asked matter-of-factly, snapping pictures of Missy’s antics.

I rolled my eyes, thinking about psychic Jo. “She
said
she had a dream.”

She lowered the camera and looked at me. “You don’t believe her?”

“No, I don’t believe for one minute Fluffy came to her in a dream to warn her about something. Do you?”

Darby shrugged. “I don’t know.” She checked her watch. “I don’t mean to rush you, but Mandy will be here anytime.” She clipped the camera back onto the tripod.

I stood up and slung my bag onto my shoulder. “I just thought you’d want to know what had happened.”

“I appreciate it,” she answered softly.

I waited until she faced me, then said, “I tried to call you last night.”

“Oh?”

“Around four-thirty. And then again two or three times after that. I left you messages. Why haven’t you called me back?”

She finger combed her curls until they sprung apart. “I-I must have been running errands and didn’t hear it
 . . .
or maybe
 . . .
I left it here,” she explained slowly as if she was making it up as she went along.

“Are you saying you lost your phone?”

“I haven’t needed it. I just assumed it was in my bag. I don’t charge it every night.”

I walked over to Darby, my best friend, so she had to look me in the eye. “You didn’t call Mona yesterday?”

She chewed her lower lip, eyebrows askew. “What?”

“There was a missed call on Mona’s phone. It was your number.”

She fingered the gold heart charm around her neck. “Maybe it only looked like my number.”

I pulled Mona’s phone from my purse. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s yours. She’s got your name programmed into her contacts—”

Darby reached for the phone. “Oh, my gosh. Where’d you get that?”

I pulled my hand away. “It was on her hallway table in the foyer.”

“Why is it in your purse?”

“I picked it up by accident. Stop changing the subject. Why did you call Mona?”

“I-I
 . . .
” Darby’s cheeks flushed, and she seemed to change her mind about what she was going to say. “I thought Cliff left Fluffy without a leash, so I called to tell her to bring one,” her voice rose.

My stomach turned, knowing she was lying. I had Fluffy’s lead, and we both knew it.

“Darby, is there something going on I don’t know about?”

“No. What about you? You kicked Mona out of Bow Wow, after you tossed wine on her dress. You have to get rid of that.” She waved toward the phone. “Once the police find out about
 . . .
your confrontations, they’re going to question you.”

I sighed at her accurate summarization. “They already know. I’m taking the phone to Detective Malone, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

She struggled as if wanting to ask me a question but not sure how. Or maybe she wasn’t sure if she should say anything. Either way, she stood frozen, staring at me like a mime with stage fright.

“What? What’s going on inside your head?”

“You’re going to take Mona’s phone to the police?”

“I have to. Unless you can give me a really good reason why not.”

She shook her head. “No. You have to hand it over.”

We stood in silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. Missy brought back the chicken for another throw.

“They’re going to ask you about that call,” I said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She waved away my concern with a shaky hand. “It’s not important. I didn’t even ask if you’re okay. I’m sure finding Mona was
 . . .
disturbing.”

“I’ve definitely seen my fill of dead bodies. Once I turn over the phone, the police are going to want to know why you’re programmed as an emergency contact.”

“I swear, I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense. She made it perfectly clear she didn’t like me.” She looked away.

“Darb, it wasn’t personal. I don’t think she liked anyone or anything other than Fluffy. If you don’t know, you don’t know. Good grief, don’t go and make something up. We can’t always answer for other people’s actions.”

She looked at me, an emotion I couldn’t decipher swirling in her eyes. “Mona didn’t care who she hurt.” There was a hint of what sounded like betrayal in her voice.

“You’re right.” I called the dogs. Missy immediately dropped the chicken she’d been slobbering over and trotted towards us. Fluffy didn’t twitch. I rubbed Missy’s head affectionately then clipped on her leash. “Grey knows I have someone’s phone, he just doesn’t realize it belongs to Mona.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not for you.”

Darby sighed. “Mel, don’t lie to Grey because of me.”

I hugged my best friend. “I didn’t lie. Do me a favor. Take some time to get all your facts straight. If you need a lawyer, call Grey. He’ll refer you to someone.”

She flinched under my embrace. “You think I need a lawyer?” she squeaked and pulled away. “I thought you said the police thought it was a robbery.”

“Think about it. In less than a week, Jo, Cliff, Tova, you, and I have all had some type of altercation with Mona. At some point, the police are going to want to talk to you.”

“I guess so.”

I called Fluffy again, and she continued to ignore me. Darby and I stared at the giant fluff ball sprawled on her back, feet in the air, wiggling side to side.

“She’s going to have a bad case of bed-head when she gets up,” Darby said.

“Great. I guess we’re going to see Jade again.”

“Again?”

I marched over to Fluffy. She scrambled to her feet and shook. Stray hair flew everywhere. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Maybe I could just leave her with you?”

“She doesn’t like me any more than Mona did.” Darby checked her watch again. “Mandy’s late.”

I attached Fluffy’s leash, then grabbed the lead Missy had dragged across the floor when she followed me. “All right, dogs, Darby’s kicking us out of here for a paying gig.”

Darby looked sad. I wasn’t expecting her to feel so badly about Mona. “It’s going to be fine.” I tried to sound reassuring.

“I know.” She didn’t look convinced.

She was hiding something, and I had a feeling it was going to be a doozie when it came out.

Secrets never stay secret. I’d learned that the hard way.

Sure as shootin’, Darby Beckett had her own secrets.

Chapter Twelve

I felt like a total dog, and I knew a lot about dogs. I believed Darby didn’t know Mona had listed her as an emergency contact. But she had flat out lied about why she’d called Mona. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

I called the police station to make sure Malone was in. He was out for the day. So the dogs and I stopped at the Bark Park, Laguna’s dog park—two acres of fenced-in grass and very popular with both dogs and humans.

Our odd trio stepped through the first gate easily enough. I unleashed Fluffy, then opened the second gate. She sat perfectly erect, waiting for someone to direct her movements.

“Run. Go play. Be free.” I motioned to the wide open space where a pack of dogs ran at top speed. She remained frozen, looking at me for the right command. Wow. The Bark Park was total culture shock for a pampered pooch.

Missy continued to sit patiently at my feet. “Okay, Fluffy, Missy here will show you how it’s done.”

I unclipped the leash, and Missy was off like a shot. Spin, spin, spin. Jump, jump, jump. Pause and breathe. And then off to chase an invisible object a good fifty yards before she collapsed in a heap of dog under the trees. It was always the same.

“See how much fun you can have? Go on, run around like Missy.”

Fluffy watched me for a full ten seconds before she stood and gingerly walked through the second gate and into the actual park.

She looked back at me, and I waved at her as I closed the gate behind us. “Go on. You’re fine.” Sheesh.

Once Fluffy decided to let her hair down and act like a dog, she ran as if she’d been held captive for the first half of her life.

Hop, hop, run. A cut to the left. Then a cut to the right. She abruptly burst into a gallop, her silky hair blew back from her face, and her pink tongue hung out of her mouth (not that she’d ever admit to doing something so dog-like as to have her tongue exposed in an undignified manner). I had to admit, she was beautiful to watch.

I grabbed the collapsible dog bowls I’d brought and filled them with water. At some point the “kids” would be thirsty. As soon as Missy saw what I was doing, she was at my feet chugging, slurping and dripping water everywhere. And sneezing. Grass allergies.

I threw her the disc for a while, then she was back at the water bowl. Once she’d had her fill, we camped out on a park bench (I sat on the bench, Missy, who was worn out, sprawled out underneath) and let Fluffy run. I worried if I interacted with her, she’d return to her pent-up snob-dog ways.

It wasn’t long before a couple of black and tan Salukis joined her. The three of them raced around playing their version of tag, Fluffy losing. Out of nowhere, Fluffy made a sharp cut to the right and whipped around. Suddenly, she was chasing them. Her agility was amazing.

The Salukis’ owner, a tall, blond, twenty-something decked out in skinny jeans and an oversized Gap sweatshirt, warily watched Missy and me from the opposite end of the bench. Who knows why she found us so fascinating, but she was definitely staring at us.

I scrutinized her from behind my sunglasses.

While we waited for Fluffy to tire, I dug out my cell and called Jade for advice on brushing an Afghan. She recited a monologue of products I “needed” in order to keep Fluffy in mint condition.

That dog used more hair product than Miss Texas.

Jade’s list went in one ear and out the other. I wasn’t going to have Fluffy long enough to invest in that amount of grooming supplies. I just wanted to know if I could use the brush I’d bought for Missy but hadn’t ever used.

The short answer was no.

Jade promised if we stopped by the spa she’d have the correct grooming tools waiting for me with some dude named Kendall. I was certain Mona owned all those brushes, combs, barrettes and whatever else Jade yammered on about. Honestly, it wasn’t really going to hurt anything if Fluffy went one whole day without proper brushing.

I politely passed, and she arrogantly warned I’d be sorry in her British accent that somehow made her verbal abuse acceptable.

“Isn’t that Mona Michaels’ dog?” The Salukis’ owner had finally gathered her courage to ask her burning question.

“Yes.” I tucked my cell into my bag and braced myself for the inquisition about Mona’s death and why I had Fluffy.

She continued to stare.

What? Did I have something stuck between my teeth?
Maybe she was checking out her reflection in my lenses.

“How fast do you think they’re running?” I asked, turning our focus to the dogs.

“I’ve clocked them at thirty-eight miles an hour.”

My head snapped in her direction. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Affies love to run. Definitely keep her on the leash if you’re not in an enclosed area. Are you the new dog walker?”

Affies? I smiled thinking about how insulted Fluffy would be to know she’d been reduced to a common nickname. A giggle tickled the back of my throat, but I managed to keep it back.

She continued to look at me funny. I realized she’d asked a question.

“No,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you family?”

“More of a family friend.” I cringed even as I said it. She was entirely too interested in Mona and Fluffy. It was possible someone had blabbed to the media about Mona’s death. “Do you know Mona?”

“I’m Fluffy’s dog walker.”

Oh.
“Well, this is awkward, isn’t it?”

“If I haven’t been replaced, who are you really?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I went with the truth. “My mother and Mona really are childhood friends. I’m temporarily dog-sitting.”

She didn’t look like she believed me.

“Do you walk her every day?” This was the first I’d heard about a dog walker. Where had Blondie been hiding?

“A couple of times a week. I care for a number of dogs in her community.”

“I see.”

“You’re not Cliff’s girlfriend?” she asked.

“Heck, no. Why would you even think that? Have you met Cliff?”

“He seems like the kind of guy who’d throw a younger woman in his ex’s face.” The edgy tone implied she wasn’t a member of Team Cliff.

“Oh?”

She shrugged as if downplaying what she was about to say. “He stopped by last week, and they had an argument.”

“About?”

“I couldn’t tell, but neither one of them were happy. There was a lot of yelling.”

“Was that Wednesday?”

“No. Sunday afternoon.”

The day of the Fur Ball.

I lowered my sunglasses and turned toward her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Kate.”

I held out my hand. “I’m Melinda. My friends call me Mel.”

“I’m glad you stopped by the park today. There aren’t many dogs who can keep up with Crash and Lou Lou.”

Kate seemed like a nice person, and I felt a tad dishonest not telling her about Mona. I grabbed Missy’s leash and clipped it to her collar. “I think Fluffy enjoyed herself. It was nice chatting with you, but we’ve got to go. Fluffy. Come,” I called.

She took one look at me and ran the opposite direction. I hadn’t thought this part through very well. I called her again. She continued to ignore me.

Kate let out an ear-piercing whistle and her dogs immediately came running, Fluffy bringing up the rear.

“Thanks.” I grabbed Fluffy while I had the chance. I attached her lead, regaining control of the situation.

“Remember, I’m the human.” That was becoming a frequent reprimand.

“You might want to suggest to Mona obedience training. I don’t know if you’ve heard of her, but Carolina Lamont’s the best here in town. She’s a pet behaviorist.”

I groaned inwardly. “I’ve heard of her.”

Too bad my cousin couldn’t have helped Mona with
her
behavioral issues. Maybe she’d still be alive today. And in possession of her precious Fluffy.

I’d just loaded the dogs
into the Jeep when my cell phone rang.

“Everybody hold tight.” I frantically searched my bag. “Geesh. Hold on,” I yelled as it rang. My fingers found my phone at the bottom of my bag. Unknown caller. Hmm. Odds were it was a telemarketer. Or my mama. It would be just like her to call from an unlisted number so I’d pick up.

“What do you think, Missy? Should I answer it?”

It was Missy’s turn to ride shotgun. She sneezed, then shook her head, beating herself with her jowls. I wiped her slimy drool off my leg and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Melinda Sue Langston?”

I squinted at Missy. I’d been had. “Depends. Who’s calling?”

“Owen Quinn, Mona Michael’s attorney,” a high pitched male voice spoke quickly.

“Uh. Yes, this is Melinda.” I couldn’t stop myself from looking in the rearview mirror at the backseat. “Are you calling about Fluffy?”

Hearing her name she looked in my direction. Her eyes fixated on my reflection.

“I need you to stop by my office tomorrow,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’d-prefer-to explain-in-person-would-11:00-am-work-for-you?”

Good grief, he talked fast. I brushed a few stray hairs away from my face. “Where are you located?”

He rattled off an address downtown, not far from Bow Wow.

“Do I need to bring anything? Like a dog?” I eyeballed Fluffy over the top of my sunglasses.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll see you then, Ms. Langston.”

He disconnected, and I was left wondering what his call was really about. Great. Now what?

Grey called late that night.
I had every intention of explaining about Mona’s phone and Owen Quinn, the man with two first names. Until Grey said he was leaving town on an art forgery case.

I tossed my boots into the walk-in closet with more effort than needed. “When?”

“I’m taking a red-eye out of LAX tonight.”

I knew better than to ask where he was going. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could hear flight departure announcements over the phone. He was already at the airport. “How long?”

“I don’t know. A couple of days. It’ll depend on the validity of the lead.”

I ignored the apprehension twisting in my stomach. He promised to call when he landed. I promised to stay out of trouble.

Since I didn’t have a date with Grey, I slipped on my PJ’s and had a date with the TV.

“Stay off the couch,” I said to Fluffy.

She dismissed my order with a shrug and promptly climbed up on my leather couch and made herself at home.

“Down.” I pointed to the floor next to Missy who was curled into a tight ball in her doggie bed, drooling in her sleep.

Fluffy closed her eyes and drifted off into a loud snore.

“Faker. Where’s a pet shrink when you need her?”

I left snob-dog on the couch and raided the fridge. I grabbed a bag of pepperoni, some Spanish cheese and multi-grain crackers, and made a small feast. I carried my platter of snack food back to the living room in time for the late night talk shows. The saltiness of the crackers and creamy Spanish cheese were the perfect partnership, a late night party in my mouth.

You’d never guess who was mentioned in the monologues.

Yep. Mona Michaels.

Apparently,
Entertainment Today
,
Inside Scoop
, and some internet gossip magazine had learned about Mona’s death, and her tragic end had been broadcast to the world.

Ironically, the picture the press had chosen had been taken Emmy night. It creeped me out seeing Mona and Fluffy, side by side, with the same hairstyle and the same choker necklace. Fluffy’s collar. The same one she wore now.

I leaned over and lifted Fluffy’s head. Was that what the robber had been looking for? The collar had to be worth at least fifty thousand dollars. (I’m sure that was conservative.) I’d never seen Fluffy without it, but maybe, whoever had broken into Mona’s didn’t know Fluffy always wore her diamonds. Snob Dog eyed me, annoyed I’d interrupted her diva sleep.

I had to call Malone. I jumped up, dropping pepperoni slices on the floor. Missy stumbled over and made quick work of cleaning up my mess. I ran to my room, rummaged through my bag and found Malone’s business card. I called the number. It immediately went to voicemail. (It was after midnight. I didn’t expect him to answer.)

I left a brief message letting him know I’d stop by tomorrow and that I’d remembered something that might be helpful. I left out the part about having Mona’s cell phone.

Fluffy yawned and stretched. I fingered the diamond heart again. It was possible the police would want it as evidence. Fluffy rested her big paw on my hand. Good Lord, she was a heavy dog.

Okay, first thing in the morning I’d stop by the shop, grab a backup collar. Then I’d make a quick stop at the police station, drop off Mona’s cell and explain about the obscenely expensive collar. Then I’d meet Mona’s lawyer. Maybe he’d have advice about Fluffy. It was possible the meeting was to inform me I had to hand Fluffy over to Cliff.