Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series) (17 page)

THIS TIME, THE after party did involve champagne.

Agent Milner and his forensic team had work to do at the rescue office, but there was no need for me to stick around. In fact, Diana and I really needed to get out of the way so they could do their thing.

My house was closest so we decided to meet there to debrief. On the way, I called Sam who joined us. Once home, I called Verdi.

Dino supplied some much-needed food and the champagne. He made himself at home in my kitchen filling plates with fruits, nuts, breads, and cheeses. In the excitement of the evening, we’d all skipped dinner, and so the snacks were welcome.

The doorbell rang. I opened it to Verdi and Eugene who wore big smiles.

“Come in.” I hugged her. There were tears in her eyes.

“Caro—I, ah—” Eugene stammered.

I hugged him, too. “Come in,” I repeated and pulled them inside.

They joined the group in my living room. Diana had kicked off her shoes and sat on the end of the couch, one leg under her, a pillow at her back.

I settled into my favorite chair, and Dogbert jumped up to sit on my lap. Sam perched on the arm just as he had the previous night, though the mood was much less sober tonight. I looked around the room, my heart full. How lucky was I to be surrounded by such amazing friends?

“So, tell.” Verdi dropped into one of the other easy chairs.

I took a deep sigh and rubbed Dogbert’s back.

“After Dave was arrested, I was still concerned we’d missed something important and went back to the Greys Matter office,” I explained.

“I felt the same worry,” Diana added. “I had Dino circle back to the rescue office, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Caro slip inside.”

“Oh, wow.” Verdi’s eyes were wide.

“When I saw Alice Tiburon go in also, I followed her,” Diana continued. “And called Agent Milner.”

“Thank goodness you did.” I leaned back in my chair and snuggled my pooch.

“I didn’t really think you were in danger, or I wouldn’t have been so calm.” Diana laughed.

“I didn’t think I was in danger either, or I wouldn’t have gone back alone.” I shook my head at the risk I’d taken.

“And I didn’t think either of you were in danger, or I would not have sat in my car and let you two waltz into the arms of a killer.” Dino raised his hands in the air. “It was Alice Tiburon, I thought. I know her. I am sitting in my car, checking email on my phone, thinking you’re in there having a nice chat.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Diana smiled at him.

“Then all these police cars come racing up. Oh,
mio Dio
!” Dino clutched his chest. “I almost have a heart attack.”

“I was halfway home when you called me and—” Sam stopped and took a deep breath. Then he dropped his hand gently on the back of my neck and leaned forward to kiss the crown of my head.

I smiled up at Sam and reached up to touch his hand. “If it hadn’t been for the self-defense course you enrolled us in, we wouldn’t have had the moves to take down ‘Big Al.’”

“Look out, these are deadly weapons.” Diana waved her arms around like Pajama Betty.

I smiled at her. “What a night, huh?”

I still found it difficult to believe all the signs I’d missed, we’d all missed, that should have pointed us to Alice Tiburon.

Dino passed out crystal flutes and filled them with sparkling champagne. I couldn’t help but think back to the Fifty Shades of Greyhound event that had started this all. And Victor, or rather Dirk, and his investigation. Hired by Blanche, he must have followed the money which had eventually led him to Dave and to Alice. And had gotten him killed. I had almost become a “Big Al” victim myself. Thankfully, Diana had felt the same uneasiness I had, and had gone back.

I lifted my glass in salute. “here’s to friends and rescuers.”

We all sipped.

“And”—Sam raised his glass—“here’s to the two most courageous women I know.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Diana unfolded her legs and stood. “One final toast.” She was suddenly serious. “Here’s to Blanche and the others like her, who give so much to rescue these wonderful and gentle dogs.”

We all raised our glasses in salute.

“Yes,” I whispered. “To Blanche and the Greyhounds.”

FBI AGENT JOHN Milner was waiting for me when I got to the office the next morning.

As always, he wore the same slightly disheveled look. A suit and tie that, while good quality, had seen better days. Today, he also wore a very official air.

“Good morning,” I greeted him.

He stood as I approached. “Good morning, Ms. Lamont. We really appreciate your assistance and the risks you took to help us with the case.” He cleared his throat.

He was a good agent, a smart man, and, I believed, a genuinely nice guy. I felt a little bad about all the grief I’d given him. A little bad.

“I wanted to personally return this.” He reached in his suit pocket, pulled out a plastic bag, and handed it to me.

Thank the heavens! Grandma Tillie’s brooch.

“Oh my, sugar! Thank you so much.” I patted his arm.

I would have hugged him, but I was afraid it would give him a heart attack.

I didn’t know what strings he’d had to pull to find it, but the fleeting satisfied smile said he felt like he’d paid his debt.

Opening the bag, I carefully unwrapped the paper swaddling. There’d better not be any damage to the brooch. I lifted the paper away and the pin dropped into my hand. It was a beautifully garish, and expensive piece of jewelry.

What?

“What is this?” I looked up at Milner.

The trinket in my hand was beautifully garish and probably expensive, but it was not Grandma Tillie’s brooch.

Shining gold formed delicate pointy ears. A collar of seed pearls wrapped around an elegant neck, brilliant emeralds winked in the eyes, and a ruby button nose sparkled. Sparkling diamond baguettes made up the teeth of the smiling face of a Cheshire cat.

I didn’t know how it was possible.

I didn’t know how she’d done it.

But one thing I knew for sure was that somewhere my cousin, Mel, was smiling that exact same smile.

The End

(Please continue reading for more information about the author)

Excerpt

“You’ll be howling with laughter!”

—Kathy Bacus, author of CALAMITY JAYNE

Desperate Housedogs

Book One, The Pampered Pets Mysteries

By Sparkle Abbey

Crime in Laguna Beach Has Just Gone to the Dogs .
 . .

When
Caro Lamont
, former psychologist turned pet therapist, makes a house call in posh southern California to help
Kevin Blackstone
with his two misbehaving German Shepherds, she expects frantic dogs, she expects a frantic dog owner, she even expects frantic neighbors. What she doesn’t expect is that two hours later the police will find Kevin dead, and that as the last person to see Kevin alive (well, except for the killer), she is suddenly a person of interest, at least according to Homicide Detective
Judd Malone
.

Caro, animal lover and former Texas beauty queen, moved to Laguna Beach for a fresh start after a very nasty and public divorce which ended with the closing of the private counseling practice she and her ex-husband shared. With eleven-thousand dogs—more dogs than kids—Laguna seemed like the perfect spot to open a pet therapy business. And it had been, up until she had to catch a killer by the tail.

I don’t normally break into people’s homes, but today I was making an exception.

Not wanting to make the burglary too obvious, I’d parked my car down the street and fought through the bougainvillea hedge to the back of the house. In southern California the bougainvillea blooms everywhere, luxurious but tough, like old starlets wearing too much pink lipstick. Determination thumped in my chest, but I was still as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs. Glancing left and then right to make sure none of the neighbors were around, I flipped up the sand-crusted mat and grabbed the key that lay under it.

My cousin, Melinda, always kept her spare key in the same spot. This particular mat said, “Wipe Your Paws.”

Mel’s place was nice. Not posh, but very nice even by Laguna Beach standards. Not at all like the open spaces we’d grown up with in Texas but nothing to sneeze at. Palm trees and Jacaranda trees surrounded her patio, and morning was already warming the ocean breeze. I unlocked the door and slipped inside. If I were lucky I’d find my target right away and get out quick. If I were really lucky, it would be a few days before Mel realized the brooch was gone.

I stepped into her sunshine-bright kitchen and noted the stack of dirty dishes. I truly wished the girl wouldn’t leave dishes in the sink. Here in the semi-desert you run the risk of bugs. Bugs the size of cocker spaniels.

Eww. I shivered, shaking off the thought like a wet dog shaking off summer rain.

First, I checked the freezer. Not a very original hiding place and not a very effective one either, as I myself had discovered. I’d tried freezer paper and a label that said “Pig Hearts” but Mel had figured it out.

Okay, nothing in there.

Missy, Mel’s bulldog, lumbered into the kitchen, her only greeting an eye roll that said, “Oh, it’s just you.”

I reached down and scratched behind her ears. She leaned into the ear rub. “If only you could talk, sugar. You’d tell me where Mel put it, wouldn’t you?”

Missy gave a low, snuffly bark and butted my hand, effectively sliming it. Bulldogs are pretty darn loyal. Could be she wouldn’t give up the hiding spot even if she knew. She waddled back to the living room and her spot by the picture window, as if to say, “You’re on your own, girl.”

“Fine, Missy. You’re as stubborn as your mama.” I wiped dog drool on my jeans and got back to the task at hand.

Hmmm .
 . . where would my beautiful (but devious) cousin put the thing? Like a bad Texas summer heat rash, irritation prickled.

Geez Louise, Mel, how long would it have taken to clean up after yourself?

I ran water in the sink and started stacking plates in the dishwasher.

See, that was the problem. Mel’s not a bad kid, and only a couple of years younger than me, but she’s so dang impulsive it seems I’m always cleaning up her messes. Take Mel’s fight with the zoning board over not getting a permit for her new patio or her on-and-off-again relationship with Grey Donovan.

Grey is a prince (in the metaphorical sense) and is caught in the unfortunate position of having befriended two headstrong southern women with a competitive streak. We’d inherited it—the competitive streak, I mean. Our mamas had both been Texas beauty queens, and we’d both lived the pageant life—for a while.

That’s to say, until we rebelled. We’d each defied our mothers in our own unique way. Mine a little pushier, but straightforward. Mel’s a little wilder and out there. But then that kinda sums up everything y’all need to know about the two of us.

More about that later. Right now I had some searching to do before my cousin came home or her
lovely
neighbors called the cops.

I tried her bedroom, the study (junk room in Mel’s case), the bathroom (I was happy to see she was still on her allergy meds), the closet (smaller junk room) and still came up empty-handed. Now, I was back to the kitchen.

Stumped, I stood and looked around, hands on my hips, arms akimbo, mind on hyper drive. It was a funky kitchen but decorated more for fun than utility. Mel’s cookie jar was in the shape of a golden retriever. It was just flat adorable, the dog in a playful ready-to-pounce position. I wondered where she’d gotten it. If we were speaking, I’d ask her. But we’re not.

I couldn’t help it. I shook my finger at the cookie jar.
Melinda Langston, you should not be living on junk food and sweets.

Her freezer’d been full of microwave dinners and her refrigerator completely devoid of any healthy fruits and vegetables. Probably living on processed food and sugar.

Still, Mel had always been a fabulous cook. She just didn’t necessarily follow a recipe. The girl was a bang-up baker though, and cookies were her specialty. My mouth watered. One cookie would never be missed.

Don’t mind if I do, cousin
. I lifted the dog’s butt to help myself and plunged my hand in the cookie jar.

Well, for cryin’ in a bucket! Was the dang thing empty?

I couldn’t believe I’d made the decision to indulge in empty calories only to be thwarted. I rooted around the inside of the cookie jar, my fingers only touching smooth pottery.

Wait. What was that?

Instead of cookies, my hand connected with metal. Grandma Tillie’s brooch. She’d put Grandma Tillie’s brooch—
my
brooch—in a cookie jar.

I pulled it out, brushed off the cookie crumbs, and turned it over carefully to check for damage.

Grandma “Tillie” Matilda Montgomery’s brooch is the ugliest piece of jewelry you’ve ever laid eyes on. A twenty-two karat gold basket filled to the brim with fruit made from precious stones. Diamonds, topaz, emeralds, rubies. It is beyond garish.

Garish and gaudy, but significant. In her will, Grandma Tillie had left it to her “favorite granddaughter.” I knew she meant to leave it to me. Mel was just as convinced she’d left it to her.

I prodded it with my finger.
One of the emeralds might be a teeny bit loose. Promising myself I’d check more thoroughly for damage when I got home, I tucked the brooch in the outside pocket of my handbag and gave it a little pat.

Back with me, where it belonged.

I finished stacking the dishwasher, turned it on, called good-bye to Missy (who ignored me), and let myself out the back. I was just replacing the key when my cell phone rang.

“Hello.” I answered in a low tone. No need to alert the neighbors. I’d made it so far without drawing any attention. Making my way to the front of the house, I walked quickly toward my car.

“Hey, Caro, this is Kevin. Kevin Blackstone.” He sounded frantic. But then I’m used to frantic clients. “I need your help.”

Oh, I don’t think I mentioned it, but I’m Caro Lamont, and when I’m not breaking and entering, I’m the proprietor of Laguna Beach’s Professional Animal Wellness Specialist Clinic (the PAWS Clinic for short).

I’m not a dog trainer. Tons of other folks are more qualified in that arena. I basically deal with problem pets, which as a rule involves dealing more with the behavior of the humans than the pet. If I suspect a medical problem I refer pet parents to my veterinarian friend, Dr. Daniel Darling.

I could hear the deep barks of his two German Shepherd dogs in the background. It sounded like Kevin had a problem.

Kevin lived in the exclusive Ruby Point gated community just off of Pacific Coast Highway (fondly referred to as PCH by the locals).

With all the noise, I couldn’t hear what it was Kevin needed.

“I’ll come by in a few minutes.”

I think he said, “okay” but it was difficult to tell over the chaos on his end.

Extremely pleased with myself over the successful retrieval of my inheritance, I climbed in my silver vintage Mercedes convertible. Humming, I thought about the brooch,
my
brooch, safe in my handbag.

It was turning out to be a beautiful day in lovely Laguna Beach.

Life was good.