Get Fluffy (10 page)

I’d call Mitch. Dependin’ on what he had to say would dictate if I needed to make another exception and call Caro. It was only fair to give my cousin warning her mama was on her way for a visit.

It had been a few of days
since Mona’s death. The three of us had settled into somewhat of a routine. There were no leads on Mona’s murderer. At least not that the police were sharing with the rest of the town. But there was plenty of gossip.

I’d called Mitch, and Mama was right, he was chatty. He didn’t spill his dirty little secret, but my sisterly intuition told me he had one. I let it go. If he were really in trouble, he’d have told me. Now it was about letting Mama squirm.

“Let’s go, girl,” I called out to Missy. She happily plodded behind me.

I thought Fluffy might follow. She’d seen the morning routine often enough, but she was hiding out either on my bed or on the couch.

She still wasn’t interested in her own room. I couldn’t figure her out.

I hopped into the shower and sang my favorite Sting song at the top of my lungs. Missy joined in during the chorus. I’m sure our screeching and howling was hard on Fluffy’s ears. We certainly wouldn’t win any singing contests.

Our duet was interrupted by my blaring cell phone. I shut off the water and hopped out of the shower. Rivulets of water dripped on the hardwood floor.

“Ms. Langston. Owen Quinn. I-wanted-to-make-you-aware . . . Mona-Michael’s-funeral-is-today.”

How could someone talk so fast and not be winded?

Earlier in the week, the rumor of a possible funeral had spread through the community. Since I hadn’t heard it directly from anyone I trusted, I’d dismissed it. I patted my face dry with the corner of the towel. “I didn’t think there’d be one.”

“The body won’t be released in time, but Ms. Michaels had a precise timeline and this is what she wanted.”

Dictating our lives from the grave. No surprise.

“Fluffy’s to attend.”

“O-kay,” I dragged out the word while I contemplated what that meant to me. “So am I supposed to drop her off?” There was silence on the other end. “I’m joking. What time?”

He filled me in on the details at neck-breaking speed (2:00 pm at the Presbyterian Church), then we hung up.

“What does a dog wear to a funeral?”

I knew what I was going to wear.

Grandma Tillie’s brooch.

Chapter Seventeen

It was gone.

Damn. I pulled down two extra-large wicker baskets from the top shelf in my closet. I knew there’d be hell to pay. Caro had been livid when I’d stolen the brooch out from under her nose. Somehow she’d found the opportunity to return the gesture.

Caro was getting better at breaking and entering. And I was getting worse at hiding my loot.

I dumped out the basket contents. Ten (okay, more like twenty) handbags covered my bed. Coach, Fendi, Chanel, Marc Jacobs, Prada, Alexander Wang and Chloe’. Hobos, totes, shoulder and evening. Neutrals, blacks, purple, plaid, blue, green and metallic. I loved my bags.

I’d thought hiding the brooch in a handbag, on the top shelf of my walk-in closet, was the perfect hiding spot.

I was wrong.

I was missing a bag. Not just any bag, but an Alexander McQueen feather-fringed box-clutch with a fantastic gold and amber crystal skull clasp.

I’d been so wrapped up in Fluffy’s issues, I’d let down my guard. Dang. Dang. Dang.

Fluffy meandered over to the bed and sniffed the bags. She settled on the Chloe’ brown leather tote. She had good taste. It was one of my favorites. To be honest, I loved them all; why else would I buy them?

Fluffy studied me as she slowly grabbed the shoulder strap between her teeth.

“What are you doing?” I asked, reaching for the bag.

She yanked the purse out of my grasp and rushed out of the room. I gave chase, yelling at her, “Get back here. Drop the bag.”

She ran through the house, Missy and I right behind her.

“Bark. Bark.”

That was Missy.

“Don’t make me chase you. Fluffy, you get back here.”

Fluffy stopped in the middle of the living room and faced me in a pounce position, hairy butt in the air. Missy and I blocked her exit toward the hallway.

It was a stare down.

This was the time she picked to act like a dog? I needed a distraction. Or bribe.

“Treat?” I asked.

Missy immediately sat and barked.

“Not you, girl. Fluffy, do you want a treat?” I walked toward the kitchen, keeping an eye on the dogs. “I have doggie cookies. This one looks like pizza.” I lifted the rump from my Golden Retriever cookie jar on the counter.

Fluffy didn’t move. Missy bumbled into the kitchen and sat at my feet and immediately produced a puddle of drool. I tossed her a cookie.

Snob Dog laid down.

“Do you want one?” I held it in front of me as I slowly made my way to her. She stared at me like I was an idiot. “I’ll trade you, the purse for the treat.”

I tossed the cookie a couple of feet from Fluffy. She dropped the purse and sniffed the treat. I grabbed my Chloe’ tote and checked it for damage. Other than dog slobber, it was fine.

“I didn’t think I’d need to tell you this, but my purses and shoes are off limits.”

Fluffy ate her treat and then barked.

“I hope taking you to the funeral isn’t something I’m going to regret.”

While the dogs ate their snack I decided I wasn’t about to attend the shindig of the year alone. I called for reinforcements.

Darby agreed to play chaperone to Fluffy and me. I couldn’t help but wonder who else was just finding out about the funeral. I hoped Caro made an appearance. I wanted my brooch back.

Two hours later Darby,
Fluffy and I zoomed down PCH. It was a drab kinda afternoon, overcast and gloomy. Perfect for a funeral.

Not sure what to wear, I’d settled on a belted cashmere dress sans Grandma Tillie’s brooch. Fluffy sported her diamond collar. I’d brought her tiara, but hadn’t decided if I’d make her wear it. Darby thought I should have left it in the safe.

“Do you think anyone will be there?” Darby adjusted the seatbelt over her chocolate-colored wrap dress.

“Well, we’ll be there. I’m sure Tricia will show.”

“What about Cliff?”

“Does the funeral home serve Scotch?”

I pulled into the church parking lot. It was packed. We drove in circles before we found a place down 2
nd
Street. I checked my watch, worried we were late. It was only one thirty.

“I guess that answers that.” I turned off the Jeep and set the emergency brake.

A group of ladies (and I only use that term because I can’t come up with something more accurate at the moment) toddled past us and up the street in their five-inch heels, hair extensions, and faces pulled back until they looked like Halloween masks. I didn’t recognize a single one.

Funeral crashers.

“It’s a chapter out of
The Idiot’s Guide On How to Climb The Social Ladde
r,” I said.

“Leave the tiara,” Darby deadpanned.

We grabbed our purses and climbed out of the Jeep. The three of us walked up the sidewalk side by side, hair blowing in the afternoon breeze. Nose and tail in the air, Fluffy, the runway supermodel of dogs, owned us all.

We made our way up the street in silence. I didn’t know about Darby, but I was preparing for what we’d find inside the beautifully dramatic church.

The Spanish influence was obvious in its off-white stucco walls and red tile roof. Its wrought iron balconies and mini shrub mazes hinted at a blush of romance. It seemed a better fit for a wedding than a funeral. The recently renovated super-sized bell tower made me think of Mona’s doorbell.

The three of us climbed the steps and entered the church behind the latest gaggle of gossip mongers. The lobby, equally as beautiful as the outside, spilled over with extravagantly dressed bodies and hushed voices. Their faux reverence wasn’t out of mourning, but scandalous chit-chat. It was sad and pathetic, and I actually felt badly for Mona.

It didn’t take long before I spotted a handful of the usual suspects you’d find at a society event. The mayor and the city council had staked out one corner of the room. Probably rehashing which streets to tear apart and repave next. Not that they’d finished repairing the first round of destruction yet.

I scanned the open room for Owen, looking for a little guidance on where Fluffy should sit. Out of the corner of my eye Tricia appeared dressed in all black, including a pillbox hat with a stack of huge black organza leaves dangling in front of her face. She looked like the widow and not a grieving best friend. It was creepy.

Tova swaggered inside in a bright pink sheath dress looking like Elle Woods, only instead of Legally Blonde she was Lethally Blonde. She maneuvered an enormous leopard print handbag around the small crowd hovering around the guest book. If I had to guess, which I didn’t because it was obvious, her bag hid Kiki.

As much as I wanted to deal with her immediately, it wasn’t appropriate (again, those dang southern manners). But once those church bells rang, it was game on.

“Darby, I drank too much tea before we left. Can you keep Fluffy for a second?”

“Sure.”

She accepted the leash, and I patted Fluffy’s head. I made quick work of locating the ladies’ room. It was empty so I had my choice of stalls.

I was just about to flush when the restroom door opened and an argument in progress entered.

“Don’t threaten me.” That voice was on a slow simmer.

“You misunderstood.” Overly sweet foghorn voice.

“No, I don’t believe I did. You said if I didn’t help you, I’d be sorry. That’s a threat.”

Ah, thank you Captain Obvious.

It had to be Tricia and Jo. I peeked through the crack to see what they were doing.

Wow. It sounded like Jo, but it sure didn’t look like her.

She’d actually brushed her bushy red hair and pulled on a dress. I pressed my face up against the stall door, straining for a less obstructed view. Sure enough, navy blue, cowl-neck dress and closed toe pumps.

She was a hot mess.

Tricia studied herself in the mirror as she reapplied her red lipstick. “I’d think you’d have enough to deal with. I heard the police questioned you about your part in Mona’s murder.”

Jo closed the space between them, making it difficult to see her face. “I warned her someone was going to kill her. I had nothin’ else to do with her death.” The slight tremor in her voice hinted at repressed anxiety.

“That’s not true, and we both know it. Mona told me all about—” she stopped abruptly and stared at my partial reflection in the mirror. “Who’s in here?”

Dang. I held my breath. I wanted to know what Mona had told her.

“I can see your eye. Come out.” Since Mona had died, Tricia had appointed herself as the new Queen of Bossy.

I emerged from the stall. “Don’t let me keep you from arguing.” I washed and dried my hands, wanting to get out of the line of fire now that there was nothing good to overhear.

Jo squinted and glared at me. “You were eavesdropping,” she accused.

I smoothed my dress and made a beeline for the door. “Nice visiting, but I’ve got a dog waiting for me.”

Yikes. That was wild. I quickly found my way back to where I’d left Darby and Fluffy.

“What took you so long?” Darby practically threw the leash at me.

I nodded over my shoulder toward Jo, who’d followed me out of the ladies’ room. “I was trapped in the bathroom. I’ll explain later.”

“I can’t wait to hear this one.”

Fluffy allowed me to lead as we made our way toward the inner sanctum of the building. She wasn’t honoring our agreement. She was finished with the crowd and ready to go home. I mean my place.

Lord have mercy. I caught a glimpse of my brooch heading inside the sanctuary. I almost gave myself whiplash as I turned in Caro’s direction.

“Hey, you stole that from me.”

“I retrieved what was
rightfully
mine,” her soft steely voice matched my inner resolve.

Damn. Darn. (We were in church. I had to watch my damns.) She looked good in her black Chanel dress.

“Uh, Mel, this isn’t really the place to have a smack down with your cousin.” Darby, the voice of reason.

“Later,” I promised.

“Of course, Sugar.”

Caro’s smug serene smile bugged the crapola out of me. I watched her glide to her seat in the back, all beauty pageant poise and world peace sincerity. Oh, I’d get my brooch back.

“No offense, but that’s one ugly piece of jewelry. Maybe you should just let her have it,” Darby whispered.

“No way.”

We stood at the back of the sanctuary. The interior of the church was gorgeous. Hand-carved wooden pews, a dozen or so arches and stained-glass windows to the right and left, it all lent to the feel of a spiritual journey. But that wasn’t what surprised me.

The service décor was bare. A handful of modest flower arrangements and a couple of potted plants decorated the front. The portrait of Fluffy and Mona that had hung in her bedroom was now propped up next to her empty bronze casket.

It was tasteful. Nowhere near a true representation of Mona’s preference. Who was running the show? Owen? Good thing Mona couldn’t see the backdrop of her last performance.

Tricia brushed past us and down the aisle and toward the front, shoulders thrown back and in a hurry. Cliff Michaels was right behind her and hadn’t bothered to dress up. He looked every bit the tourist in his wrinkled white linen pants and bowling shirt. The gentleman with him was dressed marginally better. His clothes weren’t wrinkled but just as casual. They took the pew behind Tricia.

Darby, Fluffy and I were next.

I could feel all eyes on us. I’m pretty sure the look on my face said don’t-talk-to-me. If a dog could have a look on its face, it was the same. Fluffy was in her element; she was born to be the center of attention.

As we walked past the guests, I realized it was as if anyone who’d ever held a grudge against Mona was gathered in the same place at once.

Jo, Cliff, Darby, Tova, and me. If I were the cops—

Speaking of the Malone. I spotted him sitting discreetly in the back. He’d exchanged his t-shirt for a dress shirt and tie. He’d picked the opposite side of the church as Caro. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught him watching people. Caro included. She was doing a respectable of job of ignoring him. They must have had words.

We sat toward the middle. I made Fluffy sit in the aisle. I wasn’t familiar on the proper protocol for a dog in church, but I bet Fluffy on the furniture was a big no-no.

The service was brief and semi-painless. The only true awkward moment was when the officiator asked if anyone wanted to speak. Tricia was too distraught. She’d made sure everyone saw her tears and heard her whimpers. I quickly realized no one was interested.

Darby looked at me, and I shook my head. Mama said if you didn’t have anything nice to say, keep your trap shut. That’s exactly what I was going to do. I found it interesting no one else had anything nice to say either.

After a minute or two of awkward silence, the service was pronounced over. Thank goodness. Fluffy had a bad case of gas, and I needed some fresh air.