Get Fluffy (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Right after I’d dialed 9-1-1, I called the one person I trusted to tell me what to do next.

“Someone whacked Mona with Fluffy’s Emmy.” The words tumbled out of my mouth the second Grey had said hello.

“Are you injured?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“No, just wigged out.”

“Where are you?”

I paced the length of the hallway between Fluffy and Mona’s room. “I’m still at Mona’s. This is my first dead body, and I have to tell you, it’s not like what you see on TV. I think I’m going to puke.”

“Hold on, I’m on my way.” He was in his secret FBI mode. Gone was the art dealer persona he carried for cover. His normal teasing tone had transformed into solid, calm and controlled.

“Mona would
die
if she knew people were going to see her like this.” I cringed at my bad choice of words, but it was true.

I could hear Mona’s bored monotone voice ordering me to pull the statue out of her head and clean up the mess before it stained her one-of-a-kind hardwood floor. Once the room had been cleaned to her satisfaction, she’d demand her hair and makeup touched-up before any crime scene photos were snapped.

It was the God’s honest truth. That was just Mona’s way.

And after what I’d seen, I can’t say I’d blame her. Speaking of cleaning up, where
was
Camilla?

“Mona’s one bloody mess,” I said.

Papers rustled on the other end of the line as Grey cleared his desk. “Don’t touch her,” he said. His deep timber instilled a calmness I needed.

“I didn’t.” I poked my head into the room. I cupped the bottom of the phone and whispered, “The dog’s covered in blood and won’t leave Mona.”

“If you need help, call Caro.”

“I can handle Fluffy.” The sick smell of blood was a different matter. I breathed through my mouth and willed my stomach to stop churning. I heard a car door slam and an engine start over the phone. He was on his way.

“Don’t move. Better yet, wait outside for the police. Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

In that mess, I doubted the cops would notice if I touched anything. Outside sirens screamed through the dignified gated community.

“You’d better hurry. The cavalry’s almost here,” I said.

We ended our call, and I realized I was shaking so badly I looked like I’d downed a case of energy drinks.

I shook my head trying to erase the scene on the other side of the wall. But Mona’s image was branded in my mind.

I methodically inched through the hallway maze, really wishing for those bread crumbs. By the time I’d made it down the stairs, I’d stopped shaking and was once again a nose breather.

I opened the front door and inhaled the fresh air. The Pacific had never smelled so good. After a minute of gathering myself, I made my way back inside, leaving the door open, an invitation for the police. I sank to the bottom step of the staircase and waited for the troops.

They didn’t rush inside guns drawn like on the TV dramas, but they didn’t stroll in like it was a Saturday open house either. Brawny and carrying an air of authority that wouldn’t be overlooked, four uniformed officers entered. Two paused directly in front of me, while the other pair searched the downstairs.

Wasn’t four cops a little overkill? The police must have been on high alert after Kevin Blackstone’s murder.

“Are you injured?” Cop Number One asked.

Question of the day.

I shook my head. I was having a difficult time finding my voice. I wasn’t as together as I’d thought.

His blue eyes assessed me and our immediate surroundings. His short cropped brown hair reminded me of my cousin, Wyatt, on my daddy’s side. Wyatt didn’t think girls could do anything but cook, have babies, and look pretty. I didn’t like Wyatt.

I had no idea what Cop Number One thought as he processed my typical attire of motorcycle boots, faded jeans, and t-shirt.

He mumbled into the radio he wore like a tie. Someone squawked back something that only a fellow police officer, or a fast food employee, could decipher.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” Cop Number Two, who couldn’t be a day over twenty-one asked. I pegged him as the “good cop.” Dark hair, dark eyes, strong jaw line and plenty of who-gives-a-crap-what-you-think attitude. To say he was “nice” was an exaggeration, but he didn’t look at me as if I was already
the
prime suspect.

“No. She’s upstairs, to the right. I don’t remember which room but you can’t miss it. It’s a mess. I think I left the door open. Watch out for the dog. She’s standing guard.” Once I’d found my voice I rambled, offering random details.

With a nod of acknowledgment, the third and fourth cops walked past us and headed upstairs.

“What kind of dog?” Cop Number One was back.

He had to be kidding. There was someone in Laguna who didn’t know Mona and her four-legged sidekick? “I thought everyone knew Mona and Fluffy.”

“Which one’s the dog?” Cop Number One pulled out his black notebook.

It wasn’t a completely brainless question. There were many women named “Fluffy” in Orange County. But the fact that he didn’t know who Mona Michaels or Fluffy were made him Dumbo Cop.

“Fluffy.”

“Call the vet,” Dumbo Cop said to his partner. “I’m not going to get bit by some diva dog.” He jammed his notebook in his front shirt pocket.

“What are you going to do?” I hopped up from the stairs, slightly blocking his path.

“Who are you?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

“Melinda Langston. I’m the one who found Mona and called 9-1-1. Why do you need a vet?”

“We may need to tranquilize the dog if he—”

“She.”

“What?” He pinned me down with a stare meant to shake my confidence.

“Fluffy’s a she. And you can’t drug her. I’ll call my cousin, she’s a pet shrink.”

“You,” he pointed at me, “won’t call anyone.”

“Caro wouldn’t like being referred to as ‘anyone’.”

The muscle in his cheek twitched. “Who’s your cousin?” His tone suggested he already knew the answer.

“Carolina Lamont. She recently solved Kevin Blackstone’s murder. You’ve probably met her.”

His face turned red, like he popped an artery. “Sit down.” He jabbed his finger at the bottom stair and then mumbled into his radio tie again. His words were incoherent, but his tone was unmistakably pissed off.

Heck, I wasn’t happy I’d coughed up her name either, but she had solved Kevin’s murder and cleared Diana’s name in the process. More importantly, she knew dogs.

That’s when Grey showed up, dressed in his dark-blue Tom Ford suit surrounded by his own air of authority. Our eyes met, and a spark of intense understanding flashed between us, striking me to the core.

Feelings of reassurance and strength washed over me; I struggled to keep back the tears.

“Are you okay?” he asked as I rushed across the foyer and into his open arms.

I nodded into his chest, hiding my weakness from him. “Better than Mona. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone.”

I felt his chest rumble with a strained laugh. “I’m not surprised.”

I allowed myself to soak up everything he offered before I pulled away and led him to the French doors that opened to the sunroom.

He squeezed my shoulders and quickly took in the scene. I knew he was doing his own assessment of the situation. He was on full alert, FBI stance, absorbing and analyzing details. My chest tightened with pride. This was why I had called him. If only it didn’t scare the bejeezus out of me at the same time.

Grey’s green eyes fixed on the police officers talking in hushed tones. “They’re not happy.”

I followed his gaze. It would only be seconds before they interrogated Grey.

“A hundred bucks they think you’re my attorney.” I smiled as I hugged the truth. I had my very own James Bond.

Grey studied Dumbo Cop. “What did you say to him?”

I shrugged my shoulders, totally baffled at the question. “What makes you think I said anything?”

“I recognize the pained look.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. When I looked at the police, all I could read on their faces was cagey suspicion.

“I offered to call Caro. Like you suggested,” I reminded him.

“And
 . . .
?”

“And nothing.” I crossed my arms and looked up into his rugged face. I was no match for his six-foot-three-inches. “I’m totally offended by what you’re implying.”

Grey didn’t say anything with words. He let the I-know-you-better-than-that look do his talking. It was annoying.

“He didn’t recognize Caro’s name so I ever so gently reminded him that she’d solved Kevin’s murder,” I explained in the same tone I’d used to recite the grocery list to Missy as we’d walk to Whole Foods.

He actually smiled and the laugh lines around his mouth deepened into mini craters. His eyes warmed and instantly drew me in.

“You named dropped,” he whispered and reached for my left hand, fingering my engagement ring. “Then you rubbed it in his face that a civilian was a major contributor in solving a murder.”

“I did no such thing.”

The truth of Grey’s words sank in. I pulled back and narrowed my eyes. “If you tell Caro, I’ll deny it.”

He hugged me quickly and chuckled into my hair. “There’s nothing wrong with being proud of your cousin.”

“So you’ve told me.”

The police joined us, notebooks at the ready, expressions aiming for neutral but missing the mark and landing closer to distrust. “Who are you?” Dumbo Cop asked.

“Grey Donovan. I’m Melinda’s fiancé. She phoned me after calling you. I’m just making sure she’s okay.” He held out his hand in that boy’s club way, insinuating he was only there because of me.

I could see the suspicion behind their eyes battle the desire to believe they could take Grey at face value. It was clear they didn’t trust him. They shouldn’t.

Grey, on the other hand, remained relaxed and at ease, patiently waiting, drawing them into his web of trust. Damn, he was good.

Eventually, Dumbo Cop accepted Grey’s outstretched hand. Maybe instinct told him Grey was one of the good guys. Maybe they were just playing their own game of cat and mouse.

“Ms. Langston, do you have any idea who might want to hurt Ms. Michaels?” Dumbo Cop asked.

“Everyone in town.”

He looked up from his notebook. “Isn’t that a slight exaggeration?” he asked dryly.

I shook my head. “At some point, everyone in town has probably threatened Mona for some reason or another.”

I caught Grey silently telling me to stop talking.

I tried to fix what I’d already started, “But to kill her? I don’t think anyone hated her that much. Although
 . . .
”

Anyone who didn’t know Grey wouldn’t have seen the subtle shake of his head. I caught it.

“Although?” Dumbo Cop prodded.

“She didn’t like her ex-husband.” His pen stopped moving for a moment, then he resumed scribbling without looking up. Heck, at this point he could be doodling a picture of Mickey Mouse for all I knew.

“Did you hear anyone threaten Ms. Michaels?” he asked.

“The smaller list is who hasn’t threatened Mona.”

“Which list are you on?” He finally looked at me.

I glanced at Grey for direction.

“Why stop now?” he sighed.

“It’s all over town. You’ll find out sooner or later. I didn’t threaten to kill her, but I did have a public argument with her at the Fur Ball. And then again today at my boutique.”

“You argued today? About what?”

“She wanted me to make a public apology for what happened at the Fur Ball.”

“What happened?”

I could feel my face warm. “I spilled my wine, and some may have got on her dress.”

His eyebrows rose, and his lips twitched. “I see.”

“I had nothing to do with her death. I can account for my whereabouts all day.”

“Let’s start with where you were this morning.”

As the police took my statement, with Grey at my side silently leading me along, Detective Judd Malone walked through the front door. He could never do undercover work. He exuded the Miranda Rights by simply breathing. His uniform consisted of jeans, blue shirt and black leather jacket.

He’d recognize Caro’s name. He was pretty much annoyed by the fact that they shared the same air, let alone that she had poked her nose in his murder investigation.

“Detective Malone,” I whispered.

Everyone turned in his direction.

The uniformed officers stood a little taller. Malone’s gaze traveled between all of us and rested on Grey and me. Unlike the other two, Malone had the neutral gaze down. There was no question who was in charge. I seriously doubted he’d be snookered by a handshake. Even Grey’s.