I swear, she was a What Not To Wear project in the flesh. Her wild, leopard-print dress and wide, studded belt was tighter than plastic wrap around Sunday leftovers no one would ever eat. It hurt my eyes to look at her.
“It wasn’t my place to tell you about Mona.” The dogs piled out of the Jeep. Fluffy rubbed up against me leaving a trail of dog hair on my jeans. I brushed it off as we headed for the boutique.
“Someone should have called me. I was her best friend,” she whined.
Lord, she was trying. I understood she was upset by the death of her friend, but why did she think I should be the bearer of bad news? We weren’t family.
I unlocked the door and strode inside. I flipped on the lights intending to grab a collar and leave, but Tricia followed me, slowing us down. I locked the door to keep out anyone else who might mistakenly believe I was open for business.
“They said you were the one who found her. What happened?”
“Fluffy found her.”
The dogs and I wound through the shop while I looked for a Fluffy collar. Holy cow, there were so many choices, how did anyone decide when they were in a rush? I needed to rethink the way I laid out the accessories. Maybe I didn’t need so many choices. Tricia clip-clopped behind us, never letting me forget she was there.
“You realize Jo was right,” she pronounced.
“About what?” I asked distracted.
“The dream.”
I turned to face her. “What about it?”
“Fluffy appeared to Jo in a dream and told her Mona would die.” Tricia explained.
“And Mona believed her?” I asked, the skepticism in my voice undeniable. Was it bad I wanted to smack some sense into Tricia?
“Of course.”
“Jo’s a fake. Is there something I can help you with? I’m not really open.”
“I’ve come for Fluffy.” Tricia held out her privileged hand assuming I’d fork over the dog leash.
I stopped in mid-step. “Not to get personal, but are you on drugs?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question.” Her greedy brown eyes flashed with impatience.
Funny how quickly her tears had dried. “You don’t even like dogs. Why would you want Fluffy?”
“I was Mona’s best friend. She’d want me to care for her.”
I wasn’t convinced that was true. “Cliff’s equal owner. If anyone should get Fluffy, it should be him.” Except Mona had bitterly fought Cliff for custody, and then Cliff dropped the bombshell that he didn’t want the dog. A slight wrinkle in my otherwise sound logic.
“Mona would rather die than let Cliff have Fluffy,” Tricia stated.
I tilted my head sideways. “Interesting choice of words.”
Tricia’s flushed. “Well, it’s true. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the one who killed Mona.” Her grieving sadness had been replaced by catty accusations.
“Because of Fluffy?”
“Of course. He called Mona day and night, begging for money. He was always broke.”
“And you know this how?” Maybe he was looking for the collar? But if that were the case, wouldn’t he just take Fluffy when I’d called him? Better yet, why not take the collar?
“I’m Mona’s best friend. I know everything.”
I looked at Tricia. “I’m sure you don’t need my advice, but I wouldn’t go around accusing Cliff of murder. That could get you into a lot of trouble.”
“I’ve done no such thing.” She reached for the leash. “Give me the dog, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Fluffy inched closer to me and sat on my foot. Ouch!
As much as I didn’t want Fluffy, it seemed Fluffy didn’t want Tricia.
I studied Tricia’s standoffish stance and demanding outstretched hand, ordering me to relinquish the dog. She was probably the only one who wanted the high maintenance hairball.
I was too stubborn for my own good. I didn’t appreciate being told what to do. And I really hated it when people assumed I’d do what they wanted because it was convenient for them.
There was a sudden banging on the front door. Tricia and I both jumped. The dogs immediately barked in alert and lunged toward the door. I grabbed their leashes and tied them to the counter.
“I’m closed,” I shouted.
An older man hammered his fist against the door then waved an envelope in front of him.
The dogs barked louder.
“Enough. It’s fine,” I reassured the dogs. “I’m closed,” I hollered over the noise.
He continued to beat down the door undeterred, and the dogs continued to bark.
The world had gone crazier than Uncle Wiley’s pet coon.
I marched to the door and unlocked it. I opened it halfway and opened my mouth to explain I wasn’t open.
“Are you Melinda Sue Langston?” his gruff voice shot out.
I was beginning to hate my name. “Yes. But I’m not open.”
The dogs were still going at it in the background.
He handed me the envelope. “You’ve been served,” he said, then fled down the street.
“What? Hey, get back here.”
“You’re being sued?” Tricia asked with a disturbing girlish giggle.
“Calm down. It’s not a Lifetime movie of the week.” I ripped open the envelope.
Sure enough. I was being sued. By Tova Randall. Seriously, how does this happen?
“Tricia, I have to go. We’ll talk about Fluffy later. I have somewhere to be.”
I shoved the envelope in my bag and grabbed a thick, black, snake- skinned collar with rhinestones.
“But-but, Fluffy,” she stammered.
I grabbed the dogs and pushed Tricia out the door.
“Grab a martini at the Dirty Bird. We’re done.”
Chapter Fourteen
I’m sure by now it’s obvious, I don’t avoid confrontation. But I didn’t have the patience to deal with Malone. As I walked up Forest, two dogs in tow, half the town either offered to take Mona’s dog off my hands or spouted advice on caring for a pampered pooch like Fluffy.
The sun hid behind a handful of clouds, allowing a slight chill to settle in the air. I shivered. I formed an impromptu plan between Beach Street and the police station. If I dropped off Mona’s phone at the front desk, quickly explained about the collar and then left, I’d have some extra time with Mona’s lawyer. I wanted to know how Tova could sue me.
We walked inside the police station, and before the dogs and I had even reached the information counter, we had the attention of both uniformed ladies. One a body builder with a don’t-waste-my-time chip on her shoulder. The other a skinny tomboy with blond curls and a really big gun.
“That’s Mona’s dog,” the one with double D biceps said.
“Yes, it is.”
“You must be Melinda.” She immediately picked up the phone and paged Malone.
I shook my head and waved my hand for her to stop. “No need. I’m not here to see the detective.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the one who couldn’t have weighed more than her gun said. “He wants to see you.”
Great. “I really don’t have a lot of time. I have another appointment. I just wanted to-”
“Ms. Langston.”
I sighed, recognizing the no-nonsense voice in an instant. “Malone.”
He was just as intimidating and good looking away from his crime scene. Today he was wearing jeans, black shirt and leather jacket. He wasn’t my kinda good-looking, but I could certainly see why Caro had found him appealing.
Missy lay down at my feet, drooling on my ballet flats. Fluffy growled. No drool necessary.
“Fluffy, sit.” I liked her for verbalizing how I felt toward Malone.
“Come on back to my office.” Said the spider to the fly.
“I’d rather not. I have another appointment.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” He left, expecting us to follow.
He’s a cop. So we did.
We all traipsed down one hall and then another until we finally reached our destination. If his office were a restaurant, it’d be considered a hole in the wall, with seating for two. I’d imagined it much larger.