I rang the bell and cringed. Hopefully the new owner would replace that thing.
The door opened, and there stood Camilla in slacks and blouse. She looked very attractive. I wondered if she’d burned the unflattering black uniform Mona had insisted she wear.
“Hi, Camilla. I came by to pick up some of Fluffy’s things.”
“Miz Melinda. You bring Fluffy?” She stepped back and welcomed me inside.
“I left her at my place. I didn’t think bringing her home was good for her. Did you know Mona named me Fluffy’s guardian?”
“Si. I hear.” She closed the door. “I have Fluffy’s things for you.” Her light accent echoed throughout the palatial foyer.
I followed her to the sunroom. Sure enough, it was packed to the top of the white crown molding with Fluffy’s belongings. The luxurious couches and tables were covered with boxes, crates and leaning stacks of dog stuff. There was more inventory here than I carried during tourist season.
Brushes, combs, hair clips, hair products, dog food, Waterford crystal dog bowls. Blankets, toys, CDS, DVDS, clothing, a dog bed, pillows, pictures. You get the idea.
Lord have mercy, there was no way it would all fit in my Jeep. “I don’t need all of this.” I waved my hand at the mess in front of us.
“These are Fluffy’s belongings. You must take them.”
“I’d have to rent a moving truck to get this back to my place. Even then I wouldn’t have room for everything.”
She nodded. “Miz Mona spoiled Fluffy.”
Or Mona was a hoarder. Either way it was obvious she was two sandwiches short of a picnic.
“Tell me what I absolutely must take.” I refastened my ponytail, securing all the stray hairs around my face and sighed. “Everything else can stay here until I figure out what I’m going to do.”
“You not keep Fluffy?” her accent grew more pronounced. She shook her head and pointed a finger at me. “You have to. Miz Mona trusted you to keep Fluffy safe.”
“What do you mean, safe?”
She crossed herself. “She trusted you.”
“How do you know?”
She just stared at me with that knowing look that said people in her position knew more than they should, but she wasn’t one to gossip.
“You might as well talk. Mona’s dead. She can’t punish you for spillin’ the beans.”
She wrung her hands, obviously nervous to repeat Mona’s words. “She said you were impulsive, had no fashion sense, and sabotaged your one shot at success.”
Mona had a lot to say. Just because I preferred jeans and t-shirts (today’s shirt read, Sit Happens), didn’t mean I wasn’t fashionable. I didn’t argue the other two. They were pretty accurate.
“She also said you wouldn’t ever use her Fluffy.”
Well heck, when did I get so predictable?
“That’s all nice and very Mona-like, but that doesn’t convince me Fluffy’s in danger or why I’m her only option for a well-adjusted life.”
Camilla regarded me with a stubborn set to her mouth and refused to say more.
“I’m not taking all of this home. I came for a brush, food and hair product.”
Camilla was suddenly in motion. “You must take her favorite bowl. And pictures. She can’t forget Miz Mona. Oh, and home movies.”
She was like a wild woman piling Fluffy’s belongings at my feet.
“I have a Jeep not a U-Haul,” I reminded her.
“She likes filtered water and her bathrobe. Nail clippers, toothbrush, breath mints, clean-up bags, vitamins…”
“Whoa. Hold on there.”
Camilla stopped in the middle of tossing the plastic bottle of vitamins.
“Give me the bowl, brush, bathing products and food.”
“No pictures?” she looked pleadingly at me.
“Fine. Pick one,” I relented.
“And a home movie?”
“You’re pushing it.”
She hid a small smile as she gathered the few items I agreed to take, loaded them into a huge designer dog bed.
“You and Fluffy get along. It will be good. You see.” She patted my arm.
“Whatever you say, Camilla. I can see you’re in charge now.”
I pretended not to see her sneak a movie, a large envelope (which was probably full of pictures) and a doggie cookbook on the pile. I didn’t want to break her heart, but I wasn’t cooking for Mona’s dog.
With Camilla’s help we carried everything to the Jeep and somehow managed to shove it all inside. (At the last minute, she’d insisted I take all of Fluffy’s tiaras and a small safe to store them. The dog actually had a safe.) I left with my Fluffy items and headed home. I couldn’t worry about the mess I was leaving behind. I had a feeling I was driving into an even bigger one.
It had been a long and stressful day. My neck was stiff, and my back was sore. I’d cleaned out the guest room (AKA junk room) and made room for Fluffy and her belongings. I left a number of items in a small box in the closet, planning to get to them later.
So far Fluffy was unimpressed with the setup and continued to nap on my bed. I crossed my fingers that by bedtime she’d prefer her own room.
A long soak in the tub was in order. But first I wanted my special peanut butter cookie and a mug of milk. My mouth watered in anticipation.
Missy and Fluffy staked out the kitchen doorway in a doggie trance waiting for me to drop dough. I’m sure the smell of freshly baked cookies was making their mouths drool. I know mine was.
I’d just pulled the last batch from the oven when my cell phone rang, interrupting my baking party. Mama’s name flashed on the screen. It rang three more times before I picked up.
“Hello, Mama.”
“I can’t believe you let me hear about Mona on the news. You were brought up better than that, Sugar.” Her confident voice and teased, bottle-blond hair carried across the miles.
I pulled out a hands-free ear bud from my junk drawer and continued transferring cookies onto the cooling rack.
“I’ve been a little preoccupied. How’s Daddy?” I asked.
My daddy was a saint. John “Jack” Langston had managed to stay married to Mama for almost thirty-five years. Mama had trapped Daddy when she was nineteen. Daddy didn’t seem to mind. (He said no one ever forced him to do anything he didn’t want to. I believed him.) Mama acted like it hadn’t really happened. But my brother Mitch existed, and at times I believed he paid the price for Mama’s reckless decision.
“He’s fine. What happened to Mona?” she asked. No, demanded.
“She was murdered.”
“Oh, Melinda. Why are you so difficult? You know what I’m talking about. Who did it? Was it an intruder or someone she knew? What happened?”
I dumped the dirty cookie sheets into the sink. I took a deep breath of patience, keeping in mind they were childhood friends. “The police don’t confide in me, Mama.”
“I heard Fluffy was the one to find her and called 9-1-1.”
I smiled. “Ah, no. Fluffy can’t use a phone. That was me.”
“You found her?”
“No, that was Fluffy.”
She was quiet for a second. I took that opportunity to fill the mixing bowl with water.
“Who has the dog, Melinda?” she asked, exasperated.
I looked at Fluffy whose eyes begged for cookies. “Me.”
“You already have a dog.” She didn’t shriek. That wasn’t acceptable from someone with her pedigree. But her normally soft Texas accent thickened.
“A number of people have more than one dog. Mona thought I should be guardian. So Fluffy’s here, either hogging my bed or sleeping on my couch.” I poured myself a mug of milk.
“Why would you ever let her share your bed? Doesn’t she have her own? What if she has fleas? Really, Melinda, don’t you think about these things?”
The vexation in her voice drummed in my ears. It was time to change the subject-or hang up. “What happened between the two of you? You and Mona.”