“Please do. Did you hear their conversation?”
He shifted his weight. “You understand, part of my job is to not hear what my employer says.”
This is what I was picking up on. He didn’t want to seem disloyal, but he’d sought me out for a reason. “Sometimes you can’t help it. Maybe what you accidentally overheard could help find her killer.”
His lips thinned, and he turned a wee bit pompous. “I signed a confidentiality agreement. I should not have shared what I have.”
He was making me crazy with his back and forth. “Normally, I’d agree. But your boss is dead. She was murdered. I’m sure she’d rather you help find her killer than to keep quiet because of some standard contract every employee in southern California signs.”
He cleared his throat. “The psychic told Mona Fluffy didn’t like to wear the crown.”
That was it? That’s what had him twisted in knots like a scared virgin on her wedding night?
That wasn’t a big dark secret, which once revealed would save Darby. Well, hells bells. “Trust me, she likes the crown.” Sarcasm dripped from each word.
Even I had liked the crowns. At least in the beginning. But then I realized the crowns didn’t belong to me. They belonged to my mama. And my Aunt Kat. But never me-the one who’d strutted her stuff across the stage like a 4-H calf at the Texas State Fair.
“Was Mona upset? Mad? Did she believe her?” Did she laugh in Jo’s face? Because I sure the heck would have.
A crooked smile tilted the edge of his mouth, and his eyes softened. “I believe her exact words were, ‘Don’t be a stupid cow.’”
I laughed. Now that sounded like Mona. He must have misinterpreted my amusement.
“Mrs. Michaels didn’t have a lot of friends,” Alex explained needlessly. “Her personality was… difficult.”
Difficult. He was endearing, protecting Mona’s ruthless reputation. “You’re very diplomatic. What was Jo’s reaction?”
He tugged at his collar. “They talked quietly most of the time, but I could tell she was upset.”
He was downplaying the interaction between them. I set my mug on the coffee bar and closed the space between us, hoping I was instilling confidence. “How upset?”
“She said, ‘To me you’re dead. I’ve already said my good-byes.’” He recited the words as if he were auditioning for a Shakespearean play.
Jo did it. Jo killed Mona. I knew it. I knew it.
I wanted to jump up and down and clap my hands like a goon. If I’d been alone, I’d have line danced from one end of the store to the other.
I gripped his arm. “Thank you, Alex.”
“It would be,” he cleared his throat and looked around the empty shop, “inconvenient if it got out that I told you this.”
“I understand. I won’t say anything unless I have to. But I can’t let an innocent person be accused of a crime she didn’t commit.”
“Of course not. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I came by to give you this.” He pulled a small electronic device from his sports coat pocket and held it in the palm of his hand.
“What the heck is it?” I asked, looking it over.
“Fluffy’s digital video camera. It attaches to her leather collar.”
“She wore this?”
“Upon occasion.”
“You’re kidding me? How does it work?” I could sell a ton of pet video cameras. A day in the life of your pet would be an instant best seller.
Alex gave me a crash course on the FAQs. It attached to the collar with a special clip on the backside. The rechargeable battery lasted approximately five hours. It recharged and downloaded the recording with a USB cable attached to a computer.
“I found it under the backseat on the passenger side. It must have fallen out of Ms. Michaels purse,” he explained.
It was possible the camera may have recorded something important. Determination exploded in my chest. I wanted to close the shop, go home and watch it.
I knew she couldn’t have recorded the murder, but maybe she had somehow recorded evidence. What if she’d recorded that last conversation between her and Jo? What if that was already downloaded on her computer? Excitement bubbled with each possibility.
I had to get back to Mona’s.
“Please don’t let Mr. Michael’s know that I gave this to you,” Alex asked.
“Sure. Whatever you say,” I answered absently before it registered what he’d said. I looked up and asked, “What? Why?”
“He wanted it, but Mrs. Michaels refused to give it to him.”
Mona could have refused to hand it over because she was mean and nasty. But that didn’t explain why Cliff wanted it.
Before I could ask more questions, the shop door swung open, and television teen star Shar Summers waltzed inside, her Chinese Crested, Babycakes, nestled in the crook of her arm. As God is my witness, Babycakes was one ugly dog. Shar, on the other hand, was adorable. They were both so tiny they could be mistaken for keychain charms.
Pooch and human were decked out in hot pink. Hairless by breed, the pup was wrapped in a pink “fur” coat, which perfectly matched Shar’s faux fur vest. They were also wearing black Uggs, Babycakes sporting the doggie kind.
Only the actress wore pink leggings, apparently that was the imaginary line Shar didn’t cross-pants for her dog. Go figure.
I caught Alex’s horrified look before he recovered and molded a neutral expression to his face. A chuckle lodged in my throat.
“Looks like someone threw up a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, and it splashed all over them,” I whispered.
“Indeed.”
“Excuse me for a moment,” I said, and quickly met the cutesy twosome at the counter. “Hey, Shar. I’m glad you could stop in. Are you ready for your trip to Europe?”
Her TV series, Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo, about triplets who perform magic, was filming an episode in England. Just for clarification, there weren’t triplets, just Shar, playing triplets.
She covered Babycake’s ears, one of the few parts on his miniature body with hair. “Shh. It’s a surprise. Baby doesn’t know we’re taking a widdle twip.”
I cringed at her baby talk. I never understood why people insisted on talking down to their baby, let alone their animal. Especially people with small dogs.
I lowered my voice, “I have your special order in the office. I’ll grab it.”
I wanted to get back to Alex as quickly as I could. I hurried to the storage area and immediately found the plush white box containing the $35,000 doggles Shar had commissioned. (No, that’s not a typo. Let me spell it out-thirty-five thousand dollars. For sunglasses. For a dog. Hello!)
I hadn’t been gone for more than two minutes, but that was enough time for Alex to escape my questions. Dang.
I set the box on the counter and slid it to Shar. “Here you go.”
“I’m not sure I should open it in front her.” She pushed out her bottom lip and looked at me expectantly.
As if I’d ever let myself be manipulated by pouting. Sheesh. There was no way I’d hold that dog. Last I’d heard she’d not only bitten Caro, but she’d bitten Detective Malone, too.
Thinking about Malone made me think about Mona, which made me think about how often Cliff’s name popped up. He could have killed Mona. He had motive and opportunity. And it would have been easy for him to get into the gated community without drawing attention.
Then there was Jo. Like Darby, Jo couldn’t have gotten into the neighborhood without the guard letting her though or without using the access code. Did Jo have other clients in the neighborhood? Could they have given her the access code?
“Well?” Shar asked, pulling me out of my mental-sleuthing.
It was time to get rid of Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Two so I could bop over to Mona’s and find her computer. “How about, I open the box and hold it above Baby’s head?”