“What’s this rumor I heard about somebody claiming Yoda?” Odette said.
I summarized Perry’s story about Boomgarden escaping from his rented cabin on the beach.
Odette asked, “Does Peg Goh know she’s got to give up the cat she tattooed on her arm?”
“Not yet.”
That was when I realized I should probably be the one to tell her. Or at least alert her to the fact that someone named Perry Stiles would soon be calling.
“You might as well get that nasty job out of the way,” Odette said.
I’d had plenty of experience delivering unpleasant news by telephone but never on the subject of cats. Although this wouldn’t be fun, fortunately for me Peg was one of the most stable people in town. Sure, she’d be disappointed, but I expected her to take it in stride.
I was wrong.
When I called her at the Goh Cup, Peg launched her part of the conversation with a litany of Yoda’s latest “hilarious” antics, most of which sounded just plain appalling to me.
“You know what he especially loves to do?” Peg enthused. “Ride around on my shoulder-like a parrot!”
I saw no charm in that. But I seized upon her remark as a clever transition.
“That does sound like something a parrot would do. Maybe that’s what your next pet should be, Peg. A parrot!”
Silence greeted my suggestion. Apparently, I was going to have to make myself clearer.
“Peg, I’m at this dog show in Indiana, and I met this guy-“
“You did? But I thought you and Jeb were back together. He’s on his way to help you right now, you know. Oh, Whiskey, how could you go and fall for somebody else?”
“I didn’t ‘fall for’ anybody!”
I glanced at Odette for guidance, but she merely gave me the “wrap-it-up-fast” sign.
“Trust me, Peg,” I continued, “I’m not this other guy’s type. The thing is, well, we got to talking… about Magnet Springs. It turns out he was there last spring, in a cabin on the beach-“
“And he visited the Goh Cup? Is that what you’re calling to tell me? I bet he liked the big cookies! Most men do. Let me guess which flavor he liked best…”
I took a breath and plunged ahead.
“I’m sorry, Peg, but that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. What I’m trying to tell you is that this guy-his name is Perry Stiles-was there with his cat-his friend’s cat, actually-and the cat got lost, and the cat is Yoda! That’s right, Peg, the cat you tattooed on your arm is somebody else’s cat, and that somebody else wants his cat back. His real name is Boomgarden, by the way. The cat, not the somebody else. I’m sure this is shocking, and I’m really sorry it happened, but I’m just trying to do the right thing by giving you a heads up.”
Her reply: silence as deep as the snow on Mount Everest and as long as a bored yawn from Odette.
“Peg? Did you hear me?”
More silence. And then, just as I was about to check our connection, she wailed.
“But I love my cat! Yoda is my family-the only thing in my life that gives me joy! You don’t think I love slinging coffee and cookies, do you? Let alone selling tattoos! And as for being mayor of this little town, what’s to love? It’s high risk, low income. I don’t have to tell you what happened to the last guy in that job!”
She was referring to the fact that I had discovered the previous mayor’s dead body. Before I could think of a soothing reply, or any reply at all for that matter, Odette grabbed my phone.
“Peg, this is Odette. What Whiskey’s trying to say is that the cat’s got to go. Back to its owner. ASAP. But there’s an upside: the owner’s got cash, so he’ll make it worth your while. You can bank on it!”
She closed the connection and returned my phone.
“You can’t promise her cash!” I sputtered.
“Of course, I can.”
She nodded toward Perry Stiles, who had paused on his way to the show ring to chat with a handler.
“Any guy who’d rent a cabin on the beach with another guy is not only gay but rich. He will pay a reward for the return of the cat.”
“But the cat is Yoda,” I protested.
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Odette said. “But there is accounting.”
“I’ll go talk to him,” I said.
“No. I’ll go talk to him. We want to get as much money as possible for Peg.”
I nodded humbly. Nobody did deals as well as Odette.
“But first I’ve got to ask you a question,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“From what I hear, there’s been more than enough of that. Is there always this much drama at a dog show?”
“Well, this is my first. But I’m pretty sure most dog shows don’t involve gunfire.”
“Aside from gunfire,” Odette said, “why the petty personal squabbles? I hear one every time I turn my head. Who cares who handles whose dog?”
“Are you talking about Susan’s dog, for example? The one Matt brought over to the Davies’ table?”
“Matt the young hottie,” Odette confirmed.
I didn’t add that he was Susan’s young hottie. It wasn’t the right moment to tell Odette that Liam’s wife was as notorious for cheating as… well, as Liam was. I didn’t know how much Odette knew. Or how much she wanted to let me know she knew.
“Silverado is headed for the finals,” Odette remarked without interest. “Susan wants Matt to handle him. But Liam and his niece think the niece should handle him. Frankly, who the hell cares? And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get Peg’s money.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I’m sorry to hear about your bitch.”
Sandy Slater had entered the concession area, apparently on break from selling snoods.
“You mean Abra?” I asked, just to be sure we weren’t talking about someone else.
She nodded sympathetically. “I heard that she ran away with some goats. I’ll pray for you both. If she comes back this weekend, stop by my booth for a complimentary snood of your choosing. The rose sateen snoods are especially popular today.”
When she pulled one out of a pocket to show me, a breeder eating nachos nearby said, “I want that one, Sandy! Save it for me.”
The woman was a snood-selling machine. I thanked her and turned to go. Then I realized that Sandy should have answers to my remaining questions about Mitchell Slater. The only real question was whether she’d cooperate.
“I’ll buy you anything but a burger,” I offered and explained that the burgers were bad. Or had been yesterday.
Sandy hesitated. “It’s not the food,” she said. “I shouldn’t fraternize with Bad Examples. I don’t mind selling you snoods, of course, but hanging out with you could hurt my business. In case you haven’t noticed, this crowd is snooty.”
“Snooty about snoods?” I couldn’t resist.
“Snooty about you. They don’t like you. Or your bitch.”
“I’ve noticed. At least Perry Stiles is nice.”
When Sandy frowned, I realized that, unlike her late first husband, she looked her age. Whereas Mitchell Slater had been tanned, teeth-bleached, and Botoxed, Sandy was the absolute absence of vanity. She wore no make-up, had coffee-stained teeth, and sported every single wrinkle she’d earned. Lots of gray hairs, too.
“Perry Stiles is a snake,” she hissed.
“He said nice things about you,” I lied.
“I doubt it. He didn’t like Mitchell, either. And I’m sure he gossips about my son Matthew.”
“With regard to what?” I tried to sound naïve.
“You’re not as dumb as you look,” Sandy snapped.
“How kind of you.”
“All I’m saying is you can’t trust Perry to tell you the truth. About anybody. He especially disliked Mitchell.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“Maybe I am as dumb as I look.”
Sandy glanced around and then stepped closer. “Mitchell was gay.”