I looked around the room again.
Wow.
The staircase was a lacy white wrought iron. And there were—I kid you not—butterflies and hearts painted on the wall that followed the curve of the stairs.
I took a seat on a white Victorian couch. It looked like a prop. I hoped it was okay to actually sit on it.
Shar was back and handed me a glass of what else, pink lemonade. “I thought you might like some lemonade. It’s really, really refreshing.”
“Thanks.” I took the crystal goblet, hoping she hadn’t added any magic potions to the drink. I needed all my wits about me.
Taking a sip, I asked. “How long have you been having a problem with Babycakes?”
Shar plopped down beside me on the couch, folding her tiny tanned legs under her, still holding the little dog who was by now shivering.
“Let’s see. I think it was a couple of weeks ago it started.” She twirled a blonde curl around one finger as she spoke. “I guess it was mostly this past week. Baby’s always been a little timid, but she started getting really frazzled. I mean more than usual. But then, you know, I’ve been like all frazzled myself with taping the show, and wondering if the network is going to renew, and all the stress.”
She finally took a breath and I took the opportunity to interrupt. “You said something on the phone about her nipping at some of your friends?”
“Yes, I had some girls over for a little girls’ night get-together. A ‘tini party.” She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure how much to confess.
I knew by ‘tini she didn’t mean tiny. She meant martinis.
“Alcohol-free martinis, you know.” She’d apparently decided I was ancient and an old stuffed-shirt who just might turn her in for underage drinking no matter how famous she was.
I tried to focus on her and the dog, ignoring the swirls of cotton-candy pink surrounding me. It was difficult.
Easing a little closer to her and the Chinese Crested, but not touching either the dog or Shar, I kept my voice low and calm. “It was then you had the problem with Babycakes nipping at people?”
A little rumble had started in the dog’s throat and the warning got louder the closer I got. The important thing was to stay very calm and to let Babycakes know the situation was under control. It was often insecurity or an unstable situation that caused dogs to bite . . . er, nip.
The technique I liked to use was not to challenge the dog since that could create more fear, but to let the animal know it was safe and the person was in control. You did that with your voice and your body language. I was about to explain the technique to Shar when she lifted the pooch in front of her face and gave her a little shake.
“Now, listen here, sweetie peetie, that’s not a vewy nice way to talk to our guest,” she scolded. “You better be a good girl or no sweet potato puppy treats for sweetums.”
Shar looked at me for approval, bobbed her pink sparkly head, and plopped the dog down on the couch.
Babycakes promptly ran over and bit me.
Chaos ensued. Shar screamed and ran around, and the dog barked and ran around.
I was afraid I was going to drip blood on the white couch so I jumped up and ran around trying to locate something for my hand. I tried to calm the other two and maintain my sanity.
Of course, it was at that exact moment the doorbell chimed.
I don’t know if Shar didn’t have house staff or if they were afraid to wade into the chaos, but no one answered the door.
Shar was still running around trying to catch Babycakes. Babycakes was still running around barking. I’d decided to staunch the blood with the hem of my favorite Akris Punto top. I knew I’d regret it later but there was not a rag, tissue, or paper towel in sight, and I figured if I tried to find the kitchen, I’d leave a Hansel and Gretel blood trail behind me.
The doorbell peeled again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, I walked to the door and pulled it open.
On the other side was, of course, Detective Judd Malone.
That’s the kind of day I was having.
He looked at the chaos going on, looked down at my bloody hand, and stepped into the entryway. A screaming Shar jumped up and down. A barking Babycakes ran out from behind the princess couch and charged toward the detective.
“Quiet!” Malone ordered and then reached down and picked up the little dog.
Babycakes promptly bit him.
To say the detective and I formed a blood bond might be putting it too strongly, but Malone and I definitely had the most civil conversation we’d ever had as we stood together at Shar Summers kitchen sink, rinsing our wounds under her fancy gold faucet.
“Make sure you rinse it really well,” I cautioned as I reached over and pulled his hand back into the flow of warm water. “You want to be sure it’s clean so you don’t risk infection.”
His raised brow said he was tough and wasn’t scared of any silly little infection, but he let me hold his hand under the water and pump another dab of antibacterial soap into the puncture wound.
Holding Malone’s hand in mine, I realized that while I’d admired his tough guy looks from afar, I’d never been this close before. Looking up at him, I decided his long dark eyelashes were just as attractive up close as they’d been from across the room. And the five o-clock shadow . . . yeah, scruffy was a good look on him.
“So why—” We spoke in unison.
“You go first.” He shook the water from his hand and looked around for a towel.
I spotted one on the kitchen island, retrieved it, and handed it to him. I had no idea where Shar had gone, and I still hadn’t seen any staff.
“I was here working with the dog. Shar had been having some issues when she had friends over.”
“Let me guess. Biting kinds of issues?” Malone’s posture still said bad boy, but I think there was the barest hint of a snicker trying to break through.
“Yeah, biting kinds of issues.”
“Still some work to be done,” he noted.
No Shih Tzu, Sherlock.
“Yes, more work to be done.” I let go of his hand and stepped away looking for another towel. He handed me his.
“You?” His appearance at Shar’s door had to have an explanation.
Malone stared at me. I felt the intensity of his gaze like the hot California sun.
There are some men, just like dogs, who can’t really be domesticated. They’ll still be part wild, and no matter how tame and housebroken they seem, when push comes to shove, they’ll revert to their wolf nature.
Detective Judd Malone was one of those breeds.
“I stopped by to talk to Ms. Summers.”
“Someone broke into my garden shed out in back.” Shar surfaced and was holding Babycakes wrapped up in a pink fluffy blanket. “I don’t know when it happened, but my dad said I should turn it in to my insurance company. And when the insurance guy came out, he said I needed a police report.”
“And they sent a homicide detective?” Something about that didn’t quite add up for me.
“Given recent developments, I decided to come by and take a look first. I believe you left me a phone message about some information you have regarding Kevin Blackstone’s death?”
I nodded. This was the perfect time to explain about Kevin’s notebook and hand it over. Maybe he’d be a little more sympathetic since we’d shared injuries.
“I don’t want to hear any more about death!” Shar pulled the fluffy blanket up off the dog and over her head like a pair of giant pink earmuffs. “Kevin was such a sweet man. Wasn’t he, Babycakes?” She touched noses with the little dog who was back to shivering.
I couldn’t let the misrepresentation go. Shar had an entry in the book. Maybe she had something to hide. “I thought you had a run in with Kevin this week over his dogs.”
Shar’s head swiveled toward me. “Who told you that?”
“Kevin did. Said you told him if he didn’t get his d
ogs under control, he’d be sorry.”
“Oh.” Shar held Babycakes against her pink lace daisies. Her small hands patted the delicate head. “His big dogs scared Babycakes. That’s all. I told him their barking frightened her.”
Malone looked at me as if to say it all seemed reasonable to him.
I took Malone’s hand again and looked at the puncture. He resisted a little. “I think the soap and water has cleaned the wound pretty well, but better safe than sorry.”
I turned to Shar. If I could get her out of the room, I’d tell Malone about the book. “Do you have any alcohol?”
“Like vodka?”
I guess those ‘tinis were vodka martinis.
Malone and I looked at each other, and this time I thought he really was going to crack a smile. His resistance to the humor of the situation was far greater than mine.
I snorted.
“No, like rubbing alcohol to use as an antiseptic on our matching dog bites.” I held up my hand.
“Oh, no. I don’t have anything like that.”
Detective Malone’s cell phone buzzed and he stepped outside to take the call. But not before telling me, “Don’t go anywhere.”
I could see him walking the perimeter of Shar’s backyard. He stepped into the shed and then stepped back out. He disappeared around the corner of the house. Then came inside and chatted with Shar for a few minutes in the kitchen. I gathered my belongings and waited for him by the front door. As difficult as it was to reach him, I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.
Malone walked back into the living room, a stark contrast to all the girly frills, his tall, dark, and dangerous good looks making a swath through the pink. He seemed surprised to see me waiting. Had he forgotten he’d ordered me to?
“Thanks for waiting.” He reached past me to open the door, and I could see the puncture from Babycakes was still bleeding a bit.
We walked toward my car. Okay, deep breath. Best to get it over with.
I reached into my bag, pulled out Kevin’s notebook, and handed it to Malone.
“This is what I called you about.”
“What the hell is this?” He stilled.
“It’s a book Kevin Blackstone kept with notes on his neighbors and other people he knew. I’m in there. My cousin is in there.”
“And you have it, why?” he bit out.
“I accidently took it when I retrieved my grandmother’s brooch. And I’ve been trying to give it to you ever since.”
“Apparently not trying very hard.” He’d begun to pace. Not a good sign. “I’ve questioned you how many times since then?”
I didn’t think he really wanted an answer so I kept quiet.
“Dammit, Caro, you took evidence from a crime scene.”
“It wasn’t a crime scene—”
“Stop. Don’t even go there. It was a crime scene whether or not the tape was up.”
I had no defense. He was right. I shouldn’t have gone to Kevin’s to get the brooch. I’d been flustered and accidently taken the notebook, and I should have told him about it when he’d questioned me about having been at Kevin’s.
“Anything else you’ve neglected to tell me?” His earlier friendliness was totally gone.
I can’t carry a tune to save my life, I hate brussel sprouts, sometimes I snore. I didn’t think he meant any of those things.
“No.”
Malone turned on his heel, walked to his car, got in, slammed the door, and drove away.
He hadn’t given me time to tell him, but I didn’t think he’d be happy about the fact I had a copy, and was still intent on figuring out Kevin’s notes myself.
Chapter Fourteen
After I left Shar’s I felt like I needed to be hosed down to wash off the cuteness. Seriously to each her own decorating, but someone should have worked with the girl. It wouldn’t have hurt to scrub off some of Malone’s hostility, either.
My guilt over not telling him about the book sooner didn’t allow me to berate him too much for being aggravated. Still, if he threw a hissy fit with every innocent bystander who held back, he wasn’t going to get very far in Ruby Point. People have secrets. Secrets they may not want to share. Didn’t mean they’d killed anyone. The guy could use a lesson or three on how to encourage cooperation. If Malone treated everyone like he did me, no wonder the police weren’t any closer to solving Kevin’s murder.
My hand was a little sore but I didn’t think it needed to be looked at. If Detective Judd Malone was tough enough to take it, then, what the heck, so was I.
Why couldn’t such a handsome devil have a decent attitude, or at least the decency to stay out of my way?
I continued on to my next house call, which was a new Ruby Point client, a blended family having difficulties. The people family part of the equation had blended very well. The kids had accepted their new siblings just fine, but the two dogs from the individual families were having a problem getting along.
I found the house easily, a bright cottage type, surrounded by flowers and palm trees like the others. The husband was the one who had called me, but I’d asked if it was possible for them both to be at home during our first session. I needed to get a feel for the human dynamics before I could make an assessment of any kind.
The dogs were both Chow Chows, Fidel and Flossie, and it was plain they did not care for each other at all. Like naughty kids, as soon as the dogs greeted me, they began to vie for attention. In a short time they were nosing each other away, shoving their bodies in front of one another, and showing other signs of aggression.
Sumner Garst and his new wife, Ginny, had met at a “dog and drinks” social event. Both were Chow lovers. It had seemed to be a match made in doggie heaven. But as far as Fidel and Flossie were concerned the honeymoon was over. The key to getting them to get along was going to be cooperation and consistency.
I’d worked with Sumner and Ginny on some simple techniques for their daily walks and the dogs had reluctantly tolerated being together. The family members would have to be firm. Chow Chows are great dogs but they’re an independent breed and not very sharing with their possessions. Nor their people.
We were practicing out in front of the house so that the distractions would be the same as they were on their daily walks. We’d just completed a circuit of walking the dogs together when two police cars sped by.
Now two police cars in downtown LA would hardly cause you to drop your latte. Two police cars in downtown Laguna Beach is a big event, and two police cars in the gated community of Ruby Point was downright bizarro.
I stepped to the end of the driveway to see if I could tell where they were going. Down the street a bit, a man worked on the wine-red bougainvillea spilling out of the stone planters in the middle of the street. It wasn’t the same guy Zeus had taken a bite out of the day Kevin was killed. This guy was older and stockier. I’d watched for the original landscaper, but I hadn’t seen the guy since that day.
The cruisers had turned the curve so they were definitely headed toward Kevin’s. I swung around and nearly plowed into Sumner and Ginny who’d followed me to the end of the driveway.
“Are you ready to try more distance?”
“Of course.” I could tell from their expressions they were curious about where the police cars were headed. Fidel and Flossie may have been curious, too, but it was hard to tell under the profusion of fur. The five of us moved in the direction the cars had gone. The dogs were doing great. I’m sometimes surprised at how quickly the techniques make a difference.
Once we rounded the corner, I could see the police weren’t at Kevin’s. They were parked in Diana Knight’s drive. And not only that, there were several officers with shovels digging up her flower beds.
We continued down the walkway, and as we got closer I could see a crowd had gathered. Diana was out front with Barbary, her latest foster dog. He was a basset hound puppy from the ARL. The poor dog had lost his eye, probably in a fight. He was the only ill-tempered basset hound I�
��d ever met. Most hounds are pretty docile and very loyal, but I suspected Barbary had been abused. The little guy was not likely to be adopted and his days had been numbered, so Diana had taken him in. No big surprise there, huh? He stood like a sentry by her side.
As I moved toward Diana, I noticed Detective Judd Malone standing to one side watching the excavation. Great.
“Detective.” I approached him.
“Ms. Lamont.” His unsmiling face said he wasn’t open to pleasantries.
“What’s going on?” I hoped the quiver in my voice wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to me.
He stood immobile, feet planted apart, not looking at me. “Following up on a tip.”
“A tip about what?”
Malone finally looked my way. His laser blue gaze pinned me. “Lots of curiosity for a pet psychic.”
Now that was just a low blow. I could feel my face get hot and I reined in my temper. If I hadn’t thought he’d arrest me, I’d have been tempted to bop him upside the head.
“Not a psychic,” I corrected, although I knew he knew better. “A psychologist.”
Suddenly one of the officers who’d been digging motioned Malone over. He slipped on some gloves, picked up whatever had been unearthed, and dropped it in a paper bag. He said something I couldn’t hear. All the others stopped and began to pack their gear.
In a very short time, the police cars were gone and the crowd dispersed, Detective Malone along with them.
I let Sumner and Ginny know I’d catch up with them later and approached Diana who stood on her front steps, holding what must have been a search warrant and shaking her head.
She motioned me inside and we made our way through the assorted pets to her kitchen. Diana picked up Mr. Wiggles, tucked him in the crook of her arm, and poured us each a glass of sweet tea.
“What do you think it was they dug out of your flower beds?” I pulled out a chair and sat, still baffled at the swarm of police who’d swooped in, excavated Diana’s landscaping, and then, apparently having found what they were looking for, left without a word. They didn’t even clean up after themselves.
“I don’t know what it was, but the City Council will be getting a bill from me to replace my American Beauty rose bush.” She set the glasses on the table and joined me. “I’ve been trying for three years to get that thing to grow and now it’s gone. Pffft! Just like that.” She flicked her hand.
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