Desperate Housedogs

by Sparkle Abbey

  “Mama—” My voice should have warned her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just butt out of my love life.”

  “Carolina, honey, you don’t have a love life for me to butt in or butt out of.”

  “Still, that’s my business.”

  “Don’t be mad. It’s like your grandmother used to say, you sit on the shelf too long and you sour. It’s time to get out and live, girl.”

  “That’s what I’m doing, Mama, but I’ve got to do it on my own.”

  By the time I got to the office and off the phone I was madder than a wet hen.

  I don’t know whether I was angrier about her meddling in my love life, or the fact that she was right, and I truly didn’t have one. I could have a love life if I wanted to. Hadn’t Sam asked me out just last night? Yes, he had. That I was focused on getting my best friend out of jail instead of the state of my social life was to my credit.

  Later that morning, Samuel Gallanos called my office and asked me to lunch. And in a weak moment I accepted. My “take that, Mama!” rationale might not have been to my credit.

  I reasoned I’d turned him down on the dinner and so Mr. Persistence opted for lunch. Lunch seemed safer. Less intimate. Still, if it hadn’t been on the heels of that stupid phone conversation with my mother, I knew I would not have caved so easily.

  Dating Sam Gallanos might prove to be a nice pastime but it would be a complete waste of time. If I was going to go to the trouble to actually go on a date, it should be with someone who was interested in a real honest-to-God relationship. I was thirty-one and a half and I loved my single life, but if I was going to bother with a date, it should be one with at least a snowball’s chance in hell of leading to a future.

  All the signs around Sam pointed to player.

  The beautiful people, the expensive clothes, the carefree attitude. Based on what I’d seen, I didn’t think he had a job, which meant he probably inherited money.

  Major player.

  Well, it was just lunch, and all of Mama’s baiting on the phone had worn me down. As was often the case after talking with Mama Kat, I felt like I’d been pulled through a knothole sideways.

  Once I’d accepted I had second (and third) thoughts about accepting a lunch invitation out of wanting to spite my mother, I offered to meet him at the restaurant of his choice. Naturally he insisted on picking me up.

  That meant I had to get home in time to change and be ready. And then I needed to see what I could find out about J.T. Blackstone, track Malone down to find out what he was doing to catch the real killer, and get Diana a lawyer who knew his way around more than probate court. I shouldn’t have said yes to Sam. Time was a wastin’.

  Would you just listen to me? I hadn’t even gone to lunch yet and I was already wishing it were over.

  Maybe Mama was right, and I had become antisocial.

  Oh, well. It was too late to renege. At least Sam had a big plus in his corner—I loved his taste in dogs.

  I got back home at ten to one, which didn’t give me much time to dress. I decided I was not going to get all gussied up. I pulled on a long Ralph Lauren skirt, a bright turquoise off-the-shoulder top and threw the necessities in my new turquoise leather Lynne Curtin handbag. You know, the shaggy leather style. I know she’s no longer the “it” local designer, but I loved the bag, loved her jewelry, and felt for her hard times.

  I was hunting for shoes to go with the casual look when the doorbell rang.

  You see, Detective Judd Malone. I do have a working doorbell. And Sam was man enough to use it.

  Opening the door, I was again struck by his amazing good looks. There’s handsome and then there’s Handsome. Sam was the latter.

  “For you.” He handed me a bouquet of Texas bluebonnets.

  I confess if his handsomeness had made me weak in the knees, the flowers nearly made me fall over.

  I was touched. The Texas state flower is a wildflower and not easy to acquire. I was awed and homesick all at once. The bluebonnets made me miss the ranch and long for Grandma Tillie. Oddly enough, they even made me miss Mel, my only local connection to home and my family.

  There was a time when we’d first moved to Laguna that we’d get together for dinner or a movie night and talk about home and our crazy family.

  I shook my head to shake off the sappiness I was feeling. I realized “His Handsomeness” was staring at me.

  “I’m so sorry. Please come in.” I stepped aside so he could enter, and I had the passing juvenile thought that if I could get a picture of this event, Mama would be extremely impressed and might leave me alone for a month or two.

  No, strike that. Ms. All-My-Friends’-Daughters-Are-Married would be picking out china patterns for us.

  “I’ll put these in some water.” I carried the bluebonnets into the kitchen and rummaged until I found a vase the right size.

  The flowers were a nice gesture. An unexpected one. I suddenly hoped I was dressed appropriately for what he had planned. So much for wishing the date was over before it had begun.

  “I wasn’t sure . . . ” I looked around and didn’t see Sam. Then I heard a low ruff.

  There he was on the floor playing with Dogbert and being very closely watched by my two guard cats. Thelma and Louise both moved in for a pet and a tummy rub.

  Sam scratched each one behind the ears. Their favorite thing. Next to tuna, that is. He now had feline fur friends for life.

  He shifted his attention back to Dog. His linen slacks no doubt picking up cat and dog hair and who knew what else from my floor. For cryin’ out loud, I would’ve vacuumed if I’d known the man was going to roll around on my floor.

  He looked up and saw me. “Ready?”

  “I am.” I picked up the sandals by the door and slipped them on. They’d have to do.

  Though the flowers had been unexpected, the car in front of my house was exactly what I’d expected. A light blue Ferrari convertible was parked at the curb. It was the new California classic, reminiscent of the older models, a perfect metallic blue, and in the backseat was Mac, the collie, tongue hanging out, goofy smile.

  How did the guy do it? The perfect flowers, the perfect car, the perfect dog.

  I almost just laid down in my driveway and said, “Okay, sugar, go ahead and take me now.”

  He held the door, and I slid in and turned to take Mac by his dog cheeks and give him a nuzzle.

  “Hi there, cutie. I didn’t know you were joining us.”

  The big dog nuzzled back and panted his appreciation. Sam slid behind the wheel and started the car. The Ferrari purred to life. We shared a glance of appreciation as the car glided through my neighborhood and onto PCH.

  The Laguna Montage is elegance at its best, and the valet didn’t bat an eye at my casual attire or Sam’s dog. Sam handed the uniformed guy the keys to the Ferrari while another opened my door and offered me a hand.

  I climbed out of the car with a bit less grace than I’d hoped for, but no one blinked an eye.

  Another staff member in the Montage uniform met us just inside the door and escorted us to the elevator.

  “This way, Mr. Gallanos. Ma’am.” He held the elevator door and started to join us but with the slightest motion of Sam’s head he back off.

  “I hope you have a great lunch.” He stepped aside.

  “Thanks, Thomas.”

  Okay, Sam, you surprised me with the bluebonnets and your comfort in my very casual pet-friend household, but this restaurant pick was predictable.

  I not only had been to the luxury destination many times, but it was also the place Mama always wanted to come when she was in town. She wanted to see and been seen. Everyone who was anyone would know about our lunch date before we’d been served dessert.

  Hell’s bells, someone was probably telling Mel right now. She’d have the Texas clan notified before supper time.

  I guess the upside was that Mama would know I’d been on a date. I’d bet you dollars to donuts I’d be getting a phone call within twe
nty-four hours.

  The elevator opened on the lower level so I assumed we were dining at Mosaics Bar and Grille. I knew the menu by heart and was already making my entrée selection in my head, when the Maître d’ spotted Sam and motioned to one of the other staff members.

  A picnic basket and a beach bag were handed over, and we continued right through the restaurant area and down to the beach walkway. We climbed down to the beach with Mac and me following Sam, who seemed to know where he was going. In short order we were on the sand. A minor rock formation to traverse, and we were in a more secluded part of the beach.

  Sam opened the bag and pulled out a blanket that he settled on the sand. He anchored it with the picnic basket.

  Alright, he’d surprised me again.

  Opening the bag a second time, he unearthed a Frisbee, which got Mac’s tail wagging like crazy. Sam handed it to me.

  “Go on, you two.” He smiled, reached in his pocket for sunglasses and leaned back on the blanket, lifting his face to the sun.

  Mac and I didn’t need much encouragement. Off we went.

  The day was brilliant. Perfect So Cal weather.

  This was why I lived here. How could I have forgotten?

  Sam soon joined us in the Mac and Caro Frisbee Olympics and the three of us raced back and forth in the surf.

  I coveted the guy’s dog. I’d had a Border Collie growing up on the ranch, and if I had the room I’d add one to my brood without hesitation. I wanted one badly, but I just didn’t think it was fair in the limited space I had.

  I also coveted the man’s exuberance. Sam was clearly a hold-nothing-back kind of guy. There was nothing careful or cautious about him. You didn’t have to know him long to know he was an all-in sort of person.

  When we’d completely worn ourselves out, we fell onto the sandy blanket, Mac’s fur, Sam’s pants, and the hem of my skirt all damp from the waves. We unpacked the food. Roast beef, bread, several cheeses, chilled wine. Special dog food for Mac.

  We talked for hours. Sam Gallanos was truly a master listener. He prodded just enough. Not pushy but interested. We talked about my time growing up on a ranch. It had been clearly different from Sam’s childhood. I shared my worry about Diana and my frustration with her lack of concern over her fate and her stubbornness in using the situation to campaign for animal rights.

  Once I’d worn myself out with dumping all my troubles on his very broad shoulders, we sat in silence for a while. I enjoyed the pale cream of the sand, the heat of the sun, and the whoosh of the surf.

  “This was exactly what I needed today.” I held my wineglass in a toast to Sam. “How did you know?”

  “Because it was exactly what we needed too. Mac dog and I.” He leaned over and touched my cheek with the side of his finger. “Life is to be lived, Caro kopelia mou.”

  I didn’t know what the expression meant, but he had me at “dog.”

  It might be I’d been just a little hasty in dismissing Sam as an unwanted complication in my life.

  Confession time. When I got home I should have savored the day. It had been perfection.

  But remember this is me, Carolina Alexis Montgomery Lamont, and I did not trust perfection. So when I got home, instead of running a bubble bath and dreaming of what might be, I Googled Sam on the Internet.

  Better to burst a bubble when it’s a small one. That’s my motto.

  Here’s what it said:

  Sam was born Samuel David Gallanos in Greece. At the age of 9, Sam and his parents moved to California, United States. His parents divorced and his father returned to Greece. His mother, Daphne (Drakos) married Greek/American movie mogul Michael Skouras. The two were killed in a car accident when the boy was twelve. He was raised by his maternal grandparents, Dmitri and Dorothea Drakos of the Drakos olive oil fortune (Drakos International.) They relocated to southern California with their daughter. Sam graduated from USC (University of Southern California) cum laude with a B.A. in Ancient Philosophy and Literatures.

  My first thought was “Oh my God, how tragic,” and my second thought was “Could the guy possibly have picked a more useless major?” But who was I to criticize? I had a doctorate in psychology and I was a pet therapist. The irony did not escape me.

  After the bio I continued searching. I really hate when I’m proven right, but the guy was a major player. There were links and more links to pictures of him at every society event you could imagine. You wouldn’t believe the women he dated. This guy was way out of my league.

  Well, it was a good thing it was a league I wasn’t interested in playing in. Not for more than a lunch date, at any rate. Not if I was going to figure out this whole mess about Kevin’s death and get Diana out of jail.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Late that afternoon, I had an appointment with Leland at the Green House offices.

  There was a light sprinkle of rain so I’d left the top up on the Mercedes. I pulled into the lot and parked, walked up the flower filled flagstone pathway, and into the office. Leland came out to meet me and then ushered me back to his office, which was a cubbyhole filled with paperwork and landscaping magazines.

  “You said on the phone you had some questions about one of our employees?” He seemed a bit harried.

  I explained the situation to him and described the worker. A phone call interrupted us. He gave some instructions to the person on the other end and then looked at me.

  “Yeah, I know who you mean.”

  “You do?” Thank God. I’d begun to believe I’d imagined him.

  “I hired the guy because he had good references and I was so short-handed.” He shifted the Green House cap on his head. “Joe, my guy that usually did the Ruby Point flowers, who’d been my lead guy there for several years, was killed.”

  “He was killed?” I hadn’t heard any reports about it. Another death involving Ruby Point. Why hadn’t that been on the news? Surely the police had to know about it.

  “Yeah, he’d been a good worker, but Joey had a drinking problem. I thought he had it whupped this time, but I guess not. Some hikers found him out in the state park. Poor guy’d been hit over the head and robbed. Probably drunk. Sad case.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. I leaned a little closer. “When was that?”

  “Let me see, couple of weeks ago probably. He didn’t show up to work so I figured he must have fallen off the wagon. I called his family, but they hadn’t reported him missing or anything. I think they figured the same thing.”

  Holy moly. Two suspicious deaths inside of a month. What were the odds they were unrelated? “And the guy I described?”

  “Yeah, Spike.” Leland shifted paper from one place on his desk to another.

  “His name was Spike?”

  “Nah, his name was Hans Gruber, but I called him Spike ’cause it was easier to remember. Because of his hair.”

  Hans Gruber? Any doubt I had that Joe’s death was just bad luck evaporated. “Not much of a movie-goer, Leland?”

  “Huh? No, not much time.”

  I recognized the Die Hard bad guy reference immediately, but obviously Leland hadn’t. It smacked of a quickly created phony identity. Spike, aka Hans, was looking more and more like the Ruby Point bad guy every second. “Sounds like a fake name to me.”

  “Really?” Leland scrubbed his hand over his face. “Gosh, normally I check references and all real good. But I didn’t in this case. I just called one of the names he gave me. I was so short-handed and we’re so durn busy. ’Scuse me.” He took a question via the walkie-talkie strapped to his belt, then holstered it. “Don’t matter now though, anyway.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, the kid hasn’t shown up in more than a week. I shoulda checked those references better.” I could tell he was itching to get back outside.

  A short, stocky woman wearing a green apron stuck her head in the office. “Leland, the supplier for those planters you ordered is here. Where do you want them?”

  “I’d better get back to wor
k.” Leland was already on the move. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  “Do you have a contact number for Spike?” I asked quickly.

  Leland paused in the door. “The cell phone number he gave us just rings and rings. Can’t even leave a message.”

  I thanked him and left one of my cards with him. If he heard from Spike, he agreed to ask him to contact me.

  After my chat with Leland I was pretty sure there had to be a link between Kevin’s death and Spike, the landscape worker. I turned the car toward downtown and the office. I really needed to talk to Malone. I tried his cell again, and got his voicemail again. It irritated me to think he was still screening my calls. That was just plain irresponsible. I had solid information that he needed to know about. Here I was, doing my civic duty and trying to get him in the loop, and he was being nothing but difficult.

  At the very least, he should be working to get Diana out of jail. He had to know she didn’t kill Kevin. The case against her was extremely weak. I couldn’t believe the police were holding her at all. Well, there was the fact she’d had a Taser, but still, if she’d fight it at all . . . well, you know all that.

  I left a message this time with the information on what I’d found out about the landscaper. It was way too coincidental that the regular worker had died and this Hans Gruber/Spike guy had conveniently shown up. And if I could figure this out, so could Malone. Why weren’t the police more on top of things?

  Back at my office, once inside and settled at my desk, I pulled my photocopy of Kevin’s book out of the inside pocket of my Coach bag and went over it again. There had to be clues there about what had happened. Though my money was still on Spike, there was the possibility Mandy or one of the others whose secrets Kevin had detailed had killed Kevin.

  I knew my secret and Mel’s. I’d figured out a few of the secrets in the book and the others couldn’t be that difficult to figure out. I planned to go through the entries again and see if any of them looked worth killing over. I didn’t have to confront people, but if I knew who had secrets to hide maybe I could do some digging and see what Walt, Ollie or others might know.