Ms. Trotten shook her head, disgusted as well. At last they were on the same page. A page Martin was very familiar with. He leaned in closer.
“I don’t like to advertise it, but I am an animal healer as well.”
“Thumpy hates that medication. It’s toxic, isn’t it?”
Martin nodded solemnly. Really, veterinarians did half the work for him. “I can’t tell you how harmful putting dangerous, harsh chemicals into our precious companions can be.”
Ms. Trotten stroked the bunny’s back as he twitched his nose.
“May I ask you an important question?” Martin queried with just the right amount of concern etching into his tone.
“Of course,” she said as her rigid body language softened with each passing moment.
“Might I ask how much you love Thumpy?”
She seemed to struggle to say the words. Her eyes kept darting to the table on either side of them, as if they were eavesdropping. Martin guessed that her affections for her lagomorph were not exactly well received at her office.
“It is safe here,” he urged. “We understand.”
Like a dam breaking, the words rushed out. “I love him more than words can describe. He eats imported organic alfalfa from heirloom china.”
And Martin didn’t doubt it. Otherwise, why would he have tried so hard to get through to her?
“The reason I ask is that these healing sessions are long and I’m afraid they take so much out of me that I just …” Ms. Trotten, or make that Mandy, reached out and touched his arm. Martin pretended that the contact gave him strength. “Only if you loved him, truly loved him, could I even consider trying. And only for cash payment.”
Her fingers dug into his arm. “Please, I’ll try anything. I’ll pay anything. Just please, I don’t want his chakra contaminated with pills.”
Unfortunately, the buzzer went off. As he rose Martin slipped her a business card. “How does starting tonight sound?”
She snatched the business card away, smiling. “Yes, please. I’ll stop by the ATM on my way home.”
Ah, how Martin loved a woman with a high credit score.
* * *
Wyatt plopped down into the chair at the next table. A table he got to by going to the right … all by himself, without prompting. That was cause enough for celebration. And then, when no dog humped his leg, no trunk tugged on his belt, and no python showed his fangs in a display of “affection,” this was his lucky table.
He rubbed his hands together.
“All right,” he said to the redhead with a head full of curls seated across from him. “Whatcha got? Golden Retriever?” Wyatt hammed it up a bit to the little blonde girl sitting in the woman’s lap. “They’re all about the ball. Ball this, ball that, ball everything.”
He glanced around the table. No dog.
“Okay. A cat, then?” Wyatt looked at the young lady’s ring finger. Bare. “I’m going to go with he’s peeing on your pillow because he doesn’t like your new boyfriend?”
The woman shook her head.
“Bird? Iguana? Hamster?” Wyatt queried, and then tickled the little girl. “Are you hiding a cricket in there?”
The most he got out of the girl was a little, timid smile. Funny, Wyatt was cracking himself up. Ah, well. He knew how to play to unappreciative crowds.
“This is Andrea,” the redhead said. “And I’m Jazmine, and we are sorry to report that we do not have a pet with us.”
Wyatt frowned. This was a first. Granted, he hadn’t been at this more than a half an hour, but that’s not how the event had rolled so far. He rose. Maybe he had enough time to check out the vending machine before the next buzzer. Running from Dumbo had really worked up an appetite.
“I’m not sure if you noticed the sign, lady, but we’re kind of ‘animal-oriented’ here.”
“Animal-oriented,” the redhead countered, with a cocked eyebrow. “That is what you are going with in front of a little girl?”
“What?” Oh, crud. “No, I mean, not in the bad way or anything. It’s just—”
“Look,” Jazmine said, thankfully stopping Wyatt before he inserted his foot into his mouth, especially after what he probably stepped in out in that courtyard. “Andrea’s dog, Blackie the Wonder Beast … ”
She stopped to stroke the little girl’s back as the cloud came over Andrea’s features again. That was one sad little girl.
Jazmine looked up with what seemed to be a forced smile. “Anyway, Blackie died last week, and we were hoping that you could—”
Wyatt put up a hand. He knew what she wanted. He just couldn’t give it to her. He leaned in so that the organizer didn’t hear him.
“You don’t seem quite as whacked out as the rest, so I can tell you that I’m just making stuff up here.” He eyed the organizer. If she was anything like Mrs. Guthry, she had eyes in the back of her head and the hearing of a bat. “I’m just winging it. Riffing. White lies. White, but lies nonetheless.”
Jazmine’s answer was the one word he was not expecting.
“Duh.”
* * *
Jazmine allowed a grin to spread as the supposed “pet psychic’s” eyebrow arched nearly to his hairline.
“Really?” she queried. “You thought that I thought, that not only could you somehow read a dog’s mind ...”
“Well, I, uhhh. . .” Wyatt stammered.
Normally, Jazmine would have left it at that. Clearly, the guy had no clue about what he was doing, but he was the first person today, no, make that this week, who Andrea had responded to at all. He was definitely better than that aging hippie chick who had offered to give them her recipe for “herbal” brownies. Or the guy in a full Native American headdress who thought channeling General Custer was somehow going to be helpful.
She cocked her head to the side, asking a question that had been on her mind a lot since entering this ballroom. “Which, by the way, would you be speaking ‘dog’ to them, or would they have to translate into English to talk with you?” she pressed, mainly to watch him squirm.
He was cute, she supposed, if you liked that type of I’m-trying-really-hard-to- look-like-I-don’t-care kind of look. If she had to hazard a guess, he’d spent more time perfecting the bedhead look than studying animal behavior. And the artfully disheveled shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned? Please.
Jazmine cupped her hands over Andrea’s ears. “And then the kicker is that you can somehow do all of this communicating across the mysterious, unknowable veil between life and death?”
“It’s ... it’s what the sign says.” Wyatt coughed, pointing at the banner … Speak with your beloved pet, mind to mind.
But even he didn’t look like he believed it. As exasperated as Jazmine was, she had to admit that at least he wasn’t trying to sell them anything. Not like the rest here. As a matter of fact, Wyatt had actually tried to warn her that he wasn’t a psychic. That had to count for something, right? Besides, her main priority was Andrea.
“Look,” she said more softly. “I’m just the nanny, but her dad died last Christmas.”
Wyatt’s sad exhale caused Jazmine to pause. She hadn’t expected him to show any emotion, let alone sympathy. He nodded solemnly to Andrea, who sighed equally heavily in response.
“And now the dog ...” Jazmine stroked the little’s hair. “Andrea hasn’t spoken since we took Blackie to the vet.”
Wyatt leaned over and patted Andrea’s knee. “That’s tough.”
“Her mom won’t allow any talk of ...” Jazmine hugged Andrea close. “Well, of heaven or anything, so I thought if someone here could reassure her ...”
“I hear ya,” the man replied softly.
Was he going to help? He looked like he was going to help. Bedhead and all, but then he pulled back, his eyes scanning room like a coyote trying to get out of a bath. Jazmine watched as Wyatt seemed to struggle with himself, and then he abruptly stood.
“But I don’t think I’m your guy.”
She rose as well. “But
you’re the only one she’s even remotely responded to though, and I think—”
The buzzer sounded loudly, making the man across from her, her one hope for Andrea, jump like it zapped him in the pants.
“Sorry,” he said not sounding all that terribly sorry. “But duty calls.”
Jazmine watched helplessly as Wyatt sped to the next table, cuffs flapping wildly in his self-generated wind.
* * *
Bodhi surfaced from a haze of migraine pain to feel Diablo’s wet nose nudging insistently at his palm. He groaned as he rolled over in his bed, the pain impossibly blossoming into stabbing shards of glass. Diablo hopped over to Bodhi’s face, licked him twice on the cheek, and then whimpered.
“It’s okay, little one. I just can’t get settled,” he murmured soothingly, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. He just needed to get back to sleep. If he could sleep this off, he would be fine. More than fine. He’d be able to get back up, and maybe even make it to the event before Wyatt made a complete mess of things.
Good kid, Wyatt. Just a little self-absorbed. A bit more time with him, maybe some work with the animals. Animals could really turn a guy around. What better evidence for that than Bodhi himself?
Just a little more rest. Then he’d be up and running. No problem.
Diablo licked Bodhi’s face once more before snuggling into his neck. Now, perhaps he could get some sleep.
* * *
Martin eyed the young lady who sat across from him. She had red hair. Some might call it cinnamon. He called it brassy. Not his taste, per se, but he had been known to make an exception from time to time. He took his “concerned face” up a notch higher. Women loved to feel understood, and this look said nothing if it didn’t say, I understand. He really should trademark it.
She was saying something. Martin refocused his attention on her words rather than her locks.
“Anyway, I’m just the nanny, and—”
“You’re the babysitter?” He retreated slightly from his compassionate-lean-in- posture. Well, this was an unpleasant bit of news. Not completely without remedy, however. “But your boss sent you with a check or a credit card, perhaps?”
“Um. No,” the redhead stated. “She doesn’t even know that I’m here.”
Wait. Perhaps he should have paid slightly more attention to her situation before committing his I understand patent-pending pose. But all might not be lost. Au pairs could often exert enormous influence on an absentee parent worried about a child.
“So ... no way to put down a retainer?”
“No,” the redhead stated firmly. Now why in the world would he irritate her? Yet she went on, “Like I just said, we’re just here for Andrea to grieve.”
“Your boss doesn’t want a sage cleansing ritual for the home?” Martin pressed. Surely there was an upsell in here somewhere.
“No.”
“A probiotic series of enemas?” All right, that was a long shot, but Martin could see the sales disappearing right before his eyes.
Her lips pressed firmly together, creating a most unattractive straight line. “Definitely not.”
A spark of inspiration caused Martin to glance at the morose, rag-doll girl next to redhead. Maybe the child was his ticket in.
“I can’t interest you in a lost pet séance for a slight fee?” He overrode the woman, going for the sale. “I’ll contact up to three animals.”
The woman crossed her arms. “That’s still a ‘no.’ ”
That was it. Crossed arms were the ultimate sale blocker. Martin knew when to cut his losses. Slouching back into his chair, he inspected his nails.
“Well, this is going to be a really long three minutes.”
* * *
Jazmine watched the man buff his nail against his sleeve. Okay, she got that this guy needed to make a living, but how could he be so ... heartless? Yet there he sat, touching up his manicure when a heartbroken little girl was right in front of him. And Jazmine could swear that his nonspecific, vaguely European accent had dissolved into something distinctly more Midwestern.
She glanced down at Andrea. God, that look of despair kicked Jazmine in the gut every time. Maybe Martin simply needed a little more prompting for his conscience to show up. Clearing her throat, she started again.
“I was hoping you would help a little girl in pain ...”
His dark, slicked-back hair glistened as he turned to face her once more. His eyes scanned her up and down. Much like a person might survey horses before they purchased them.
“Sorry,” he said with very little sympathy. “I don’t know. Something’s just not working for me.”
“What?”
“Maybe if you were younger or less redheaded,” he motioned to her hair. “Or maybe less curly, I’m not sure.”
Jazmine patted down a curl that had gone astray. “What are you talking about?”
“You want me to do you a favor,” Martin said as he leaned forward, that smooth accent working overtime again, “then I’d want ...”
“You don’t mean—” Well, Jazmine couldn’t exactly say what he meant, at least not in front of Andrea. “You are such a—” Well, Jazmine couldn’t say that either, now could she?
Martin waved his hand, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah,” The Ohioan in him was coming out again. “You should have heard what the gerbil at table number nine just called me.”
Jazmine wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse that others felt the same about him. Before she could formulate an age-appropriate comeback, Martin turned his attention to Andrea, taking his pitch straight to the little girl again.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any lunch money on you, would you?”
“No,” Jazmine snapped, pulling Andrea close to her. “She doesn’t.”
“Maybe I can interest you in an allowance payment plan?” Martin coaxed.
Jazmine couldn’t think of a single G-rated thing to say, so she simply shook her head, sending those red curls Martin hated so much flying as she tucked Andrea in a hug.
Seriously. When were those three minutes going to be up?
* * *
Wyatt watched as the bodybuilder’s massive bicep rippled up and down as he petted his ... Shih Tzu. His very small Shih Tzu. His very small, very fluffy Shih Tzu. His very small, very fluffy Shih Tzu with a blue rhinestone collar.
Unlike most of the pets and their owners, who looked distinctly alike, this guy and his “dog”—if you could call a Shih Tzu a dog. Really. Shih Tzu? It sounded more like somebody was in the middle of a curse when they sneezed—could not be more different. The contrast was well … shocking. And not in the good way.
Suppressing a chuckle. Wyatt responded, “Soooo ...” Um, how exactly was he going to put this without cracking himself up? “The other dogs are laughing at him, huh?”
There. Totally delicate.
“People laugh at him, too. It’s very upsetting to him.” The bodybuilder spoke with a light, pleasant tenor. “My girlfriend thinks—”
“Your girlfriend?” Whoa. Another curveball. “Okay, you’re not a friend of Ashley over there, then?” Wyatt pointed to the mustached “lady.” They did seem like a natural pair.
The man’s eyebrows spoke his confusion much more eloquently than his response. “Ashley? Who?”
Wyatt regrouped. “All right. Okay, good information.”
Girlfriend, huh? And a bodybuilder? Those two things went together like a PBJ sandwich with the crust cut off. What didn’t go together was the extremely fluffy Shih Tzu and rhinestone-studded collar. Clearly, Wyatt needed to take a different tack.
“You see,” he started, motioning to the bodybuilder’s muscles that bulged out from under his tank top. “You’re a big guy ...” He waited for the gleam of understanding to appear. Nothing. So Wyatt did a Vanna White to the fluff ball. “And he’s a little dog.”
Wyatt let this one hang a bit longer. Still nothing.
“He’s really, really, really fluffy, and those little gems around his neck�
��”
“But they’re blue.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt answered. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that’s not really helping.”
The man’s slumped his shoulders in defeat. He stroked his pet dejectedly, his huge hands dwarfing the tiny dog’s head. These two were destined for years of being laughed at. Wyatt, unfortunately, could relate. Before he got his mojo and nonstick hair gel, he had endured some heckling during high school. Clearly, his classmates did not understand that he was years ahead of them fashion-wise.
But then, his uncle had come to the rescue. Bodhi had suggested to Wyatt that instead of hiding in the bathroom every lunch period, that he laugh along with them. Or better yet, find them something else to laugh about. Of course, Bodhi had also promised that it would help him get chicks, but still. The dunkings in the toilet were reduced to a minimum.
If there was something Wyatt couldn’t stomach, it was someone laughing at another. Granted, this big bodybuilder would probably have been one of those guys to shove Wyatt in a toilet, but it still wasn’t right for people to be making fun of them.
Wait. Maybe that was the problem.
“You know,” Wyatt said, thinking on the fly, “I don’t get the sense that ... Wooda-Baby? ... That’s really his name?”
That tree trunk of a neck nodded the bodybuilder’s head up and down. “Yes, and sometimes, Wooda-Wooda-Wooda Baby.”
Really, this guy wasn’t making it any easier on himself or the dog. “Okay, well, my feeling is that Wooda doesn’t think that they are laughing at him.”
“Trust me, they are laughing.”
“Oh,” Wyatt said with a chuckle. “I don’t doubt that for a single instant. I just think Wooda is laughing with them.”
The man lifted his head. “What?”
“He’s a Shih Tzu, right?” Wyatt asked. The man nodded vigorously. “Well, with a name like that ... He’s gotta have a sense of humor.”
Pet Whisperer...er...rrr Page 3