Get Fluffy

There was thirty pounds of truth in his off-handed remark. Missy jumped up on my leg, her pink tongue lapping the air. She was crazy, but she was my crazy dog.

“Sit down, Mel. Missy has no idea what’s going on. The food will be ready any time.”

“What?”

Grey regarded me with his intense green eyes. “She’s picking up your stress.”

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, I plopped onto the chair. Missy waddled back to Grey’s side of the table and returned to her resting place. She stared at me, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Grey was right. For Missy, the day was just like any other.

Alanis Morissette’s version of “Crazy” sang out around us.

“You have a new ring tone.” Grey took a drink of his bottled water.

I shook my head. “That’s not mine.”

“It’s coming from your purse.”

I reached into my tote, found my cell and held it up. “Not me.”

My purse continued to sing… “We’re never gonna survive…”

What the heck?

I rummaged around and found a second phone. I didn’t recognize it at first, but I was familiar with the name on the screen. Tricia.

“Holy crapola.” I had Mona’s phone. I looked across the table at Grey, and I saw the question ready on his lips.

Without thinking about the consequences, I answered. “Hello? Hello…?”

Silence answered on the other end.

“Did they hang up?” Grey asked.

I nodded. “I guess so.” I stared at the phone. How did I get Mona’s cell? Then I remembered calling her shortly after arriving at her house.

Well heck, I could have called Armando at anytime. I thumbed through the contacts and found his unlisted number. I pulled out a receipt from my purse and jotted down his information.

“Whose phone?” Grey asked calmly.

My head snapped up like a guilty criminal. I opened my mouth to answer, when Uncle Sal (he wasn’t really our uncle; that’s what everyone called him) yelled out our number.

“Food’s ready,” I said.

Grey slowly pushed his chair back; his rugged face looked tired and slightly worried. Missy lumbered to the other side of the table and under my chair.

I’m not sure why he was concerned. I didn’t steal the phone-I just accidently palmed it from Mona’s house. I’d give it back. But I wanted to snoop first. Didn’t everyone want to know who Mona had on speed dial?

I scrolled through Mona’s contact list, seeing the names and numbers of people I expected: Teri Essman (the mayor), Tricia Edwards, Armando.

“Holy cow,” I whispered. Darby Beckett’s number was programmed as “ICE,” In Case of Emergency. What was going on?

I looked around and saw Grey grabbing our food. I waved and blew him a kiss as my mind ran wild with questions. I leaned back, just out of his direct line of vision, then quickly did a little more snooping.

According to the phone history, Mona’s last outgoing call was to Jo at 4:00 pm, and the last incoming call before mine was from Darby at 4:45 pm. That was when I had called Mona.

I looked up and saw Grey with our food. I fumbled with the phone as I turned it off and dropped it into my bag. My heart raced. He’d ask about the phone again.

I tapped my purse nervously. Grey wasn’t a bend-the-rules-kinda-guy when it came to the law. He’d want me to turn the phone over to the police. Tonight. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but Darby was my best friend, and I had her back.

I had to talk to Darby first. Once the police had Mona’s cell, who knew what they’d think? Heck, I didn’t know what to think.

Grey placed the food on the table and sat. My stomach growled. He pushed the appetizers in front of me. I grabbed a ricotta stick and took a bite.

“Who called?” he asked.

I looked down at my lap and brushed off a few crumbs. Oh, Lord. I didn’t want to lie. I cleared my throat. “It wasn’t for me.”

“It’s not your phone,” he said.

I was at a complete loss for words and excuses. What’s the saying? The silence was deafening.

“I don’t want to tell you,” I blurted, sweating like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving.

“I see.” His face hardened. I could sense he was recalculating how to get the information he wanted.

By now my heart pounded so hard I was amazed Grey couldn’t hear it. “Trust me,” I said.

“If you’re in some kind of trouble-”

“I’m not in trouble. I-I can’t tell you right now. Honestly, it’s not even that big of a deal.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem answering my question.”

My nervousness started to grow into frustration. I dropped a slice of pizza onto my plate. “If you want ‘us’ to work, trust has to be a two-way street.”

Grey leaned across the table, his eyes flashing a potluck of emotion. “I trust you with my life, and you know it. You’re picking a fight for no reason.”

“I’m not picking a fight.”

“In my experience, when someone purposely hides the truth, it’s always a big deal,” Grey warned.

Warning noted and filed.

Chapter Ten

We’d survived Fluffy’s overnight. Missy and I had shared a queen-sized bed with a king-sized Fluffy, and I’d dreamt about Grey’s king-sized warning. By 9:00 am, I’d rolled out of bed a king-sized grump.

Once I’d walked the dogs (good grief; I didn’t like picking up after such a big dog), I’d brushed my teeth, washed mine and Missy’s faces, and pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail. Everything else would have to wait until after breakfast.

I shuffled around the sunshine-filled kitchen in my fuzzy bulldog slippers, Victoria’s Secret sleeping shorts and tank top (yes, I’d walked the dogs in my PJ’s; no one cares, trust me). I poured a bowl of my favorite cereal, Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries, then meandered out to the patio, leaving the French doors open so the dogs could join me.

I settled onto a wicker chair and propped up my feet. What I craved was a chai latte from the Koffee Klatch. If only they delivered. I closed my eyes, tipped my face to the sun and enjoyed the tranquility of the morning. I had a feeling I wasn’t alone. I opened my eyes, and there stood Fluffy. She’d followed as far as the doorway.

“What?”

Fluffy looked back at Missy, who was in the kitchen chowing her scoop of food with one side of her mouth, while managing to drool out the other side at the same time. I’d have to clean the folds of Missy’s face again after breakfast. If I didn’t keep her clean and dry she’d develop dermatitis.

Fluffy returned her attention to me. I knew what she was communicating. Missy was noisy and messy. It was true. Bullies snorted, drooled and passed a lot of gas. But it was that imperfectness that I loved so dearly.

“Sorry, Your Highness, you’ll have to deal with it.”

Unimpressed, Fluffy backed up a couple of steps, then disappeared inside the house.

Once I’d finished my cereal, I shuffled back into the kitchen. I rinsed out my bowl and set it in the sink. I’d worry about the dishes later. Or maybe I’d get lucky and Caro would “drop by.” I was in possession of the brooch, which meant she was bound to show up eventually. I had a new hiding place for the pin. Way better than the cookie jar.