No one truly understood our competition over that Godawful heirloom. Not even Grey. But the brooch was all we had left of Grandma Tillie. She’d had this way of making us feel special, as if we were the only ones she really loved. It was possible that Grandma Tillie knew the brooch was the one thing that would keep Caro and me together.
Enough sappiness. I had more pressing issues. First things first, handing off Fluffy.
I’d lifted Cliff’s number from Mona’s phone last night. I headed to my bedroom and unplugged my cell from the charger. Bless her heart, Missy had followed me, snorting and shaking her head, leaving a trail of water and slobber on the hardwood floor.
I grabbed a hand towel from the master bath and quickly wiped up the slippery mess. I found a dry edge to blot the folds around her nose. Once she was clean, I tossed the towel onto the bathroom counter.
“Cross your fingers, girl.” I punched in Cliff’s number. Missy tilted her head, and we both waited as the phone rang and rang.
“Hello?”
I gave Missy the thumbs up. “Hey Cliff, it’s Melinda. Melinda Langston. I-” It suddenly dawned on me he might not know about Mona. “Uh, I just wondered if you’d heard about Mona?”
“Yeah. The police called last night.” He mumbled like he had a mouthful of rocks. Or I’d woken him up from a drunken stupor.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“The well’s officially run dry. Not that I’ve seen a single penny in the past month.”
Fluffy suddenly appeared in the hallway. I frowned at her as she shimmied her way in between Missy and me.
“Mona paid you support?” That was news to me.
“It was a private matter.”
I could hear the clinking of ice against glass and then a slurp. You know, that slurp men thought was appropriate when they drank Scotch. I’m no prude, but 10:00 am was a little early to be drinking.
“I had no idea,” I said.
“That’s why it’s called private,” he ground out.
Good grief, he could compete with Mona for Jerk of the Year.
Missy slipped beneath the bed looking for a cool spot to take a nap. Fluffy sprawled out at the foot of the bed, watching me with her intense eyes. I turned my back on her and cleared my throat. “Well, the reason I called was to arrange a pick-up time.”
“For what?”
“Fluffy.”
His dark manic laughter burst into my ear. “She’s as big of a pain in my ass as my ex. Unless it’s cash, Scotch or a trip to Vegas, you don’t have anything I want.”
I walked into the bathroom and closed the door, feeling the need for privacy. “But you have joint custody.”
“I only fought for custody so I wouldn’t have to pay Mona dog support. It bugged the hell out of Mona that I had her precious Fluffy.”
That rumor was true. What a cad. “But you’re supposed to take her every Wednesday.”
“I was. Now she’s yours.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Fluffy is not my responsibility.” I did not have the patience to take care of a high maintenance dog.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he said. “If she doesn’t get her afternoon snack, she’s a real pisser. Good luck.”
The line went dead.
As Grandma Tillie used to say, “He makes a hornet look cuddly.” No wonder Mona kicked his butt to the curb.
I opened the door a crack and peeked into the bedroom. Missy had come out from under the bed and was now lying alongside Fluffy, staring at me as if I’d lost my mind hiding in the bathroom. I closed the door so I could think without being stared at.
Now what?
Chapter Eleven
Fluffy was like an unexpected pimple the day of an eveningwear competition. As ugly and as painful as it may be, neither the pimple nor Fluffy were going anywhere soon. Fluffy wasn’t a bad dog. It was me; I’m a one-dog woman.
After quick shower, I threw on a pair of sand-colored cargo pants, a purple tank top, a hoodie and my flip flops. The dogs and I hopped in the Jeep and took a chance we’d find Darby at Paw Prints. It was time for a chat.
We were in luck. The “Open” sign hung in the door of the studio. I pulled into the empty parking spot behind the FedEx truck, which had selfishly staked out two spaces.
The three of us enthusiastically tumbled out of the Jeep, and the dogs instantly made a beeline for Bow Wow.
“Not today, guys. We’re here to see Darby.”
Missy twirled in a half circle, changing directions. Fluffy on the other hand, fixed her eyes on the Bow Wow door and barreled her way past me and toward her target.
I stopped so abruptly my purse slid down my arm and hung on the leash, halting Fluffy in her stubborn tracks. I swore under my breath.
“Listen. We have got to come to an agreement,” I demanded.
Her Highness turned in my direction. A wisp of fur fell into her eyes. She flipped it back with the shake of her head. Doggie language for “I’m not listening to you.”
“Google alert, Fluffy. It’s not all about you anymore.” By the time my dog-sitting stint was over, I’d have an ulcer.
Missy sat on the sidewalk, her tongue hanging out. If she could talk I’m sure she’d want to know why we were just standing there. My little Miss Congeniality. I loved her more than an A-list celeb loved their Hermes Birkin bag.
“Let’s go.” I headed toward Paw Prints, and the dogs followed-one happy-go-lucky, the other as pretentious as a bed-hopping politician.
We strolled inside the studio. “Guess who?” I called out.
Paw Prints was as unique as its owner. The studio was an unfinished high-end warehouse. Except for the lobby. It was straight out of the Victorian era, including a silver antique tea set on a side table.
The working portion of the studio was wide open with a variety of adorable and goofy pet portraits hanging on the walls, props stored on metal shelves, and a handful of lights and umbrellas.
Darby, in her bohemian wrap skirt and white, lacy sleeveless top, dragged a second Adirondack chair to her staging area.
“Hi,” she said as she turned around. Her white beret slipped off her head. She caught it one-handed. “Ah, you have Fluffy.”
“It’s my curse.” I unhooked the dogs and dropped the leashes on the front desk.
Missy bumbled over to the box of toys Darby kept for her clients. She rummaged around and pulled out a rubber chicken and immediately demonstrated she was the alpha dog.
Fluffy, on the other hand, sniffed the velvet covered couches in the lobby, not entirely sure of where I’d taken her, and if she was staying.
“I thought you dropped her off last night.” Darby pulled down a swimming pool backdrop, which set off her scene perfectly. All it needed was a couple of umbrella drinks.
“I tried.”
“So she stayed with you?” Darby asked, with a small disbelieving chuckle.
“Yeah.” I fumbled for what to say next. “Who’s coming?” I pointed toward her set-up, eager to change the
