“I was propping my ‘I’m next door’ sign in the window, when Cliff’s Land Rover sped by. That’s when I noticed Fluffy.”
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time Cliff had ditched Fluffy at my boutique. A while back, he’d petitioned the court for a neutral meeting point, arguing Mona’s mansion was a hostile environment. The judge had decided that, for the welfare of the dog, the hand-over had to happen at a place familiar to Fluffy, but not at either residence. I don’t think the judge meant Bow Wow.
“Come here, girl,” I called out.
Fluffy’s dark almond-shaped eyes regarded me skeptically. The aloof expression she carried so effortlessly was firmly in place. With a shake of her head, she strutted to my office in the back. If history was an indicator, she was headed for Missy’s dog bed.
“Good thing Missy’s home.” Unsure of how the day’s events would unfold, I’d left her at the house where she could sleep in peace.
Darby and I plopped onto the stools behind the counter. She tossed her keys next to my water bottle and snagged a salt ‘n vinegar chip. She popped it in her mouth and immediately made a sour face. I slid the bag closer to her. The sound of our crunching chips filled the silence.
“I thought Cliff only had Fluffy on Wednesdays and every other weekend?” Darby asked. “It’s Monday.”
“That’s what I thought, too. Hey, about earlier. Mona got a little crazy. Are you okay?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m fine. What about you?” Concern shadowed her delicate features.
“I’m relieved they finally left. Thanks for sticking around. You didn’t need to, but I really appreciate it.”
She bumped her shoulder against mine. “That’s what best friends do. So… guess who my last-minute client is.” Darby’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Male or female?” I loved this game. Darby’s popularity was growing, and in a tight-knit community like Laguna, that translated into loyal customers.
Before she could answer, the door flew open and Jo O’Malley, pet psychic extraordinaire, burst inside. The smell of motorcycle exhaust and burnt dog treats trailed behind her.
Her tangled red hair whipped her face, causing her to look like she’d just gone ten rounds with a paddle brush and can of hair spray. And lost.
“Her?” I asked under my breath while giving Darby the what-were-you-thinking look. “You’re a
“She talks to animals.” Darby wiped her salt-covered fingers on her jeans and then hopped off the stool. “Close enough for me.”
Jo didn’t exactly fit the stereotypical idea of what a pet psychic looked like. You know, they were either all- business or bohemian gypsy. She was one hundred percent a motorcycle chick.
Her wrinkled black tank top was partially tucked into the front of her torn jeans. And not the kind of jeans you’d buy torn. She’d come by
I couldn’t badmouth her motorcycle boots since I was currently wearing the same ones. But the humongous Lassie tattoo on her upper left arm… well, that just made me smile.
“Do you think Lassie barks when there’s trouble?” I asked, quietly.
Darby coughed back a giggle and shot me a look meant to keep me quiet. She snatched the keys to her studio, then met Jo next to the display of small dog sweaters and dresses.
“Thanks for getting me in at the last minute,” Jo’s raspy voice reverberated throughout the quiet shop. “I normally get those free ones online. I thought I’d go for a more professional look. You know, now that business has picked up.”
Oh. My. Lord. It took all my will power not to roll my eyes. She wouldn’t know professional if it was a Doberman Pinscher and it bit her in the butt.
“No problem,” Darby said. “There’s a dressing room at Paw Prints if you’d like to change.”
Jo looked herself over. “Change into what?”
Darby had her hands full with this one. I slid off the stool and joined them, curious about the emergency call earlier this afternoon.
“Congratulations. I couldn’t help but overhear that your business is doing well,” I said to Jo.
She frowned, making her look much older than her thirty-years. “You sound surprised. Doesn’t everyone want to understand their pet?”
I was hard pressed to take her seriously. In my humble opinion, she was nuttier than a fruitcake. Once, she’d told me Missy chewed a pair of strappy Marc Jacobs heels because she didn’t feel pretty. Missy (her papered name is Miss Congeniality) has won her share of ugliest bulldog contests and is well aware she’s “unattractive.” Let’s not even bring up her hideous under bite. It didn’t take a pet psychic to know Missy had chewed my heels because I’d left them on the bedroom floor, and she was
“I’m not surprised,” I said, “but I am curious as to what constitutes an emergency pet reading?”
She blinked twice, then narrowed her eyes and assessed me. I’d spent enough time around “users” and “haters” to recognize that gleam in her eyes. She was looking for my weaknesses.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’m sure Mel didn’t mean anything,” Darby said quickly, her eyes sending me a silent message.
I automatically produced my beauty pageant smile meant to inspire trust and reassurance. Darby shook her head. She wasn’t voting for me.
I returned my attention to Jo. “Mona was here when you called. I didn’t realize you could have a reading without the pet.”
Her face softened and became almost ethereal. “They don’t need to be present in order for me to have an accurate reading. I tune into the animals’ energy.”
I wondered if she was tuning into my energy. It screamed
“So you’d be able to tune into Fluffy’s ‘energy’ from here, no matter where she was?”
Jo tilted her head to the side, her eyelids flittering as she spoke. “Fluffy’s energy is very dynamic. If she wanted to tell me something, I would know.”
“Like this afternoon?” I asked.
“My appointments are confidential. I will tell you this much. Fluffy came to me in a dream. To warn me. I was obligated to tell Mona. Any decent person would have done the same.” Gone was the light airy tone. Her foghorn voice was back in control, and the Lassie tattoo growled.
Well, okay then.
Jo turned and slithered toward the door. “Let’s go, Darby. I have an appointment this evening.”
I had more questions than answers. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
Chapter Five
Mona was missing.
Not kidnapped missing. Missing as in, the boutique closed in ten minutes, and you-know-who was still roaming through the shop. I’d left two voicemails for Mona and hadn’t heard a word. I didn’t like where this was heading.
Fluffy had decided to grace me with her presence and was shoving her pointy nose in my merchandise and sniffing loudly.
“Come on, Fluffy. Give it a rest. Wanna Bowser Treat?” I pulled a biscuit out of the jar by the register and waved it in her direction. She scrutinized me in her regal disposition, unimpressed.
The front door opened and Don Furry, an ARL volunteer, entered.
“Hey, Don,” I greeted. “How’s it going?”
He waved hello. “Fine. Just fine. I thought I’d stop in and see if you had-” He stopped in his tracks. “Th-that’s Mona’s dog.”
“Sure is.” I dropped the treat back into the jar.
“Is
