promptly sat on it.
Helen crawled under the table to retrieve it. The cat’s paw was on an ad that said: “Pet grooming assistant and sales clerk—must love animals. Apply in person.” The Barker Brothers Pampered Pet Boutique was only four blocks from the Coronado.
“Thumbs, I love you,” Helen said. She opened a whole can of tuna to reward her big-pawed cat.
She put on her best black suit and walked over to the shop. Helen hit it off with the owner instantly. Helen didn’t have to tell Jeff that she loved animals—he spotted the cat hairs on her suit. They talked for almost two hours.
“You’re my first choice,” Jeff said. “But I have to wait until my partner, Ray, comes home in two weeks to make the final decision.”
Every time Helen studied the ads, she wondered: Who placed the awful ad in the
Kiki’s murder had been good for business. Now even the victim’s daughter was returning.
The new Desiree completed her circuit of the shop. She marched back to Millicent and said, “Millie, darling, I’ve decided to forgive you for that tacky ad.”
Millicent blushed but said nothing. Helen stared at her.
“Now let’s find me a dress. I want to try on that one. That one. And that.” Desiree pointed to about thirty thousand dollars’ worth of dresses. They were bold, bosom- and back-baring styles.
“Is this for a special occasion?” Millicent said.
“Yes. My divorce. I want them all in black. Fetch them, please.” Desiree flounced back to the largest fitting room.
Helen followed Millicent to the dress racks and hissed, “You placed that ad?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Helen knew Millicent had. She remembered Eric the ad taker saying the woman had long white hair and bloodred nail polish. Eric had also said she was “old. Older than my mom. I’d say she was about fifty-five.”
“I am not,” Millicent had cried in outrage.
Now her furious denial made sense.
Helen angrily paced the shop, afraid of her growing rage. Millicent pretended to be picking out black dresses. She wouldn’t look at Helen. Finally she said, “Helen, I had to put that ad in the paper. It was the only way to save my business. Kiki’s family refused to pay.”
“I feel like a complete fool,” Helen said.
Men had made a fool out of her often enough. But it was worse being betrayed by her own sex. Helen liked and trusted Millicent.
“You used me,” Helen said. “I investigated a murder because of that ad. I nearly got myself killed.”
“Helen, please, I didn’t mean it.”
But Helen felt frustrated, powerless, and fed up. The pretty pink salon looked like a poisoned bonbon. The walls were closing in on her. The billowing bridal gowns reached out to smother her. The snake tangle of lace and ribbons threatened to strangle her.
Helen was sick of her species. Even the best people seemed calculating. The worst were impossibly cruel. Animals were better behaved. She craved their warm and accepting company. She didn’t know if she’d get the job at the pet groomer, but she had to leave here. She ran to the back room and grabbed her purse.
Millicent was staggering down the hall under her burden of black dresses. “Helen, are you really leaving?” she said.
“Good-bye, Millicent,” Helen said. “I admire you, but I can’t work for you anymore.”
“But where are you going?” Millicent seemed genuinely concerned.
“To the dogs,” Helen said.
Read on for a preview
of Elaine Viets’s next
Dead-End Job mystery
DOG GONE
“I want this party to be perfect,” Tammie Grimsby said. “But I can’t take any stress. No stress at all.”
Oh, brother, Helen Hawthorne thought. The only stress in this woman’s life was on her spandex.
Tammie’s teeny white shorts showed the divide in her peachlike posterior. Her sports bra revealed considerable cleavage. Tammie’s stupendous diaphragm development produced a disappointing little-girl voice. The effect was outrageously, ridiculously sexy.
Why do I always get the weird customers? Helen wondered. But she knew the answer to that question. She was working in a weird business.
“This is a birthday party, right?” Helen said. She took the party orders at Jeff and Ray’s shop.
“For twenty guests.” Tammie sighed and her implants heaved like ships in a storm-tossed sea. “My little boy must be the star.”
“What about a birthday cake?” Helen said. “Customers love our peanut butter cakes.”
“Peanut butter makes my baby boy sick,” Tammie said.
“How about a nice garlic chicken cake with yogurt icing?” Helen said.
“No cake, period,” Tammie said. “With twenty guests, there will be fights. Besides, they’re all on diets. I don’t know why I did this to myself. It’s too much stress.”
Tammie had invited twenty tiny dogs to her Yorkie’s birthday party. Helen guessed they would all be white fluff muffins, except the birthday boy. Malteses, bichons frises and shih tzus, all yipping, yapping, sniffing and shedding. Dust-mop dogs. The whole party wouldn’t weigh as much as the well-toned Tammie.
Helen repeated the party line. “The Barker Brothers Pampered Pet Boutique in Fort Lauderdale prides itself on perfect pet parties,” she said solemnly. “Your Prince will have the best birthday money can buy.” If I can get his airhead owner to concentrate long enough, she thought.
Prince sat regally in the crook of Tammie’s arm. The Yorkie had the calculating eyes of a con artist.
“My itty-bitty baby eats only the finest fillet. I have to hand-feed him,” Tammie said.
Right, Helen thought. I’d live on fillet, too, if I could get away with it. On her pay, she was lucky she could afford hamburger.
The beady-eyed Yorkie stared at Helen, as if daring her to disagree. She didn’t begrudge the dog its soft life. Prince paid a high price for his fillet. Helen saw the intelligence in the dark eyes, and felt oddly sorry for the little Yorkie. Prince could manipulate the addlepated Tammie, but he knew he was stuck with her. Helen was glad Prince was a five-pound dog. If he had two legs, the Yorkie could run a drug ring—or the country.
Tammie picked up the little dog, kissed his nose and baby-talked, “You’re a particular puppy, aren’t you? Oh, yes, you are.”
At twenty, fluffy blond Tammie must have been endearing. At forty, she was annoying. Rather like some of Pampered Pet’s pampered pets, Helen thought sadly. Cute didn’t always age well.
“Those birthday cakes are ugly. Can’t you do something more artistic?” Tammie said.
Helen didn’t know how to answer her question. The cakes were bone-shaped, iced in white and decorated with sugar roses. Could you make a sugared bone more artistic?
Helen needed the shop diplomat. She signaled Jeff, one of the owners. Jeffrey Tennyson Barker looked like an elegant pedigreed pet himself, with his long nose, sensitive spaniel eyes and thick brown hair.
The Pampered Pet was his baby. Jeff took a touching delight in his upscale boutique. He fussed endlessly over its racks of dresses and fake furs, jewelry showcases, and the glass cases of bonbons on lace doilies, all for dogs. The store also had a salon for grooming canine hair and nails. Jeff loved pleasing customers, even the impossible ones like Tammie.
