Opal grunts. “I wish a reindeer would run over Mayor Wright. That man has never been more wrong. This party is the epitome of gaudy.”
“Opal, that’s the point.”
King mewls as if he agreed with me, and I offer him a quick pat.
“The point is”—she hands King over to me, and I gladly take him—“Christmas is an elegant holiday that focuses on family. Which is exactly why I demand to know why you didn’t bring Pixie to the festivities. Her fur alone qualifies her to be here.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Her fur isn’t gaudy, it’s chic. But you’re right, she is family. Great news, though. Shep isn’t here yet. I’ll text him to pick her up on the way over. He said there was a bit of business he had to take care of first.”
“Ooh.” Her eyes enlarge. They’re ringed in with copious amounts of dark kohl and look like golf balls trapped in a hole. “Could Shepherd be picking up a sparkling bauble in hopes to make you his own for life?”
“Doubtful. We haven’t talked about the big stuff yet.”
That vision with Shep and Regina discussing my impending doom comes back to me.
Hey? Maybe this business he had to take care of is the fact the feds are miking him up as we speak? I’ll have to be careful not to incriminate myself in the event he really is hoping I’ll be the biggest takedown of his career. My heart hurts just thinking about it.
My Nana Rose’s cookies quickly distract Opal, and so I pull out my phone, hoping to quickly distract myself.
King touches his paw to the screen, and the Insta Pictures app pops to life.
“I like where you’re going,” I whisper to the feisty little cat. “All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Since Holly’s account has been pretty much frozen as private, I head over to Kaila Clark’s Insta Pictures. I get a kick out of all the pets she showcases. She really does have the most beautiful redheaded golden retrievers I’ve ever seen. There’s a border collie in another shot, and he looks as if he’s jumping in the air about to catch a ball.
“Aww, look at this one,” I say to King as I point to a black and white cat sitting on the top of a sofa. I’m just about to zoom in on the picture as Tilly and her daughter Jessie step up.
“Happy holly jolly!” Tilly toasts me with her eggnog while giving a twirl. Both she and her sixteen-year-old mini me have shoulder-length brown hair with matching chunky blonde highlights. Tilly’s sweater has a boudoir-inspired look to it, with its green lace sleeves and scantily clad Mrs. Claus on the front. Jessie has on a tight knit sweater with a red reindeer over the front. It stops at the midriff level, and I can see the goosebumps on her skin, but I won’t say a word.
I, too, was young and willing to suffer for fashion once. But after a rather eventful round of walking pneumonia one year, I knew my time with boiled wool had arrived.
Jessie peers over at my phone. “Whatcha looking at?”
“Just pictures of a friend’s cat.”
Tilly leans in. “That’s no cat.”
Jessie points to the screen. “And it looks like your friend has two accounts.” She points to the avatar of a red and white mug up in the corner.
I’m about to deep dive into this double account issue when Tilly bumps her elbow to mine.
“Dom’s here. He let me know he was having a hard time picking between Lola and me. And I’m about to make that decision really easy for him.” She sashays in his direction, and I note the ultra-short skirt she’s wearing, paired with red glitter encrusted heels. My money is on Tilly for the win.
“Hey, Jessie?” I hold the phone out to her. “What do you mean she has two accounts?
“See that white arrow at the top next to the picture of the mug? It means you can slip over and see her other stuff. Not a lot of people know that. Heck, your friend may not even know that. It’s a new feature they just added in the name of page transparency. It stops people from opening sock puppet accounts and becoming the trolls they truly are.”
“Interesting.” My mind reels with the possibilities, and King mewls up at me as if he’d like a few answers himself. “How do I see this other account of hers? I mean, I love this one, so I’m just dying to see what she’s got in store for me on that one, too.” Not a total lie.
“Just click it.” She taps her finger over the mug, and I gasp at what populates on the screen.
@Hollywright.
Jessie shrugs. “Sorry. It looks as if it’s private.”
“But this isn’t Kaila’s account. It’s Holly’s,” I whisper mostly to myself.
“It probably belongs to her friend. If you give your friend your password, they can post. My friends and I do it all the time.” She gasps at someone out on the dance floor. “Dom Junior is here! And man, is he hot tonight.”
“Dom has a kid?” I squint at the crowd, and sure enough, the tall, dark-haired thug has a mini me that looks to be about Jessie’s age.
“Gotta
