In Diane’s defense, there are three giant dogs, all eyeing Sprinkles as if she just emerged from a yellow bucket herself.
“Now see that woman in the heels?” Diane dips her chin, her eyes still intently pinned on Juni. “I know her type. She’s not here so much for the dog as she is the men. That’s why she’s standing with the Beastie Boys, a cute nickname I gave to those three gentlemen who happen to own those glorified horses she was letting her teacup puppy play with. You’d be surprised how many women use this place as a pickup joint.”
“Yeah”—Georgie squints over at Juni—“but you have to admit, it’s tough out there in the dating world. I can’t blame the kid. She wants to meet quality people, and what better locale than a place where decent humans take their fur-babies for a walk.”
“You’re so right.” Diane presses her hand to her chest as if she were touched by Georgie’s spontaneous soliloquy. “Which dog is yours?”
“I borrowed one from a friend.” She winks over at her. “Don’t judge, I’m staring down the barrel of V-Day myself.”
Diane tenses a moment, and I can tell this conversation is about to go sideways quickly.
“Georgie? I think Sherlock looks lost.” I nudge my head to the left where Sherlock looks plenty oriented, but I’m hoping Georgie will take the hint and get lost herself. At least for a minute.
Georgie smacks her lips. “Honey, that dog rules the roost at a place like this. Look at him go.” She points his way. “He’s got two standard poodles and a Lhasa Apso sniffing around. I know better than to ruin his mojo.”
Figures. She doesn’t mind ruining mine.
“So Diane”—I take a quick breath, trying to recalibrate—“how did you meet Bobbie and Lacey?”
“Yeah”—Georgie leans in—“I’m looking to get into the light management gig myself.”
Diane sheds a good-natured laugh while dropping a kiss to Sugar.
“Actually, I met Bobbie at one of her first speaking events way back when there was no Lacey. She was more or less a motivational speaker with nothing but a simple little blog to her name. She was frazzled because her event wasn’t going off as planned, so I told her I’d untangle a few knots for her. It took less than ten minutes for things to run smoothly. The next thing I knew, she asked if I would step in and help with the bookings. She paid me, of course. Not much, but then, I wasn’t expecting anything for it.” I would much rather she didn’t pay me. Maybe then she wouldn’t have felt inclined to borrow money from me—lots of money that deep down, I knew she’d have a hard time paying back.
My mouth falls open. “I’m sure Bobbie is good for the money.” I clear my throat. “Keeping you on as an employee, I mean.”
She ticks her head to the side. “You’d be surprised. Bobbie and Lacey don’t make much off their podcasts, and that book has yet to sell at any impressive numbers. I should know, I’m the number cruncher for the two of them.”
“Oh? So are they in over their heads?” I ask, trying to sound as if I didn’t just pluck a nugget from her mind that let me know Bobbie is deep in the red.
“To put it mildly, they’re really good at spending money. They’re just not very good at generating it. But it doesn’t mean they can’t. I’ve always told Bobbie she needs to hire a real PR company, but she insists on doing local stuff and growing her business organically. Thank God she survived that attack the other night.” But then, I knew she would.
She knew Bobbie would survive the attack? As in she arranged it that way?
And thank God Chip had a decent life insurance policy. If Rick finds out I gave Bobbie sixty thousand dollars from my retirement fund, I’m pretty sure he’d have a heart attack on the spot. And shortly thereafter, he’d hightail it to the nearest divorce attorney. I risked everything to help her out. If they really needed the money, I don’t see why Chip couldn’t ask Tiger. Lord knows Tiger Caldwell is loaded to the hilt. But Bobbie wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with Chip by then.
Why wasn’t Bobbie on speaking terms with Chip? And when and why did this discord take place?
My wheels are churning in every direction at once.
A tiny furry angel runs over, and we look down to see Gizmo barking up at the three of us.
Bizzy! Georgie! Diane! Come quick, they’re singing happy birthday and you’re going to miss the cake.
Diane laughs as she looks up ahead. “Looks like there’s another doggie birthday party in the works. We’d better head over and take a look. I always get the feeling Gizmo is trying to show me the cake.”
Gizmo barks as he runs off ahead of us. I knew she understood me!
We hit the small crowd gathered by the fence, and sure enough, a little spotted beagle is wearing a pink pointed hat while the masses sing happy birthday. Sitting in front of her is a cake in the shape of a large bone with tiny bone-shaped cookies dotting the top. As soon as the song ends, the owner, a man in a leather vest who Juni can’t seem to take her eyes off of, tosses a handful of doggie biscuits to the canines among us.
Juni wiggles her shoulders his way. “Hey, hot stuff. Looking for a hot mama to help scoop the poop?”
Eh. Not bad as far as dog park pickup lines go. It wasn’t her finest moment, but it could have been worse.
Diane leans my way. “What did I tell you?”
“You weren’t wrong,” I say right back. “Would you mind if I ask you a question about that night?” My shoulders hike a notch as I segue into the
