The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo (28 page)

“You did a good job, Melinda.”

I smiled up at him. “There’s something to be said for having a homicide detective on speed dial.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

ONCE LENNY STARTED talking, he couldn’t stop. Due to his addiction to mouthwash, he’d lost his job as a personal trainer two months earlier. He’d been living out of his car ever since. Around the same time, Pickles had been diagnosed with arthritis. With his racing days numbered, Lenny was desperate for his beloved dog to experience one win before he had to hobble away.

Fallon had seen Lenny lurking around my booth at the race. She didn’t know what he’d put in the carrier, but she believed it was important. Maybe next time she’ll call the police before taking matters into her own hands.

Gia planned to file for bankruptcy and have an estate sale. After having an unauthorized preview of what would be up for grabs, I made a mental note to keep an eye out for the announcement.

Richard did have a life insurance policy, but neither Gia nor Fallon were the beneficiaries. Being the superstitious fellow that he was, he left all five hundred thousand to charity—Save Our Doxies. Fallon was moved; Gia was honked off.

As for Hagan Stone, the official story was that he’d been arrested at LAX for tax evasion before he could jet off to his bar in the Florida Keys. I knew the real story. Grey had been responsible for the take-down of Hagan. I’d never know the details, but I was okay with that. Grey was safe, and Hagan was out of all of our lives. It was time for new beginnings.

IT HAD BEEN THREE days since Lenny had been arrested. The bump on my noggin from where I’d slammed my head into Lenny’s chin was finally starting to heal. My heart, well it would take a little longer.

It was noon. My heart raced as I pulled into Grey’s driveway. I’d rehearsed my speech for what seemed the one-thousandth time. Each time I said something different. Each time the ending was the same.

With stubborn single-mindedness, I opened the door and slid out of the Jeep. I was halfway up the walkway when a white Audi Roadster raced into the driveway like a superhero ready to save the day. The sun shined on the driver’s side front window, making it impossible to see who had parked behind me, subsequently blocking me in.

The white door flung open. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The bump on my head had to be far worse than what the paramedics had thought, because that looked like my Mama, Barbra Langston, gliding up the driveway in her favorite Carolina Herrera chiffon lace dress.

I rubbed my eyes. No such luck. She was the real deal.

“How did you get here?” I demanded.

Her natural charming smile shone as bright as the California sun. “The private jet. You know I don’t fly on those public planes. With the delays these days, and all those germs.” She shuddered.

“That’s not what I meant. How did you find me here?”

“You weren’t at your house, which we will talk about later because that is not a house. It’s barely suitable for a weekend vacation home. Anyway, you weren’t at your little business either, so I came to Grey’s house. And here you are.”

“You have got to be kidding me. How did you know where he lived?”

She smiled mischievously. “Darlin’, don’t you know? We exchange birthday and Christmas cards. I have his return address.”

Of course. “Go home, Mama. I’m fine.”

“I will not. That is no way to greet your mother. I’ve come a long way to see you. You need me.” I wasn’t fooled by her soft feminine voice.

She glided toward me. I braced myself for the perfunctory air kiss. What I wasn’t expecting was a hug. Not just any hug, but a real one, with warmth and concern. It was almost my undoing.

I pulled out of her embrace. I dragged my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She pursed her lips. “I’ve obviously surprised you.”

“You could say that again,” I muttered. “How about you go back to my place and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I won’t be long. We can catch up then.” And find out why she really left Dallas.

Mama didn’t travel domestically. If she wanted to vacation at a beach, she headed for Barbados, St. Barts, or the Dominican Republic. Not Laguna. Mama hadn’t set foot here since I was a teenager, which was one of the many deciding factors of why I chose to live here.

“I’d rather catch up now. Why are you loitering outside Grey’s house?”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t do this with her here, watching my every move. I knew from experience, her judgment was deafening when she didn’t agree with my choices.

“Melinda, I’m not leaving. Not when my baby needs me. How could I stay at home knowing you needed your mama?”

And suddenly it was about her. I knew a losing battle when I was in it. “Fine. Stay outside until I tell you to come in.”

She followed me up the walkway, her Jimmy Choo heels clicking a rhythm I hadn’t heard in years. I pulled out my key to Grey’s place and unlocked the door.

“Give me a minute to turn off the alarm.” I said.

For once, she did as she was asked without debate. I slipped inside and punched in the code to deactivate the security system. “Okay, come on.”

My mother followed me inside and smiled satisfied. “This is a house,” she pronounced.

I rolled my eyes. “Well, he makes a lot more money than I do.”

“Melinda, you have plenty of money. You could buy ten of these—”

“Mama. Stop.” I cut her off. I exhaled. It was hard enough concentrating on what I needed to do without her babbling on about my, in her opinion, lackluster living conditions and how I spent the family war chest.

I took the stairs two at a time to the master bedroom. I heard my mother right behind me. I kept my emotions at bay and concentrated on retrieving my brooch.

I crossed the room to the walk-in closet. Grey always kept the door open. I assumed it was part of his training: never allow an enemy a hiding spot where he could get the jump on him.

Grey’s suits hung on the right side of the closet. I pushed jackets aside, looking for the one he’d worn our last night together. I found it quickly enough. I shoved my hand in the pocket and pulled out a folded note.

Melinda.
My name in his handwriting.

My heart beat so fast I thought it would explode right out of my chest.

I unfolded the paper.
I’m sorry.

Two simple words. Sorry for what? Lying? Keeping my brooch? Giving it back to Caro? That my mother had shown up for a visit and he wouldn’t be around to run interference?

I crumbled the note in my fist.

“Bad news?” my mother asked softly.

I looked up. “You could say that.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I shook my head and looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Grey and I broke up,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“I guessed that much. What did he do?”

My jerked my head around and stared at her. I narrowed my eyes. “What did you say?”

She sighed the exasperated sigh I’d heard my entire life. “It’s times like this when I wish I still smoked.” She paced around the room nervously.

I raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever seen her nervous. “You smoked? When?”

She waved her hand dismissively, yet managed to make it look graceful. “Years ago. Before you and Mitchell were born.”

I smiled. “That’s scandalous.”

“I’ve had my moments. What did Grey do?”

I sighed. “We, Mama.
We
stopped trusting each other.”

She didn’t say a word for a full minute. We stood in silence with only the clock ticking in the background.

“What was supposed to be in the jacket?” she asked.

I pressed my lips together, warring with myself if I should tell her or not. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Grandma Tillie’s brooch.”

She expertly arched a dark brown eyebrow. “I see. And where is it now?”

Yeah, this was the sticky part. “I’m not sure. Probably with Caro.”

“Why in Sam Hill would he give your brooch to Carolina?”

I shrugged. “Because he thinks I stole it from her unfairly.”

“Did you?”

I thought about it for a second. “No, Mama, I didn’t. However, my covert actions hurt Grey because I didn’t trust him.”

“So you tried to fix the situation by giving your brooch to Grey?”

I nodded.

“Melinda, why would you close the barn door when the horses are already out?”

“I was tryin’ to do the right thing,” I said exasperated. I knew it would become my fault.

Mama shook her head. “You know what your daddy would say about all of this?”

I rolled my eyes so hard it took me back to my teenage years. “Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.” I quoted. I’d heard that sayin’ for most of my doggone life. Unfortunately, it was accurate.

“No. He’d tell you to keep your saddle oiled and your gun greased.”

The gratitude and love I felt for Mama at the moment was evident by the humongous smile on my face. I guess sometimes a girl did need her mama. I heard what she was telling me loud and clear.

Always be prepared so when opportunity came knocking, you were ready to invite her inside.

Look out, Caro. Here I come.

The End

(Please continue reading for an excerpts
of Fifty Shades of Greyhound
and lots more information about the author)

Fifty Shades of Greyhound

(excerpt)

Mel’s cousin Caro, a Laguna Beach pet therapist, has the same knack for finding trouble among the town’s pampered pets and their equally pampered owners.

The crime was doggone sinister. Soon, the police would be barking up the wrong tree.

“Catnip for mystery fans!”

—Maggie, the cat of Donald Bain (
Murder She Wrote
Series)

Chapter One

IT WAS A KILLER party.

Blanche LeRue, CEO of Greys Matter, barked orders for more seating, more native California bubbly, and more gourmet shrimp appetizers. I’m sure Blanche hoped the overflow crowd translated to big donations for the Greyhound rescue.

Her dress was a formal length charcoal satin that complemented her tall, reed-like figure. A commanding woman, she wore her chin-length silver hair in a way that framed her narrow face yet still managed to look more regal than severe. But make no mistake, Blanche LeRue was a regal with a cause. And that cause was Greyhound rescue.

I know it must seem to y’all that I’m always at some big fancy schmancy party. You’ve probably also noted that it’s usually an animal-related fancy schmancy deal. You’d be right. That’s me, Caro Lamont, pet therapist and big-time subscriber to the there-are-no-bad-pets-just-uneducated-pet-parents philosophy.

My Laguna Beach pet therapy business is called PAWS, which stands for Professional Animal Wellness Specialist, but, in truth, I work more with problem people than problem pets.

Invitations to charity events abound in this pet-friendly southern California haven, but tonight’s gala was a special one, the Fifty Shades of Greyhound Charity Ball, at
D’Orange Maison
, a gorgeous historic ranch estate just outside of Laguna Beach. The main house had recently been spiffed up, the huge rooms used for wedding receptions, political affairs, celebrity functions, and events such as this five-thousand-dollar-a-ticket fund-raiser.

The room was shades of gray everywhere. Pale gray skirting and deep gray brocade tablecloths, slate-colored vases filled with silver floral arrangements.

I know what you’re thinking: they were playing off the mega success of a book that started with the same phrase. Well, you’d probably be right, but you have to admit it was for a great cause. And there were truly fifty, count them,
fifty
real live Greyhounds of varying shades staged at strategic places around the room. Most sat at attention at the feet of their owners or handlers. Though all the dogs were not gray—some white, some black, and still others fawn or brindle—all were adorned with gray leather collars. Blanche LeRue was nothing if not a detail person.

There were many wonderful Greyhound rescue groups in California, but Greys Matter was, in my opinion, one of the best. I hoped the clink and clatter of the crystal and china as waiters refilled champagne glasses and people filled their plates was echoed by the
cha-ching
of hefty contributions to the rescue group.

Speaking of details, Blanche and her event committee had come up with the idea of silver-framed signs around the room printed with factoids about Greyhounds. It was a superb idea. What a great way to convey important information to attendees without some talking head standing at a microphone. I’d seen it time and time again—people who’d paid a pricey admission impatiently waiting for a speaker to be done so they could resume their conversations. People were still waiting, but they were waiting in line to pile gourmet food on their china. And the Greys Matter crew had made sure the buffet tables were placed strategically close to the framed signs. Brilliant.

Part of the fun of attending events like this one was the people-watching. There’s always more to people than what you first noticed. Ever a student of human behavior, I loved the opportunity to observe.

Which was why I stood watching people while Sam Gallanos, my—well heck, what was Sam?

My friend? No, we’re more than friends. My lover? No, less than that one? My escort? Now that just sounds wrong, doesn’t it? My man? My main squeeze? Hmmm. What we were to each other was complicated. So for now, let’s just call him my date for the evening.

Sam, my “date” was off fighting the crowd for a plate of food. While I enjoyed the people-watching, I hoped he’d be back soon. Partly because I enjoyed his fabulous company, and partly because I’d begun to get hungry.

I looked around the spectacular ballroom. Several of my PAWS clients were in attendance. I spotted retired news tycoon Davis Pinter standing near a sign that said, “The origin of the Greyhound name has nothing to do with color. In fact, gray is not a common color among Greyhounds.” That was true.