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  Barking with the Stars

  Barking with the Stars

  by

  Sparkle Abbey

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-827-1

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-841-7

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 2017 by Carter Woods, LLC

  Published in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo/Art credits:

  Dog (manipulated) © Olgacov | Dreamstime.com

  Scene (manipulated) © Narcis Parfenti | Dreamstime.com

  Collar © Roughcollie | Dreamstime.com

  Paw Print © Booka1 | Dreamstime.com

  magnifying glass © Yudesign | Dreamstime.com

  :Esbh:01:

  Dedication

  To the men and women who have served and are dealing with the effects of post-traumatic stress.

  And to the loyal therapy dogs by their side in the day-to-day battles.

  Chapter One

  I SHOULD HAVE known something was up by the way folks were looking at me. The sideways glances and the subtle turning away should have given me a clue. But the swirl of chatter, the yips and barks, and the swell of people and pets, surrounded me as soon as I walked in.

  Still, I haven’t always been a pet therapist, I was trained as a clinical psychologist, for Pete’s sake. You’d think I’d have a little bit of insight.

  But there’d been a fender bender in the southbound lanes of PCH and traffic had been backed up so I was running late. I’d skidded into the hotel in a big ole hurry, gotten directions, and raced to the volunteer check-in at greyhound speed. Then in such a tizzy over my tardiness, I just assumed that was the reason for the stares. I’d failed to catch that there might be something else going on.

  “Oh, there you are.” Rufus McGrill, the onsite organizer for the star-studded event, hurried up, his tablet at the ready, his face nearly as red as his hair. “People have been looking for you.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I dug in my bag for my credentials which the volunteer packet I’d been given said I needed to be wearing at all times. “Traffic was awful.” Ah, there it was. I slipped the lanyard over my head and adjusted the tag, which proclaimed, “Barking with the Stars Official Pet Liaison.”

  My friend Diana Knight had been the one who’d gotten me involved in the celebrity fundraiser which would benefit a group called Warriors for the Paws, but I have to tell you, convincing me had not taken a ton of arm twisting.

  When Sunny Simone, the CEO of Warriors for the Paws, had told me that every day twenty-two veterans take their own lives, I’d felt sick. Twenty-two. What a shocking number. That’s a suicide every sixty-five minutes. Her group matched trained therapy dogs with veterans who’d developed post-traumatic stress disorders from the horrors they’d experienced in combat zones. Too many soldiers came back with PTSD, and these dogs could be just what the doctor ordered for so many—from waking their human from night terrors to helping the veterans remain calm in stressful situations to helping with episodes of depresssion. I’d checked them out and Warriors for the Paws was making a difference. I was in.

  “Yoo-hoo, Caro.”

  Hearing my name, I looked for the source.

  I spotted an arm waving from across the room. Diana Knight was so petite that I couldn’t see the rest of her, but I recognized the blond hair and the flash of hot-pink nails. And, well, who could miss those diamonds?

  Once Hollywood’s darling in a series of classic romantic comedies in the fifties, Diana was a classic herself. Now, in her eighties, she had not slowed down one bit. As she parted the crowd and headed toward me, I could see she had her rescue puggle, Mr. Wiggles, tucked close to her. Diana’s heart was as big as her fame, and she collected strays like she collected fans. I guess in a way you could say I was one of those strays.

  “Oh, my.” She stopped in front of me and took a deep breath. “What an unbelievable turnout of volunteers.” Dressed to the nines, as always, she sported an icy-blue pantsuit with a brightly colored scarf thrown over her shoulders and wrapped around the pup like a sling. “Mr. Wiggles is glad to see you. Aren’t you, buddy?” She picked up the pup’s paw and wiggled it so it looked like he was waving at me. “Say good morning to Caro.”

  “Good morning.” I gave the pup a nuzzle.

  “Don’t you look amazing, as always?” she continued. “Is that a new Stella McCartney?”

  I nodded. Diana loved fashion and kept up with the latest designers. She hardly ever guessed wrong. I’d picked up the top recently and loved the dog-print motif.

  “If I had your height and gorgeous red hair, I’d wear her, too.” She continued without taking a breath, “Have you seen Armand and Elizabeth? They were looking for you. And that nice Rebecca Tyler was name-dropping your name all over the place and bragging about how wonderful you were during the Pet Intervention project.”

  Mr. Wiggles pushed against the scarf/sling and gave a little yip.

  “The crowd is a little overwhelming for him. He’s not used to not being able to run around at will.” She placed him on the floor but kept her hand on his leash.

  “But a crowd is great for the cause, though, right?” I smiled at Rufus who waited for Diana to finish, though I couldn’t say he waited patiently. In fact, his red hair now stood upright, making it appear as if his forehead was on fire.

  “You were saying . . .” I threw the conversation back in his direction.

  “Sunny would like for you to take a look at the accommodations for our headliner, Purple, and her dog, Lavender. I know you’ve already been working with them. Anyway, Sunny said you had to approve the dressing room setup.” He glanced down at the screen. “And then, if you could, check on . . . uhm . . . Babycakes?”

  I nodded. “That’s Shar Summer’s Chinese Crested.” Shar was a hit sensation on a popular television show about triplet sisters who perform magic. In reality, all three triplets were played by her. I’d known this type of event would be right up her alley.

  “That’s right.” Rufus clutched the tablet to his chest.

  “First, I have to check in with Kristen Karmania and her teacup Chihuahua. I promised I’d let her know when I got here.”

  “No.” I wasn’t sure who s
aid it first, Diana or Rufus, but they both said it with force.

  “What do you mean, no?” I looked from one to the other.

  “Well . . .” Rufus stood poised like he wanted to make a run for it. “You see . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked down at his tablet.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, just tell her.” Diana rolled her eyes. “KK and her band of bimbos have been led astray by your ex and have said to tell you your services are no longer needed. They don’t even have to chutzpah to tell you in person.”

  “Geoff is here?” I wasn’t as worried about being dumped as I was about my ex-husband. I should have expected it, but I hadn’t heard from him recently so I’d wrongly assumed he had moved on. “That . . .” I couldn’t think of a term for Geoffrey that I could say in polite company.

  “I’m afraid, it’s worse than that.” Diana took my arm and steered me away from Rufus and the group of people who had slowly inched closer in an attempt to hear.

  “You see, he has not only inserted himself into the Barking with the Stars event and ingratiated himself to some of the celebrities, but he’s also been spreading rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?” I didn’t care so much about losing Kristen Karmania, or KK as the press referred to her. She hadn’t been a client for long and in the short few weeks I’d been working with her, I’d had my doubts about whether she really had any interest in following my advice. Chihuahuas can be high strung, but Scamp, her teacup, was Zen in comparison to KK herself.

  “Well, hello there, Ms. Lamont. Do you care to comment on the all the buzz?” Callum MacAvoy, ace reporter for the local television station and a constant thorn in my side, inserted himself between Diana and me.

  I wasn’t sure if he meant the event or the rumors being spread by my ex. Either way the answer was the same.

  “No, I don’t.” I looked behind him and didn’t see a camera crew so he wasn’t really reporting on anything at all. Plain and simple, MacAvoy was on a fishing expedition.

  “Excuse us.” I scooped up Mr. Wiggles, linked my arm with Diana’s, and moved us to a corner that seemed semi-private. “What is Geoff saying?”

  “He’s telling people, your clients, that you are taking some time off. That you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown since being held hostage by that crazy man you helped capture a while back, and you’re going to give up your practice and move to England.” Diana’s voice quivered with disgust.

  “What?” I couldn’t wrap my head around Diana’s words. “I’m what?”

  “There you are.” Of course, his voice projected from across the room.

  Speak of . . .

  Though it was a sad cliché, “speak of the devil” was exactly what popped into my head as Geoffrey Carlisle, my ex-husband, slithered up and put his arm around my shoulders.

  “Are you okay, my dear?” Gloriously handsome on the outside and rotten to the core on the inside, Geoff’s fake worry might have sounded sincere. To someone who hadn’t been emotionally destroyed by him. “I’ve been hearing the most awful things. Like you’re losing it.” He smiled but more at the nearby eavesdroppers than at me.

  “I am about to lose it, but not in the way you mean.” I kept my voice low. “Remove your arm from me. And don’t touch me again.”

  He dropped his arm and took a step back. The man had movie-star looks and played them. His dark hair a perfect foil to his expensive custom-made charcoal suit—blue tie chosen to complement his vivid-blue eyes. Contacts.

  “You look good, Carolina.” His tone was pleasant but dripped with insincerity.

  I glanced down at my jeans and the designer dog-print top. There was a time when Geoff’s polish would have caused me to feel inadequate. Not anymore. I knew who I was and I liked my bohemian look.

  Besides, my clothes were all washable, and when you’re dealing with wound-up canines, that trumps fashion any day. Somehow, I didn’t think his high-priced Tom Ford suit would fare so well when someone’s puppy peed on it.

  Chapter Two

  DOWN, GIRL. I walked away from Geoffrey without another word. I’d learned there was nothing to be gained from engaging with someone who wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him upside the head. The last time we’d talked, I’d told him in no uncertain terms that I hoped we never crossed paths again. Ever. And I’d meant it.

  Now, here he was. Smack dab in the middle of my world again and, from what Diana had shared, not only attempting to take over my clients, but this time he also seemed intent on trashing my reputation.

  As I stomped back to the dressing rooms, I was pretty sure everyone I passed could see the steam coming out of my ears. I stopped and took a deep breath. I’d deal with the rumors and lies later, but first I needed to check on Babycakes. That was, if Shar Summers hadn’t also fired me.

  It was easy to find Shar. I simply followed the trail of pink. The television star was looking over what would be her dressing room. I poked my head in the door. It was already awash in pink satin, pink pillows, and pink clothes.

  She looked up from where she sat at a sparkly dressing table draped in pink beads. “Hello, Caro.” She waved a hand decorated in multiple pink rings. “Come on in.”

  The petite star had her dog tucked under one arm, and with the other hand she was flipping through what I assumed were the program notes. The little Chinese Crested was high strung. And, in the sequined doggie coat and hat, looked more like a well-dressed alien than a canine.

  “Did you need something?” I took a deep, calming breath. No need to bring my own unresolved Geoffrey-tension into the situation.

  “I just wanted to know if there was something I should be doing with Baby. You know, to get her to be okay with this. I can’t have her nipping at the other celebs or their pooches. I haven’t had a problem with her lately but this will be a lot of people and a lot of puppy dogs.”

  “That’s why I suggested you bring her today. So, she can get acclimated and once she’s used to the place she won’t be so nervous.” I’d also thought maybe Shar wouldn’t be so nervous as well. Nervous owner translates to nervous and unstable dog. But I hadn’t said all that aloud.

  “My angel-baby seems a-okay.” She set aside the notes. “Right, girlie-wirlie?”

  I knew from the baby-talk she was addressing the dog and not me. “Ri—”

  “What the hell is this?” A voice screeched from the dressing room next door.

  We all three froze.

  “I said, What. The. Hell. Is. This?”

  Each word was punctuated with something hitting the wall. More really bad words followed at the same volume, and Shar sat mid-sentence—her mouth open, blond curls frozen, her blue eyes wide. Babycakes began to shake.

  “This is not what I asked for. I asked for pomegranate juice. POM-OH-GRAN-IT! Got it?”

  The door opened and then slammed shut, rattling the sparkly pink beads draped on Shar’s mirror. I opened the dressing room door and peeked out in time to see Purple, the event’s headliner and biggest star, stomp down the hallway toward the exit.

  “Wait!” A Keith-Urban-look-alike in faded jeans and spiky blond hair followed her. A roadie maybe? Or one of her musicians or technical crew?

  Purple didn’t turn around, but raised a hand over her head and made a smoosh of dismissal. “Later.”

  “Come on.” The guy slapped his leg with the paper he held and retreated.

  Rufus and his clipboard attempted to intercept Purple at the end of the hall, but she pushed him aside and continued.

  “Wow, and I thought I was high maintenance.” Shar had come up behind me. She played a bit of a ditz on her TV show, and sometimes I wasn’t always sure it was acting, but in this case, she was spot on with her assessment.

  “Wow, is right.” I didn’t know who Purple had been yelling at but whoever it was certainly had not
deserved such an abusive dressing down.

  “That’s Diva with a capital D, or I guess P in this case.” Shar giggled at her joke as she continued to stare down the hall where Purple had disappeared.

  I was thinking a different word entirely, but my mama raised me better so I didn’t say it aloud.

  Purple was an amazing singer, but she was even more famous for wearing wigs that obscured her face. The wigs varied in style and color, though mostly a white blond with some sort of bow or hair ornament and a vivid streak of purple down the right side. They always completely covered her facial features except for her mouth, thus creating an irresistible air of mystery.

  No doubt about it, the look was very effective marketing. You couldn’t argue with that. The singing sensation had become much more than a talented vocalist. The enigma she created with the mystery surrounding what she really looked like and why she covered her face was the stuff of legends. She’d topped the charts, filled stadiums, and was a much-sought-after late-night talk show guest.

  And her fans. Well, they were something else. They bought her music, they followed her from venue to venue, they dressed like her, they collected Purple t-shirts, Purple dolls, Purple posters, Purple key chains, and Purple underwear. I swear I am not making that last one up.

  Shar and I ducked back into her dressing room.

  “How do you think she sees?” Shar tipped her head.

  “I’ve wondered that myself.” I’d been working with Purple and her dog, Lavender, at the house she’d just purchased in one of Laguna Beach’s gated communities, and in the half-dozen or so times I’d been there, I’d never seen her without the wig. It seemed to me that always wearing a wig would be beyond uncomfortable, but you couldn’t argue with the fame the image had created.

  “Thanks for getting me involved with Barking with the Stars.” Shar set Babycakes down carefully in her pink puppy stroller.

  “I’m glad you were able to do it.” I handed her the list of tips I was sharing with everyone. “It’s such a great cause.”