4 Yip/Tuck Page 2

  “Did you see the pink silk dress on the wall? Wouldn’t it look adorable on Kiki?” Tova carried her Yorkiepoo over for a closer look. “Wouldn’t you love this dress, sweetie pie?”

  I went over to Tova. “It’s a flower-girl dress. It’s handmade, silk and organza. She wouldn’t have to wear it to a wedding, but that was the intention behind the design.”

  Stacie shot a sly smile at Tova, her hazel eyes sharing some radical secret. “It’s purr-fect.”

  Stacie was an athletic beauty with thick, honey-blonde locks that brushed her shoulders. Unfortunately, next to Tova’s statuesque height and long, auburn hair, Stacie looked short and average. Not a good look for any woman wanting to stand out from the desperate-housewives crowd.

  Tova looked momentarily torn, but the look vanished as quickly as the bag of leftover Halloween candy I’d eaten before the first weekend in November. I have a thing for candy corn. The original—yellow, orange, and white. “If you’re interested, let me know. I only have the one left in Kiki’s size.”

  As Tova was about to say something, her cell rang. She checked her caller ID. A take-me-now bedroom look swept across her face. “Hi, Jack,” she breathed into the phone.

  I started to walk away and give her some much needed privacy when her perfectly plucked eyebrows furrowed. I halted in my tracks in a moment of shock. Her eyebrows actually moved. I mean, she is dating a plastic surgeon. He could fix that.

  “I see. Are you going to the gym?” she snapped, her tone arctic. I knew that tone well, having used it occasionally on my on-again fiancé, Grey.

  “I see,” she bit out.

  She didn’t look happy. Nope. Her eyes hardened, and her collagen lips flattened. Even her curves looked dangerous.

  She turned, narrowing her I’ll-make-you-pay-for-standing-me-up gaze on me, but spoke into the phone. “Jack darling, I’ll be waiting for you. Please don’t disappoint me.”

  Yowser. I recognized that passive-aggressive tone. My mama’s famous for perfecting it. Why Tova needed to throw her visual daggers in my direction as she played the guilt card was beyond me, but I’d just as soon she left me out of it. I had my own issues with a no-show man.

  As usual, Grey was currently out of town on business. Top secret, undercover, FBI-type business, but more about that later. Back to Tova and her daggers.

  She tossed her cell in her handbag and wiggle-walked toward the counter. Her Diane von Furstenberg lace dress was a size too small, which meant it had to be a double zero.

  “Melinda, Jack said he had you set aside a gift for Kiki.”

  “Well, yes. This morning. He said he’d be here this evening to pick it up.”

  “He’s running late and won’t be coming. You can just give it to me now.”

  Okay, this was awkward. I knew the pink boots were for Tova’s dog, but Dr. O hadn’t told me to hand over the gift to her. What if he wanted it to be a surprise for Kiki? What if he needed it for a get-out-of-Tova-jail free gift? And if he really did want me to hand it over to her now, why didn’t he just ask to talk to me?

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you . . .” I cleared my throat. Honestly, I didn’t fully believe her. “I’d feel better if I talked to Dr. O personally before I hand you his purchase. It’s Bow Wow policy.” Okay, not really, but maybe I needed to write up a policy just for these types of situations.

  “He’s out of surgery and heading for the gym. He wanted me to have it. Now.”

  “I think he wanted Kiki to have it. Just a small correction.” I smiled and reached out to pet the dog.

  Tova pulled her away. “You’re being difficult. You’re always difficult with me. You know he bought Kiki a gift, and you know he was picking it up tonight. We’re here now. Just give us the present.” Out came the demanding hand and pouty lip I hated so much.

  Well, when you ask so sweetly . . . “Give me a minute.” I flipped though my business card holder, looking for the doc’s information.

  It was easy enough to make a quick call to Dr. O’s office. If he said it was okay, she could have the boots. Anything to get rid of Miss Bossy Pants and her assistant.

  They roamed the shop while I hunted through my stash of business cards. I really needed to get these organized. No. What I needed was to invest in a software system that merged my client database with my cash register, but I was always too busy helping customers. I needed part-time help, but I hadn’t had any good candidates. Wacky Vera, a prime example of my options, wasn’t going to cut it. I made a mental reminder to look through the applications again tomorrow.

  “Tova got stood up again?” Kimber appeared out of nowhere.

  “It sounds like there was an emergency, and Dr. O’Doggle won’t be able to make it.” I wasn’t about to insinuate myself into gossip about Tova. I wasn’t her biggest fan, but that didn’t mean I had to share my unkind thoughts about her with other customers.

  Kimber leaned against the counter and spoke quietly. “He stands her up almost every Sunday night. If I were her, I’d hire a P.I. and find out who the other woman is.”

  “What other woman?” I asked before I could stop myself. So much for staying out of Tova’s personal life.

  “I’ve heard he has another girlfriend in Newport. It could even be a wife. Either way, I wouldn’t stand for it.” Kimber set Noodles’ sweater vest next to the cash register.

  Another woman? Highly unlikely. If that were true, Tova would have found a way to get rid of the competition. As for a wife, Tova was annoying and superficial, but she didn’t seem the kind to steal another woman’s husband.

  Maybe the sexy Dr. Jack O’Doggle could take only so much Tova and needed a break. Just like the rest of us. After I rang up Kimber’s merchandise, I’d call Dr. O and get his okay to cough up Kiki’s gift. It was the least I could do.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT DAY was one of those foggy winter mornings. A spongy wetness hung in the air, a familiar friend to any oceanside town. In a couple of hours, the sun would banish the low-lying clouds and create a golden paradise in its place.

  My best bud, Darby Beckett, and I walked our dogs down the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH to us locals), past the sleeping shops, with Koffee Klatch drinks in hand. Darby was in full Annie Hall mode today—wide-legged trousers, white, long-sleeved shirt, and a tweed vest. I sported my usual denim and cotton.

  Fluffy, a pretentious but misunderstood Afghan Hound, was now officially Darby’s dog. To catch you up to speed on Fluffy, I had inherited the “dog actor” when her owner was murdered. Fluffy and my bulldog, Missy, weren’t a good fit. Missy’s a down-home kinda gal. Fluffy is beyond pampered with a capital P. They didn’t make good roommates.

  But Fluffy and Darby . . . as opposite as they were, needed each other. Once a few legal papers had been filed, Darby and Fluffy were officially a pair. Everyone was happy.

  “So tell me about the calendar project. Who’s in?” I asked.

  Darby owned Paw Prints, a pet photography shop, which was conveniently located next door to Bow Wow. She’d come up with a fantastic idea to shoot a calendar of prominent businesswomen and their pets as a fundraiser for the local Animal Rescue League.

  “Well, you and Missy, Shar Summers and Babycakes, Mandy Beenerman and Nietzsche, Cheryl Dolacki and Nemo.” She paused to sip her white mocha latte.

  Shar was a teenaged TV star, Mandy owned a chain of local exercise studios, and Cheryl drew a cartoon strip that featured her Jack Russell, Nemo. All fitting choices but not nearly enough subjects to complete the calendar.

  “I asked Tova and Kiki.”

  That made sense. Tova was a model. I grunted acceptance. Missy took that as an invitation to sniff the trees in front of the music store. Fluffy waited impatiently, nose in the air.

  “I also asked Caro and Dogbert. If I can find a way to work in the cats, I’ll include Thelma and Louise too.” Darby’s tone dared me to disagree.

  I stifled a gasp at my cousin’s name. “You. Did. Not.” Caro and
I weren’t speaking.

  “You had to realize I was going to ask her. She’s highly respected.”

  “She’s a pet shrink.”

  All right, I admit it, “shrink” sounded silly, but in truth, Caro is a damn fine animal behaviorist. A secret sense of pride beats in my heart, knowing how much my beautiful cousin has overcome the last few years. She’s worked hard for her success.

  “If she weren’t your cousin, you wouldn’t poke fun. In fact, you’d recommend her.”

  “If she wasn’t a brooch-stealing, get-her-feelings-hurt-by-the-truth kind of cousin.” Displeasure and annoyance quashed any positive feeling I’d had for my hardheaded, beautiful cousin.

  Darby tossed her empty cup into a public trashcan then walked on. “From everything you’ve told me, the two of you would be on speaking terms if you’d be the bigger person and apologize.”

  I swallowed the last of my chai latte. I held my empty cup out, waiting for the next can we passed. “Why do I have to be the one to say I’m sorry? It wasn’t my husband who violated the shrink oath and slept with my client. I’m not the one who thought she could save the big idiot from himself and the law. I’m just the loud-mouthed, caring cousin who pointed out the obvious. Caro needs to stop trying to save the world.”

  Darby slid a wry smile in my direction. “And you wonder why you two aren’t talking.”

  “Nope, I don’t wonder. I know exactly why. Caro is sensitive. And she holds a grudge.”

  Darby shook her head, blonde curls slapping her cheeks. “You spoke out of turn, and you know it, which is why you won’t talk to her. You owe her an apology.”

  I chewed on what she said for a couple of blocks. When we approached a trashcan, I tossed my now-mangled cup inside. Obviously, she was right, but for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with a believable rebuttal. I could pull out the stock, “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” but after two years, Darby kinda knew my business. That’s what best friends do. Keep you honest. Hold you to your word.

  Feeling a sudden chill, I pulled my denim jacket tightly across my chest. “Stop watching those self-help talk shows. You’re starting to sound like Caro.” It was the best I could come up with. I’d learned during my pageant years: if you can’t answer honestly, deflect.

  Darby shot me a winning smile. “Thanks.”

  She would take it as a compliment.

  I changed the subject back to the calendar. “We have to find a way for you and Fluffy participate. I could take the picture. You’d have to set the shot up, but I can press the camera button.”

  “We’ll see.” Darby was wisely noncommittal.

  We walked in silence, traffic occasionally whizzing past, filling in our quiet. The closer we got to the boutique and studio, the harder the dogs strained against their leashes. Everyone was excited to get to work. Except for Missy, who was probably ready for a morning snooze.

  It was only nine o’clock, leaving me a couple of hours until I opened for business. I mentally listed all the mini-projects I wanted to complete in the next two hours, starting with finding the last of my Christmas decorations for the boutique. Darby’s sudden, excited whisper broke my concentration.

  “Oh, my gosh, Mel. Is that Dr. O’Doggle sitting on the bench in front of Bow Wow?”

  It sure wasn’t Bob, the homeless surfer dude who shows up most mornings. Bob lives out of his Volkswagen van. He has a thing for my dog treats. And before you ask, no, he doesn’t have a homeless dog. Bob just likes the treats. I manage to slip him some cash every once in a while just to make sure he’s eating real food too.

  Dr. O looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His designer suit was wrinkled, silk tie askew, hair ruffled to the point it look uncombed, and his Wayfarer Ray-Bans sat cockeyed on his nose. He looked like an upscale bum. His head was tilted sideways, as if he were watching something interesting. One arm was propped on the back of the bench.

  Now, I don’t pretend to know Dr. O’Doggle all that well, but I have never seen him look unkempt. The man wears custom-tailored operating scrubs, for goodness sakes. He and Tova must have had one heck of a fight. I couldn’t come up with one good reason as to why he’d chosen to crash in front of my shop. Unless he needed a very big apology gift.

  “Good morning.”

  He didn’t respond. Was he asleep?

  Missy sniffed Dr. O’s shoes, and Fluffy sniffed his, uh, man parts.

  Darby’s faced turned fifty shades of embarrassed. She tugged Fluffy back. “Stop, girl. Sorry. Dr. O’Doggle?”

  He didn’t say a word. He just remained slouched on the bench staring at us. At least, I assumed his eyes were open. With his dark sunglasses, it was hard to know for certain.

  “So, are you here about the gift for Kiki?” I asked, relieved I hadn’t caved and handed it over to Tova. “Looks like you’ve had a rough night.”

  Fluffy whined and stretched her long neck toward Jack. Darby pulled on the leash at the same time Fluffy stepped back and sneezed.

  “Bless you,” we said.

  Dr. O continued to give us the silent treatment. Fluffy eyed him intently. I studied him too.

  Darby must have relaxed her grip on the leash. Fluffy took advantage. The big Afghan lunged toward Dr. O’Doggle and knocked him over.

  The doctor rolled off the bench and dropped with a thud at our feet.

  My stomach knotted. “No, no, no.” I shook my head. “Not again.”

  I shoved Missy’s leash in Darby’s hand then knelt down and shook his shoulders. “Dr. O’Doggle?” I grabbed his suit lapels and yelled, “Jack?”

  Nothing. No, “I’m fine.” No, “Stop yelling in my face.” No, “Get your hands off me.”

  No, no, no.

  I checked his throat for a pulse. Nothing. But he was still warm. My fingers brushed against something that felt familiar, and I’m not talking about his tie. I pulled back his shirt for a better look. I sucked in a breath, my nose filled with a light female perfume I didn’t recognize. A thin dog leash was wound tightly around his neck.

  This was not an accident.

  “Is he . . .?” Darby asked softly.

  I looked up at her. “Dead. No more late night walks for him.”

  Chapter Four

  DARBY SHIVERED. “Maybe he had a heart attack.”

  I sighed and sat down by the body. The coldness from the cement quickly seeped through my jeans. I barely noticed. “That’d be nice.” But doubtful.

  Missy yawned. She sat and stared at the front door of the boutique. Fluffy looked at Darby, nose in the air, as if she was above such distasteful situations.

  “There’s something around his neck,” I said quietly.

  Darby patted her head absently. “You mean his tie?”

  I shook my head no. “A dog leash.” I immediately recalled how angry Tova had been last night that Dr. O wasn’t coming. Had she been angry enough to kill him? Tova was demanding and annoying, but a killer? I didn’t think so. “We need to call 9-1-1.”

  Darby did a double take, her blue eyes huge. “Detective Malone isn’t going to be happy to see us.”

  Darby was right. Calling the police meant homicide detective Judd Malone would show up. He wouldn’t be thrilled I’d tripped over another dead body. (For those of you counting, this is body number three.)

  “I don’t understand. Dr. O was fine last night. Why did he have to die here?” I looked at Darby knowing my eyes reflected the anxiety bubbling inside. “You should call Malone. Give him a heads up. I’ll call 9-1-1”

  Darby shook her head. “No way.” She pointed at the dead man. “He was here to see you. You call the police.”

  I stood and brushed sand and dirt from my backside. “Just because this is his, ah, almost final resting place, doesn’t mean he was here to see me. Come on Darb, Malone likes you better.”

  “That’s not saying much.”

  Warming to the idea, I smiled reassuringly and held out my fist. “Rock, paper, scissors? Loser calls Malone
.”

  “Mel, he’s used to getting these types of calls from you.”

  Ouch. “Which is why you should call him.”

  My buddy studied me for a nanosecond before holding her fist in front of her. God love Darby Beckett. She was my best friend for a reason.

  “One, two, three,” we counted in unison.

  I held out my fist.

  Rock.

  Darby held out her hand, palm down.

  Paper.

  Paper covers rock.

  I looked up at her with my practiced beauty queen smile, holding my breath. “Best two out of three?”

  NOT EVERYONE has a homicide detective on speed dial. I do. I’d prefer not to analyze that peculiarity. Especially since Judd Malone didn’t have a lot of patience for me. After losing that silly childhood game with Darby (I should have offered to flip a quarter, at least then I’d have had a fifty-fifty chance), I called Detective Malone to explain the situation. He told me to touch nothing and to keep everyone away. Yeah, I unfortunately already knew the routine.

  Darby and I tried to act nonchalant. Most downtown businesses didn’t open until ten or eleven. It wasn’t tourist season, so it was fairly quiet on the streets. The way I figured, we’d upheld our end of the deal.

  It was the police, blaring down the street, who drew attention, red and blue lights flashing in the low clouds. The few shop owners who were already at work spilled out into the sidewalk, circling my shop. Asking questions I didn’t want to answer.

  You know the saying, “There’s no such thing as bad press?” It’s not true. A dead body lying in front of your business is bad press. There’s just no getting around it. Especially when the body in question was a new customer.

  Bless her heart, Darby had wrangled the dogs inside Paw Prints. That left me to hover over Dr. O’s corpse and shoo away the rubberneckers.

  “What happened?”

  That was Detective Malone. A man of few words. Occasionally, I wondered if he was a man of fewer friends. He was extremely good looking in that heart-stopping way, but he had the personality of a souvenir paperweight.