The Dogfather Read online

  Except for dealing with Mason. He looked like a trustworthy guy with his “Who me?” shrugs and seemingly interested head tilt as you were conversing. Once you got past the façade, you realized he was arrogant, superficial at best, and enjoyed a sly put-down at someone else’s expense. Nor did he give his time or money for the betterment of the community without something in return. Maybe I was overly suspicious. If you asked my mama, she’d be the first to agree.

  In their defense, Mason and Quinn Reed were relatively new to Laguna, having arrived about a year earlier. That could explain their reluctance to jump head first into overly active community committees, church socials, and local fundraisers. But it had been a year. Certainly they’d had plenty of time to get their bearings. There was something fishy about those two, mostly Mason, only I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Yet.

  With the Laguna Mobster Film Festival a month away, I’d been after the Reeds to donate something—a handbag, a wallet, a keychain—anything we could auction off. Each time I’d approached Quinn, she’d always responded the same. “I’m sure we’ll do something.” But the way she’d said it felt more like a brush-off than a commitment of any kind.

  Once I had realized I wasn’t making progress with the direct approach, I altered my strategy and targeted Mason’s ego. As a sponsor, he could simply write a check, and his name and business logo would be plastered all over town. No extra participation required. Unfortunately, that hadn’t worked either.

  Yet somehow Betty had convinced Mason to cough up five grand. I was still trying to wrap my mind around it. A part of me wondered if Mason had really agreed to a sponsorship or if Betty had heard what she wanted to hear and I was about to be thrown out on my behind.

  I pushed open the heavy glass door of Hot Handbags. A rush of cold air-conditioned air swept over me as I walked inside. My heart skipped a beat at the site before me. I had a thing for purses. Looking around the smallish boutique, my fingers twitched wanting to touch the gorgeous bags lined up along the back-lit shelving units attached to the walls. Chanel. Louis Vuitton. Tory Burch. Kate Spade. Stella McCartney. Gucci. Hermès. Coach. The smell of luxury—expensive leather and designer perfume—clung to the air.

  A handful of customers milled around the store, gently caressing the high-end accessories. Well, maybe not caressing, but definitely treating the merchandise with reverence.

  I spotted Quinn descending the contemporary wrought-iron staircase in the back of the store. She looked every inch the television version of an Orange County housewife in her white cigarette pants and black, sleeveless, eyelet top. Her five-inch heel caught the edge of the bottom stair; she stumbled, grabbing the railing to right herself. One of the women fawning over a Stella McCartney velvet shoulder bag gasped.

  I rushed over to Quinn. “Are you okay?”

  She brushed away my hands. “I’m fine, thank you.” She smoothed the beach-blond locks flowing over her shoulders. She gave me the once-over, wordlessly pronouncing judgment with a raised brow. My “I don’t need therapy, I have a dog” t-shirt, jeans, and flats were found underwhelming.

  She gingerly placed weight on her foot. Seeming uninjured, she strutted into the middle of the store. “Is there something you needed, Mel?” she asked over her shoulder.

  I smothered the annoyance bubbling inside me. I swallowed my pride and followed like an obedient puppy.

  “Betty told me that you and Mason have agreed to sponsor the Angels with Paws event next month, and I needed to pick up the check this morning. We really appreciate your contribution. The film festival is gearing up to be a huge success.”

  Quinn rolled her striking green eyes. “Your grandmother can be rather dogged when she wants something.”

  A burst of laughter escaped me. “She would say older sister, but we’re not related. She works at the boutique. Betty has become invested in the festival the last couple of months. She’s hoping for a good turnout so Sal Poochino will make an appearance.”

  Quinn’s plastic smile told me she’d stopped listening.

  I released a deep breath and started over. “Anyway, if I could just grab that check, I’ll get out of your hair and you can get back to your customers.”

  “Wait here.” She spun around and headed back to the staircase she’d almost tumbled down minutes earlier.

  I weaved through a number of displays, making my way closer to a couple of other customers who were whispering like star-crossed teenagers.

  “It’s wearable art,” the short brunette whispered reverently.

  “Oh, you’d be Queen Bee of Omaha with the Gucci shoulder bag. You have to buy it!” The tall black-haired gal picked up the bag and shoved it at her friend.

  Summer tourists made the best customers. Their enthusiasm was contagious. A Christian Louboutin, silver leather clutch caught my eye. It was every handbag snob’s dream. Love at first sight. Casual sophistication. Modern. The perfect complement to a pair of metallic Rene Caovilla sandals in my closet.

  As I internally debated the purchase of the handbag, the front door opened and Nina Fernandez, a loyal customer of Bow Wow Boutique and lover of all canines, strolled inside. The second she saw me, her brown eyes widened, and a bright smile spread across her red lips. She rushed toward me, unknowingly saving me from dropping an obscene amount of money.

  When she reached my side, we shared a couple of customary Nina cheek kisses. Right then left. Her slicked-back, long ponytail swung from side to side.

  “Mel, I was just at your shop.” She held up a small Bow Wow bag. “Betty just sold me on the cutest plush monkey toy. Dash will love it.”

  “You got away without buying a bottle of doggie cologne? I’m shocked.” Dash was the most adorable dachshund puppy. His soulful eyes melted my heart every time he stopped by the shop.

  Nina waved her free hand nonchalantly through the air. “Oh, that’s just a given. You know Dash likes to smell good for the ladies. It’s so great to see you. How’s Missy? I noticed she hasn’t been at the shop the last couple times I’ve been there.”

  “She’s good. I haven’t felt comfortable bringing her in since the last break-in.”

  Nina’s eyes widened. “Any news on who’s behind that?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “Even with your direct line?”

  I laughed, a tad uncomfortable. She was referring to my unusual relationship with Homicide Detective Judd Malone. “That line only picks up when dead bodies are involved.”

  She patted my arm reassuringly. “I guess it’s good that there are no dead bodies then.” She sighed dramatically. “I am worried that if the police don’t catch whoever is behind these nuisance crimes we’ll lose the foot traffic downtown. We can’t afford that.”

  “I know. I’m sure the police are doing everything they possibly can. We just need to be patient.”

  Easier said than done. I couldn’t say that I was afraid to be alone at the shop, but I did worry about Betty at times. She believed she was invincible; capable of defending herself (she’s taken self-defense classes) and anyone else who happened to be inside the store should we become the target. I’d experienced the gun-toting, bad-kung-fu-moves side of Betty. A little erratic and unpredictable was the kindest description I could come up with. Not a good look for anyone.

  Nina looked around quizzically. “Are Mason or Quinn around?”

  “I haven’t seen Mason, but Quinn’s upstairs grabbing a check for the film festival next month.”

  Nina looked surprised. “They gave you money?”

  I shrugged. “Betty managed to get Mason to agree.”

  She leaned in close. “Did she blackmail him?” she whispered.

  If she’d asked that about anyone else, I’d have laughed and brushed it off. But Betty was involved. History had taught me, anything was possible if sh
e believed the end result important enough.

  “I’m sure she just wore him down. You know what she’s like when she makes up her mind.” I quickly changed the subject. “We can count on you and Dash to attend the festival next month, right?”

  “Of course we’ll be there. I already know what he should wear to the special viewing of The Godfather. I love that we’re dressing our dogs as our favorite character. Such a grand idea.”

  I smiled. “I’d love to take credit for it, but I can’t.”

  “I need to bring Dash to the boutique to try on the costume I have in mind. Maybe tomorrow? And you can show me what Missy’s going to wear.”

  “Absolutely. I can’t wait to see which one you’ve picked. I haven’t decided on something for Missy. Of course Betty has something over the top in mind for Raider.” Raider was Betty’s full-of-life Saint Bernard. He was two years old and almost as big as Betty. She’d been working with my lovely cousin, Caro Lamont, pet behaviorist extraordinaire, to learn how to control Raider. It was a work in progress. So was my relationship with my cousin.

  We continued to chat about upcoming events. I could hear a landline ringing upstairs. Suddenly, Quinn’s cold voice thundered from upstairs. Nina trailed off, and we looked at each other, awkwardly eavesdropping. I shrugged, not sure what would have triggered Quinn to lose her cool knowing she had customers in the store. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but her tone was aggressive. Whoever was on the other end was getting an earful.

  Nina cleared her throat and made her excuses, then meandered toward the front of the shop. I should have followed her, but my inquiring mind wasn’t so easily distracted. It didn’t matter. As soon as the yelling had started, it stopped. I felt a twinge of disappointment the show was over.

  Oh wow! I sounded like Betty. There was a sobering thought.

  Speaking of Betty, I wished I’d brought my cell phone along. There was no telling what she had been up to in my absence.

  Within a few minutes I could hear the familiar clip-clop sound trailing down the staircase. I walked in her direction, praying she wouldn’t stumble on the last step again. Quinn was mumbling something under her breath as she made her way downstairs.

  I met her at the bottom step. She released a deep breath, regaining her composure. Whatever that phone call had been about, it had definitely shaken her.

  She was also empty handed.

  Before I could say anything, she shook her head. “It seems Mason has the checkbook. Unfortunately, I cannot write that check after all.”

  She looked flustered. Because of the phone argument or because of the missing checkbook? Hard to know.

  “I can come back later this afternoon,” I pressed.

  Her cheek twitched. “Tomorrow. I have a spa day scheduled in the morning. Mason can take care of his own mess.”

  Here it was. Betty had heard what she wanted to hear. “He’s changed his mind?” I hedged.

  She brushed her long bangs to the side of her face, tucking them behind her ear. “I told you we’d do something. Apparently, Mason decided on a sponsorship. He’ll have a check for you.”

  “Signed?” I don’t know what made me think to say that, but it didn’t seem out of character for them to invent excuses to not part with the money.

  She stiffened. “Of course.”

  “Wonderful. Nothing could keep me away.”

  Chapter Two

  WELL, I HADN’T been thrown out on my bum, but I was heading back to the shop without a check. I’d like to say I was surprised, but that would be a lie. Anyone who knew me knew I hated lying. Partly because I was a horrible liar. Mostly because lying led to secrets, and in my experience, secrets led to dead bodies.

  The outdoor crowds had grown larger in the short time I was with Quinn. If the number of people walking their dogs was an indicator of our possible business, we’d see a crush of customers this afternoon.

  The challenge of living in a popular tourist town was that the crowds never moved swiftly down the street. Walking was more like being trapped in a group of bored party guests holding up the back wall while they observed the action on the dance floor.

  A half block down the road I saw Darby and her Afghan hound, Fluffy, slip inside my boutique. Excited to see my best friend, I hotfooted it the rest of the way. I slipped around a group of bubbly teenage girls huddled together for a selfie in front of the surf shop. I may have “accidently” photo-bombed them, not that they noticed.

  I entered the boutique with a smile on my face. That smile was short lived.

  Betty, Darby, Grey, and none other than Mason Reed were poised to rumble. That might be a slight exaggeration. I quickly assessed the group, and judging by the body language, they weren’t about to perform a Dancing with the Stars group routine. What looked to have been a heated conversation had stalled at my entrance.

  Mason’s uncharacteristic disheveled appearance—wrinkled khakis, misbuttoned Tommy Bahama shirt—matched his unruly attitude. It was possible he’d already been in one fight and was spoiling for another. His hands were braced on the counter, as if ready to leap across at the slightest provocation. Is it bad that I wondered if he had the check for Angels with Paws with him? Too soon for that line of questioning?

  “Did you start the party without me?” I strove to bring some humor to the tense situation.

  “This ain’t no party, Cookie. Mason here is causing trouble.” Betty sent a scowl in Mason’s direction. She had positioned herself behind the counter next to Grey, imitating his imposing stance, but not pulling it off.

  Darby, in a white cotton shirt, tweed shorts, and Diane Keaton-inspired polka-dot scarf, had her back to me, almost hiding behind a round table of fabric dog mannequins and jeweled collars. She looked over her shoulder and silently communicated with a small tilt of her head toward Grey. He was in protector mode. His square jaw tightened as I made my way toward them.

  Well, crapola. I was in a rather precarious position. I wanted money from Mason, but I certainly didn’t want him scaring away my customers with his drama.

  “Mason was just leaving, Melinda.” Grey didn’t take his eyes off Mason.

  “I’m not leaving until you admit that painting is a forgery.”

  Darby slid out from behind the table. “Is there a reason you can’t have this discussion at the gallery? I’m sure neither of you intend to scare away Mel’s customers.”

  God bless my best friend. The girl always had my back. I mouthed “thank you” to her. Fluffy stood next to Darby, perfectly erect, pointy nose stuck in the air, signifying she was ready to leave even if the guys weren’t. Snob Dog’s personality was the complete opposite of Darby.

  Mason remained rooted in place. “I’ve attempted to have this conversation at your gallery, but you weren’t there. You haven’t been there for days,” he bit out.

  “The building has wiring issues. You have my number. You could have called me.”

  Well, that was news to me. The wiring part, not the phone number.

  I stood next to Mason, diverting his attention away from Grey and toward me. “I just came from your store. Betty had mentioned you’d agreed to become a sponsor for the festival next month. I’m glad she was able to change your mind.”

  He dropped his hands and finally looked in my direction. “Did I?” He tilted his head and offered me a lopsided smile.

  Although his demeanor looked accommodating, I didn’t trust him for a second.

  Betty leaned across the counter. “Don’t try to weasel out of it. You agreed. Now hold up your end of the agreement.” She wagged a bony finger in his direction.

  “I’ll give you that check . . . when he admits what he did.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” Grey’s tone brooked no argument.

  “All right, that’s it.” I couldn’t afford for the
drama to continue. I had a business to run. “Everyone out of my shop except for Darby and Betty.”

  Fluffy swung her head around, leveling a haughty gaze at me.

  I sighed. “Fine. You can stay, too.”

  Betty patted Grey’s arm. “Sorry, Handsome, but you know how Cookie can get. You better listen to her. You just got back into her good graces. You gotta do what she wants if you’re gonna stick around.”

  “Really? You’re going to continue to talk about me like I’m not here? For how long?” I asked Betty.

  “I’m on Handsome’s side for this one.” She winked at Grey.

  “I want my money back.” Mason didn’t budge, uninterested in Betty’s and my bickering.

  “I’ll give it back when you return the painting I sold you and not that knock-off you’re parading around town.” Grey’s words were measured. His sharp blue eyes drilling into Mason.

  A collective gasp filled the air as we realized what Grey was implying. Was this why he wanted to use my shop for his secret undercover assignment? Was Mason involved in some type of art forgery and Grey was trying to keep an eye on his store?

  The front door opened, and the bell chimed, cutting through the tension. A couple of teens I had walked past earlier waltzed inside, speed-talking about all the things they had seen this morning. I glared at the two men, warning them to shut up and take their argument somewhere else.

  “Welcome to Bow Wow Boutique,” Betty greeted the girls warmly. She slipped past Grey and skillfully made her way toward the customers. “Is there anything in particular you ladies are looking for? I see you both have lovely nails. By any chance would you be interested in some pawlish for your pampered pooch?”

  While Betty distracted the girls, I turned my attention to Grey and Mason. “I’m not kidding. If you two are going to argue, leave. Mason, Quinn said you had the checkbook. I would appreciate it if you could write a check to the Angels with Paws before you leave.”