Desperate Housedogs Read online

  PAWS was located in a downtown but off-the-main-drag shops area. We shared a receptionist whose name was Paris. Besides having the same moniker as the hotel heiress, she also echoed her bleached blonde bob and her fake-bake tan.

  I rarely needed her help as I saw very few clients in my office. In most cases, the issues I dealt with had to do with where the animals lived and played, so I had to see them in their home environment. But Paris collected the mail for all of us in the office building and parceled it out, kept the office equipment going, and greeted the occasional visitor.

  I was alternating between paperwork and obsessing about what kind of a trail I’d left at Kevin’s when the intercom on my phone buzzed. I jumped.

  “Detective Malone to see you.” I could tell from the breathy way she pronounced his name she was drooling on her lip gloss.

  “Send him in.” I attempted to compose myself. I sincerely hoped this had nothing to do with my stop at Ruby Point this morning. If it did, I’d just have to confess. What I’d done was wrong but I could explain my motives. I’d throw myself on his mercy.

  Throwing myself on Malone’s anything brought up an entirely different image that had nothing to do with justice. I pushed away my distracting lustful thoughts.

  Detective Judd Malone was again dressed casually. Jeans, another plain dark t-shirt, black leather. Malone’s black leather told a different story than my earlier rescuer.

  I’d not run into Malone around town and, except for the tourists who bloated our numbers during the season, Laguna was a pretty tight knit community. Maybe he lived in one of the surrounding areas. Many who worked in Laguna did given the high price of local real estate. Even the tiniest dump cost a pretty penny.

  “Ms. Lamont.” He gave a terse business-like nod.

  Malone had changed his clothes but not his attitude.

  “Please call me Caro.” I indicated one of the plum-colored leather chairs in the open area next to my desk.

  He sat.

  His long legs reached out onto the black and white paw-print rug I’d placed in front of the chairs. I could see him taking in the surroundings and mentally cataloging.

  It wasn’t unlike what I did when visiting a pet home for the first time. The space, the furnishing, the setting told me a lot about the people. And with dog behavior modification, the more information you had, the more likely your success. I imagined the same was true with murder investigations.

  I took the matching chair opposite his and waited.

  And waited.

  I broke the silence first. No power play necessary on my part, he could be the alpha dog. “What can I do for you, detective? The word on the street is that you believe Kevin did not die of natural causes.”

  His intelligent blue gaze moved to mine. I noted a flicker and then we were back to face neutrality.

  His voice was very even and calm, his body almost motionless.

  “That’s true. It seems from our preliminary investigation that Mr. Blackstone may have been the victim of a murder.”

  I mentally flinched. I thought I’d been prepared for the possibility but it was still a shock to hear it confirmed.

  “Ms. Lamont, I have some questions for you.”

  “Caro, please,” I reminded him.

  “Caro.” The corners of his mouth tugged upward reluctantly as if the friendly expression was an effort. “We’ve done a little background work-up on you but I need to fill in some blanks.”

  Of course, they’d done some poking around in my background, and it was pretty easy to dig up the dirt.

  “Hey, my life is an open book.” I kept my expression neutral, too.

  “How long had you known Kevin Blackstone?”

  “I’d met him before around town, but just knew him in passing. I’d been working with him and his dogs for about the last year. A problem with chewing. The dogs, I mean.”

  “Is that why you were there yesterday?”

  “Yes, Kevin had called me. But not about chewing this time.”

  “Walk me through your time at Mr. Blackstone’s house.”

  I covered my arrival, the dogs’ behavior, our discussion, and the limited success of my behavior modification exercise.

  I could have gotten my file and used my notes on Zeus and Tommy Boy, but I didn’t need to. The afternoon at Kevin’s was burned into my memory.

  Still, as a psychologist, I knew memories were often faulty and the more we rehearsed certain details in our minds the more we became convinced those details were fact.

  Detective Malone was most interested in when and where I left Kevin, and I did my best to be accurate.

  “Did you stop anywhere?”

  “Yes, at Diana Knight’s home, which is just a couple of houses down the street.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’d say around four o’clock.”

  We were quiet for a while. I was lost in thought. Malone waited me out.

  Again I wasn’t playing the power game. “How do you think Kevin died?”

  “Taser.”

  “What?”

  “A—” He started to repeat himself.

  “Got it.” I’d heard what he’d said but was just shocked (no pun intended) about the method. “I didn’t think a Taser would kill a person.”

  “Normally doesn’t.”

  “How do you know it was a Taser?”

  “Marks on the body.”

  I could tell he was impatient with my questions by his shift in the chair, but his expression remained dispassionate. I decided to go for one more question.

  “What kind of marks?”

  “Puncture marks.”

  Okay, I could see by his terseness he was done. That and the don’t-make-me-take-you-downtown glare. I waited for him to continue.

  “Ms. Lamont . . . ”

  “Caro,” I corrected again.

  “Caro.” Again the unwilling smile. “What time did you say you left Kevin Blackstone’s house?”

  “As I said, Detective, I’m not sure.” Gosh, I hated to be one of those, I-have-no-idea sort of witnesses, but I truly had no idea. At the time I hadn’t known it was going to be an important detail.

  “Can you give me a range?”

  “Well, like I told you yesterday. And again today.” I fixed him with my best I-know-what-you’re-trying-to-do stare. “I left Ruby Point, stopped at the grocery store, and then went home and fixed myself a tuna sandwich. No one but Thelma, Louise, and Dogbert to collaborate my story.”

  “Who?”

  “My dog and two cats. You’ve met them.”

  “I have.” He got to his feet.

  I stood also. Very few men make me feel tiny. I’m a tall girl. Tall and with beauty pageant posture. No slouching allowed. Still, Detective Judd Malone had a way of making me feel petite.

  I walked him out and returned to my office.

  Some of Malone lingered after he was gone. I tried to put my finger on what it was about the guy.

  His arresting good looks filled the room for sure. But there was also this aura of danger. Was that because he was a homicide detective or was that because my hormones went on high-alert every time we interacted?

  I got back to my paperwork and tried not to think about it.

  The intercom buzzed again and I jumped for a second time. This was getting ridiculous.

  “Diana Knight to see you.” Paris was again breathless and I could tell she was just a tad bit impressed the former movie star turned animal activist had come to see little ole pet therapist me.

  “Hello.” Diana breezed in.

  I was always amazed by the amount of energy the woman exuded. At eighty-something (no one knew for sure), she had not slowed down one iota.

  Her once vibrant skin was weathered by her time in the California sun but her smile hadn’t dimmed, her bright blue eyes sparkled with good humor, and she still had that signature bounce when she walked. Her shiny silver hair was perfectly coiffed as always.


  “Thought I’d stop by with the update on the sponsors for the Fur Ball,” Diana chirped, her words spiked with enthusiasm. Mr. Wiggles, a rescue puggle puppy Diana had adopted, was tucked under her arm.

  Normally a pug-beagle hybrid would be highly sought after and not be found on puppy death-row, but Mr. Wiggles had a non-regulation ear. He was the sweetest natured dog you can imagine and I thought the tipped ear gave him character.

  But he’d been constantly passed over for other more “perfect” puppies, and finally Diana had taken him home. It was a good thing she had because I’d been leaning toward adopting him myself and Diana had tons more dog space.

  I gave Mr. Wiggles a scratch behind the ears and a pat on the nose. True to his name he wiggled in Diana’s arms.

  “I can’t believe the Fur Ball is in three weeks.” When I’d committed to co-chairing the event, it had seemed a long ways off, but now we were down to the wire. “It looks very good in terms of sponsors and advanced ticket sales.”

  “Well, here you go then.” She shifted Mr. Wiggles and handed me some papers, but didn’t move to leave. I could tell she had something else to say but was hesitant. Very uncharacteristic for Diana.

  “The police came by to talk to me about Kevin Blackstone.” Diana’s voice lacked its usual lilt.

  “I suppose they talked to everyone in Ruby Point.”

  “Well, I guess they probably zeroed in on me because they think someone killed him, and some idiot told them about my little tiff with Kevin over his dogs.”

  “Little tiff? Diana, hon, you smashed the window out of his Jag.”

  The incident had happened in the Whole Foods parking lot. Kevin had run in for something and had left the two dogs in the car with the window cracked open. He claimed he hadn’t been gone more than five minutes. Still a car can heat up very quickly in the southern California sunshine.

  Diana had seen the dogs and wasn’t taking any chances. She used a tire iron out of her Bentley to break his window.

  “Well, he shouldn’t have left the dogs in the car on such a hot day,” she huffed.

  “Can’t say I disagree. If I’d been there, I’d have probably helped you.”

  Diana looked sheepish. “I didn’t think you told them.”

  “Of course not, sugar.” I gave her a hug.

  “I was just thinking what if the person who really did Kevin in, if someone did, might tell the police something like that to throw them off the scent.”

  “You know, that’s a distinct possibility.” I hadn’t considered the idea but it did seem reasonable. “I can’t imagine how anyone got past the Ruby Point guard.”

  Diana was silent for a couple of minutes. “Or else they didn’t,” she leaned toward me and whispered, “and it’s someone inside.”

  Well, geeze Louise. I felt a shiver zip up my spine.

  That was a scary idea.

  Diana shook her head as if to get rid of the thought. “Okay, Caro honey, I’ve got to run. Let me know if you need anything else from me on the Fur Ball. You’ve been the best co-chair I’ve ever had for this event. You may have a lifetime commitment.”

  “Oh, no, no. You made it easy.” I’d done the majority of the legwork but it truly was the community’s love for Diana that had made everything work so slick. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  “I do. I have a date with Dino.” An impish smile danced across her well-worn face.

  “Ooh la la, girl, this is getting to be a regular thing.” I walked with her to the lobby. She was just so darn cute.

  Dino Riccio, a local restaurateur, had a major crush on Diana and was oblivious to the fact she was mainly after his doggie bags. It wasn’t about the handsome Italian. It was about the animals. With Diana it was always about the animals.

  Still, it was kind of sad the eighty-year-old with crow’s feet had a date and I didn’t.

  As if she read my mind, Diana paused. “You’re welcome to come along. You know Dino loves you, and he’s always a fan of eye candy.”

  Oh, no. We were not going there. I was not so pathetic that I needed to be a third wheel. Not even with people I adored as much as I did those two.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got a date with a bad boy.”

  “Alright, but if you’re making that up, I’ll find out.” She waved over her shoulder as she left.

  I wasn’t making it up. I did have a date with a bad boy. A bad-boy out-of-control Akita named Varmit.

  Completing the paperwork on the clients I’d seen and sending out my billing took very little time. I emailed the invoices and closed down my computer. You’ve gotta love technology.

  I had a moment’s pause when I put away the file on Zeus and Tommy Boy.

  The office was quiet. It sounded like everyone else had gone home. Our building usually emptied out early. The real estate lady, Kay, had irregular hours at best. The accountant, David, came at eight and left promptly at four-thirty, except during tax season when he came at dawn, stayed late and had a steady stream of clients who all seemed to wait until the last day. Suzanne, the psychic, wasn’t in every day. The office next to mine was vacant. We used to have a sales and marketing firm in that spot but they’d been gone for a while.

  I pulled out a pad of paper and wrote down what I remembered about Kevin and the day he died, and then slid the piece of paper into Zeus and Tommy Boy’s file. If I thought of additional information, I’d add it later.

  I checked my cell phone messages and saw I had missed a call from my mother. It was a rambling please call the-one-who-gave-birth-to-you or else kind of message.

  I also could see I had a bunch of emails I needed to answer but nothing looked urgent. Four of the emails were also from Mama. Some things are best left to deal with when you have a clear head.

  Next I made my list for the next day. Go on, laugh at me if you like, but I’m into planning ahead and I’ve found list making calming. Tomorrow I had three appointments, a pedicure, and I would drop Grandma Tillie’s brooch off at the jewelry store.

  I tucked the note in my bag and headed out the door. My world was back under control, even if Kevin’s death left me feeling unsettled.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, I headed inside the rarified walls of Ruby Point once again for two of my pet house calls. I enjoyed the short drive with the top down on the convertible. It was early and the streets of Laguna were illuminated with the wash of the morning sun. The Highlanders, as they were called, up in the hills had been feeling its touch of gold for a while, but we mere mortals in the Village part of town were only now feeling the warmth. My guess was many inside Ruby Point weren’t even up yet.

  I stopped my car at the stone and iron gate that separated the über rich and privileged Ruby Point residents from the rest of us Laguna Beach riff-raff.

  Checking in was part of the usual routine, though I didn’t recognize the uniformed guy who stepped out of the guard shack looking very official. Most days I just got waved through but I imagined the recent excitement had everyone on high alert.

  Mr. Homeland Security walked to my car window and sized me up. His ocean blue eyes flicked from the top of my red hair (I like to call it Irish Setter auburn), to my Donna Karan jacket, to my Save the Whales t-shirt, then dropped to my ripped at the knee jeans, and my Hello Kitty watch.

  He looked confused.

  I have that effect on a lot of people.

  Clearly part of his guarding-the-rich-and-privileged training had included fashionista brand identification and he was having trouble typing me. Then, of course, there was the car. Was I driving a classic because I loved it, or could I not afford new?

  He hesitated and I leaned forward to read his name badge.

  “Good morning, Tucker.” I smiled. “My name is Caro Lamont and Mr. and Mrs. Beenerman are expecting me.”

  Tucker checked his clipboard and must have located my name.

  “Through here and to your right. Fifth drive.” He stepped back into the hut and opened the iron gate.


  I knew the way. It was, after all, right next to Kevin Blackstone’s.

  The Beenerman’s dog is a Lhasa Apso who’d already been through a couple of sessions. I truly thought we’d dealt with his anxiety issues, but when I’d gotten the phone call that morning telling me Nietzsche wouldn’t leave the house, I knew he’d lost ground.

  I followed the curve of the palm-lined curbs and turned in. The Beenerman home was tucked in among more palms and greenery. I parked my car and got out, grabbing my tote from the backseat. I’d brought along a variety of doggie helps, not sure exactly what I might need to coax Nietzsche out of hiding and hopefully outdoors.

  Mandy Beenerman opened the door, then turned and went in, leaving me to follow. Her bare feet made no noise on the gleaming marble floor of the entryway.

  Mandy was typical southern California beautiful. Tall, tan, and toned. I’m no shrinking violet but Mandy had a couple of inches on me and also had a lithe workout sculpted body that she displayed for maximum effect with pink spandex workout pants and a midriff-baring top. No matter where she went.

  Granted it was her stock in trade. She’s a fitness guru with studios in six southern California locations. Mandy’s Place was the local hot spot for yoga or Pilates. I took a class at the Laguna Beach studio twice a week myself.

  But back to the dog.

  “What seems to be the problem with Nietzsche?” I asked.

  “He hasn’t left the house since Saturday.” Mandy shook her shiny blonde locks. “I’ve put him on the leash but he just locks his legs and refuses to budge.”

  Mandy led the way through the formal living room to the massive great room at the back of the house. Nietzsche sat in his specially made leather lounger looking out the window like a brooding Heathcliff.

  The Beenerman’s dog was a perfect specimen of a Lhasa Apso, the Tibetan breed who once served as the guardian of Buddhist temples. Lhasas are intelligent, strong-willed, often even obstinate, and resemble a big white mop. Nietzsche turned his head from the window, eyeing me. Or at least I think he was. It was a little hard to tell under all that fur.

  “We weren’t sure what to do.” Mandy twisted her hands as she spoke. “We’ve been doing the training exercises you recommended but suddenly Nietzsche decided he didn’t want to do them.”