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DIVAS, DIAMONDS & DEATH A DANGER COVE PET SITTER MYSTERY
by ELIZABETH ASHBY, SALLY J. SMITH & JEAN STEFFENS ***** Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2017 by Sally J. Smith & Jean Steffens Cover design by Janet Holmes Gemma Halliday Publishing http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have
been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
To Barbara, Diane, Kitty, and Mary for their loving support and encouragement. —Jean To Maria, devoted friend and free spirit. Grazie mille, bella, for all you do and are. —Sally
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The authors wish to thank publisher Gemma Halliday for her accessibility and advice. You're as much a collaborator on our books as we are. Also, thanks to editors Susie Halliday and Lindsey Reiker for correcting our typos and comma splices, letting us down so kindly when something doesn't work, and adding those smiley faces when things (thankfully) do. Also thanks to cover artist Janet Holmes, a mind reader who always seems to intuit exactly what we envisioned for our cover.
*****
CHAPTER ONE "It's gonna be a great day at Second Chance Animal Rescue, little gal. Don't you know it?" At the sound of my granddad's voice I turned from where I'd been setting up a dog wash station to find him standing behind me, grinning like his numbers just came up on a lottery ticket. "Yep," he went on. "A trophy-winning, five-star, red-letter, blue-sky, glorious day if there ever was. In Jimmy John's Rulebook: Good weather makes for good feelings. And when folks feel good, they open their wallets." "So that's your prediction, is it, oh, swami?" I teased. "Jimmy John Jones, world-famous chronicler and bringer of all things newsworthy, predicts a favorable day for the fund raiser at Danger Cove's animal rescue center." I put my arm around his neck and reached up to give him a peck on his whiskery cheek. "Heads up, people! Jimmy John Jones has an announcement to make. Stop the presses." He rubbed his cheek where I'd kissed him. "Now look here, Miss Lizzie Jones. Just because you're a four-point-o genius veterinary science grad student, don't go thinking you've got something on this old man. I've tramped hither and yon—" I joined my voice with his, and we said in unison, "—through swamps and jungles, across desert sands, and up snow-capped peaks. I've seen a lot of things, and I've done a lot of things, and I've learned a little bit about a lot of things." When we were done with our recitation, he cupped my face gently with both hands. "Mark my words, Lizzie. It's gonna be a fine day. I feel good." He made a snazzy slide sideways and shimmied a James Brown move. I laughed. "So good?" He snapped his heels together. "So good." We sang the last line together. Vader, the world's most brilliant pug, yipped his approval of our performance from where I'd put his kennel in the shade—stocked with his favorite squeaky toys, a chew bone, and water bowl. He was as much a part of the Second Chance family as any of us. Adoption was how he and I had found each other to begin with.
Today I'd already had to shoo several families away from him, telling them he was already spoken for and not up for adoption. It was just one of the side effects of his being exceptional, handsome, and charming all at once. Everyone wanted to take Vader home. But he was bonded to me and I to him—I was his forever mom. Jimmy John's good mood was even more contagious and uplifting than that soundtrack from Footloose that he used to play nonstop until the cassette player in his '86 Chevy pickup died. "No question about it, Jimmy John. I'm betting you're right." It was still early, but my granddad's forecast was dead-on accurate—a perfect summer day in Danger Cove. And why wouldn't it be? The sky was clear. The air was fresh and clean. And so far everything was lining up for the annual fund raiser at Second Chance Animal Rescue to be exactly what Fran Upton, my granddad's girlfriend and my friend who ran the shelter, was hoping for. If it was a good day for Fran and a good day for the shelter, it'd be a great one for me too. Jimmy John Jones, my somewhat famous grandfather in the vein of famous newsman Ed Bradley, had been hard at work most of the morning setting up individual kennels to hold pets waiting to meet their forever families. We both looked up at the sound of a calliope playing familiar segments of "Entry of the Gladiators," bringing with it mental images of a circus parade complete with frolicking clowns and lumbering elephants. But as I'd suspected, it was just a purple panel van with teeth for a grill and a big red clown's nose for a hood ornament that motored up the approach to Fran's place. The Dooney brothers, Jesse and James, had driven their game truck, pulling the trailer packed with their inflatables. "Well," Jimmy John said. "Looks like the Dooney boys are here. Better go see if I can help 'em unload and set up." From their side business of handling children's parties, Jessie and James Dooney would be providing tables, chairs, canopies, a bouncy house or two, and maybe even a water slide for the all-day fund raiser. It had been like chipping away at granite to get the frugal brothers to agree to participate in the fund raiser. In the end, Jimmy John had to promise them he would at least consider a prepaid funeral service and
would talk to all his friends whom the Dooneys probably thought already had one foot in the grave. The Dooneys' mortuary was their main gig and earned them considerably more than their children's party services. Jesse and James had finally agreed to donate the use of their equipment, anticipating a lucrative sale for their more morbid services sometime in the future. They had no way of knowing Jimmy John had already asked me, when that sad time came, to fly to Tahiti and scatter his ashes in the turquoise waters. It was what he'd done with my grandmother's ashes when she passed away decades ago, and was something I prayed I wouldn't be faced with for many, many years. At least the Dooneys would still be able to charge for cremation, but I figured Jesse and James thought the funeral of a famous ex-TV network field correspondent would be quite elaborate and would put them on the map, so to speak. I pushed thoughts of such a thing from my mind. My granddad had been my guardian throughout my teen years when my parents had taken their philanthropy to Kathmandu where they'd opened a school for Sherpas. While I hadn't understood their decision, and it had been a long, slow process coming to terms with it, I had learned something from the recent death of my best friend's husband about love and forgiveness that had opened my eyes and my heart to a fuller understanding. I'd recently added a new item to my own rulebook: Never let the all-about-me factor come between you and the ones you love. In fact, I'd mentally posted it to the inside front cover. Jimmy John turned and walked back up the rise to meet the Dooney brothers. On the way he passed Fran, who was heading down from her home, which doubled as the main building for the rescue. He stopped her, threw his arm around her neck, and gave her a peck on the cheek. Fran hugged him back then came the rest of the way to the dog wash station. "You gonna have some help with the dog baths there, Lizzie?" Her Fargo accent was as prevalent as ever. "Help's on the way," I said. Fran's blue eyes sparkled with good humor as she looked down at her dirty jeans and sweaty T-shirt. "I betcha I smell like three-day-old roadkill after cleaning out those cat boxes. Better go change before our celebrity guest arrives. Wouldn't want the Critter Communicator to see me looking like something the cat dragged in, dontcha know." She paused. "Cat dragged in. Get it?"
"Yes, I get it." I had to smile. "When's the TV star arriving?" "Far as I know, around one thirty—after folks have had a chance to sample some of the fare that Hope was so generous to donate from Smugglers' Tavern." "Hope's always been a strong supporter of Second Chance," I said. "That she has." "But the donated catering came via Lilly. She's been key in running the tavern." "Well, whoever saw to it gets my thanks," Fran said. I was just about finished setting up the dog wash station. My boyfriend, Tino, was scheduled to arrive shortly and give me a hand with it. My plan was to assembly-line those fuzzy guys, just like a Ford production line—only with canines. I was experienced with pet grooming. Pet sitting and pet grooming were the main ways I earned money for school. "Looks like you're good to go there, aren'tcha?" Fran ran a critical eye over what I'd done. "Say, you ever watch this lady's show?" "Yes." It wasn't really something I was proud to admit. The Critter Communicator Show was on the Animal Planet channel on Tuesday nights with reruns on Saturday mornings. Sabrina Ramirez, the star of the one-hour show, claimed to be able to converse with animals. People came and asked her to communicate psychically with their pets. Some brought the pets. Some brought photos. Some even brought a deceased pet's ashes, which pretty much put her in the same league as those TV mediums. "You think she can really do it?" Fran asked. "Read animals' minds?" "I don't buy it, really. Not one bit. But there are obviously thousands upon thousands of people who do. Her program's one of the highest rated on the channel. What do you think?" She shrugged. "All I know is it was a real coup getting her to come to little old Danger Cove for our rescue center." "I wondered about that," I said. "It was pretty much a shot in the dark, y'know. We've got Jimmy John to thank for it. He went back into TV correspondent mode and made a video showing Sabrina's booking agent what we're trying to do here. No one was more surprised than me or Jimmy when she agreed to come all the way up from Beverly Hills to make an appearance."
"I'm excited she's coming. So's Jimmy John. We think her presence will bring good will and donations to Second Chance," I said. "I think so too, but none of it would be happening if you and Jimmy hadn't stepped up to help with all this." She reached up to compensate for the four-inch difference in our height and pulled me into a hug. From the view over her shoulder, I saw a bright blue Hyundai coupe pull up beside the main house. Augustine Morales. Hubba. Hubba. The car pulled to a stop, the driver's side door opened, and Tino stepped out. He was dressed in a navy blue tank top, and even from where I stood quite a ways from him, the sculpture of muscle in his torso and arms was impressive. The sun hit his dark hair as he turned, looking around. When he saw me, he waved and started toward me. Tino. My heart fluttered. A few long hairs glinting golden brown in the sun had escaped the ponytail I'd put my hair up in, and I smoothed them back before tugging at the baggy smock I'd put on earlier to keep my T-shirt clean and dry. Too bad the smock wasn't less faded and worn and more form-fitting, but that would only have emphasized my meager bosom and overall lack of curves. It didn't really matter to me. I wasn't competition for Sofia Vergara because Tino always said he loved the way I looked whether I was dressed up or dressed down. But I did always try to be pretty for Tino, and had taken a few extra minutes that morning with a little taupey eye shadow that complimented the blue of my eyes—eye shadow, which, by the way, had long since slid away with the perspiration from my brow. I was still caught up in Fran's hug, and she spoke next to my ear. "Thank you, Lizzie, and not just for this. For everything. Second Chance would probably fall apart without your support. I don't know what I'm gonna do when you finish vet school and move away from Danger Cove to set up your own practice." I watched Tino coming toward us with that confident athletic gait I'd come to know so well, and Fran's innocent remark resonated like a kind of warning. Tino had already brought up his concerns over that very same subject more than once.
"I know," I said softly, hating the thought of leaving the town I'd grown up in and the people I loved here, both those I'd known all my life and those whom I'd just recently grown to love. "I don't know what I'm going to do about that either."
CHAPTER TWO It was shortly after one in the afternoon, and the fund raiser was in full swing. The ladies of the Danger Cove Quilt Guild were doing a bang-up job of dishing out hot dogs, brats, and burgers straight off the grill. Emma Quinn and Dee Madison reigned over the sale of the food from deck chairs beneath one of the striped canopies that the Dooney brothers had brought with them. Keely Fairchild, looking more casual and relaxed than usual in a Tshirt that read Adopt Don't Shop with a picture of a dachshund and a calico kitten on the front, manned the potato salad and condiments station with Matt Viera, the good-looking arts and entertainment reporter from the Cove Chronicles. They looked great together, made a terrific couple, and everyone in town had been saying they were a perfect match. Tino and I were in the middle of spiffing up a big old hairy sheepdog, who kept trying to shake off water every minute or so and wound up soaking us both, when we were distracted by a commotion up by the main house. A big black SUV and an enormous motor coach had pulled up. The motor coach had the words The Critter Communicator Show splashed across the side and was painted with a portrait of Sabrina Ramirez and several different animals ranging from dogs to iguanas. The vehicles were like enormous magnets drawing the crowd to them. Tino and I spent a couple more minutes blow-drying the sheepdog before tying a red bow on top of his collar and herding him back into the kennel for his new mom to pick up later. We changed out of our soapy smocks, I took Vader from his kennel and put a leash on him, and the three of us walked up to the house. Tino held hands with me, swinging them between us like we were still the teenagers we'd been when we first met. That hadn't worked out, and it had taken us twelve years to find each other again. And boy, was I glad we had. He was even more desirable as a man than he'd been as a boy—and teenage Lizzie would never have thought that was even possible. By the time we got back to where the action was, things were already in motion. A couple of video guys had set up with a camera, boom mike, and some lights by one of the Dooneys' tents. Someone had put down a
plush Turkish carpet, several big satin pillows, and what I could only describe as a throne beneath the canopy. A red carpet led from the motor coach steps to the tent. Carlos Santana's "Black Magic Woman" suddenly began to blare from loudspeakers on the motor coach. Smoke began to pour out from under it and was blown along the ground toward the tent. "Whoa," Tino said. "Pretty exciting stuff." I sighed. This was similar to the opening credits of Sabrina's TV show. "Yep. Pretty exciting all right." A young man in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie came around the motor coach to the door and opened it with a flourish. He looked like a riverboat gambler. Over the speakers, a deep male voice announced, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, here she is, Sabrina Ramirez, the Critter Communicator." The woman I'd seen on TV dozens of times stepped into the open doorway of the motor coach. She wore a gauzy getup with a fringed shawl, lots of bangles, chains, and necklaces—a la Stevie Nicks. Her blonde hair was mid-length and cut in a smooth pageboy that swung around her face like in a shampoo commercial as she turned her head side to side. I wasn't close enough to see her features in great detail, but I knew from camera close-ups her face had that stretched-to-the-max look of a woman who's had multiple facelifts. Tight around her neck was her signature diamond choker. As far as I knew, she was never seen without it. The young man on the ground lifted his forearm, and she laid her hand on top of it as she stepped down onto the red carpet. Then the young man sort of faded into the background as she seemed to float along the carpet. The crowd went nuts. Cheering. Calling out her name. Pressing forward. She moved a short way, smiling, nodding, bestowing a stellar version of the royal wave as she went amongst the peasants. She stopped dead as Jimmy John and Fran came up to her. Then she offered her limp hand languidly to my granddad. He looked at it for a few beats before Fran elbowed him, jerked her head, and made a smacking sound. "Oh," Jimmy said, finally getting it. "Right." He took hold of Sabrina's hand and brought it lightly to his lips, just like a gentleman of old.
That old smoothie. For a seventy-plus dude, my granddad was something of a stud. "Mrs. Ramirez," he said. "You probably don't remember, but I—" "Oh, I remember." Sabrina batted her lashes, simpered like a schoolgirl, and blushed—no kidding. Her famous Castilian accent falling from her lips like rose petals, she said, "I'm so very pleased to see you again." He nodded. "Me too. Can't believe you remember me from that interview in Seattle a while back." "I could never forget you, Mr. Jones." Fran stuck out her hand. "Fran Upton," she said. "I run the shelter here. Pleased to meetcha, Miss Ramirez." The Critter Communicator may have had a magical rapport with animals, but the cool stare she bestowed on Fran made me wonder about her people skills. She brushed by Fran, but only after she caught hold of Jimmy John's upper arm with both hands. Another man, older and more burly than the first, whose hulking rectangular form made him look like a Lego character, emerged from the motor coach holding a pink fuzzy little thing that anyone who watched The Critter Communicator Show recognized right away as Rosie, Sabrina's beloved piglet. The crowd sighed at the sight of her, and a sound of absolute adoration rolled through like a wave. Rosie blinked her beady little eyes and flicked pointy little ears, as if she knew all the attention was for her. And she might have been right. Unless you count Porky, and he's not real, Rosie was probably the most famous pig on the planet. The piglet's mother, a lovely pink girl the size of a chubbed-out bulldog, had also been famous but had recently died. The piglet took her mother's place as Sabrina's companion and was evidently every bit as cherished as her mother had been. Princess of porkers, the sweetest of swine, the most perfect piglet—and from the looks of her, everyone treated Rosie accordingly. Around her pink belly she wore a pink tulle tutu with tiny little hearts sewn into the netting. The sunlight bounced off the diamonds in her collar, a smaller version of the one Sabrina wore. And just like Sabrina, Rosie, too, was never seen without the diamonds encircling her neck.
Vader's tail began to wag so hard, it nearly got away from him. He whined then began to spin in circles. Rosie took notice, making a few squeals and delicate little snorts herself. It was looking like love at first sight. Vader strained against the leash. I picked him up. "Easy, boy," I said. "She looks pretty high maintenance to me." My little pug continued to stare at the piglet with wide, bright eyes. Yep, love all right, or at least infatuation. Letting go of Jimmy's arm with one hand, Sabrina leaned over, rubbed Rosie's ears, and planted a big old juicy kiss right on her little piggy lips. I wasn't positive, but there might have been tongue involved. Beside me, Tino made a weird sound. "She just..." "I know." The big man handed Sabrina the pink leash and set Rosie on the red carpet. Sabrina began to walk again toward the tent and the throne, and because she had a death grip on his arm with her free hand, so did Jimmy John. Fran put her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and harrumphed. Celebrity or no, fund raiser or no, I had a feeling Fran wasn't going to let Sabrina manhandle Jimmy John that way, but she seemed to be keeping her mouth shut for the time being. Once Sabrina had been positioned just so on the throne and Rosie on the satin pillows, Jimmy John motioned, calling me over. "Miss Ramirez," he began. "Oh, guapo," she breathed, "you must call me Sabrina." Again with the batting of the fake lashes. "Or better yet, Rina. It is what all my closest friends call me." Jimmy nodded. "Right. Well, Miss Ramirez, this is my granddaughter, Lizzie. You two have a lot in common. Lizzie's a real animal lover too. Going to veterinary school. She's the town's premier pet sitter and works some with the local vet. It was her idea to ask you to come to the event here." She didn't look away from Jimmy's face for even a split second as she said, "Charming." "Miss Ramirez?" It was Fran, and I noticed Sabrina didn't bother to ask her to call her Rina. "The line is forming for your readings. Will you be starting soon?"
This time Sabrina looked away from Jimmy John just long enough to evaluate the long line of people waiting to see her. The shrewd smile that came on her face was a little scary. She lifted one hand raking her fingers in a greedy gesture. "Bring them." Patting the seat of the smaller chair beside her, she ordered, "James, come, sit with me." When nothing happened, she reached up and grabbed hold of Jimmy John's hand. "Please, sit with me." He looked startled and maybe a little apprehensive. "You meant me? I'm James?" He looked over at Fran. "Didn't you say you needed me back up at the house?" Fran looked at him, and I knew he was off-script and just trying to avoid spending the whole afternoon being Sabrina Ramirez's squire. It was my turn to nudge Fran, which I did as I gave her a lifted brow and one of those looks. "Oh," she said. "Oh. Sure. Dontcha know I'll be needing some help with all those cat litter boxes all right." I'd never seen a man so anxious to poop scoop as Jimmy John seemed to be. "Let's go then," he said and took Fran by the hand. "Time's wasting." I'd been charged with watching over Rosie and taking her for a stroll around the grounds. It had been a pleasant chore, Vader prancing along with Rosie at his side. I'd been surprised that Sabrina relinquished her little baby to me, but she'd admitted I'd been entrusted, "Only because your James's precious granddaughter, and I know you're an animal lover just as I am. Rosie can only be handled by experts." Perfect. But Rosie was a sweet little thing, and I didn't really mind. Rosie and I had only just returned to Sabrina's side when Sarah and Aaron Pohoke's turn in line had come up. Sarah and Aaron Pohoke had brought their cat to be read by the animal psychic. They'd recently adopted her when the cat's original owner was put in a situation where she could no longer care for her. The Pohokes loved Samantha, a pretty grey and white ragdoll cat, but they'd asked me a few times to come over and let them know if I felt she might have been depressed. I didn't think so. I thought maybe Samantha was just one of those laid-back kitties like you see sprawled out and looking somewhat comatose in videos on Facebook.
Here they were today with Samantha in a beautiful purple cat carrier, pleading their case to Sabrina, asking if she could find out from Samantha what was wrong with her. Sabrina unzipped the bag and took Samantha onto her lap, stroking her back. The cat began to purr. "Oh," Sabrina said. "Really?" The cat looked up at her with huge green eyes, her head cocked to one side. "I totally understand," Sabrina said and tsk-tsked. "And I don't blame you one bit. Why anyone would feel exactly as you do." Sabrina handed Samantha back to Sarah, who took her with a worried expression. "What is it?" Sarah asked. "What did she tell you?" "Well, darling," Sabrina said. "It's her old life, you see. She feels linked to her old life—" Sarah broke in. "Her life with that, that woman?" Sabrina hesitated before replying, "Yes. Of course, that's exactly who she means—that woman." "And how can we help her?" Aaron, the town's preeminent attorneyat-law and honored Harvard grad, leaned in close to hear the best counsel of a woman who professed to communicate psychically with animals. The man must have really loved that cat. "Her name," Sabrina said. "She says she'd like a new name if you don't mind." The Pohokes looked first at each other, at Samantha, then back at each other. "What name does she want?" Sarah asked. Sabrina leaned back on her throne, lifted her chin, and announced dramatically, "Pookie." "Pookie?" It was all three of us—Sarah, Aaron, and me. "Pookie." Aaron rolled it around on his tongue. "I love it," Sarah said, rubbing her ragdoll behind the ears. I, of course, had to be the fly in the ointment. "Pookie Pohoke? Really? You think Samantha depresses her? Wait'll you call her that a few times." But Sarah and Aaron seemed to be willing to try anything to perk up their sweet kitty. They effusively thanked Sabrina and went on their way with their newly named cat, Pookie.
Catherine Cooper, Danger Cove's medical examiner, was next in line, being pulled to Sabrina's side by her big mutt, Fred MacMurray, another adoption from Second Chance. "Hello," Sabrina said, looking deep into Fred's big brown eyes. "And what can I do for you today?" Catherine sighed. "I'm hoping you can explain to him about our cat, Leo. Fred MacMurray always eats Leo's food and leaves his for Leo. I don't think Leo likes dog food because he's getting really skinny, and I want Fred to go back to eating his own food so that—" Catherine stopped short as she was pushed aside by a rather dashing man with wild dark hair, eyes like burning coals, and a suave pencil moustache and goatee. Dressed in a three-piece tan-colored suit with an old-fashioned long-tailed jacket and pants that hugged his legs like riding jodhpurs, he looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a romance novel. Sabrina jerked back in surprise when she saw him. "Carlos?" It was somewhat of a screech, and her accent was suddenly gone, replaced by a sound more like the Jersey shore than Seville. "What the hell are you doing here?" The man's accent was thick and authentic, a la Ricardo Montalbán. "Sabrina, this time I will not be denied." He clenched his fist in emphasis. "This time I shall prevail, or I shall die in the effort."
CHAPTER THREE All of a sudden everything went crazy, like someone had gone after the president or the first lady or Justin Bieber. The burly guy who'd brought Rosie the Pink Pig out to the red carpet launched himself at the newcomer, taking him down hard and holding him there with a knee on the back and a forearm on the neck. While all this was going on, the younger, more dapper guy who'd opened the motor coach door and helped Sabrina down onto the red carpet had rushed to Sabrina's side and stationed himself in front of her, so anyone who wanted to get at her would have to go through him. Sabrina stayed seated but raised a hand to her face and leaned out so she could see around her protector. The people in line with their pets gasped and took a collective few steps back. Sabrina's dry comment was a surprise. "Oh my God, Evan. It's just Carlos the Cockroach, for heaven's sake. Let him up." The big guy, evidently someone named Evan, looked at Sabrina then reluctantly eased off the man he'd pinned to the ground, even going so far as to offer a hand up. Once back on his feet, the dashing man with the sexy accent huffed and made a big production of brushing off his jacket and pants before lifting his chin and looking down his nose at Sabrina. "Really, Sabrina?" He threw his arms open wide, exposing his chest. "Why not just stab me in the heart?" Sabrina pushed against her younger protector's leg. "Paco, for the love of Pete, will you move your carcass out of the way?" A low murmur came from the crowd, and Sabrina looked up and seemed to remember where she was. "I mean, Paco, thank you so much for throwing yourself in front of me. You, my most beautiful, angelic nephew, are my hero." The accent was back. Carlos stood his ground beside Sabrina, waiting until she said, "Evan, I'm thinking now would be a perfect time for taking a break." She tipped her chin toward the crowd of gawkers. The man with the chiseled features nodded curtly, but the look he threw Sabrina's way was all doe-eyed and adoring. "Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice nothing like I expected, but higher-pitched and sweeter. Before he
turned toward the onlookers, he squinted at Carlos and used his index and middle fingers to point first at his own eyes then at Carlos. Yep, he'd be watching all right, him and De Niro. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Critter Communicator will be taking a short break." The crowd groaned but began to disperse, most of the adults heading over to where the quilting ladies were still slinging dogs and burgers, and the kids to where the brightly colored jumpies were filling up fast. Some of the diehards stood their ground, evidently opting to wait and have a good spot in the queue for when Sabrina returned to her throne. I started to walk away, not wanting to be a gatecrasher on whatever conversation Sabrina and the angry intruder were about to have, but Sabrina reached out to touch my arm. "Stay, please. If my ex-husband feels so compelled to interrupt my appearance at this event, I may need a witness to his demands." "Oh," I said. "He's your—" The man swept a low bow then offered his hand. "Carlos Ramirez, late of Seville," he said, the Castilian lisp prevalent in the zees and esses. "Charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss…" He let his words hang. "Jones." I blushed. The way he postured, I half-expected him to bow and kiss my hand. "Lizzie Jones." "Lovely," he said. "What is it you're after this time, Carlos? As if I didn't know." Sabrina rose from her throne and faced him, hands on her hips. "I've come on bended knee, my dear." His voice was silky smooth. "Just a little cash to tide me over." She glared. "A 'little cash,' Carlos? If it's anything like the last time you came around with your hand out, it isn't 'just a little.'" "Oh, querida," he said softly. "You wound me. You know you owe me. You know you wouldn't have any of this." He waved an arm around. "Not if it weren't for me." He glared at Sabrina, and then seemed to notice little Rosie for the first time. "What kind of woman takes better care of her pets than her husband?" Sabrina gasped and leaned down to pick up Rosie, cradling the fuzzy little thing against her breast. "Don't even look at her, you, you scoundrel. Paco, take her away from here." Paco took Rosie in his arms. She snuggled in his embrace, burying her pink snout in his armpit as he walked away toward where the SUV and
motor coach were parked. "Don't worry. I don't want anything to do with your precious pig." Carlos sneered. "I never could stand the ugly thing anyway." He shook a finger at Sabrina. "A smart woman would take care of these matters in case a tragedy might happen." What was left of the milling crowd took in a collective gasp. "Are you threatening me?" Sabrina shrieked. "No, querida, but there are others who might be at jeopardy." He turned and trudged off, hands balled into fists, head down. Fran rushed up beside me. She'd been inside the house and had likely missed the ruckus. "Geez," she said. "What's going on here? No trouble, I hope." It was obvious to me she was worried about a disruption during the fund raiser. Second Chance Animal Rescue was close to her heart, and she had invested a lot already in terms of financing, labor, and love. Today's event was the first time she'd gone to the public for donations, and the future of the facility rested on the generosity of those attending. We watched Sabrina's ex-husband go. "I'm hoping for no trouble too," I said. Sabrina said, "No trouble. I'll see it to Evan escorts him off the property, and then I'll be back to finish up with the readings." She whirled and swept away in a flutter of gauze. "Well, whaddya think 'bout that? The Critter Communicator's got problems just like the rest of us." Fran and I turned around. Dottie Holmes stood directly behind us, holding her little dog, Doogie, in her arms. Dottie was one of Danger Cove's less fortunate residents. Behind her sat a grocery cart containing several big green trash bags, an open sack of kibble, and a raggedy dog bed. "Dottie," Fran said, eyeing the cart. "How ya been?" "Not so good." Dottie's Jack Russell terrier had been the benefactor of Fran's kindness on more than one occasion. Dog food, basic medications, grooming, and the occasional sleepover in the kennels had been offered to Doogie, and Dottie had accepted the help several times. "Frannie," Dottie began. "I'm hoping you can take him for good this time." She stretched out her arms, offering up poor Doogie like the
sacrificial lamb. "Put him up for adoption. It ain't no good for him to live in a grocery cart or a cardboard box with me." "But, Dottie, you got a roof over your head, right? You're one of those who the town civic group picked to live in those Jack Condor apartments they prepaid," Fran said. "What happened?" Dottie shrugged. "Ah, you know, same old crap. I fell asleep and left a cigarette burning. It caught, and there was some damage. Crummy of 'em to kick me out though. I mean, go figure." "Didn't the manager tell you it was a no-smoking building?" I asked. "Yeah. So…?" I shrugged. "Just figured you would have…" Dottie glared at me and looked back at Fran. "You gonna take the boy or not?" Fran didn't even hesitate but stepped forward and took Doogie. "Of course. What a shame." But by the lack of empathy in her voice, it was obvious she didn't think it was a shame at all. A lot of the kids in town referred to this unfortunate woman as Dumpster-Diving Dottie. She couldn't keep a job, and now it looked like she couldn't even take advantage of a windfall. Maybe Dottie just needed a bit more help than others. She wasn't even very good at panhandling. A while back Tino and I had noticed her, Doogie, and her anything helps sign hanging out on a street corner. After we'd eaten lunch at The Apple Tree, we'd ordered a turkey sandwich to go and taken it over to her. She opened it up, took a sniff of it, declared it, "freakin' diet food," and tossed it into a nearby trash receptacle, not even offering it to Doogie. As we walked away, she'd hollered after us what a couple of cheapskates we were, and, "What? You can't spare a twenty or so for a poor homeless woman and her little mutt?" It bothered Fran that by Dottie putting herself at risk of arrest, she was also risking poor little Doogie. And pups at risk were what Fran was in the rescue business to avoid. Dottie handing the dog over to the shelter was the best thing she could have done for him. I knew it, and Fran knew it, which was probably why Fran had taken him from her without even blinking an eye. I was glad to see her turn him over as other homeless folks had done for their pets in the past. Someone would come and take him to a forever
home and lavish love and puppy toys on him. Dottie looked more angry than sad. "Now you take care of him, Frannie, else I'll come back here and kick your butt." And with that, she turned, took hold of her grocery cart, and began to move away. At some point in the conversation, Sabrina had apparently returned and had been eavesdropping because she asked, "Is that true?" "What?" I said. "The town raised money for that miserable woman to have a place to stay whilst they were getting back on their feet?" I nodded. "We try to watch out for our own here in Danger Cove." "That's so nice," she said and sounded as if she meant it. "A town where the people are that kind would be a good place for someone to settle down if she wanted to step out of the limelight. Don't you think? I mean clean air, lots of nice, attractive people..." Fran narrowed her eyes, and I could tell she was biting her tongue. "I'm taking Doogie up to the main house. Poor little guy smells like a trash can, ya know," Fran said. "Think when you and Tino get back on dog wash duty you might give him a good rinse?" "I will," I said. She walked away with Doogie, passing Tino on the way. Tino smiled at her and took a second to scratch the top of Doogie's head. "Hey there," he said, his Latin accent trilling the R. He'd only been eight years old when his mother brought him and his sisters to the U.S. from San Salvador. It hadn't been an easy road for a single mother with three young daughters and one little boy. But Tino, at twenty-eight, only one year older than I and in the middle between his three sisters, had grown into the kind of man Jimmy John called "a real stand-up guy." "I've always wanted to someday trade this security guard uniform for a real police badge," he'd once told me. And I hoped his dream would come true. "Hey, chica," he said, dropping an arm around my shoulder and kissing the top of my head. "Wait'll you hear what's been going on over at the psycho's RV." "Don't you mean psychic?" "Maybe. Or maybe I really do mean psycho. Either way, you're going to find this fascinating."
CHAPTER FOUR "I went up to the lady's RV when I heard about the intruder to make sure everything was okay. The nephew, Paco…" He stopped and looked at me to see if I knew who he was talking about. "The younger guy in the black suit?" "Yes." He went on. "He was there with another man, older, in a tan suit." "That was Carlos, Sabrina's ex-husband. What was he doing there?" "Well, when I walked up he was coming out of the RV and had the little pig in his arms." "Oh, no, Rosie?" I thought back to what the ex-husband had said about hating Rosie, and I was suddenly afraid for her. "He didn't leave with her, did he?" "No. Are you kidding? Paco, he started yelling like a linebacker, which was really good because this other guy was holding the little pig like a football. You know, pigskin?" "Tino, this is serious." "Paco yelled for me to help, and I did. Between the two of us, the older guy—you said, Carlos?" I nodded. "He handed the pig over to me and started to leave." "But Rosie's safe?" Tino nodded. "I held on to Carlos, but Paco said to let him go. But then he laid into him again, screaming something about an ultimate betrayal. How this Carlos guy, his own uncle, ruined Paco's parents' lives in some sleazy business deal. Paco knocked him down." "He did?" "And then Carlos gets up and starts yelling that Paco's ignorant and hasn't got a clue about what really happened." "And then what?" "And then the other one comes, the big man…" "Evan. The bodyguard?" "And he takes Carlos by the arm and marches him away." *** By four in the afternoon things were winding down.
Sabrina finished her readings and interviews and asked Jimmy John and Tino to escort her to the coach so she could rest. Both men looked a little surprised at the way she hooked her arms with theirs and waltzed them across the big grassy area in front of Fran's place then up the driveway toward where the motor coach was parked. As they walked away, I heard Tino remark, "That's a really cool RV you have, Miss Ramirez. I never saw one like it before." "Did you call my motor coach an 'RV'?" She laughed. "Why, young man, thank you so much. I had it made especially for me and my Rosie, you know. Customized to my most…special…needs." Without even turning around to look, I knew Sabrina was batting her eyes at him and simpering. Her voice had lowered at least an octave and gone all breathy. Also, without looking I absolutely knew that Tino's face had gone bright red. And that the choking sound I heard had come from Jimmy John. After about ten or fifteen minutes Tino came back to help me clean up and put away the tubs and hoses and shampoos we'd used for the dog wash station. "So what'd you think about Sabrina's,"—I laughed—"RV?" "What? Isn't that what it is?" "Sure, if that's what you want to call a motor coach she's probably spent a cool million or so on." "Whoa." He stopped in the middle of lifting an empty tub. "A million dollars? People really do that? Spend that kind of money on an RV?" I shrugged. "It's where she lives when she's on the road. Guess she wants to be comfortable." We finished and walked back over to the main house where Vader had stayed while we finished with the dog baths. Fran and Jimmy John were standing under the overhang on the front porch, and from the level of their voices, they weren't happy. "Now come on, Fran. Don't be weird," Jimmy was saying. "Me? And I was thinking you were the one being weird—I mean, what else would you call going out on a date with another woman?" That was a screech if I'd ever heard one, and her accent was so prevalent, she sounded like a character straight out of a Coen brothers movie. Tino and I both stopped mid-step at the corner of the house. "Aw, Fran." Jimmy's voice was laced with exasperation. "It's not a date."
"Really? If I was going out to dinner alone with a handsome television star who asked me to help him relieve his 'tensions,' what would you call it?" He didn't answer her, and while we couldn't see them, it was pretty simple to figure out just exactly what was going on as the sound of footsteps crossing the porch preceded the squeak, then slamming, of the screen door. After a few beats, we heard Jimmy John sigh. "Aw, hell." That was when my cell phone rang. "Dang it!" I reached for it, but Jimmy John's head was already poking around the corner of the porch. It was him calling me. "What're you two doing? Eavesdropping?" "Uh," Tino began. "Sorry, Jimmy John. We didn't mean to intrude. It was just that you two were pretty much yelling." "Yeah, well." He walked over to the steps and came around to meet us. "Lizzie, you and Tino got anything going on tonight?" "No," I said. Tino shuffled his feet. "I picked up a shift at Two Mile Beach tonight. You know BS 24-Hour Security was lucky enough to pick up a short-term subcontractor stint from the state just to patrol around the there during summer vacation. Keep the kids off the lighthouse property at night. Don't you know how terrible it would be if someone manages to have any fun out there?" When Jimmy just gave him a look, Tino added. "What do you need, Jimmy?" "My granddaughter," Jimmy John said. "Well, it's not me who needs her." "Who? Who needs me?" I was suddenly suspicious. "Sabrina." Jimmy shrugged. I put it all together. "Honestly, Jimmy John? You're going out with that woman?" "Don't start. Fran's already beat me up about it." He sighed. "Lizzie, it's no big deal. The woman's all upset about her ex-husband showing up and stirring things up. She just wants to go somewhere nice and quiet and sort of"—he stopped and screwed up his face like he was looking for the perfect word—"unwind."
I did my best to keep a straight face. "And Fran's too busy to join you?" He frowned. "Oh," I went on, "not busy. Just too tired?" He still said nothing. "Oh, of course. Her name wasn't on the invitation." He pursed his lips. "Was it?" He shook his head. "Jimmy John," I began then switched to—"Granddad, the Critter Communicator's looking to get a special kind of message across to you. If you know what I mean." "Nah." He waved me off. "It's not like that. She just asked me because she wants to hear all about my exploits from back in the day when I was with the network." "Oh," I said. "Right. I bet she does." "That's enough of that, Lizzie." I'd said what I had to say, so I asked. "Why did you want to know my plans for the night?" He hurried to say, "She needs a pig sitter." Tino laughed. "Me?" I drew back in surprise. "What about those two guys who follow her around? Paco and Evan?" Jimmy John shrugged. "How should I know? She didn't mention them. All I know is she doesn't want to leave little Rosie all by herself in the coach while she's out…" "Unwinding?" I couldn't help being a little snarky. "Can you stay in the coach with Rosie until Sabrina gets back or not?" Jimmy had lost his patience with me. "Do it, Lizzie. You need to see the RV." Tino couldn't seem to help himself. "Man,"—he turned to Jimmy John—"did you believe the inside of that RV?" Jimmy gave Tino a puzzled look. "RV? Son, an RV is what you take on a camping trip. An RV doesn't have a jetted tub or custom-design monitored security system or perfumed silk sheets—" "Silk sheets? Jimmy, how do you know she has silk sheets? Or that they're perfumed?" I blurted out.
He had the grace to look ashamed. "Not quite as bad as you think, Lizzie, but she did take the time to show off the place to me. She said, just in case I was really tired when we came back from dinner." I narrowed my eyes to slits. "You better watch out, Mister. She's got you on her radar." "You think?" Jimmy, the very soul of irony, scratched his jaw. His face was mostly still unlined in his late seventies, grey eyes still sharp and steely, a full head of short-cropped grey hair, firm jawline, humor and confidence in his expression—my granddad was still a fit and virile man. And nobody knew it better than Jimmy John Jones himself. "I can't imagine why she'd be interested in an old guy like me." "Yeah." I punched his arm. "I just bet you can't." *** Rosie turned out to be nothing short of an utter delight. Before I went over to the "RV," I'd gone into the main house, spent a while with Fran trying to calm her down—which I did by showing her the day's tally for donations, adding up to over $5,000. No wonder her mood improved. Then I picked up Vader, the world's most brilliant pug. Vader and I showed up at Sabrina's door a little before six. She opened it wide and stood back for us to enter. "Welcome." Sabrina swept one hand with long lavender nails before her, and we stepped up into the coach. It was a sure thing I'd failed to keep my jaw from gaping. I took a long look around the place. Tino and Jimmy John hadn't been exaggerating. The inside of the motor coach was nothing short of opulent. Fit for a queen or at the very least a TV celebrity. Rosie lounged in her own little bed. It was round and soft and raised two or three feet off the floor by brass legs with heart-shaped feet. The quilted top of the purple cover was embroidered so elaborately that the ladies of the Danger Cove Quilting Guild would have drooled over it. Rosie looked adorable in a tiny purple PJ top with pink rosettes. Her ears perked up when she noticed Vader, her little eyes bright and focused. Vader began to squirm. I set him on the floor, and he promptly took the three padded steps from the floor to where Rosie reclined on her luxurious bed.
They sniffed each other all over then cuddled up together. I thought it was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen. But Sabrina didn't seem to think so. She took two quick steps and laid her hand on Vader's small head, closing her eyes. "Well, all right, I suppose," she said, the sibilant S resonating in her speech. "But you need to know I'll be keeping an eye on you, young fellow." Vader lifted his head and twisted it, and I could have sworn he nodded before laying it back down. Rosie scooted even closer to him. "Your young man is crazy about my Rosie." Sabrina whirled, throwing a red cashmere-looking pashmina in front of her and over one shoulder causing me to notice for the first time that she'd dressed for the hunt. A tight black sheath, layered over in lace and sequins, rode just above her knees. Her legs were covered in sheer black nylons with hearts and vines climbing from the ankles up. Black stiletto pumps defined her calves. The incredible diamond choker that matched Rosie's collar sparkled against her neck. Alarms sounded in my head. Oh goodness. Poor Fran. She was short and plump with unruly carrot-colored hair. And as much as I thought she was beautiful, she was nowhere near the leggy, classic beauty Sabrina Ramirez was. I swallowed hard then asked, "Vader?" and looked back at Vader and Rosie, who were now sleeping, both snoring softly. "Yes," she said. "But he's assured me his intentions are strictly honorable. He thinks of her as a baby sister." She paused. "I don't know what time to tell you I'll be back. Make yourself at home. Sleep if you're tired. Rosie won't require walking. You're here just to keep her from being lonely. Should be one of the easiest pet sitting assignments you've ever had." A knock came on the door, and I stepped aside so Sabrina could answer it. Jimmy John waited a few feet back from the motor coach. I was dismayed to see he'd spruced up for the hussy, wearing his summer sport coat over a snazzy rose-colored silk shirt. He'd even gone so far as to put some kind of manly goop in his hair. "Gee," I remarked, looking over Sabrina's shoulder. "Don't you look nice." He couldn't have missed the snarky tone but didn't rise to it, instead reaching a hand up to help Sabrina down the steps.
Sabrina latched onto his arm, looking up at him adoringly. "So happy to see you," she said. "I spent a long time getting ready. Just for you. How'd I do?" Jimmy John shot me a quick look before saying, "You look very nice." She pouted. "Just nice?" "Well…" he started, but was interrupted as a man charged them. Jimmy John reacted instinctively, pushing Sabrina behind him with one arm and swinging with the other. He caught the man square on the jaw, laying him out flat. It was all over in less than a minute. As the dust settled around the man on the ground, Evan, the burly bodyguard, seemed to appear out of nowhere and reached down, hauling the attacker to his feet. "Really?" It was Sabrina. She sounded more put out than frightened. "Would you just give it up already, Carlos?" That was when I recognized the same man who'd caused such a ruckus earlier in the day—Sabrina's ex-husband. The man rubbed his jaw and glared at Jimmy John, who shook his head. "I'm real sorry, man. All I saw was someone coming at us. I didn't know it—" "Forget it," Carlos remarked, his accent flavoring the words dramatically. "It was my mistake." Evan had Carlos's arm in one of his big paws. He physically turned the smaller man. "I'll take care of this, Sabrina," he said. Carlos looked around in alarm as he was all but dragged around the side of the motor coach until I couldn't see the two men any longer. "Well," Sabrina smoothed her skirt and latched on to Triple J's arm again. "Shall we?" Jimmy John had a surprised look on his face. "Well, sure. I guess. If you're still up to it." She laughed. "Up to it? Darling, I'm more than just up to it. I'm down for it. Let's go."
CHAPTER FIVE Sabrina's motor coach was indeed a marvel of modern technology. Even the toilet was computerized, and Jimmy John was totally right about the silk sheets—they reeked of Chanel No. 5. I had to admit it bothered me a bit he knew about them. About six forty-five, the door chimes—yes, I did say door chimes on a motor coach—rang out a mellow instrumental version of Tommy James's "Crystal Blue Persuasion," which was kind of Zen and soothing, and nothing like my friend Caroline's doorbell that pounded out "We Are the Champions." I hadn't been expecting anyone and didn't think Sabrina would bother to ring her own doorbell, so I had a quick look at the monitor of the security camera angled down at the door. Looked like a man holding a paper bag. Looked like someone I didn't know. After what had happened earlier in the day, I picked up Rosie and took her to the back bedroom area—just in case. Vader followed us in, and I shut both of them behind the closed door before heading back up front. "Who is it?" I called through the door. "It's your dinner from Gino's Pizzeria." It was a male voice, sort of, young, so young it cracked in the middle of dinner. "I didn't order anything." I still didn't open the door. "I'm supposed to tell you it's from Sabrina. She thinks she might be out late, and she wants you to have something hot." "Oh." Sounded harmless enough. "That was nice of her—thoughtful." The question of what Sabrina and my granddad were up to that would keep them "out late" did cross my mind. Then I opened the door. A high school kid with a Gino's bag stood at the bottom step. The aromas wafting from it were garlicky and wonderful. My mouth began to water—heck, more like flood. I knew exactly what it was—as luck would have it, my favorite pasta dish. In fact, just the day before I'd been posting about my ravenous craving for it on Facebook. He held up the bag. Even though it was still pretty light outside, the motor coach exterior lights had come on when the motion sensors were activated by his approach to the door, so I could look down into his face. He was skinny as heck, red-haired and freckled, with bushy eyebrows and
enormous teeth. Not a face to forget easily, and I didn't think I'd ever seen him before that moment. "I'm not sure what it is," he said, "but it smells freakin' awesome." "Yes." I reached for the bag. "It does." I took it from him. "Hang on a minute." With my free hand I fished around in my jeans pocket and found a couple of loose bills—ones. "Here." He looked at them and smiled. "Oh, that's okay. I already got tipped thirty bucks." "Of course you did." He took a couple of steps back. "Well, enjoy." "Thanks." I closed the door and locked it, went to the back, let Rosie and Vader out of the bedroom, and then sat down at the small but gorgeous polished granite-top table half-circled by a soft leather banquette. I opened the bag and the container of food. Pesto Penne Primavera and garlic toast. I found a bottle of water in the elegant little fridge. Rosie and Vader were hanging pretty close. Both little noses turned up in ecstasy. As babied as Rosie was, she probably expected me to share my dinner with her. But that wasn't going to happen, not tonight, not with this yummy food. No way. When I was done—and I'd gone so far as to lick the sauce off the lid of the container—I wrapped things up and put them in the trash can. I turned on the flat-screen TV to watch a movie on Netflix. Only about fifteen minutes into Charlotte's Web, which I'd put on for Rosie and Vader, I was suddenly so tired, so drowsy, I could barely hold my head up. "Oh, gosh," I said to the two little babies who had me sandwiched on the sofa, their tiny heads on my thighs. "I'm so sleepy." Both of them lifted their heads and blinked bright eyes at me. Obviously they weren't as exhausted as I suddenly was. I slid down a little so I could lean my head on the back of the sofa. * * * "Wake up! Wake up! What have you done? Oh, my goodness. What in the world have you done?" It was a high-pitched screech so shrill it made me cringe.
"Lizzie." Familiar hands touched my face and ran down my arms. "Wake up, honey." I opened my eyes and looked up. Sabrina stood over me, her arms waving wildly. Jimmy John sat beside me on the sofa. "What? What…" I couldn't think. Could barely see. I tried to lift my arms, but they were heavy as tree trunks. My legs were mush. I rolled my head to look at Jimmy John. His eyes were cloudy with concern. "You okay?" he asked. "Her?" shrieked Sabrina. "Her? What about Rosie?" She grabbed hold of my wrist. "Where is she? Where's my precious? What have you done with her?" I managed to straighten up and look around. Vader sat at the end of the sofa, his little head tilted, his ears on alert. I took a quick look around the rest of the coach from where I sat, and what I didn't see scared me. Rosie. Rosie wasn't there. I looked at Jimmy John. "I don't get it. After I ate the food Sabrina sent, I just couldn't stay awake, no matter how hard I tried. My head hurts, and I can't remember anything. I—" "What food?" Sabrina shrilled. "I never sent over any food." I squinted up into her face. It was mottled and puffy. Her mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, and her foundation had dried and caked around her eyes and lips. She looked tired and frightened and nothing like the sassy thing who'd strutted out of here earlier in the evening. Sabrina collapsed onto the sofa beside me as the sobs came. "Oh, oh, Rosie. My Rosie." Coming more awake every second, I was overwhelmed. Shame washed over me like a tsunami of grief. "Are you sure she's not here?" I asked softly. Sabrina's eyes swam with tears. She shook her head sadly. "Did you look under the bed?" "It's a pedestal." Her voice was edgy. "There is no 'under.'" Worth a try. I sighed. Jimmy John said, "Tell me about this food, Lizzie. What food are you talking about?"
"The pasta from Gino's. The delivery boy said Sabrina sent it over because she thought you and Sabrina might be late." "And after you ate this food that Sabrina says she never sent, you couldn't stay awake?" I nodded. Jimmy's eyes locked onto mine, and I could see that excellent mind of his working things out. He stood and crossed his arms. "Someone drugged you and made off with Rosie. I'm going to call the police," he said. Sabrina sat up straight. "The police?" Her voice was filled more with dread than with surprise. "You don't think someone's hurt my baby, do you?" "Hurt?" he said. "Probably not. But the whole world knows what little Rosie means to you. I think she might have been kidnapped." Sabrina drew in a ragged breath. "Kidnapped?" "Well," I said, "more like pignapped. Don't you think?" Jimmy John gave me a sharp look, but Sabrina didn't seem to notice, and began crying again. Jimmy John took a couple of steps to the other side of the sofa and sat down beside Sabrina, taking hold of her hand and patting it. I sent daggers in his direction, willing him to think about Fran, but it didn't seem to have much of an impact. Sabrina was truly coming apart at the seams, and my heart went out to her. Even Vader sat at her feet looking up at her sadly. "Try not to worry," I said. "I promise you that I'll get her back. We'll get her back." I looked at Jimmy John for support and confirmation. He nodded. I went on, a sudden idea popping into my head. "Sabrina, since you're the Critter Communicator," I began slowly, not wanting to upset her further but feeling there was maybe one chance in a million…"why don't you just hook up to Rosie psychically, ask her where she is, and we'll go get her." Sabrina, still sniffling, looked first at me then at Jimmy before she started to wail so loudly I was pretty sure Fran could hear her all the way up at the main house. "Or maybe not," I said softly.
CHAPTER SIX Sabrina called Paco and Evan, who arrived even before the police. The police came shortly thereafter. They'd probably drawn straws at the precinct to see who would be the lucky one to answer the celebrity complaint. Of course neither I nor Jimmy John nor Fran, who'd thrown on her robe and come to the motor coach when my granddad phoned her, were happy to see that the cop who got lucky was none other than Detective Lester Marshall. He and Officer Fred Fields came up the stairs and into the motor coach, which was amazingly roomy for a motor coach but got pretty darn crowded with Sabrina, Paco, Evan, Jimmy John, Fran, me, and the two cops inside. I didn't count Vader because I held him to keep him from biting the detective's ankles. Even my sweetheart of a pug who loved everyone had a bad attitude when it came to Lester Marshall. The subject of Vader's disdain was currently striking his most outrageous peacock pose—chin stuck out, arms akimbo, hip cocked, and one leg thrust in front of the other like Angelina Jolie on the red carpet (only without the same effect). I figured it had something to do with Sabrina, who'd fixed her makeup and smoothed her hair prior to their arrival and had gushed, "Oh, my heroes," when the cops got there. I told Marshall what I knew, which wasn't much. When I finished, he squinted his eyes, turned his back on me, reached down to where Sabrina sat on the sofa, and took her hand between both of his. "Don't you worry yourself, Miz Ramirez. We're going to get to the bottom of this thing super fast. I'm known for making short work of a mystery and always bringing criminals to justice. You ask around, and everyone's going to tell you that I'm a bad guy's worst nightmare." Jimmy John snorted but covered it by clearing his throat when Lester gave him a harsh glance. They spent the next half hour going over the day's events with all of us—something I felt could have been accomplished in ten minutes or so, seeing as how each and everyone of us who'd been witness to the meltdown by Carlos Ramirez had already come to the conclusion he was the most likely pignapper. Lester took out his cell phone, dialed the precinct, and said, "We're putting out a priority BOLO for a twelve pound, pink, juvenile mini-piglet