We’d survived Fluffy’s overnight. Missy and I had shared a queen-sized bed with a king-sized Fluffy, and I’d dreamt about Grey’s king-sized warning. By 9:00 am, I’d rolled out of bed a king-sized grump.
Once I’d walked the dogs (good grief; I didn’t like picking up after such a big dog), I’d brushed my teeth, washed mine and Missy’s faces, and pulled my hair back into a messy ponytail. Everything else would have to wait until after breakfast.
I shuffled around the sunshine-filled kitchen in my fuzzy bulldog slippers, Victoria’s Secret sleeping shorts and tank top (yes, I’d walked the dogs in my PJ’s; no one cares, trust me). I poured a bowl of my favorite cereal, Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries, then meandered out to the patio, leaving the French doors open so the dogs could join me.
I settled onto a wicker chair and propped up my feet. What I craved was a chai latte from the Koffee Klatch. If only they delivered. I closed my eyes, tipped my face to the sun and enjoyed the tranquility of the morning. I had a feeling I wasn’t alone. I opened my eyes, and there stood Fluffy. She’d followed as far as the doorway.
“What?”
Fluffy looked back at Missy, who was in the kitchen chowing her scoop of food with one side of her mouth, while managing to drool out the other side at the same time. I’d have to clean the folds of Missy’s face again after breakfast. If I didn’t keep her clean and dry she’d develop dermatitis.
Fluffy returned her attention to me. I knew what she was communicating. Missy was noisy and messy. It was true. Bullies snorted, drooled and passed a lot of gas. But it was that imperfectness that I loved so dearly.
“Sorry, Your Highness, you’ll have to deal with it.”
Unimpressed, Fluffy backed up a couple of steps, then disappeared inside the house.
Once I’d finished my cereal, I shuffled back into the kitchen. I rinsed out my bowl and set it in the sink. I’d worry about the dishes later. Or maybe I’d get lucky and Caro would “drop by.” I was in possession of the brooch, which meant she was bound to show up eventually. I had a new hiding place for the pin. Way better than the cookie jar.
No one truly understood our competition over that Godawful heirloom. Not even Grey. But the brooch was all we had left of Grandma Tillie. She’d had this way of making us feel special, as if we were the only ones she really loved. It was possible that Grandma Tillie knew the brooch was the one thing that would keep Caro and me together.
Enough sappiness. I had more pressing issues. First things first, handing off Fluffy.
I’d lifted Cliff’s number from Mona’s phone last night. I headed to my bedroom and unplugged my cell from the charger. Bless her heart, Missy had followed me, snorting and shaking her head, leaving a trail of water and slobber on the hardwood floor.
I grabbed a hand towel from the master bath and quickly wiped up the slippery mess. I found a dry edge to blot the folds around her nose. Once she was clean, I tossed the towel onto the bathroom counter.
“Cross your fingers, girl.” I punched in Cliff’s number. Missy tilted her head, and we both waited as the phone rang and rang.
“Hello?”
I gave Missy the thumbs up. “Hey Cliff, it’s Melinda. Melinda Langston. I-” It suddenly dawned on me he might not know about Mona. “Uh, I just wondered if you’d heard about Mona?”
“Yeah. The police called last night.” He mumbled like he had a mouthful of rocks. Or I’d woken him up from a drunken stupor.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“The well’s officially run dry. Not that I’ve seen a single penny in the past month.”
Fluffy suddenly appeared in the hallway. I frowned at her as she shimmied her way in between Missy and me.
“Mona paid you support?” That was news to me.
“It was a private matter.”
I could hear the clinking of ice against glass and then a slurp. You know, that slurp men thought was appropriate when they drank Scotch. I’m no prude, but 10:00 am was a little early to be drinking.
“I had no idea,” I said.
“That’s why it’s called private,” he ground out.
Good grief, he could compete with Mona for Jerk of the Year.
Missy slipped beneath the bed looking for a cool spot to take a nap. Fluffy sprawled out at the foot of the bed, watching me with her intense eyes. I turned my back on her and cleared my throat. “Well, the reason I called was to arrange a pick-up time.”
“For what?”
“Fluffy.”
His dark manic laughter burst into my ear. “She’s as big of a pain in my ass as my ex. Unless it’s cash, Scotch or a trip to Vegas, you don’t have anything I want.”
I walked into the bathroom and closed the door, feeling the need for privacy. “But you have joint custody.”
“I only fought for custody so I wouldn’t have to pay Mona dog support. It bugged the hell out of Mona that I had her precious Fluffy.”
That rumor was true. What a cad. “But you’re supposed to take her every Wednesday.”
“I was. Now she’s yours.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Fluffy is not my responsibility.” I did not have the patience to take care of a high maintenance dog.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he said. “If she doesn’t get her afternoon snack, she’s a real pisser. Good luck.”
The line went dead.
As Grandma Tillie used to say, “He makes a hornet look cuddly.” No wonder Mona kicked his butt to the curb.
I opened the door a crack and peeked into the bedroom. Missy had come out from under the bed and was now lying alongside Fluffy, staring at me as if I’d lost my mind hiding in the bathroom. I closed the door so I could think without being stared at.
Now what?