Meryl Sawyer - Kiss of death

Without looking down, Trish dropped a long-nailed hand to the shiny head of a Golden retriever the color of warm cognac. “Brandy could have been a champion, but I just didn’t have the time.”

Whitney tried for a smile that didn’t quite work. She knew many show dogs had professional handlers. If Trish Bowrather had really wanted to show her Golden, she could have hired a pro.

Ever bubbly, Miranda exclaimed in her cheeriest voice, “This is my cousin, Whitney Marshall. She’ll be taking over my route.”

“Come in. Let’s discuss Brandy’s schedule.”

At the mention of his name, Brandy swished his tail through the air. Lexi wagged her tail in response. Fortunately, Lexi was a lady. She made no move to sniff Brandy the way most dogs would have. Whitney had no doubt Trish wouldn’t tolerate a dog who “misbehaved.”

With a stiff nod, Trish showed them inside. Whitney decided the home reflected the woman. Sleek, impressive, cold.

“Just a second,” Trish said. “I hope your dog is on flea medication.”

“Absolutely,” Miranda assured the woman before Whitney could. “Lexi’s on the Program.”

Whitney gave her dog a pill on the first day of every month. It protected Lexi against fleas and ticks for thirty days.

“Good.” Trish studied Whitney for a moment. “Do you intend to bring your dog-”

“Her name’s Lexi. I find dogs walk better and enjoy themselves more if they have a companion.”

Trish considered this information, then nodded thoughtfully. They followed her inside to a living room with a floating stairway that led to the second level. A sweeping expanse of glass showcased a mesmerizing view of the ocean. Through the doors that opened onto the deck, Whitney could smell the briny scent of the sea and hear the thunderous crash of the surf on the rocks just beyond the house. The water shimmered in the midday sun, but in the distance a band of dark, ominous clouds sulked along the horizon.

In the center of the living-room ceiling, a mammoth chandelier of glass orbs tinkled in the breeze drifting in from the ocean. They sat on a pearl-gray leather sofa with accent pillows of dark charcoal in a nubby material that was scratchy to the touch. Perfectly behaved, the dogs settled at their feet. Automatically, Whitney reached down and stroked Lexi’s smooth head.

“I understand you’re divorced,” Trish said, as if Whitney had a contagious disease.

“Yes. It was final two months ago.”

Trish offered her a thin-lipped smile. “Trust me. You’re better off without the bastard. I dumped mine seventeen years ago.”

Whitney nodded and wished her heart was as hard as Trish’s seemed to be. The serrated blade of pain went through her despite her best efforts to brace herself. Would she ever recover from Ryan’s betrayal?

“I hope you took the jerk to the cleaners,” Trish continued.

Actually, all Whitney had to show for nine years of marriage was an aging SUV and Lexi. Ryan had given up the Grand Cherokee easily but he’d fought hard to keep their house and a worthless piece of property out in the boonies.

“Whitney plans to open a dog spa in a year or so, when she’s saved enough money,” Miranda said. It was obvious to Whitney that her cousin wanted to steer the conversation away from Whitney’s divorce. She knew how touchy Whitney was when it came to Ryan Fordham.

“Really?” Trish was clearly astonished. “There are already several in the area. Competition will be stiff.”

“Mine will be different,” Whitney replied. Why did Miranda have to mention it? She wasn’t positive just what she was going to do. She’d worked for a software firm until a month ago, when they’d outsourced her job to India. With so many changes hitting her all at once, Whitney wasn’t certain exactly what plans to make. She’d mentioned the spa as a possibility- not a sure thing.

“She’s going to be using organic products to groom animals and feature holistic treatments like acupuncture,” Miranda volunteered in her upbeat voice.

“I see,” Trish replied with an undertone of indifference.

“Whitney’s great with animals,” Miranda said, filling the awkward silence.

“You’re living locally?” Trish asked Whitney.

“I’ve moved into Miranda’s place in Torrey Pines. She won’t be needing it now that-”

“I’m getting married,” Miranda interrupted, every syllable charged with excitement.

“Really?” Trish cocked one eyebrow. “You never mentioned being engaged.”

“We’ve been together a long time. We just decided to make it official.”

“This is what I have for Brandy’s schedule.” Whitney wanted to move the topic to a more professional level. There was something in Trish Bowrather’s expression that said she disapproved of Miranda’s plans. What business was it of hers? Clearly, she’d had a miserable experience, but that didn’t mean Miranda couldn’t have a successful marriage.

Whitney went through a list of activities that Miranda had given her, which included a walk each morning, a weekly visit to the Dog Spaw for grooming and a massage, a biweekly trip to the Bark Park where he could “socialize” with other dogs, a standing appointment each month with the vet for a checkup whether Brandy was ill or not and a monthly appointment with a canine dentist.

No question about it. Brandy was a gold mine. Miranda charged per visit and tacked on a mileage fee. It would be like taking care of three dogs. From what she could see, Brandy wouldn’t give her any problems.

“That is correct,” Trish said when she’d finished going over the schedule. “Just remember to check his paws when you pick him up at the Dog Spaw. Sometimes they forget to lacquer his claws. We want Brandy to look his best.” She petted the dog’s head. “Don’t we, boy?”

The dog thumped his tail. It seemed obvious that no matter how snippy Trish Bowrather was, she genuinely cared about her dog. And she’d been through a divorce. Whitney wouldn’t go so far as to say she liked her, but Trish wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought.

“Brandy has standing appointments. They don’t mind if you’re a few minutes late, but for his morning walk, I need you here at nine sharp. He must be back by nine-thirty. I take Brandy to the gallery with me. We open at ten.”

“I understand. I won’t be late,” Whitney assured her.

“If you are, I’ll find someone else.”

Trish gave her a few more instructions before walking them to the front door. “Tomorrow, promptly at nine,” Trish again reminded Whitney as they left.

Miranda waited until they were in Whitney’s SUV before saying, “See what I mean? The woman’s a bitch, but Brandy is a love and Trish pays on the minute.”

“I think I can handle it.” Whitney thought for a moment. “Did you see all that expensive art and stuff? It makes me nervous to have a key and the code for her alarm system.”

Miranda patted her arm reassuringly. “That’s why I’m bonded. The insurer has transferred the policy to your name. Since I started Marshall’s Pet Concierge, I’ve only had one problem. A woman’s ring was missing after I’d spent the weekend at her home dogsitting.”

Whitney groaned inwardly. Picking up animals at so many expensive homes when the owners were gone made her wary. Her cousin’s company-now hers-was insured, but still…

“My insurance company paid the woman for her missing emerald ring,” Miranda said. “Know what happened then?”

Whitney regretted not knowing the story. She wished they’d been closer after Miranda had unexpectedly come to live with her family, but their personalities had been too different. Then Whitney had married Ryan. He hadn’t cared for Miranda. Whitney had been stupid enough to allow her husband to drive her away from her only living relative.