CHAPTER
thirty-three 
AT HOLLYWOOF THE next morning, Nicola and I encountered an unusual request. A short man proudly wearing a mustachio came in with his Scottish terrier. “Do something stellar with his facial fur,” the owner said before dropping his dog off.
Nicola and I stared at each other for several moments.
“What a request,” I said. “Where would I even start?”
She snapped her fingers and said, “I’ve got it. I’ll make a list of the best-mustached actors ever to inspire you.”
Within five minutes, she’d narrowed down her picks to three contenders and showed me their accompanying photos. “Here goes . . . Burt Reynolds for a fun PI look, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, and Groucho Marx for a comical effect.”
“Thanks for the visuals,” I said. “Now it’s time to create a mustache masterpiece.”
I took the dog to the back room and started clipping away. As I snipped, I realized that the ratio of fur to body on an animal was quite different than its human counterpart. I decided to use the electric razor to make quick work of his massive amount of fluff.
Then I fine-tuned through trimming with scissors around his sensitive face. Using careful motions, I clipped away subtle centimeters at a time. As a finishing touch, I curled the mustache by applying sculpting gel to the ends.
When I brought the terrier to the front, Nicola whistled. “That’s some impressive cutting.”
Nimbus napped through the commotion, but Marshmallow opened one eye to assess my handiwork. “Is he supposed to look like the Lorax?”
I wagged my finger in warning at Marshmallow.
The owner took that moment to return. Checking out his styled dog, he said, “Marvelous. I love it.”
He paid the bill and gave his terrier a big smooch.
I shuddered. Blech. I couldn’t imagine being kissed by a bristly face. I definitely preferred Josh clean-shaven. Mmm. I had started reliving one of our recent kisses when my phone rang with his caller ID.
“I was just thinking about you,” I said when I picked up.
“Really?” His voice dipped low and intimate.
I craved a kiss from Josh, but I’d settle for his intoxicating voice instead.
“Mimi, are you there?” he asked.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
Marshmallow sniffed from his corner. “Fantasizing, more like.”
Josh cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I’m calling about business. I managed to see a copy of Helen’s will.”
My mind snapped back with sharp focus. “What did you find out?”
He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Helen’s liquid assets are to be divided between Roosevelt Elementary, Elite Nobility Academy, and a local cat shelter. But the townhouse is deeded to Marina.”
“Her roommate?”
“Yes. She’s also the executor of the will.”
“That’s interesting.” I thanked Josh for his help and blew him several kisses over the phone. (Marshmallow hacked in the background.)
At lunch, Nicola left on her break. She wanted to try out the new fruitarian restaurant, a fad diet among certain celebrities. I also took a break with Marshmallow, opening up my brown bag lunch at Hollywoof. We sat in the waiting area while I ate my tuna salad sandwich.
In between bites, I filled him in on my conversation with Josh. Then I asked, “What’s your verdict, Sherlock?”
He twitched his nose. “Something smells fishy here, and it’s not your lunch. When exactly did Marina know she would inherit a luxury townhouse?”
I crumpled my brown paper bag. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Marshmallow.”
“Could she have been plotting Helen’s death all along?”
“But she was grieving,” I said. “Don’t you remember all those hours she spent at Déjà Vu trying to distract herself from her sorrow?”
Marshmallow let out a short yowl. “Or was that to distract you and others from thinking of her as a possible suspect?”
“I guess you do have a point.”
“Remember, Marina reduced her hours at the antique store recently,” Marshmallow said. “Why? Because she knows she doesn’t need to worry about rent.”
Had it all been an act? I needed to find out when exactly Marina had learned about the will and its contents.
Thinking about the legal document reminded me of another beneficiary from Helen’s estate: the Elite Nobility Academy, where she’d gone to get her fancy-pants education. When Scott had given me a list of the other families, the St. James surname had stuck out to me. I was pretty sure he’d been speaking of Pixie or one of her relatives. If I wanted to learn more about Helen’s background, I knew who I could turn to.
Besides, at the country club, Pixie had mentioned wanting to meet up again. Why not cash in on the opportunity? I texted Pixie to make sure she was free, and we settled on a time to connect later in the evening.
As I drove up the twisting turns near Hollywood Hills, Marshmallow purred. He couldn’t wait to visit Pixie again—and he’d insisted on having Nimbus come along to show her how the “rich and famous” live. This late at night I had a hard time spying the iconic “HOLLYWOOD” sign out of my window, but I marveled at the glow of the city lights as I wound higher up the incline. Los Angeles looked like it was made from jewels at this height.
There was no way I could miss Pixie’s distinctive house, which clung to a hilltop. Constructed in an oval shape, it differed from the surrounding houses made in sharp geometric shapes; rectangular edges seemed to be the most popular choice.
When Marshmallow, Nimbus, and I showed up on her doorstep and rang the bell, Pixie hurried to open the door. She flung her arms around me. “Mimi, I love it when you visit. Working from home all the time”—she telecommuted a lot—“makes me appreciate face-to-face connections even more.”
She cuddled Marshmallow. “Hello, handsome.”
And she extended her hand to Nimbus for the kitten to sniff. “And who’s this sweetheart?”
I explained about the stray kitten I’d found near my sister’s school. “I’m going to keep her until I find a suitable owner.”
“Too bad I’ve got my hands full with Gelato. Otherwise, I’d definitely want this cutie around.”
Maybe he’d heard his name because the shih tzu soon came tumbling through the doorway. “Hold your horses,” she said, scooping up the energetic little dog.
She led the way into her beautiful home. No matter how many times I visited, I still held my breath whenever I saw the gleaming travertine floors and sparkling floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
We finally ended up in the kitchen, where Pixie placed an excited Gelato down. He ran in circles around the cats, his tail wagging double time.
“Do you want an iced tea, Mimi? Or something more celebratory this evening?” Pixie asked.
“Nothing with alcohol, please. I won’t be able to handle those winding roads buzzed.”
She lifted her shoulder in a gentle shrug and whipped up some beverages. I received a bright blue concoction while she ended up with a frothy green drink garnished with a wedge of lime. She gave Marshmallow, Nimbus, and Gelato separate bowls of purified volcanic water.
“Do you want to go outside to the patio?” Pixie asked. “I just got new furniture for the space.”
“Sure.” I glanced back at Marshmallow, but he’d already claimed the massage mat, a device he’d enjoyed the last time he’d come. As he vibrated on the soft pad, he said, “Ah, I’ve missed this. I’ll stay here while you two kids go and play outside.”
Both Nimbus and Gelato decided to remain near the water bowls, using almost synchronized licks to drink their water. Seeing that all the pets were settled, Pixie and I went to her backyard. However, we left the patio door open a crack just in case.
Under a fabric awning, two long couches faced each other. In between the furniture sat the pièce de résistance, a fire pit filled with rocks that sparkled like emeralds and sapphires. At least I hoped they were made from glass, but who knew? Maybe Pixie really did have money to burn.
“Have a seat,” Pixie said as she sank into one of the couches.
I settled across from her, placing my drink in the cup holder anchored in the armrest.
“There’s also a button there to make your seat recline,” she said.
I pressed the silver button near me, and my legs shot up. With an embarrassed smile, I readjusted the seat.
“How is everything at Hollywoof by the way?” she asked.
“Busy, but please drop by anytime. Remember, Gelato gets grooming services for free fur-ever.”
She gave a tinkle of a laugh. “Wasn’t that smart of me to invest in Hollywoof?”
“And I can never be thankful enough for your help.”
She waved my comment away. “What are friends for?”
“Speaking of friends, I heard your last name mentioned the other day.” I eyed my glass of electric blue with a twinge of suspicion. “Do you know the Reed family?”
She sipped her lime drink. “Maybe. What are their first names?”
“Scott is the father, and his daughter is named Helen.” I tasted my own vivid blue drink. It reminded me of a few floral Asian teas, like jasmine and osthmanthus.
Pixie placed her drink in her cup holder and tapped a finger against her chin. “Helen Reed . . . Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She attended Elite Nobility Academy, if that helps.”
“Ah, right. Helen was quite a few years younger than me. She was schoolmates with my youngest sister.”
I put my footrest down and leaned forward to hear her better. “Do you know anything about her background?”
“It’s sad, really. Helen practically grew up at the school. Her father almost never visited, and families would take turns hosting her on holidays. But I think Helen and my sister lost touch over the years. I can’t remember the last time she’s mentioned her.” She paused. “How do you know the Reeds?”
“She was a colleague at my sister’s elementary school.”
“It figures that Helen would go into education. She often said her teachers felt more like her real parents than her biological ones.” She crossed and then uncrossed her elegant legs. “Did you say ‘was’ a colleague? Did she move away?”
I bit my lip. “Helen died recently.”
“Dear me.” Pixie fidgeted on her cushion. “What happened?”
“It’s unclear even now. The police are involved . . . and Alice is on their suspect list.”
She shuddered, and I didn’t think it was because of the cool temperature. Still, she said, “Let’s turn on the fire. Help bring some brightness and warmth to this night.” Hopefully in more ways than one.
Pixie turned on the fire pit while I said, “She left all her money to a few great organizations: two schools and a cat shelter.”
“Generous,” Pixie said. “And I bet the abundant funding will help those in need.”
“Why would you think it’s a lot of money?”
She licked her lips. “Helen wasn’t a flashy sort of person, not like some other trust babies. She wore her clothes until they became threadbare. Saved up.”
“What’s a ‘trust baby’?”
Pixie blinked at me. “It’s when someone gets a chunk of money after they achieve certain milestones. She was a double trust kid, got a windfall at eighteen and then was promised more after she tied the knot. Was she married?”
“Engaged,” I said, drinking some more of my bright blue drink. The floral taste had grown on me.
“What a shock for the groom-to-be.”
Especially if he’d expected extra funding to come his way, I thought.
“I’m glad she found someone special.” Pixie stared into the flickering flames of the fire pit. “For a while, my sister told me Helen kept falling for the wrong type of man.”
“The arrogant kind?” I asked, remembering Brandon’s swagger.
She ran her finger over the rim of her glass. “Money-hungry ones. I heard she used to ask prospective suitors if they’d date someone just for their money.”
I snorted. “Of course, all of them said no.”
“Naturally, but then they’d assume she was rich if she used that question to weed out boyfriends. Plus, she did go to a fancy boarding school.”
I chewed on my fingernail. “Nowadays, people can just search online to confirm their is-she-rich theories.”
“One reason why I’m still single.” Pixie took another sip of her drink. “But at least life doesn’t get complicated this way.”
Yeah, and you get to stay alive.
From inside the house, I heard a whimper and sprang to my feet. “That must be Nimbus. She hasn’t been feeling too well.”
We reentered the house to find Nimbus lying down, her head on her paws, looking dejected. Pixie crouched to her level and checked on the kitten. “Poor soul. But I have something that might help. Mimi, why don’t you hold Nimbus and check out my new splurge?”
I scooped the kitten up, with Marshmallow tagging along behind, and followed Pixie. She walked over to what looked like a linen closet. However, the door opened to reveal a giant glass cylinder on the inside.
“Put the kitten in the machine,” Pixie said.
“What is that thing?”
“It’s an oxygen chamber. All the rage in Japan.”
Nimbus stared up at me with wide eyes, while Marshmallow started purring at her. I hope he was encouraging her. After a while, she relaxed in my arms.
Pixie opened the door to the chamber, and I placed Nimbus inside.
“This will pump pure oxygen directly to her and give her an energy boost.” Pixie closed the door and pressed some buttons on the control panel. She let the machine run for several minutes.
At the end of the oxygen therapy, Nimbus did seem perkier. She even licked Pixie’s palm.
“Wow,” I said.
“All animals need oxygen,” Pixie said, shutting the closet door. “So make sure to take off any extra covers and keep the windows open at night while she sleeps.”
I’d try out Pixie’s advice for sure. I thanked her for the oxygen chamber and her time. “Again, feel free to drop by Hollywoof,” I said. “Or I can schedule you in.”
“Yes, do that. Whenever you’re available, Mimi. No rush,” she said.
I left with a bounce in my step. I’d learned a lot from tonight, not only how to help Nimbus but what would aid me in my investigation.