Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series) by Sparkle Abbey Page B

in town. No one seems to have known him. At least not very well or for very long. He had attended social gatherings around town.”
    “The news didn’t give his name. Said they were looking for relatives.”
    “It was Victor Lustig,” I supplied.
    “What?” Davis sat up straight. “Did you say Victor Lustig ?”
    “I’m sure that’s what Diana told me. Why? Do you know the name?”
    “I sure do.” Davis chuckled. “And you should, too. That’s the name of a legendary con man. He’s the guy that sold the Eiffel Tower. Twice, in fact.”
    “No kidding?” No wonder the name had seemed slightly familiar to me. I’d been trying to remember, thinking it was someone I knew.
    “I’d say something’s not quite what it seems with our murder victim.”
    “I’d say you’re right.”
    “Makes me sorry I’m leaving town.” Davis lifted the pitcher. “Would you like some more?”
    “No, thank you.” I’d enjoyed the lemonade and the conversation but needed to get back to the reason I was there. “Let’s discuss your concerns about traveling with Huntley. Cavaliers travel very well. What, specifically, are you worried about?”
    It turned out it wasn’t the travel part that concerned Davis. He was going to stay with his daughter in Connecticut for a couple of weeks, and she had two tropical birds. Davis hadn’t stayed at her house since she’d had the birds, and he knew Cavaliers have a strong sporting instinct, so he was mostly worried about the mix of Huntley and the birds.
    While the bird flushing and hunting instinct is very strong in the breed, I explained, some Cavaliers do just fine in a home with birds. However, others do not. My suggestion was to discuss the concern with his daughter and perhaps keep the birds and dog separated or contained. If the birds were free, Huntley should be on his leash. If he was off leash, the birds should be caged. If the daughter was as responsible a pet owner as I knew Davis to be, I was sure they’d do fine.
    I finished my drink, gave Huntley a snuggle, and wished Davis a good visit with his daughter. I could hardly wait to call Malone and ask if he’d realized the name of the stabbing victim had been fake. I was sure he had, and, of course, they would have run Victor’s fingerprints, so maybe they already knew who he really was.
    I called Malone from my car, but got his voicemail, so I left a message for him to call me. Again.
    My next home visit was in Dana Point, so I turned the car south and enjoyed the beautiful drive along the Pacific Coast with the convertible top down. As I drove, I mulled the idea of why a man would choose a legendary con man’s moniker as his name. Where had that idea come from? Why did he need a fake identity? And why had someone wanted him dead?
    This call was one of the Greyhound owners Blanche had asked me to check on. Verdi had set up the appointment and supplied the address. I found the house without trouble and parked in the driveway.
    It was a stunning contemporary home, modest compared to the Ruby Point mansions, but with a panoramic view of the Pacific and of Catalina Island. Marjory Whedon answered the door and welcomed me. She was tall and willowy, and her white linen pants and flowing turquoise top blended with the Zen feel of the house. The inside continued the modern lines.
    Water flowed from a fountain in the foyer and created a feeling of serenity. I almost felt like I should offer to take off my shoes. The entryway opened into a living room which was nearly all glass on one side. I didn’t blame them—I’d want a glass house too, if I had that view.
    There were two white leather couches facing each other, and at one end were two Greyhounds sound asleep cuddled against each other.
    “This must be Havasu and Jett.” I glanced down at my file. “Havasu is the blue, and Jett is the black. Is that right?”
    “That’s right,” Marjory answered. “Please, have a seat.”
    I perched on the edge of the white sofa