Free Karma's A Bitch (A Pet Psychic Mystery) by Shannon Esposito Page A

brow. “It could have been worse. You could have drunk skunk water.”
    The phone rang, almost bringing me out of my skin.
    Heavens on a hilltop, I was going to have to start bathing in flower essence to take care of these frazzled nerves. “Darwin’s Pet Boutique.”
    “Hi, is this Miss Winters…ah, Darwin?”
    “Yes?”
    “This is Detective Blake.”
    “Oh,” My heart did a tiny flip. I pushed a hand through my hair, trying to tame the short waves as if he could see me. “Hi, detective. What can I do for you?”
    “Actually, I have some information for you. Thought it might help you get some closure with the loss of your friend. We were given a note last night that was found at Pirate City.” He paused. “It was a suicide note. Signed by Mad Dog.”
    What?! No. no. no. That was not possible. I glanced down at Karma, stretched out on his side on the giant pillow bed Sylvia had bought for him. Or was it possible? Could Mad Dog really have decided death was better than the life he had with Karma? I mean, he was homeless. What kind of life was it really? So, why was suicide so hard for me to believe?
    “Darwin? Are you still there?”
    “Yeah.” I felt numb. Confused. “Yes. I’m here.” A flash of lightning lit up Beach Drive. A deep rumble rolled through on its heels. This news brought up more questions than answers for me. It made me doubt myself and it made me doubt Mad Dog. And that made me feel like a stone had dropped from my heart into my stomach. I had to get off the phone so I could breathe. “Okay. I…I appreciate you letting me know, detective. Thank you.” I hung up. Now what?
    “Sylvia, I’m going to go get us some lunch.” I heard my voice but felt disconnected from it.
    Sylvia glanced up from straightening the collars. Her noon appointment was late. “You want to wait a few moments, the storm will go away?”
    “No. I’ll be fine.” I pulled the umbrella out from beneath the counter. “French onion soup from Cassis?”
    “Sure.”
    I felt her concern as I left, but she didn’t push me for information, which I appreciated because I had no idea what I could say. I had no idea how I felt about this new piece of information. Except sad and maybe a bit angry. And confused. Yeah, definitely that.
    The sidewalk was already flooded so my flip flops squished with each step. I didn’t bother with the umbrella so my hair and cotton dress both clung to me as I pushed through the rain. The tiny needles of chilly rain gave me something to focus on, something to feel besides numb. It was a welcome distraction.
    I leaned against the wall outside after I placed my order, protected from the storm by the building’s architecture but shivering from being soaked to the bone already. I watched the rain splash on the wide sidewalk, on the row of green umbrellas over empty tables lined up against Beach Drive. I should have asked what the note said exactly. Would he have been able to tell me? And who gave it to them? Mad Dog’s tent had a new owner. Why didn’t they find it sooner? His back pack had gone missing, so they didn’t get it from there. Unless they had found his back pack? That’s the most likely place he would have left a note…if he did, in fact, leave one. Okay, if they found the back pack, maybe there was something else in it, some other clue as to what was going on in his life at the time of his death. That’s it. I had to go back to Pirate City and find out.
     
    ***
     
    We closed at six and I was on my way to Pirate City by six forty-five, Karma by my side, a Ziploc bag full of ice cold, lemon cookies in my pack for G. I probably should have waited until the weekend, when I had more than an hour and a half before night fall, but I felt like the more time that went by, the more likely Mad Dog’s death would get lost in the system.
    What if I couldn’t figure out what happened? What if he was murdered and that person was just walking the streets? I pedaled faster, glancing back