Chapter 15 of Fur Ball Fever (Grace Defends Herself): Final Excerpt
Posted by Maureen
(Continued from Last Week)
Oliver’s supercilious smile disappeared. “With all due respect, Grace, I intend to take the issue to the next Condo Committee meeting. By this time next month,” his gaze tracked Murphy, “your aunt and that mutt will be history as far as Saltwater Village is concerned.”
She gritted her teeth. “With all due respect, Ollie, I think the Condo Committee has bigger fish to fry.”
His lip curled as if he smelled a nasty odor, but his voice was calm, smooth and sleek as a cobra’s skin. “I swear you’ll be sorry if I find that wretched animal anywhere near my property again.”
Her heart thumped in her chest and her voice emerged as a humiliating squeak. “Is that a threat?”
He shot her a sour look, no doubt remembering, too late, that patience was a virtue. “I don’t think I like your tone of voice, Grace.”
“I don’t think I enjoy your threats, Ollie.”
“I can make you very, very sorry.”
“What will you do?” she asked, mustering up a sneer and wishing God had granted her the sense to shut up and walk away. Her mouth bypassed her brain and motored on, “Steal Murphy too?”
“Good God, why would I want to steal the wretched beast? If you ask me, the world would be a better place without him.”
“I’ll bet you said the same thing when you stole Miss Coco, Maverick, and Adonis.”
“I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”
Now she knew for sure he was lying. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember. Miss Coco was last year’s Fur Ball winner and the other two were the runners-up. Gee. I guess they can’t enter the contest this year, can they? That’ll eliminate your precious Pepita’s main competition.”
“I had nothing to do with any criminal activity, I assure you.” He turned to Nick. “Can’t you talk some common sense into her?”
Nick chuckled as if Oliver had said something amusing. “Highly unlikely, Reverend. Didn’t work when we were dating, doubt it’ll work now, but I’ll give it a whirl.”
Grace let out an incredulous groan. He was taking this undercover investigation thing too far.
Nick addressed Grace. “Aw, c’m on Sunshine. Be reasonable. Lay off Reverend Oliver. Don’t you recognize an innocent man when you see one?” His eyes glinted a silent plea.
Grace wanted to kick Nick. Hard. She planned to give him a piece of her mind later. In the meantime, she would try not to blow his cover.
In response, she scowled at Oliver in an attempt to appear intimidating. “I know what’s really bothering you, Ollie. As long as Miss Coco enters the competition, Pepita doesn’t stand a chance. You want this win so bad you can taste it.”
His face purpled. “You’re playing with fire, lady, and don’t call me ‘Ollie’.”
Boy, was she an idiot or what? But she couldn’t let it go. “You’d do anything for the free publicity a blue ribbon would generate, wouldn’t you?”
Oliver sputtered an incoherent protest, spraying saliva.
Grace continued, “So many new members for the Children of Purity, so much more money to pour into your pocket.”
Oliver found his voice. “I don’t see a penny from my congregation. All the money goes into the Saltwater Purification Foundation.”
“Right. And if I believed that, I’d also believe some dude in Nairobi was going to pay me $200,000 just to transfer some money into an offshore account for him.”
Oliver’s scowl deepened. He stepped forward, forcing Grace to sidle away. “I have a good mind to charge you with slander.” His voice became a threatening rumble. I … did … not … touch … those … dogs.”
“If you say so.”
Nick shifted a step closer to Oliver, who jabbed his finger in Murphy’s direction, murder in his eyes. “But I could easily make a special exception in his case.”
She glanced at Nick to see if he was listening. It was hard to tell because he was staring at Oliver, but it seemed to Grace that he vibrated with unleashed tension. Made reckless by her conviction that Nick wouldn’t let anything harm her, she decided to hit Oliver with a quick one-two jab.
“Where were you between midnight and 6:00 a.m. last night?”
Oliver’s eyes widened until they goggled out of a blotchy face. “None of your goddamned, er, darned business.” He took a step closer. “Stay out of my way if you know what’s good for you and your family.”
In spite of Nick’s presence, a chill of dread crept down Grace’s spine on stealthy feet. Oliver had plenty of power and was ruthless enough to use it. All she had was a plastic baggie filled with dog shit. She snapped her fingers surreptitiously at Murphy to entice the wretched creature to come within arms’ length so she could snag him and escape.
Oblivious, her sniffer dog continued following an invisible squirrel trail with his nose. Grunting and snuffling, he wove his way towards Grace until he was almost close enough for her to grab.
Oliver beat her to the punch. Faster than a striking viper, he batted her hand aside and seized her pet’s collar in a twisting gesture.
Murphy let out a choking grunt of protest.
“Easy there, Reverend,” Nick said. “Don’t choke the animal.”
Grace glanced in Nick’s direction, but he was studiously avoiding her gaze. No more help from that direction, she thought, and dug into her pocket for the baggie. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, as carefully as if it were a ticking time bomb, she backed away.
“Hey, catch,” she yelled and flipped a high one at Oliver.
She held her breath, hoping his reflexes would kick in before his brain.
The baggie described a perfect arc towards Oliver’s outstretched hands.
For a heartbeat, time stood still.
Marcia spoke for the first time. “Leave it be, you idiot.”
At the same time, a flicker of movement caused Grace to turn her head. Nicholas Quincey Jackson, University of Charleston’s star wide receiver, Class of ’95, charged across the intervening turf and launched himself in front of Oliver to snatch the noxious package from the air.
Grace blinked twice in disbelief.
A look of horrified disgust crossed Nick’s face as the baggie’s reeking contents oozed between his fingers. Marci turned and climbed the stairs to the house. Oliver stood perfectly still, rooted to the grass like a garden gnome, his grip on Murphy’s collar suddenly slack. The dog lost no time in squirming away and darting to his mistress’ side.
Grace guessed high tech storage devices weren’t all they were cracked up to be.
In the ensuing chaos, she collared Murphy and clipped on his leash. In tandem, they scooted around the corner, leaving Nick gagging beside Oliver’s wilted chrysanthemums and Oliver offering Nick a tissue from a safe distance.
A string of ripe obscenities drilled the warm, still air.
Grace glanced down at Murphy who scampered along beside her and said, “Cover your ears, Murphy. Nick knows better than to use those words in front of a lady — or a preacher.”)