One of Laguna Beach's best-known plastic surgeons may need a new leash on life. Unless he's just taking a very long nap on the bench outside Melinda Langston's Bow Wow Boutique . . .
Dr. O'Doggle continued to give us the silent treatment. Fluffy eyed him intently. I studied him too. Tova Randall wasn't my BFF, to say the least, but I didn't wish her boyfriend any bad luck.
My neighbor, Darby, relaxed her grip on Fluffy's leash. The big Afghan lunged toward Dr. O and knocked him over.
Tova's handsome hunk rolled off the bench and dropped with a thud at our feet.
Darby gasped. My stomach knotted. "No, no, no." I shook my head. "Not again."
I knelt down and shook his shoulders. "Dr. O'Doggle?" I grabbed his suit lapels and yelled, "Jack?"
No response. No, "I'm fine." No, "Stop yelling in my face." No, "Get your hands off me."
No, no, no.
I checked his throat for a pulse. Nothing. But he was still warm. My fingers brushed against something knotted around his throat, and I'm not talking about his tie. I pulled back his shirt for a better look. I sucked in a breath, my nose filled with a light female perfume I didn't recognize. A thin dog leash was wound tightly around his neck. Identical to the kind I sold at the shop.
This was not an accident.
"Is he . . .?" Darby asked softly.
I looked up at her. "Dead. No more late night walks for him."
