Love Is in the Air (97 page)

Finally Wyatt seemed to understand the basic concept of clockwise motion and headed to the empty table. With a quizzical look he asked Martin. “Is there supposed to be somebody here?”

Oh, how you had to love a newbie.

Martin pointed to the signs announcing that Dumbo was waiting out outside. “Your next appointment is right through there.”

“There?” Wyatt asked, pointing out the glass doors that lead to the large patio.

Of course Martin could have warned him what came next, but truly what would be the fun in that? “Yes. But you’d best hurry.”

Wyatt opened the door with great enthusiasm, not knowing there was an elephant to greet him on the other side. A loud trumpet shook the glass doors, followed by a thump, thump, thump then a loud crash.

Too late, Wyatt must have realized his error for Martin heard him scream, “Dumbo, no! No!”

Having been within Dumbo’s clutches without his favorite apples, Martin might have sympathized with Wyatt had it not been for the strange stain the man left on his lapel. Of his freshly dry-cleaned suit.

“That’s
not
my trunk!” Wyatt yelled as Martin sat down at table number eight. “Dumbo, that’s not how we shake hands.”

With a satisfied grin, Martin found his next potential client. A prim elderly lady sat with her Himalayan cat stretched out across the wood. Impeccably groomed, the cat had far better manners than a certain pet psychic Martin had just run into.

Ah well, onward and upward. In a clockwise direction. Martin nodded politely to the aged woman as he sat opposite her and her fluffy feline.

* * *

Elephants were faster than most people gave them credit for. Well, more credit than Wyatt ever had. Of course he had never really thought he would have to put that assumption to the test. But now on his fifth lap around the fountain with Dumbo’s trunk within an inch of his belt, Wyatt was acutely aware of exactly how fast an elephant could run. And as an added bonus, it turned out that elephant’s trunks were nimble enough to unbutton shirts and unbuckle belts.

Who knew?

Well the handler running behind the elephant probably had a clue. But interesting new fact they discovered, an eighty-five pound guy can’t stop an elephant by pulling on his tail. Shocking, but true. Granted the handler was doing his best, but Wyatt’s legs were tired. Did they not know that he’d gone several rounds with Diablo already today? Dumbo was doing his best to give Scout a run for his money.

Water sloshed out of the fountain, almost tripping Wyatt as he rounded the corner. Feeling that ever so soft truck at his back, Wyatt surged forward. The glass doors weren’t far. He slammed into them, jerking on the handle, but they wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

Wyatt pounded on the glass. How could no one inside hear the Dumbo’s triumphant bugle as his truck grabbed Wyatt’s belt?

He clutched the door handle as Dumbo lifted him from his feet.

“Help!” Wyatt yelled. And low and behold that guy turned around. The guy who thought that moving “clockwise” was somehow going to help him get out the stick that was up his booty. But any port in a storm, right? “Help me!”

* * *

Martin watched with amusement as the boy who thought he was a pet communicator got pulled off the door and out of view. Life truly was poetic at times.

“Well?” Mrs. Houseman asked.

He looked back to the old woman with the laconic cat. This one was going to be so easy Martin almost felt bad.
Almost
.

“Do you really need to ask?” Martin nearly purred himself. “
Of course
Porsche wants a diamond collar.”

“Oh, but everyone says it is so silly,” Mrs. Houseman responded, petting Porsche’s long silky smooth fur.

No doubt it was her heirs saying such things. Her heirs that would undoubtedly stroke out if they heard the ideas he was putting into their benefactor’s head. Ah, but he had one weapon that they did not.

Martin laid his hand over Mrs. Houseman’s. “Porsche didn’t want me to tell you this but he is reincarnated royalty.”

The old woman’s eyes dilated to the point Martin worried that perhaps she would have a stroke with the good news. You wanted to hook the client, but not excite them to the point they needed long-term medical care.

“Yes, yes, yes,” She exclaimed. “I am always telling people that he must have been a prince of Persia.”

Some days this truly was easier than snatching a lollipop away from a babe. She was already convinced, now she just needed enough incentive to do as Martin wished.

“But you see, that isn’t the problem,” he said, his voice low and concerned.

“Problem?”

Martin nodded, making certain that his features were sympathetic. The trick was to match the expression with the vocal tone seamlessly. “You see his crown was usurped. He was stripped of all worldly possessions and banished. He wandered the desert for months before finally succumbing to the heat.”

“Oh my poor, poor Porsche!” Mrs. Houseman exclaimed as she leaned over, wrapping her arms around the Himalayan. The cat gave a single blink of annoyance.

Yes, well, luckily Martin was the one able to talk.

“So you can see why Porsche would want such baubles. He needs to find closure for that terrible, terrible memory.”

“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Houseman said in between the muted coral kisses she showered upon the cat’s head. She looked up to Martin. “You will come with us, won’t you, Martin? To the jeweler’s? I want to be sure to get him exactly the right collar.”

Ah, he could taste that stolen lollipop.

“It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

The bell, the sweet, sweet bell rang. Wyatt heard it. Even over his own screams. He’d lost his belt and his shirt would never be the same, but somehow he had survived. But how long could his luck hold out?

Then the most gorgeous sight came before him. The glass doors opened. Wyatt had never been so glad to see an old broad with her glasses on a necklace before this moment. He could even forgive her uncanny and unsettling resemblance to his former librarian right about now.

He made a dash for the opening, but Dumbo seemed to be a little psychic himself as he wrapped his trunk around Wyatt’s ankle.

“Dumbo!” Wyatt yelled as he shook his foot. “I know you’ve got separation anxiety, but dang!”

Finally though with a good old-fashioned tug, Wyatt broke free and stumbled into the lobby. Behind him Dumbo trumpeted his disappointment.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Wyatt said as he dusted himself off. “Quit your belly-aching.”

The organizer’s eyebrow went up, but then again she hadn’t exactly been on the “Elephant Chase” exercise regime, now had she?

“Which way?” Wyatt asked.

She gave one of those grins that old people gave when they really wanted to smack you upside the head. Or at least that was the grin Grammy always got just before her hand flew. It was strong enough that Wyatt had to stifle his ducking instinct.

“To the right, Mr. Stampley, to the
right
.”

Oh yeah. That whole right thing.

He made sure that he turned to his
real
right, not his
other
right this time. That seemed to satisfy the organizer, allowing her to rush off to help quiet the cockatiel. Wyatt was glad he wasn’t going to that table. That bird had a mean look in his eye and Wyatt was done with mean.

However when he arrived at his next “appointment” he found a large scaly head staring, unblinking, at him. Had he said “large”? The word he was looking for was gigantic. Its tongue flickered while its owner dug around in her purse.

You know what? He was kind of done with this day. He had told Bodhi that he’d come. He did not at any time tell his uncle that he would
stay
. A frisky dog and an over enthusiastic elephant was one thing. A snake was quite another. As a matter of fact he’d rather get back on the pachyderm track than deal with this.

“Sorry, lady but I draw the line at cold-blood serpents.”

Then the woman rose from her purse. Her long brown locks danced along the outline of her leather vest. A vest that revealed a chest covered in a cobra tattoo. The light gleamed off of a hoop earring circumnavigating her eyebrow.

“Unless, of course…” Wyatt said as he sat down, “they have Daddy issues.”

* * *

This businesswoman was hard to crack. Martin had tried charm. He had tried physical touch; however, this power suit was having none of it. And to top it off, she had a rabbit. Rabbits did not give you much to work with. They ate. They pooped. Well they did one other thing, but this bunny lived solo.

Despite her confident demeanor, Martin didn’t give up. After all, she had taken time out of her busy day to come to this event. If she was worried enough to miss a “power” lunch, she was worried enough for him to make a profit.

“And my veterinarian wanted to try Bunny Prozac.”

“No, no, no,” Martin exclaimed, thrilled to finally find his hook. “Your veterinarian wants to try mood altering medication? When will they learn?”

Ms. Trotten shook her head, disgusted as well. At last they were on the same page. A page Martin was very familiar with. He leaned in closer.

“I don’t like to advertise it, but I am an animal healer as well.”

“Thumpy hates that medication. It’s toxic, isn’t it?”

Martin nodded solemnly. Really veterinarians did half the work for him. “I can’t tell you how harmful putting dangerous, harsh chemicals into our precious companions can be.”

Ms. Trotten stroked the bunny’s back as he twitched his nose.

“May I ask you an important question?”

“Of course,” she said as her rigid body language softened with each passing moment.

“Might I ask how much you love Thumpy?”

She seemed to struggle to say the words. Her eyes kept darting to the table on either side of them as if they were eavesdropping. Martin guessed that her affections for her lagamorph were not exactly well received at her office.

“It is safe here,” he urged. “We understand.”

Like a dam breaking, the words rushed out, “I love him more than words can describe. He eats organic alfalfa that I have imported off of heirloom china.”

And Martin didn’t doubt it. Otherwise why would he have tried so hard to get through to her?

“The reason I ask is that these healing sessions are long and I’m afraid they take so much out of me that I just…” Ms. Trotten or make that Mandy, reached out and touched his arm. Martin pretended the contact gave him strength. “Only if you loved him,
truly
loved him could I even consider trying. And only for cash payment.”

Her fingers dug into his arm. “Please, I’ll try anything. I’ll pay anything. Just please, I don’t want his shakra contaminated with pills.”

Unfortunately the buzzer went off. As he rose Martin slipped her a business card. “How does starting tonight sound?”

She snatched the business card away, smiling. “Yes, please. I’ll stop by the ATM on my way home.”

Ah, how Martin loved a woman with a high credit score.

* * *

Wyatt plopped down into the chair at the next table. A table he got to by going to the right… all by himself, without prompting. That was cause enough for celebration. And then when no dog humped his leg, no trunk tugged on his belt, and no python showed his fangs in a display of “affection”,
this
was his lucky table.

He rubbed his hands together.

“Alright,” he said to the red head with a head full of curls seated across from him. “Whatcha got? Golden Retriever?” Wyatt hammed it up a bit to the little blond girl sitting in the woman’s lap. “They’re all about the ball. Ball this, ball that, ball everything.”

He glanced around the table. No dog.

“Okay, a cat then?” Wyatt looked to the young lady’s ring finger. Bare. “I’m going to go with he’s peeing on your pillow because he doesn’t like your new boyfriend?”

The woman shook her head.

“Bird? Iguana? Hamster?” Wyatt queried then tickled the little girl, “Are you hiding a cricket in there?”

The most he got out of the girls was a tiny little timid smile. Funny, Wyatt was cracking himself up. Ah well. He knew how to play to unappreciative crowds.

“This is Andrea,” the red head said. “And I’m Jazmine and we are sorry to report, but we do not have a pet with us.”

Wyatt frowned. This was a first. Granted he hadn’t been at this more than a half an hour, but that’s not how the event had rolled so far. He rose. Maybe he had enough time to run to the vending machine before the next buzzer. Running from Dumbo had really worked up an appetite.

“I’m not sure if you noticed the sign, lady, but we’re kind of ‘animal-oriented’ here.”

“‘Animal-oriented,’” the red head countered with a cocked eyebrow. “That is what you are going with in front of a little girl?”

“What?” Oh crud. “No, I mean, not in the bad way or anything, it’s just—”

“Look,” Jazmine said thankfully stopping Wyatt before he inserted his foot into his mouth, especially after what he probably stepped in out in that courtyard. “Andrea’s dog, Blackie the Wonder Beast…”

She stopped to stroke the little girl’s back as the cloud came over Andrea’s features again. That was one sad little girl.

Jazmine looked up with what seemed to be a forced smile. “Anyway Blackie died last week and we were hoping that you could—”

Wyatt put up a hand. He knew what she wanted. He just couldn’t give it to her. He leaned in so the organizer didn’t hear him.

“You don’t seem quite as whacked out as the rest so I can tell you that I’m just making stuff up here.” He eyed he organizer. If she was anything like Mrs. Guthry she had eyes in the back of her head and the hearing of a bat. “I’m just winging it. Riffing. White lies. White, but lies nonetheless.”

Jazmine’s answer was the one word he was not expecting.

“Duh.”

* * *

Jazmine allowed a grin to spread as the supposed “pet psychic’s” eyebrow arched nearly to his hairline.

“Really?” she queried. “You thought that I thought, that not only could you somehow read a dog’s mind…”

“Well, I, uhhh,” Wyatt stammered.