Cynthia Baxter - Whos Kitten Who? (Reigning Cats & Dogs Mysteries, No. 6)

Contents

To Jeffrey Sanzel

Acknowledgments

Whenever Jessie Popper gets involved in something new, I get to jump right in alongside her and learn everything she learns. Researching this book required becoming a fly on the wall to observe firsthand how a musical comes together. I would like to thank Jeffrey Sanzel, Executive Director of Theatre Three in Port Jefferson, for welcoming me into his theater and patiently answering all my questions as he expertly created his fine production of Annie Get Your Gun.

I would also like to thank the members of Theatre Three Productions, who are all as warm as they are talented: Jean P. Sorbera, Choreographer; Ellen Michelmore, Music Director; Maureen Spanos, Production Stage Manager; Robert W. Henderson, Jr., Lighting Designer; and the entire cast and crew, especially Douglas J. Quattrock and Brent Erlanson.

Jessie Poppers medical expertise is the result of being allowed to be a fly on the wall at the Woodbury Animal Hospital in Woodbury, Long Island. Thank you, Dr. Marc A. Franz, Wendy M. Niceberg, Denise Doughten, Dorene Evans, Anne McLoughlin, and Kim Marino, as well as your clients, for letting me see how real-life professionals care for their patients.

And, as always, thanks to my partners in crime, Caitlin and Faith.

Chapter 1

Man is the most intelligent of the animalsand the most silly.

Diogenes

O uch! I cried. Stop, Im begging you! Youre torturing me!

Hold still! my attacker insisted.

I glanced around desperately, wondering if there was any way out. But I was afraid that continuing to resist would only anger my assailantwho was armed, dangerous, and clearly determined to make me her next victim.

You are moving too much, signorina! she exclaimed. I can not make the neckline straight if you will not stopwhat is the word?fidgeting!

I have every right to fidget, I thought crossly. First I get roped into spending my Saturday morning standing on a ridiculous pedestal in the middle of a bridal shop, surrounded by enough ruffles and veils to make me break out in a rash. Then I get turned into a giant pincushion. As if thats not bad enough, Im periodically forced to twirl around like an Olympic ice skater to make sure the skirt of this preposterous dress swirls in just the right way.

But I knew Id get no sympathy here. In fact, from the relentless way Gabriella Bertucci kept sticking me, you would have thought she was a voodoo priestess instead of a fashion designer whose wedding dresses were well known all over Long Island.

Take a look in the mirror, signorina, Gabriella said with a sigh. You look so beautiful, no?

I screwed up my face before forcing myself to peer into the three-sided full-length mirror. When your idea of sprucing up is putting on a freshly washed Polar-fleece jacket and a sparklin new pair of chukka boots, being encased in a Barbie doll frock that reaches down to the floor and is cut nearly as low is about as much fun as changing a tire on a twenty-six-foot veterinary clinic-on-wheels. In the dark. In the rain. And sleet.

But after all the time, energy, and emotion Id invested in having this dress made, I figured it was time to check out the results. Maybe, I hoped, I would even look something close to nice

E-e-ek! I cried.

Signorina! Gabriella sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. You dont like?

I stood a little straighter and forced myself to take another look. An objective look. Even though my dark-blond hair hung limply, and even though as usual I wasnt wearing any makeup, I was startled by what I saw. The dress Gabriella Bertucci had custom-made for me fit beautifully, making me look more like Cinderella than I ever would have thought possible.

Her creation was made from a silky fabric that draped around my various body parts in a surprisingly flattering way. It skimmed over my torso and waist and hips, giving me a womanly shape that a comfortable pair of jeans just didnt capture. Even the low-cut neckline looked good on me. At least, once I finally stopped tugging at it after remembering that the petite fashionista had a sharp pair of scissors in her possession and that even she had a breaking point.

The only problem was the dresss color.

Mint green.

When it came to planning her wedding, my dear friend Betty Vandervoort was turning out to be a real traditionalist. Instead of an edgy event with, say, a justice of the peace who did a rap version of the ceremony or a hippie minister who recited the poems of Charles Bukowski, she surprised me by insisting on something out of a fairy tale. And it included a bride in a long white gown accompanied by bridesmaids in pastel shades like baby pink and pale yellow and my own mint green, colors that made us look more like dishes of candy than grown women.

Id pleaded with Betty to let her bridesmaids wear a more dignified color.

How about black? I suggested hopefully. These days, bridesmaids dressed in black are considered the height of sophistication.

Black is for funerals, she returned with a frown. When I married Charles, longer ago than I care to admit, we eloped. This time around, I want the kind of wedding Ive dreamed about since I was a little girl. And that means a maid of honor who looks like an angel, not the Grim Reaper!

The other details of Bettys spring wedding, now just three weeks away, were equally traditional. The ceremony in which she was marrying Winston Farnsworth, a charming British gentleman I completely approved of, would take place in the garden of the estate on which we both lived. The area was going to be festooned with garlands of gauzy white tulle and hundreds of flowers. The music would be performed by a string quartet dressed in tuxedos or black gowns.

She was even demanding that the canine guests come formally attired.

In fact, it seemed as if Betty had put more thought into deciding exactly what my snow-white Westie, Max, and my black-and-white Dalmatian, Lou, would wear on the big day than she put into choosing her own dress. Shed finally decided on red bow ties for both of them, and for her fianc Winstons dog, a wirehaired dachshund named Frederick, shed selected a bright yellow bow tie that would complement his soft fawn-and-tan fur.

Personally, I thought all three dogs looked just fine naked.

But it wasnt my wedding. Betty had already pointed that out several times. And a few of those times, shed suggested that Id have much more leverage if Id consider making it a double wedding. That certainly put an end to my complaining.

Now that I was officially engaged to Nick, ideas like that probably shouldnt have surprised me. Yet becoming engaged had been a big enough step, one I was still trying to adjust to. I hadnt gotten used to wearing the small but tasteful antique diamond ring that had belonged to Nicks grandmother, so the idea of shopping for caterers, squealing excitedly over bridal shower gifts, and enduring fittings for my own white dressnot to mention contemplating actually being marriedwas way beyond me.

For the moment, the role of maid of honor was about all I could cope with.

What you dont like? Gabriella asked hopefully, studying my reflection with the same intensity as I was. Maybe I can fix.

The dress is beautiful, I assured her. Its just that its soso green.

The tiny native of Milan, Italy, with the build of Pinocchio and the determination of Julius Caesar, folded her arms against her chest.