Murder on the Hoof: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) by Kathryn O'Sullivan

the chest on the last word.
    Jimmy rubbed where she had poked him. “Try not to act like that on your date. Remember, you’re a lady,” he said, and tore off inside before she really had a chance to hurt him.
    “You’d better run,” she called after him as he disappeared. She glanced at the corsage. A lady? How the heck was she going to pull that off?

 
    Chapter 7
     
    Colleen studied the brightly attired woman wearing a cowboy-themed fuchsia damask dress adorned with gold buttons and braided rope trim and bedazzled matching cowboy boots in the mirror. You look ridiculous, she thought.
    After rifling through the farthest recesses of her closets, the only dresses she had found were two long-forgotten bridesmaid dresses. One was a floral tangerine polyester number with fluttery sleeves, and the other was the fuchsia cowgirl number she was wearing now. She had repeatedly tried on both and recalled with irritation how her bride friends had told her the dresses could be dyed or hemmed or in some way altered and worn again. She had never given much thought as to whether or not there was any veracity to those statements … until now. Not only couldn’t the dresses be worn again; they shouldn’t be. That little lie was something women across the globe said to their friends to make them feel better for spending a small fortune on a dress that’s only purpose was to provide a beautiful setting for the gem that was the blushing bride. And Colleen had never cared. It was the bride’s day, after all. Who knows, maybe I’ll torture my friends someday, she thought. But there was no point in worrying about that now. She would need to leave for the restaurant soon if she was to make it down Route 12 to Duck by eight.
    She caught Smokey and Sparky watching her with curiosity as she swiveled and checked herself from the side. “So what do you two think?” she asked her style advisers. Smokey stretched out on top of the tangerine dress, which she had thrown on the bed, and let out a quiet meow. Sparky lifted his head from the box that had held the boots and blinked twice, something he did when he was at his most content. “You two will never make it as fashion police,” she said, and rubbed Smokey’s belly. The cat purred loudly, happy to snuggle in the fabric of the tangerine dress. Sparky rolled over on the floor and she stroked his belly, too. “Be good,” she said, and left her furry companions sleeping in her room.
    Her boots clunked as she descended the stairs, entered the kitchen, retrieved the corsage from the refrigerator, where she had been storing it to keep it fresh, and crossed to the hall bathroom to attempt pinning it on so that Pinky wouldn’t have to. She flipped on the light and, after poking herself twice, managed to get the corsage situated reasonably well on her dress.
    She stared at her reflection. It had been a long time since she had worn makeup. The sight of her with pink lipstick, blush, and mascara took her back to middle school days, when her mother would come home with makeup samples from the department store. On those days, she would invite friends for a slumber party and they would attempt applying bloodred lipstick, pink rouge, blue eye shadow, and mascara. Their application had always been a little too thick, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that they all had the beauty of youth, they would have looked like clowns. Maybe the lipstick is too much, she thought, and was about to wipe it off with a tissue, when the doorbell rang.
    She checked the time on the clock in the living room as she crossed through the foyer to the front door. She hoped it wasn’t a solicitation. She really did need to leave soon if she was going to make it to her meeting on time. She opened the door and her jaw dropped.
    “Pinky,” she squeaked.
    “Yeehaw,” Pinky said, giving her an appreciative once-over. “I see you got the corsage.”
    “Yes. What are you doing here?”
    “Picking you up.” He gestured