Russ Nolan’s dilapidated house sat in the tall home’s shadow. His residence looked worse than the rest of them combined. It had cracked siding and peeling paint, and the front yard seemed more dustbin than grass.
I couldn’t imagine Lauren setting foot in the house. Then again, her assistant had done the deed. Indira, though, might have gone in . . . if it meant a bargain to be had.
“Okay,” I told Marshmallow. “I can’t leave you in the car, so I’m taking you along. But you better behave.” No more speaking, I hoped. I crossed my fingers.
He peered up at me with wide baby blue eyes.
I carried Marshmallow over to the front porch and placed him down on the splintering wooden boards. The bell didn’t work, so I had to bang hard against the door.
A few pieces of brown paint flaked off after I knocked.
From inside, a deep voice boomed, “Hold on.”
A few seconds later, and I heard the dead bolt slide. The door opened partway, and a man with shoulder-length red locks and a stubble beard looked out at me. His hair appeared purposefully messy, and his biker jacket and ripped jeans screamed grunge.
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Nolan, I presume?”
He nodded but didn’t open the door any wider.
“I have a few questions about your dogs.”
He squinted his hazel eyes at me. At least, I thought that was their color. Under the shadow of his bushy eyebrows, I couldn’t quite tell. “You here about the ad? For a teacup Chi? Less than three pounds, even as an adult.”
I stammered. “Healthy Chihuahuas grow up to be four to six pounds.”
Russ closed the door an inch. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
That’s when Marshmallow streaked into the house. Startled, Russ lost hold of the front door, and it flew wide open.
Worried about the damage Marshmallow might do, I scooted inside. Marshmallow kept on going, so I chased him. While running, I noticed the house smelled horrible. It needed a good airing and a vat of vinegar, if not kerosene and flames.
The front door closed behind me, and I heard Russ say, “I ain’t prepared for company.”
Marshmallow dashed to the end of a shabby living room and scratched against an opaque sliding door that divided a hidden back area. His imaginary voice piped up. “There are dogs trapped inside.”
I managed to grab him and started to leave, but he slipped out of my arms. He pawed at the door again.
“Wait a minute,” Russ said as his lumbering steps caught up.
My curiosity won out, and I slid open the door. Both Marshmallow and I froze at the scene before us.
Thick blankets covered the entirety of the walls, making a soundproof space. A foul stench arose from the cramped area. The enclosed back room was filled with Chihuahuas. I lost count after twenty.
The little dogs started yipping like crazy, and Marshmallow responded by yowling at them. Bowls of food had been knocked over. Half-empty water dishes spilled murky trails. A few tennis balls lay scattered around, drool-soaked and defuzzed.
However, most of the stink came from dog waste piled all around the vinyl floor.
I turned to face Russ. “What kind of hellhole is this?”
He scratched at his stubble. “You caught me at a bad time.”
“I don’t believe you. This looks like it’s been going on for a while.”
“You’re trespassing,” Russ said, flexing his muscles. “Take your cat and go. Or I’ll make you leave.”
I held my hands up. “Fine, we’re going. I’ve seen enough.”
I took Marshmallow, and we retreated to the front porch. At the door, I told Russ, “You can bet I’m reporting this to animal control and the police.”
He curled his meaty hand into a fist. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I stared him in the eye. “I’d consider it my duty. You’re harming those puppies.”
He shook his fist at me.
I yelled in a voice as loud as Ma-speak. “Don’t you dare threaten me, you monster. You hurt those dogs, and I’ll hurt you!”
Russ slammed the door in my face.
A voice floated down to me from above my head and over to my left. “Cut the racket,” it said. I looked next door and saw the upstairs window slam shut from the two-story behemoth of a house.
After I got into the car, I placed the calls right away. I got the answering machine at animal control and left a message. But at the local police station, an efficient-sounding woman picked up.
“I’m concerned about the care of some dogs,” I told her.
“Yes, miss. Is this a neighborhood disturbance?”
“Litters of puppies are being mistreated. Here’s my cell in case you need it.” I gave her my number. Then I added my work line. “You can also reach me at my pet grooming business, Hollywoof.”
“Did you say litters of puppies?” She paused. “Is this regarding a pet store?”
“A breeder.” I provided Russ Nolan’s name and address.
“Okay, I have the info, but you’ll have to file an official complaint with the USDA.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I’d never reported animal abuse before. I didn’t even know the Department of Agriculture had to get involved.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She gave me the website.
I ended the call and pulled up the USDA site on my phone. Grumbling about red tape, I clicked on the section to file an animal welfare complaint. While I filled out the form, Marshmallow plopped himself on the dashboard.
After I finished typing, he meowed at me and said, “See, wasn’t my talking helpful?”
Not now. Why did I continue to dream up his voice? I took deep breaths. “This isn’t happening.”
He hissed at me and moved in close. “Face it. This is real, sister.” His nose came within inches of my own. “I just gave you proof back there, when I told you about those puppies.”
That fact hit me hard. He’d told me about the trapped dogs before I’d seen them with my own eyes. How could my mind make up something without first seeing it?
Maybe the talking was real. “But how?” I asked.
“I have a special talent,” Marshmallow said.
Wait a minute. His mouth hadn’t moved, but I’d heard his voice. If this was truly happening, did that mean . . . “Do you have cat ESP? Telepathy? Or maybe, tele-pethy?”
His whiskers twitched. “Thank heavens, no. Imagine suffering through human thoughts all day long.”
“But you can talk to me. Er, think to me.”
“Yes, the communication is one-way.” Marshmallow blinked at me. “All pets try to speak to their owners, but you don’t understand us.”
I snapped my fingers. “Right, like those cat translators . . .”
“Useless.” He purred. “You humans can’t figure it out, so I decided to take matters into my own paws.”
My fingers drummed the steering wheel. “You learned English?”
“Watched TV and picked up the language. So much simpler than cat talk. But I can’t use my mouth to make the right noises.”
“Thus the mind thing.” I licked my lips. “So, you can speak to humans?”
“Weren’t you listening? Only owners. A shame, because I wanted to thank Alice for rescuing me.” Marshmallow’s ears flattened. For a brief moment, I wondered about his personal history.
Then the sound of prolonged yipping interrupted my thoughts. I turned my attention back to Russ Nolan. I hoped it wouldn’t take too long for the authorities to rescue the dogs.
I looked at his house. In the strange haze of dusk, it seemed to change color. If Ma were here, she’d call it a bad omen. The house glowed white . . . according to Chinese superstition, the color of death.
CHAPTER
three
I SLEPT LIKE THE dead. Maybe the menta
l trauma from visiting Russ Nolan had overwhelmed my brain. In the morning, I only woke up at half past nine because a series of pings came from my phone:
You wake yet? XOXO Ma
Kopi date in ten minutes.
P.S. His name Deeter. Such nice profile on Excite.
I groaned, threw on the first clothes I saw, and shoved a comatose Marshmallow into his carrier.
“Five minutes,” I guaranteed Marshmallow when I left him in the Prius and entered the coffee shop.
Needing a caffeine boost but hating the jitters of coffee, I ordered a tea. Before doing so, I had a brief look around but didn’t see anyone holding up a rose or using any kind of romantic signal. Then again, Ma had registered me on a dating site called Excite.
Well, I’d at least have some tea if the guy didn’t show up.
Just then I heard the barista call out, “Detour.”
“It’s Deeter,” a scratchy voice said.
Like the barista had said, I wanted to take an alternate route when I saw who had spoken up. A guy with orangey sunless tanner skin and a creepy smile. He wore a sweater tied around his shoulders and penny loafers with actual coins in the slots. Definitely not Josh drool-worthy.
First impressions aren’t everything, I reasoned, and I had promised Ma to give it a try. I went over and tapped him on the arm. “I’m Mimi.”
“Enchanted,” he said. He made to swoop in and kiss my cheek, but I backed away.
The barista called my name, and I grabbed my drink. When I turned around, Deeter had already secured a cozy table in a dim corner.
I joined him but moved my seat a safe distance away. Figuring one cup of tea would take five minutes of conversation, I asked him an easy question. “What do you do?”
“Manage people’s assets.” He patted his shellacked hair. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to use words that went over your pretty little head.”
Two more minutes with him, max. “I understand numbers. My dad’s in finance, and I have my own business.”
“That wasn’t in your profile.” He checked his phone. “Mimi Lee? Haiyaa!”
He made a chopping motion, and I managed to keep the scream inside my head. “Please, no kung fu references.”
“Kidding.” He held up his hands. “Can’t you take a joke?”
“You sure you’re ready to date?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Who said anything about dating?” Looking at his phone, he quoted, “‘You want kopi or not?’ Sounds like a code word to me.”
I almost spit out my drink at him. “Kopi means coffee in Manglish. Malaysian English.”
Draining the rest of my tea, I fiddled with my phone under the table.
“Exotic.” Deeter leaned forward. “You know, I don’t live too far from here.”
The alarm rang on my phone, and I picked it up. Pretending to take a call, I held a conversation with myself: “An emergency? I’ll be right over.”
I ran out the door, not bothering to look back. Once outside, I texted Ma to delete my Excite profile forever. What kind of site had she signed me up for anyway? I’d rather spend the rest of my life with Marshmallow than with that Deet-bag.
In the Prius, I saw the car clock. Ten o’clock already. Crap. I was late to open the store. As we peeled away from the coffee shop, Marshmallow asked, “What? Did you rob the Starbucks?”
Hollywoof didn’t have its own parking lot but shared the metered spaces behind the shops, which made me even tardier. As I bustled across the palm tree–lined plaza, I passed by stores already in full swing. The taco shop had its doors open, and fried fish flavored the air. A table displayed sarongs in front of the swim store. Only the late-night sports bar hadn’t opened up yet.
I sprinted over to Hollywoof, where I saw a suited man with his back to me. He stood peering through my shop window.
The stranger didn’t seem to have a pet with him. And not one strand of fur decorated his dark gray jacket and slacks.
I jingled my keys to get his attention. “Excuse me, can I help you?”
When he turned around, I saw a man about six feet tall with sandy buzz-cut hair. He had hard features with a sharp nose and a square jaw. His light blue eyes reminded me of ice cubes.
“Mimi Lee?” he said. He brushed his sport coat with a subtle move of his hand, and I spied a badge at his waist.
“That’s me.” I scrunched my nose. “Is this about the dog breeder?”
“You could say that.” His voice had an edge to it.
Marshmallow sat at my feet and bristled. “Don’t trust guys who don’t own pets,” he said, as I opened the door to the shop.
I flipped on the lights and welcomed the officer in.
We sat in the waiting area on the pleather benches. I thought Marshmallow might stay near me to provide emotional support, but he strode over to his roost near the plateglass window. Figured.
I frowned at the cat, and the officer caught my look.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
He perched at the edge of his seat. “Here’s my card,” he said, handing his info over.
“‘Detective Brown,’” I read and started trembling. “Homicide division?”
He tapped the shiny badge at his waist. “Yes, and I’m investigating the death of Russ Nolan.”
“What?” I gasped. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marshmallow’s ears prick up.
Detective Brown’s cold eyes gazed into mine. “You were at his house yesterday. A neighbor heard your argument.”
I nodded. I remembered the window slamming shut. “Russ Nolan was mistreating those poor Chihuahuas.”
The detective made a noise in his throat, neither affirming nor denying my claim.
I wiped my suddenly sweaty hands against the pleather. They left a slight streak.
“The neighbor quoted you as saying, ‘You hurt those dogs, and I’ll hurt you.’”
My jaw dropped. “But I didn’t kill him. I meant I’d report his activities to the right agencies.”
Detective Brown straightened up and nodded. “Yes, that’s how we found you so quickly. You filed a complaint with the local police. Intake said you seemed miffed the department couldn’t help you more.”
Shifting in my seat, I said, “I felt annoyed about the paperwork. It could take a long time to go through the red tape.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “So you took justice into your own hands.”
I shook my head. “No, Detective, I didn’t.”
“Do you have an alibi for last night?”
I glanced at Marshmallow. “My cat was with me . . .” If only he could talk to the detective as well. Use his mind powers.
“I see.” Detective Brown gave me a knowing look. “I’m still gathering evidence, but I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes, Detective. Er, have a good day.”
He got up and dusted off his sport coat. With one hard push, he swung the shop door open and left.
I began pacing the floor. Was I a murder suspect? How had this happened?
“Calm down,” Marshmallow said, his eyes following my movements. “You’re making me dizzy.”
I halted and threw my hands up in the air. “You’re the reason I got into this mess. I traipsed through his house because I was running after you.”
I needed to call somebody. Who? Not my parents. They would worry too much. Alice?
She’d be teaching class about now, but I hoped she’d pick up. Her cell went straight to voice mail, so I dialed her classroom number.
After several rings, I got through. I didn’t let her speak as I said, “Alice, I need—”
A shrill voice came down the line. “This is Principal Hallis. You are disrupting this class. To whom am I speaking?”
My mouth opened and closed.
In a fainter voice, I heard the principal say, “Miss Lee, no personal calls during classtime. I thought you’d be more professional.” The line disconnected.
I slumped my shoulders, while Marshmallow licked at his coat without a care in the world.
I pointed at him. “I’m taking you back to the shelter as soon as I can.”
“You’ve got bigger fish to fry. Looks like you’re murder suspect number one.”
He was right. I plunked down on the bench and put my head in my hands.
“Perk up,” Marshmallow continued. “You know a lawyer, right? I saw his card on your nightstand.”
I spluttered. “You can read, too?” And who was he talking about?
“Learned it from closed-captioning. The card said ‘Josh.’”
My cheeks flamed. How could I face him again? But Marshmallow had a point. Josh was a lawyer. Actually, the only attorney I knew.
I looked at Marshmallow. “Okay, I’m keeping you, but only until I clear my name.”
CHAPTER
four
JOSH WORKED IN downtown Los Angeles, which featured an eclectic mix of modern metallic buildings and certified historical gems with detailed artwork sculpted by hand. I navigated across a dizzying array of one-way streets until I located the right address. Giving up on any vacant metered street parking, I opted for one of the lots scattered throughout the urban area.
Josh himself worked in a conservative sandstone building that looked frumpy compared to its gleaming skyscraper neighbors. It was made of dull gray brick, and I was surprised ivy didn’t creep up the edifice’s stodgy walls.
Thank goodness I’d found a spare blouse at Hollywoof and changed out of my usual T-shirt. At least they wouldn’t kick me out of the building on sight. I’d switched outfits, convincing myself I’d changed to better support my plea for Josh’s help.
Mimi Lee Gets a Clue Page 3