“OK.” Jake edged the poodle toward the door. “Everybody out,” he said. “Let the dogs calm down. I’ll call the vet to come and check out both dogs.”
In a few minutes, the fight was over and the crowd slowly dispersed. I saw Rebecca go over and talk to Ted. Had they set up the fight to have some good footage for the show? It seemed the opposite of what Ted would want. But then again he would have film to show that the dogs were being harmed during the production of the show.
As soon as we arrived at the soundstage, we ran into Alice, the vet.
“I forgot my scanner,” she said. “But I could check your dog to see if he has a chip.”
“I don’t know if this is a good time,” I said. I didn’t really want to discuss chips in front of Pepe, so I tried to hurry him along.
“It is always a good time for chips,” said Pepe, slowing down and looking up at her. “I love chips, especially Cheetos.”
“I should be able to tell if he has one,” Alice said, picking him up and running her fingers along his back. She paused, digging her fingers into the folds of loose fur around his neck.
“¡Sí! That is the spot!” said Pepe. “It has always been bumpy.”
Alice looked thoughtful. “Definitely chipped!” she said. “Do you want to feel it?”
“When is she going to give us the chips?” Pepe asked.
“We’ll go get them right now,” I said, taking Pepe away from Alice. “Thank you!” I said.
“I’ll bring my scanner tomorrow,” she said.
“We do not need a scanner for the chips like in the supermarket,” said Pepe. “They have free chips for the taking right here on the craft service table.”
I got Pepe some Cheetos before heading for the costume room. I’d been worried about the costumes for the salsa since they tended to be scanty for the Latin dances. I was right to be worried. While Pepe looked adorable in a glittery vest, my dress was merely a bunch of sequins sewn onto a flesh-colored net. Even worse, I was supposed to wear it with four-inch-high gold heels.
I almost stumbled going down the stairs, and although I managed to regain my composure and get through the number, I was not impressed by our performance. I was shaken by the thought that Pepe really was chipped. And Pepe was off as well. He seemed to be distracted by something that was happening offstage.
Our scores turned out to reflect my opinion. Beverly gave us an eight (“for teamwork”), Miranda gave us a seven (“for good partnering”), and Caprice gave us a six. Pepe was crushed. For the first time, we were in the bottom two and had to stand onstage while the camera zoomed in on our faces. I was trying not to cry. And I could feel Pepe trembling in my arms.
But it was the German shepherd who got sent home. I bet Ted was disappointed. It was the first time a routine he had choreographed—in this case, a disco number—got the lowest scores.
After the performance, there was always a bit of a letdown. We had to go back to makeup and costumes and get everything undone. I always felt more comfortable when I was back in my jeans and a cotton blouse. But Pepe and I were both dejected by our brush with failure. I realized that I was just as invested as Pepe in winning.
We were leaving makeup and heading for the door when Jimmy G came rushing up, yelling, “It’s gotta be here! It’s gotta be here!”
“What?” I asked.
“The package!” he yelled, clutching at his tie as if it were strangling him. “It wasn’t at Klamp’s house, so it’s got to be here!”
“You went to Rodney’s house?”
“What did Jimmy G just say?”
“And he wasn’t there?”
“What? Are you an echo?”
“I guess he wasn’t there,” said Pepe.
“Only the damned police,” said Jimmy G. “And they wanted to know why Jimmy G was on the scene. Seemed to think Klamp might be in some kind of trouble and had the nerve to accuse Jimmy G of gunning for him. Jimmy G will gun for him, for sure, if he made off with my package!” His face was a fiery red, especially his nose. “They took Jimmy G down to the police station and grilled Jimmy G all night. Jimmy G just got out in time for your performance.” He turned and gave me a wink. “Wouldn’t have missed that for anything! You dress up nice, doll!”
“Thanks.”
“Jimmy G did get a chance to look around before the coppers showed up. No package anywhere. So either that Klamp made off with it, or it’s still here somewhere.”
He looked around. Most of the lights were off, creating dark shadows around the edges of the soundstage.
“Where did you last see the package?” Jimmy G asked. “It was back here somewhere, right?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing to the greenroom. “I set it down in the greenroom. I asked Rodney to put it someplace safe. If Rodney picked it up and moved it, he could have put it anywhere.”
Jimmy G scoured the greenroom, then headed for the area behind it, which also happened to be the place where the techs piled all of the equipment that was either broken or not in use. There were canvases and ladders, coils of wire, and banks of lights. Jimmy G dove into the pile and started pushing things around, making a terrible clatter.
“Stop it! You’ll get us in trouble!” I looked around, sure that someone would come running thanks to all the noise Jimmy G was making. But then it got worse.
“Good God Almighty!” Jimmy G shrieked. He had thrown back a canvas, and now he stared down at the object he had uncovered. He looked at me, his face a pale moon in the dim light of the corner. I heard footsteps running toward us.
“What is it?” I said. “Did you find the package?”
“No, he did not,” said Pepe.
“No, Jimmy G found a body!”
Chapter 17
“Step away, Geri!” said Pepe. He tried to nudge me backward. He had already run forward to inspect Jimmy G’s find, then back to me.
I ignored him. Hadn’t I already seen two dead bodies during our last case? I considered myself hardened. But I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I finally inched forward, with Pepe tucked firmly under my arm.
It was Jake, the Certified Animal Safety Representative, sprawled on the floor. His face was purple, his eyes bulging, his tongue protruding. A choke chain was wrapped around his neck. I turned away, sickened.
About the same time, a few other crew members arrived on the scene, responding to Jimmy G’s strangled shriek. Someone dialed 911. Someone went to get Rebecca. No one tried to resuscitate Jake, not even the EMTs when they arrived. It was quite clear to everyone that he was dead.
“Who was that guy?” Jimmy G asked as he sat on a chair, his hands on his belly, trying to calm his heaving stomach.
“Jake. I don’t know his last name. He is, he was, the Certified Animal Safety Representative,” I said.
“Do you think he found Jimmy G’s package?” he asked.
“Wow! There must be something really valuable in that package,” I said, “if you think people are getting murdered for it.”
Jimmy G put his forefinger up against his lips. “Keep it on the hush-hush, babe. Jimmy G didn’t mention the package to the police. Not good for them to know Jimmy G’s business.”
“Don’t you think that’s a mistake?” I said.
“Private dicks and the police don’t mix,” said Jimmy G. “Like cats and dogs. Always been that way. Always will be.”
The same detectives who investigated Nigel’s murder came back for this homicide: Sam Scott, the tall blond Nordic type, and his partner who looked like Kyra Sedgwick. This time, she was wearing a gray pencil skirt and a navy polka-dot blouse with a navy blue cardigan and a pencil tucked into her French twist.
Scott took charge of the crime scene and ordered everyone back, but people still milled around the edges of the yellow crime scene tape that had been strung up by one of the uniformed LAPD patrolmen who was first on the scene.
“Why would anybody want to kill an hombre who cared so much about the welfare of us perros?” aske
d Pepe.
Rebecca, who had been pacing back and forth, provided a possible answer to Pepe’s question. “Somebody’s trying to sabotage my show!”
“What makes you say that?” Scott asked, slipping underneath the crime scene tape and coming up to her, small notepad in hand.
“Dos muertos,” said Pepe, “could easily equal sabotage.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rebecca told Scott. “What else could it be? First, Nigel St. Nigel and now Jake.”
“That is what I was saying,” said Pepe.
“Can you keep your dog quiet?” Scott told me. It was more of an order than a question.
“Shhhh!” I told my pooch. “You need to stop kibitzing.”
He looked up at me. “I fail to understand what an Israeli collective has to do with anything.”
“That’s a kibbutz,” I told him. “Now be quiet. Do you want us to get kicked out of here?”
“I was only observing,” said Pepe. “Is that not what we private detectives do?”
“That’s it!” shouted Scott, turning on me and Pepe. “Get back!”
“Fine by me,” said Pepe. “The smell of los muertos disagrees with my appetite—and it is getting on to dinnertime.”
“But nobody leaves,” the detective said. “I’ll want to question each of you individually.”
The uniformed police separated us and told us not to talk to each other. There weren’t many of us: me and Pepe and Jimmy G and Robyn from the costume shop. Two of the cameramen were also present, as were one of the grips and Rebecca. She was furious. Or else she concealed her fear beneath anger. She paced back and forth, muttering loudly to herself.
Just then there was a commotion at the door.
“I tell you, I have important information for the police!” It was the screechy voice of Miranda Skarbos. She pushed her way past the policeman on duty and stormed down the aisle. She was dressed in her usual gypsy Bohemian getup: a full black skirt with a ragged edge, a glittery sequined top, and a tight black satin jacket. A long red scarf was looped around her neck many times. Her wild, bushy gray hair streamed behind her. As she waved her bony hands in the air, the fringe on her scarf quivered.
Scott frowned. He motioned to one of the policemen who tried to stop Miranda, but she breezed right by him and headed for the scene of the crime.
“Who is this?” asked Scott.
“She’s an animal psychic,” I said. “She’s one of the judges on the show.”
“It happened here!” She strode dramatically over to the area where Jimmy G had found Jake’s body.
“Of course she knows where he was found,” said Pepe. “It is obvious from the yellow crime scene tape.”
“Since when did you become a skeptic?” I asked.
“Since she gave us such a low score for our salsa,” Pepe replied.
“Ma’am, stay back behind the tape,” Scott said.
“I received a message telling me I needed to return. There is a traumatized spirit here, calling out to me.” Miranda looked around, her gray frizzled hair flying. “I can see the fear she felt, the loud voices, the frenzy of the killer, the heated words, angry words!”
The two detectives looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
“Ma’am, the victim is a man!” said Scott.
“I’m not talking about him!” Miranda dismissed the corpse with a wave of her hand. “I’m talking about the dog. She was scared. This man came to her rescue. And then she had to watch as her persecutor choked him to death.”
“Dog? There were no dogs in the vicinity, were there?” Scott asked.
Everyone looked around. But Pepe was the only dog in sight.
“He’s been with me all night,” I said.
“This is a female dog,” said Miranda, closing her eyes and swaying back and forth. “A small dog. A precious little soul, a furry little love bomb.”
“Siren Song!” said Pepe with a sigh. Then he began to wriggle in my arms. “Put me down, Geri!” he commanded.
I did as he asked, and he dashed over to the crime scene, where he began sniffing around, his head moving back and forth.
“Get that dog out of here!” Scott said. “He’s contaminating the crime scene.”
“Pepe, come!” I said, but my command sounded feeble, and Pepe ignored me. I tried again, “Pepe, come!” then remembered what Felix had taught me in the one training session I had: “Never deliver the same command twice. Wait until he performs the command, then reward him.”
I waited but still he did not respond. Finally, as one of the detectives was about to scoop him up, he came running back to me.
“It was Siren Song,” he said. “She was frightened, as this woman says. We must find her!”
Miranda was going on. “She is surrounded by darkness. She is confused, unable to move. She’s so frightened. She is begging us to rescue her.”
“I will rescue you, Siren Song,” Pepe declared.
“Could it be Siren Song?” I asked Rebecca.
She looked worried. “She should be with Luis,” she said. She pulled out her cell phone and hit one button. Evidently, Luis answered quickly. There was a long pause; then Rebecca frowned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Right?” Another pause. “Ridiculous!” she snapped. “I’ll deal with this later!” Then she clicked her phone shut and turned to Scott. “My dog is back at the hotel room and she’s fine. In fact, she’s sleeping. My assistant just went and checked on her.”
“Get this woman out of here!” Scott commanded, gesturing at Miranda.
I felt sorry for her as she was hustled away, protesting that she had been sent to deliver a message from this troubled dog.
The police took me and Pepe and Jimmy G to Parker Center to ask us more questions, since we had been the ones to find the body. I didn’t have much to add. When they asked me if I knew anyone who would want to harm Jake, Pepe suggested I tell them about the confrontation between Ted and Jake, but I didn’t want to say anything until I had a chance to talk to Ted.
Pepe wanted to rush back to the hotel and check on Siren Song as soon as we were released, but Jimmy G was hungry and insisted on getting something to eat. I agreed. Even Pepe was persuaded when Jimmy G mentioned Pink’s.
“I have been there many times with Caprice,” he said. “Usually late at night after some serious partying. It is one of the best places in L.A. to see and be seen.”
Chapter 18
Pink’s looked just like any other hot dog stand, except for the long lines of people standing outside, people of all sizes, shapes, ages, and races. Young women in skimpy sequin dresses and high heels giggling as they tried to cram the foot-long dogs into their mouths. And also some guys on Harleys with gray beards and leather jackets.
Jimmy G was impressed. While I read down the menu trying to find something without meat, he saw some guy walking away with what looked like a chili dog on steroids. It must have weighed a couple of pounds and was piled high with everything from guacamole and sour cream to heaps of shredded cheddar, onions, and fresh salsa.
“That’s for me!” said Jimmy G.
I finally ordered a vegan dog I found at the bottom of the menu. Pepe wanted a plain hot dog and bun. “I am a purist,” he said. “And when speaking to me, please refer to it as a frankfurter, por favor. I do not eat dogs, hot or otherwise.”
We got our food and found a seat at one of the many picnic tables set up around the place. I offered to cut up Pepe’s frankfurter for him, but he declined, saying, “Gracias, but I have sharp teeth. Besides, I like to hear it squeak when I bite into it.”
“So,” I asked my boss as he shoveled huge mouthfuls of chili dog into his face, “what happened? You were at Rodney’s house and ran into the police?”
“They ran into Jimmy G is more like it,” he said, a stray chili bean rolling down his chin and back onto his plate. “Damned cops! Barely got into the house and found the place trashed, like somebody had torn it all up searching for something. Which is what Jimmy G was do
ing, but, of course, no Rodney or my package anywhere to be found.”
“Somebody had tossed the casa?” asked Pepe.
“The house had been ransacked?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Jimmy G. “Then in come the flatfeet like gangbusters, and it’s ‘Freeze!’ and ‘Hands up!’ and ‘On your knees!’ and they’re slapping on the handcuffs and trying to make Jimmy G’s face part of the carpet.”
“Gee,” I said.
“Gee isn’t the half of it,” said my boss.
“They must have thought you were a burglar, huh?” I asked. “So what happened?”
“They took Jimmy G down to the station and grilled him, like he said. Hours and hours but they never broke your boss. Told them Jimmy G was a PI working a case. Went to that particular address. Found the gate open and the front door open and went in to look around. What could they say?” He took another big bite of his chili dog and chewed it thoughtfully. “No evidence to link Jimmy G to any crime.”
“So they let you go.”
“They said Jimmy G is a person of interest and shouldn’t leave town,” he said. “They also said that Washington private eyes don’t have reprisossity . . .” He stopped and tried again. “Recipe-osse?”
“You mean reciprocity?”
“Something like that. Anyway it means Jimmy G can’t investigate while here.” He wolfed down the last of his chili dog and added, “Something fishy going on with all this, that’s all Jimmy G knows.”
“Did the cops have any information about Rodney?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “That’s what had them worried. Guy disappeared. No sign of him. Did he clean out the place and make off with a bunch of items that didn’t belong to him? Or was he the victim of a crime?”
“Still,” said Pepe, “it is very hinky.”
“Hinky, huh?” I said to my dog. “When did you ever start using a word like hinky?”
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