“I’m free tomorrow.”
I nodded. “I can make that work.” I turned to Grey. “Can you watch the shop with Betty?”
He smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The front door opened, and in stalked Detective Judd Malone, six feet and some inches of unyielding law enforcement. His dark jeans, black shirt, and black leather jacket didn’t alter that initial impression one iota. Dang. I swallowed hard, sending Grey serious side-eye. Hopefully, Malone was here to talk to Betty, who was conveniently out.
“Detective.” I shot him my best nothing-to-see-over-here smile.
“Melinda.” His poker-face expression was all business. He looked at Grey. “Donovan. I was told I might find you here.”
“You found me.” Grey might have sounded affable, but I recognized that look of stone-cold sober resistance and the flex in his jaw.
Malone’s gaze bounced between Grey and me. I knew what he was thinking. It’s what everyone thought when they saw the two of us together.
“No, we’re not back on. Have you met Colin Sellers? Colin, this is Homicide Detective Malone. Laguna’s finest.”
Colin cleared his throat and smiled tentatively. “Ah, nice . . . ah, good, to meet you.”
Malone had that effect on people. That split second of mentally running through your entire life wondering if there was anything he could arrest you for.
Malone nodded and managed to get out a “Nice to meet you,” before he turned his attention to Grey. “Got a minute?”
Grey looked at me. “Can we use your office?”
I tried my best to not look nervous, but my fake smile didn’t stick. I didn’t know why I was worried. Just because Grey and Mason had an argument in my store the day before Mason was found dead, had nothing to do with Malone looking for Grey. “Sure.” My voice broke. “Help yourselves.”
They headed to my office leaving me and Colin alone.
“Are you and the detective friends?” he asked.
“Er, I wouldn’t say friends.” I watched the office door close behind Grey. Nope, definitely not friends. Heck, we were approaching the friendly stage. You know, where I stopped poking my nose into his murder investigations, and he stopped threatening to throw me in jail.
“Oh, I thought I detected some type of familiarity between you.”
“Because he called me by my first name?”
He nodded.
“Let’s just say our paths have crossed a time or two.”
“In a social setting?”
“Not exactly.” I wished he would stop talking long enough for me to see if I could overhear the conversation in my office.
“You’ve needed him in a professional capacity?”
I shrugged. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“He’s serious.”
“As a heart attack. He’s fair, but can also suffer from tunnel vision.”
As eager as I was to grill Darby’s new boyfriend, I wanted to hear what Malone was talking about with Grey more. I had a bad feeling this was one of those times Malone’s single-mindedness could be a problem. It was time to switch gears and get rid of Colin. I could grill him about Darby another time.
I rubbed my hands together and smiled brightly. “So about you and Missy, let’s do it.”
He returned my smile. “That’s great. I think I can help you both.”
Wonderful. Now he sounded like Caro. It’s not the dog that needs to be trained, but the human.
We agreed he’d come to my place at nine the next morning. He assured me it wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes for the initial meeting, and I assured him I wasn’t worried about the time. I rushed him and his happy-go-lucky Golden out the door before quietly making my way toward the office. I pressed myself against the wall and tiptoed toward the door.
At first I couldn’t hear anything but muffled voices over my own nervous breathing.
I managed to even out my breaths in time to hear Grey say, “No.” I grimaced. His tone was closed off and annoyed. This little confab was definitely not social in nature.
“So you . . .” mumble, mumble, mumble, “original and he,” mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble. “You could tell this how?”
“It’s my job.”
“Where were you this morning between seven and ten?”
Crapola. I heard that question loud and clear.
“Home.”
“Anyone with you?”
“No.”
I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Having been on the receiving end of a Malone questioning, I knew their conversation was not swinging in Grey’s favor.
“When was the last time . . . ?” I didn’t need to hear Malone finish that sentence. I was certain he’d asked about the last time Grey had talked to Mason.
I couldn’t make out Grey’s response, but it was short. Malone asked him another question, but again, I couldn’t make out the words. I moved closer to the door and pressed my ear against the wall.
“Cookie, what are you doing?” Betty called out.
I jumped, whacking my head against the wall. I spun around and raced toward Betty before Malone and Grey opened the door to investigate the noise.
“Shh!”
Betty set a large bag of food on the counter. “Are we eavesdropping? Who’s in there?” She wasn’t very good at whispering.
“We are doing no such thing.” My head was still spinning from hitting it against the wall. I motioned for her to stay at the counter, but she ignored me and headed in my direction. I blocked her path, keeping her from reaching the office door.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I stalled.
“Kinda hard with your ear stuck to the door.” She narrowed her eyes and glared up at me. “Who are we spying on?”
Before I could answer, the office door swung open. Betty peered around me. She inhaled sharply as the men exited the office.
“I’ll throw the sandwiches at them while you make a break for it.”
“Just act normal.” Once the words left my mouth I knew I’d said the wrong thing.
“Don’t you worry. I got this.” She pushed past me. “Detective, I’ve been meaning to hook up with you.”
I swear I could hear Malone groan in dread. “Mrs. Foxx, I trust you’re not harassing my officers.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m thinking about getting my PI license.”
Everyone froze.
“No,” Malone ordered.
Grey’s eyes widened, but he knew enough to stay silent.
Betty propped a hand on her hip. “I haven’t even asked you my question.”
“There’s no need. The answer is still no.”
“I need a recommendation,” Betty continued to rattle on, undeterred. “And since I’ve helped you solve a number of murders recently, don’t you think you owe me a small favor?”
Malone worked his jaw. I held my breath, worried he might just throw Betty in jail just to keep her off the streets.
“No,” he snapped. “Donovan. Melinda.” Without another word he brushed past Betty and me, and stalked out the front door.
“He’ll come around.” Betty grinned. “I haven’t met a man yet who can say no to me.”
Chapter Six
FOR AS LONG AS I could remember, my mama had always told me most problems could be solved with a new lipstick or a “refresh” home project. Unlike my mama, I didn’t enjoy major renovations in order to “freshen up” my home. That’s what paint, curtains, and throw pillows were for. Since I loved my cozy home the way it was, I stopped by the drug store on the way home and picked up some lip gloss and a shea-and-coco-butter bath bomb.
I was dying to know what Malone and Grey had discussed. Grey had
been closed-mouthed about the whole conversation other than saying Malone had asked the typical questions. And since I had been questioned by the homicide detective on more than one occasion, he said I knew how the conversation went. I didn’t know why he felt the need to bring up my interrogation history with Malone. It wasn’t as if Laguna’s first dead body had showed up after I moved to town a few years earlier.
Grey was correct. I knew Malone’s standard investigation questions. What I didn’t know was how Grey had answered. Since we weren’t involved, I didn’t feel I had the right to press. For now. One of the perks of him using my shop for surveillance was that there would be many more opportunities to ask him about it.
Missy was excited to see me. I loved her up and took her for a quick walk so she could take care of her business. Once we returned to the house, I whipped up a quick Mediterranean grilled cheese sandwich and poured myself a glass of pinot grigio.
I flipped on the television to keep Missy and me company as we cuddled on the couch—for free—and I ate dinner. The weather forecast was typical for this time of year, a high of mid-eighties, mostly sunny, with occasional morning fog.
When MacAvoy’s tanned face and flashy white smile filled my screen, I choked on my sandwich.
“Cut back on the teeth whitening and fake tanning, Bud. You look like you’ve rolled in a bag a Cheetos,” I told him through the television. He must have had a high school girl apply the thick veil of bronzer.
His listen-to-me-I’m-important announcer voice immediately set my teeth on edge. The piece he was reporting must have been the story he’d filed yesterday. True to his word, he referred to Grey without mentioning his name. He stated Mason had had a heated argument with a local art gallery owner the day before he died, which may or may not have anything to do with Mason’s fall down the stairs. The police were still investigating and had not made an official determination yet, but had not ruled out foul play. If anyone had information, they were to notify the police.
I jumped up off the couch, startling Missy awake. She tumbled to the floor, then shook until her soft jowls jiggled. “You reckless news hack.” I glared at the screen.
I tromped into the kitchen, then tossed my plate on the counter and watched it wobble toward the sink. With a sigh of frustration I refilled my wine glass. In the words of my Grandma Tillie, I was in a horn-tossing mood.
“I dare you to come back to my shop and ask me questions, MacAvoy.”
A RESTLESS NIGHT’S sleep didn’t improve my mood. But a chai latte, passing marks from Colin Sellers, and a morning romp at the dog park with Missy made a decent start.
As we’d agreed, Colin had come by the house first to meet Missy at home. Missy had briefly sniffed Colin, experiencing him as any curious dog would. He had asked me to stay close but to not interact unless he instructed. For a second, he’d sounded as bossy as Caro. I didn’t make him any promises. It had gone well enough that we moved to the dog park where his Golden Goose would join us.
The Bark Park, a couple of acres of fenced-in grass nestled in the Laguna Canyon, was as popular with humans as it was with their dogs. Once inside the double gate, Goose and Missy had greeted each other with the typical formal dog sniff. Within minutes, Goose had been distracted by a random tennis ball bouncing past us. Colin whistled for his Golden to return to our pack. The longer the four of us interacted as a group, the more tolerant the two dogs became of each other.
I watched Colin play with Missy and Goose. Colin’s smile was just as goofy as his dog’s. Missy, not being a lover of mindlessly retrieving a ball without some type of food reward for more than a handful of minutes, found a bright patch of sunlight to stretch out and chill. In Missy’s world, that translated into napping.
After inspecting the grass, ensuring it was free of doggie “presents,” Colin had sweetly stretched out next to her, careful to never touch her, but letting her know he was there. After a couple of minutes she rolled to her back and presented her belly for a good rub. He’d won her over without offering her a treat. It was impressive. Of course, she was also a sucker for a good belly rub. Colin looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Missy was snoring.
We agreed he’d come to the house each afternoon to spend ninety minutes with Missy, starting that afternoon. Yes, that included cuddle time. I guess I was a sucker for anyone who wanted to treat my dog like their own.
Colin and Goose left to meet their next client, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who needed a morning potty break, a walk, and a hot breakfast of lamb and rice. Definitely sounded like the life fit for a king’s loyal companion. Missy and I loaded up into the Jeep so I could take her home before I headed to the boutique.
As we pulled away from the Bark Park, my cell phone rang.
I pressed the hands-free button to answer. “Hello?”
“Melinda Langston? Evan Dodd.” His voice was wobbly, tone uncertain. “I worked for Mason. As his bookkeeper.”
“Oh, hello.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, bracing for bad news.
“I have a check for you,” he squeaked out.
“Really?”
“Let me clarify. It’s for the charity Angels for Paws.”
Well, Hell’s Bells. Quinn was going to clean up Mason’s mess after all. To be honest, I had expected she’d make me beg to get that check judging by her earlier comments. If I hadn’t been driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, I’d have performed a happy dance.
At his suggestion, we agreed to meet at the Koffee Klatch an hour later. I assumed he wanted to meet there because Hot Handbags Boutique was still being processed by the crime scene team. That made me a wee bit anxious. If that were the case, then Mason probably hadn’t fallen, but had been pushed down the stairs.
If true, Betty was right, and someone owed her twenty dollars. That in itself was alarming, but more importantly it explained Malone seeking out Grey for a “conversation.” I told myself it meant nothing, but deep down I knew that was a lie. A “conversation” with Malone always meant something. Always.
I pulled in to my driveway and shut off the Jeep. Missy and I jumped out and hustled inside. I tossed her a couple of her favorite homemade paw print peanut butter snacks. She knew I was bribing her, but she was also a dog, so she inhaled the treats regardless, with only the tiniest of reproachful expressions. I left a note for Colin on the potty route Missy enjoyed the most and asked him to send me a couple of photos. Out of guilt, I set an additional two treats on a plate for Colin to give to Missy later that afternoon.
I hopped back in the Jeep and headed for the Koffee Klatch, my favorite coffee shop in town, to meet Evan. Once I had the check in hand, that would leave me only five thousand dollars to reach our donation goal.
I had contemplated asking Colin if he had a couple thousand he’d like to cough up. I was certain he’d be a sucker to support an organization that trained seizure response dogs, but he didn’t strike me as the type with an overflowing bank account. Maybe it had been today’s outfit of thrift store jeans, generic gray hoodie, and sneakers that had given off that impression. However, I knew a number of poorly dressed billionaires, so that impression was probably my fashion snobbery. Colin was a guy who was doing what he loved, not a slave to the almighty dollar. It was admirable. I understood Darby’s attraction to him.
I arrived at the coffee shop and realized I had no idea what Evan Dodd looked like. While I waited in line to order, I glanced around the café looking for anyone I didn’t recognize or who looked like a bookkeeper with a quivery voice.
Not exactly sure what a bookkeeper looked like, I didn’t think the stereotypical image would have tattoo sleeves, look like a gym rat, or dress like a street performer. That left the six-foot-something, thin, curly-haired guy with glasses standing in the back of the shop who looked like he was about to bolt at the first sign of possible trouble.
My favor
ite barista, Verdi, was at the counter and had already called out my drink before I could order—just one of the perks of ordering the same drink for years. Verdi also worked for Caro as a receptionist. They’d had a few adventures of their own. I don’t remember all the details, but I believe a while back, Caro had helped clear Verdi’s brother of murder charges.
What can I say? Solving crime runs in the family.
I picked up my drink, left a generous tip for Verdi, and headed for my possible Evan at a table in the back. When I made eye contact with him, he nervously readjusted his round rimmed glasses, which were just a little too big for his face. Wouldn’t I be embarrassed if the hunk in the white tank top with the rippling muscles was really a bookkeeper in disguise? Nah, I felt confident in my choice.
“Evan?” I asked, with a reassuring smile.
He nodded. “Melinda? Thanks for meeting me.” He motioned for us to sit at the table.
I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t have an abundance of time to sit back and chat for an hour. Although for a five-grand donation, I’d take an hour coffee break if asked. He left me the chair with my back to the room, which made me uncomfortable. Grey had taught me well over the years to be aware of my surroundings. I dragged the chair around the table closer to Evan so I could see who was coming and going.
Evan’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “I—I have a girlfriend,” he blurted.
I blinked. What an odd man. “Congratulations?”
He motioned between us. “You’re sitting very close.”
I smiled. “I don’t like my back to the door. It’s just a thing. Don’t worry about it.”
He didn’t look one hundred percent convinced, but he dropped it. “Quinn says you’re spearheading a donation drive for dogs, this Paws for Angels group.”
I furrowed my brows. “Not exactly. I take it you haven’t heard of the organization? They train response dogs, or assistance dogs, for people with seizures.”
“Are they affiliated with the Animal Rescue League?”
“No. It’s a separate organization, but there’s a group of us who volunteer at the ARL who also support Paws for Angels. The organization needs to raise about fifty thousand dollars each year to cover costs since they don’t charge their clients for the response dogs. The Laguna Mobster Film Festival event next month is a new fundraiser for them. The opening event is pet friendly. The theme is to bring your pooch dressed as your favorite mob character.”
The Dogfather Page 7