The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  A quick smile peeked out. “That sounds like fun.”

  “You should purchase a ticket.” He looked like a penny pincher, so I didn’t mention the cost of a ticket was two hundred bucks a pop. “Do you have a dog?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m allergic.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “There are a number of hypoallergenic breeds looking for forever homes. Terriers, Poodles, Bichon Frise, Chinese Crested—”

  “Chinese Crested . . . those are hairless dogs?” He scrunched his face in disgust. “They look like alien pets.”

  “They’re unique looking,” I corrected. “And very emotionally attached to their humans.” Probably a perfect choice for him.

  He shifted in his chair. “I don’t think my girlfriend would like one. How would you pet them? They don’t have hair.”

  “You can still pet them. A dog’s belly doesn’t have hair, but you rub their belly anyway.”

  He looked confused. I changed the subject back to the reason we were meeting. “So you said you had a check for me?”

  He quickly transformed from nerdy geek to confident, bookish geek. “I do. I wasn’t convinced I should hand over such a large sum of money, but now that we’ve spoken, I think this donation is worthwhile. I will need a receipt with Paws and Angels—”

  “Paws for Angels,” I corrected. I sure hope he had the correct name on the check. I was losing confidence in Mason’s bookkeeper.

  “Right. The receipt needs their Federal Identification Number.”

  “Of course. Once I give the check to the treasurer, she’ll mail that to you.”

  He reached for a briefcase at his feet that I hadn’t noticed until that moment and fished around inside. So much for being aware of my surroundings. He pulled out an envelope and held it in front of me without actually handing it to me. Almost as if he were taunting me with the donation, expecting me to perform a trick.

  “Why does Quinn dislike you? You seem rather pleasant to me.”

  I did a double take. Quinn didn’t like me? “You’d have to ask her.”

  All this time I had chalked up her chilly temperament and curt responses to her poor impression of a reality TV Laguna housewife. When all along it really was me she didn’t like.

  He made a face. “I have, uh, well sort of . . .” He cleared his throat. “I mean, she’s not one to explain. She’s closed mouth about such things.”

  Not that closed mouth if she’d blabbed to Evan about her dislike of me. And how discreet could Evan be if he was spilling client secrets to a stranger? I was finished talking about Quinn’s inner circle. I plucked the check out of Evan’s fingers before he stumbled upon a reason to keep it.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He adjusted his glasses again. “Ultimately, it’s what Mason wanted.”

  “We appreciate that you honored his request.” I opened the envelope to check the amount and name on the check. Seeing it was correct, I tucked the envelope inside my tote bag.

  “Were you and Mason close?” I asked, taking the opportunity to learn more about who Mason really was.

  “As close as anyone could be to him.”

  I took a sip of my chai. “What do you mean?”

  He lowered his voice. “He was charming until he didn’t get his way. Then he wasn’t very easy to get along with. He had a rather child-like temper.”

  I scoffed. “I caught a glimpse of it. I had no idea he could fly off the handle like that.”

  He tugged off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a cloth he pulled out of his front pocket. “He wasn’t all he appeared to be.”

  Interesting choice of words. If he wasn’t what he appeared, what was he like in private? Surely he had enemies. “It had to be hard working with someone like that.”

  “It had its challenges.” He took a drink of his coffee. I took it as an end to that topic.

  I moved on to a new line of questioning. “Has the boutique reopened?”

  “I believe by this afternoon. There was some talk about the police needing more time to process the area.”

  “So I guess the police are leaning towards foul play,” I said, nonchalantly.

  He stood abruptly. “I wouldn’t know. I’m an accountant, not a forensic scientist.”

  Hey, I wasn’t either of those, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out if the cops were processing your business and wouldn’t let you have access, there was more going on than a simple tumble down the stairs. And not to be picky, but I think he meant he wasn’t a forensic investigator.

  I stood and grabbed my cup of chai. “You were probably one of the closest people, other than Quinn, to Mason. You might know if someone wanted to hurt him.”

  Evan’s eye twitched nervously. “If I think of someone, I’ll be sure to let the police know.”

  He sure didn’t look like a guy who was willing to answer police questions about his deceased client. Perhaps I was reading too much into all his ticks and twitches and he was just a Nervous Nelly by nature.

  “Thank you again for the donation,” I said. “We appreciate it. If you decide you want to attend, give me a call.”

  He gave a half smile. “You really do seem to be a nice person, although you ask a lot of questions. Maybe you and Quinn just got off on the wrong foot.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I was thinking about dropping off a card and flowers. Do you think she’d appreciate the gesture?”

  Okay, I hadn’t thought about any such thing until he kept saying Quinn didn’t like me. The idea of seeing her wasn’t about antagonizing her, but I wasn’t above annoying her. I wanted to know more about Mason’s death, especially if it wasn’t an accident. I know, I was supposed to stay out of it. But with Grey’s involvement due to MacAvoy’s awful “news” report, I was finding it difficult to keep my nose clean.

  He pushed his lips together. “Hard to say.” He leaned closer unexpectedly and whispered, “Just between you and me, they weren’t getting along lately. The card might be too sympathetic. Anytime Mason wanted to get back on her good side, he’d bring her a bouquet of roses. White.”

  “I appreciate the advice.”

  As grateful as I was to be off the hook for a card full of false sympathetic words, I wasn’t romancing her, so white roses were off the table. A nice arrangement of wild flowers should get me an audience with Quinn. I was curious about her and Mason’s relationship.

  As the old saying goes, when there’s foul play afoot, the spouse is always the prime suspect.

  Chapter Seven

  AFTER A QUICK stop at the drug store to pick up a box of Latex gloves, another Betty request, I stopped by Darby’s studio to tell her I’d hired Colin. I was grateful for her recommendation, but even more thankful that Darby had a decent man in her life. The studio was closed, so I sent her a quick text filling her in and asking if she wanted to meet up for lunch. Before I got caught up in the activities of the day, I shot a text to Ella with Angels with Paws letting her know I had Mason’s donation, and I would drop the check off later that day.

  I arrived at the boutique shortly after eleven to find Betty had opened on time and we already had a handful of customers. Grey was nowhere to be seen.

  After making sure our customers had everything they needed, especially the couple with the handsome Australian Shepherd, I went to the office to tuck the donation check safely away until I was ready to deliver it. I pushed open the office door and caught my breath.

  I took a couple of steps inside then stopped, taking in the view. Betty had taken it upon herself to rearrange my desk. My seemingly disorderly piles of invoices, special orders, and merchandise ideas had disappeared. My usual messy desk was now clutter free. How in the world was I going to find anything? I turned around only to find Betty blocking the doorway. She reached for the box of
gloves I held.

  I yanked my hand back. “Why?” It was the only word that came to mind.

  Her sunset-orange-colored eyebrows, which significantly clashed with her periwinkle loungewear, lifted questioningly. “Did you want to clean up the mess Jax left by the plush throw toys? It’s a doozy.”

  Jax must have been the Australian Shepherd. I pointed to my desk. “Why did you do this?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you so cross, Cookie?”

  “I’m not cross. I’m annoyed.”

  “Oh, there’s a difference?” she mumbled loud enough for me to hear. “You can fill me on how those are nothing alike later. Gimme the gloves.”

  “How am I going to find anything? You’ve moved my papers, invoices, notes, and stashed them who knows where—”

  Betty slipped past me with a shake of her head. “I shoved them in that top drawer over there. My new partner in crime stopped by earlier and said he needed a place to take care of his gallery work. He called it a ‘hot desk.’” She snorted. “A hot desk for a hot guy. If you know what I mean.”

  I wasn’t finding her amusing at the moment. Hot desk? There was no way I was rotating my desk space with anyone. Not even Grey. He was not going to come in here and take over my office.

  “There’s no need to give him that much space. You cleaned off my entire desk. He’s only going to be here for a couple of weeks. How much room does one laptop take up?”

  “My new partner needs a place to work. And you weren’t in a hurry to give him that.”

  “That’s not true,” I lied automatically.

  “You’re hidin’ something, and so is that handsome man of yours. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons for keeping your secrets, but don’t lie to me.” A tinge of hurt hid behind her confused tone.

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her feelings. “It was very thoughtful of you to help Grey, and you’re right. I’m not in a hurry to let him into my private space. But it’s not a secret why.”

  “Sure, sure,” she said.

  I could feel her watching me intently as I pulled out a stack of paperwork she’d shoved into the drawer. Grey had his work cut out for him keeping Betty in the dark about his secret life.

  “You ever gonna forgive him for breaking your heart?”

  “Already forgiven. It’s just time to move on, and it’s hard to do that with him hanging around.” I exhaled, releasing my frustration. It wasn’t Betty’s fault Grey was ramrodding his way back into my life and I was confused about how I felt about it. “You should go take care of our customers.”

  “Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “While I have your attention,” she began, “are you ready to talk about your grandmother’s ugly brooch? I hid it away in my bank safety deposit box. You just let me know when you’ve changed your mind and aren’t going to give it to that sassy cousin of yours, and I’ll take you to it.”

  I sized her up. “That’s what you said last month. It’s my brooch. I don’t need to prove anything.” I handed her the box of gloves and motioned for her to leave. “Let’s go take care of our customers.”

  “Lookie here, Cookie. I didn’t convince that crazy Mrs. Swanson into handing the brooch to me, just to have you turn it over to Carol,” she said over her shoulder as we made our way to the front of the store. “If I wanted her to have it, I’d have let her deal with those two on her own.”

  I ignored that she had purposely gotten Caro’s name wrong. It was just Betty’s way. But it was her fault the Swansons had the heirloom in the first place. Had she not lost it while we were glamping, it would be safely hidden away somewhere at my house. Only she had lost it, and Mr. Swanson had found it. The old coot had a gambling problem, and once he’d learned the true value of the brooch, instead of returning it to the rightful owner—me—the rat had tried to auction it off to Caro and me. No way either of us was about to buy something that belonged to us in the first place.

  When we didn’t fall for his scheme, Betty had gone behind our backs, paid Mrs. Swanson a visit when her husband was out, and convinced her to hand the brooch to Betty.

  I lowered my voice. “No one asked you to poke your nose into our feud.”

  Somehow Betty had it in her head that she was the one to decide the rightful owner of my grandmother’s brooch. Caro and I had spent more years than I cared to count fighting, arguing, and stealing the antique pin from each other. Now Betty held it hostage.

  She scoffed. “Someone needed to save you from yourself.”

  What?

  “I found the gloves,” she announced to Jax and his human parents. Betty pulled a glove out of the box she carried and tugged it over her hand. With a loud snap of the glove, she announced she was ready.

  “We’re so sorry,” the short brunette apologized unnecessarily. “Jax is normally better behaved. My husband already took care of it.” She held up a roll of doggie waste bags.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It happens more than you’d think. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

  Jax and his parents blissfully rummaged through the larger dog toys.

  The gentleman looked up and smiled. “You have a nice selection.”

  “We just got in a new shipment of treat jars.” Betty pointed to the display with her gloved hand. “Hottest item in town.”

  His lips twitched. “We’ll be sure to check them out.”

  “You might want to take off the glove,” I said to Betty.

  “I think I’ll clean off the counter first. I’m gloved and ready to clean.” She made her way behind the counter. She grabbed the glass cleaner and rag and started to wipe down the glass top in a tiny circular motion.

  I followed her. “What did you mean by someone needed to save me?”

  “You were gonna throw in the towel. Why would you stop fighting for your inheritance?”

  “Where did you get that crazy idea?”

  She stopped her baby circles. “You said you were going to give your pin to Carol.”

  “I never said that. I was thinking about it. Grey believes it’s the right thing to do. That I should offer it to Caro as a peace offering.”

  She waved the wet rag in front of her in irritation. “What does he know? He’s good looking, but he doesn’t know the first thing about family drama.”

  I nodded. “Then it’s settled. You’ll bring the brooch to the shop tomorrow.”

  Betty studied me, head tilted, eyebrows raised. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think I’ll keep it until you tell me what secret you and Grey are hiding.”

  It felt like a rock had settled in my stomach. The havoc she could create if Loose Lips Betty ever found out about Grey’s undercover work was limitless. “I told you there is no secret.”

  “You’re lying like a con man. Tick tock, tick tock.” She clucked her tongue.

  “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Time’s running out, Cookie. Time is running out.”

  THE ONLY TIME I was running out of was time for lunch.

  The afternoon whizzed by. True to his word, Colin sent several photos of him and Missy chilling on the couch and a short video of their play time at the beach. Any reservations I’d had about hiring him dissolved as I watched the twenty-second video for the hundredth time.

  It was well after three o’clock when Betty, tired of my stomach growling, kicked me out of the shop to grab a bite to eat.

  I stopped by Darby’s studio to see if she’d like to join me. Luckily, she was in and had skipped lunch that afternoon to drop Fluffy off at the trainers. Fluffy had landed the Disney role. She was off at rehearsal and a wardrobe fitting.

  Once Darby had locked up, we walked up the street to our favorite deli. She looked especially fashionable today in her distressed jeans with e
mbroidered flowers, white t-shirt, and brown, felted hat. I wore my favorite pair of boyfriend jeans, flats, and a t-shirt the read “The Dogmother.” Once we reached the sandwich shop, we ordered our food and looked for a free table. I was surprised at the number of people eating so late in the day.

  We found a small round table outside on the hedged patio that faced PCH, and sat across from each other. The bright sun blared through the trees directly onto the eating area. We both slipped on our sunglasses. My stomach growled as I dug in to my tuna sandwich.

  Under the small brim of her felted hat, Darby’s face glowed. It could have been the cheerfulness of the sun, but I believed it had more to do with the new man in her life.

  “I knew Missy and Colin would hit it off,” she gushed. “He really likes her. He said she had a spunky personality.”

  “Are you sure he was talking about my dog?” I joked.

  She laughed easily. “Don’t worry, he liked you, too. Isn’t he great with animals?”

  Darby chatted on about how they texted throughout the day and that he had filled her in on taking Missy and me on as new clients, never touching her ham and Swiss sandwich.

  While she continued to carry the conversation, I polished off my tuna sandwich, kosher dill pickle, and a small bag of salt and vinegar chips. I pushed my plate to the side of the table and smiled while she excitedly talked about how Colin had managed to coax Fluffy into eating her gourmet lunch from a dog bowl.

  “Now, that’s impressive.” I wasn’t being sarcastic. It was impressive. Fluffy normally ate from a Waterford crystal bowl. The Afghan hound acted like she was above all dog-type activities. It wasn’t all her fault. Her original owner had treated Fluffy as if she were her child, not a beloved pet.