The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  I had a feeling his stories, fiction or true, were anything but boring.

  “Forgive me if I’ve kept you from something with my questions,” he said to me. “I do have an appointment in Newport.” He adjusted his black suit jacket. “Don’t forget about our talk, Quinny. After speaking with the lovely Melinda, consider my offer formal.”

  Quinny? That’s rather familiar. It sounded like a nickname a father gave his daughter. I studied Leo closer. He was significantly older than she, but I couldn’t make out any family resemblance.

  Quinn crossed her arms. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”

  “You were last week,” he countered.

  She lifted her chin in defiance. “I changed my mind.”

  “I’m sure I can change it back.”

  “Don’t bother. You’d be wasting your time.”

  Undeterred by her anger, he tugged her left hand free and blithely kissed the backside, slightly above her wedding ring. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

  She yanked her hand back, clenching it into a tight fist. Leo responded with a deep chuckle. “So spirited. I’m sure that’s what Mason found so appealing.”

  “I won’t change my mind.” Her voice was as pinched as her nose.

  His dark eyes sparkled knowingly. “Ah, but you already have, and we both know it. Ciao.”

  And with that he waltzed away.

  Definitely not her father. What offer was he referring to? Was she or wasn’t she going to change her mind? And change her mind about what? Could he have had something to do with Mason’s death? It was all over my head, but I was dying to figure it out.

  “Quinny” vigorously rubbed off his kiss. Her face flamed as she eyed me. “What did you say to him?”

  I shook my head, confused. Was she was angry or embarrassed? “He asked what I thought about your merchandise selection. I said you had a nice variety.”

  “And . . . what else? You must have said something else.” Anger cracked her frosty shell, revealing vulnerability, or was that fear?

  “Nothing. I swear. Who the heck is Leo Montana?”

  “No one.”

  The flatness in her voice wasn’t fooling me. I pointed to her hands. “You’re certainly not acting like he’s no one. And if you really want me to believe that, you two need to get your stories straight.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re acting like he’s a spurned lover who won’t take no for an answer. He claims he is a family friend.”

  She blinked quickly, transforming back to the ice queen I recognized. “He was Mason’s friend. Not mine.”

  I turned toward the front of the shop where Quinn’s nemesis had just sailed out the door, and mine suddenly swept inside. My semi-jovial mood evaporated.

  “Damn him,” I mumbled.

  I turned back toward Quinn just in time to see a cat-like smile pounce on her gloss-slicked lips. Her mood instantly improved at my obvious loathing for the local pseudo celebrity.

  “You don’t like him.” She practically purred, happy to turn her attention to me.

  I scowled. “I don’t like people who lie or spread half-truths.”

  “Melinda, imagine finding you here,” MacAvoy called out behind me.

  I flinched hearing his perfectly enunciating, news-anchor voice even though I knew he was there. The untrustworthy snake slithered toward us as if he didn’t have a care in the world. A ripple of excited murmurs swept through the shop. My blood pressure spiked. He stopped within an arm’s reach of me.

  I shoved my hands in my back pockets, an effort to resist the temptation to ring his tanned neck. “File any fake news lately?” The taunt fell out of my mouth instantly.

  He flashed a cocky smile at me, unaffected. “You saw my report. All facts, by the way. Stay tuned, there’s more.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I promised under my breath. Not exactly sure what I could do about it.

  “If you have anything to add, I’m always available.”

  Along with his handy dandy voice recorder covertly tucked away, I was sure.

  He turned his attention toward Quinn. “Mrs. Reed, nice to see you again.”

  Again? Had she been talking with the media after all?

  “Any news on Mason’s death?” She thawed into a normal human being right before my eyes.

  “Nothing has changed. Unless Melinda knows something. Her ex-fiancé is a person of interest.”

  My face heated. “That’s not true.” My forceful denial drew unwanted attention to our trio.

  “According to my sources, it is. He was seen arguing with Mason. They had a bad business dealing—”

  Quinn, wide-eyed and incredulous, pointed her long finger at me. “Grey Donovan is your ex-fiancé? The owner of ACT Gallery?”

  Animated whispers flittered through the store.

  I lowered my voice. “Yes. And Mr. Fake News here is playing fast and loose with the truth. I was there when Mason and Grey had their disagreement. Grey was clear that if Mason wanted to return the original painting, he’d accept it and give him a full refund, but it had to be the painting Grey had sold him.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. MacAvoy was probably recording everything being said. I had to choose my words carefully. “The painting Mason tried to return wasn’t the one Grey had sold him.”

  “That’s utter nonsense. Of course it was. Your fiancé sold him a forgery. Mason told me himself weeks ago.”

  “No.” I shook my head vigorously. “Grey’s an honorable man. He’d never be involved in selling . . . imitation art as an original. By the way, how did Mason even know it was a forgery?”

  Quinn’s gaze bobbed between MacAvoy and me. She struggled for something to say. “He had it appraised.” Her uncertain tone made her comment sound more like a question than a statement. She was guessing. Mason hadn’t told her everything.

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “There’s no need. It comes with an appraisal for insurance purposes. Why was he having it appraised a second time?”

  “He must not have trusted Donovan,” Mr. TV butted in.

  I shot him a withering look. “If that were true, he wouldn’t have purchased the art in the first place, Mr. Know It All. Quinn, you should talk to Evan. As the bookkeeper he would probably know what was going on. Unless Mason was hiding something from him, too.”

  I had MacAvoy’s attention. And Quinn’s.

  She bristled. “Too? What are you insinuating?”

  “What do you know?” MacAvoy’s eyes narrowed.

  I ignored him and concentrated on Quinn. “It’s obvious by your reaction that you don’t know why he asked for a second appraisal. I’d heard you two weren’t exactly getting along. Were you having marital problems? Was he planning on leaving you?”

  I was jumping to conclusions, but I had to start somewhere, and I needed to lead MacAvoy down a path that didn’t include Grey.

  “Who told you that?” she demanded, drawing attention to us. “Your ex-fiancé?”

  She didn’t deny they weren’t getting along. Nor that he was leaving her. Maybe I had unwittingly stumbled onto a real lead. I didn’t want to reveal my source was Evan. Armed with this new information I wanted to follow up with him myself. I had new questions.

  “No. Grey doesn’t gossip. But you should talk to him for yourself. Get the truth first hand”—I flashed angry eyes at Mr. TV—“about the art and what happened between them at my boutique.”

  MacAvoy jumped in. “I’d like to be a part of that conversation.”

  “No,” Quinn and I said in unison.

  I knew whom I was protecting. What or whom was Quinn protecting?

  “I’d like to get a conv
ersation with him on the record,” MacAvoy said. “I have a number of questions for him.”

  I shook my head. “Not going to happen. Especially after your last stunt.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I have a witness who can place Donovan here shortly before Mason’s death.”

  My head snapped in his direction. I struggled to catch my breath for a second. “Impossible,” I managed to choke out. “I can’t believe you’d outright lie. Have you no integrity?”

  “Who? Who saw him?” Quinn demanded.

  “No one. He’s making this up, hoping to get other information. That’s how he works.”

  MacAvoy’s arrogant expression turned taunting. “Talk to your personal homicide detective. Maybe you’ll believe him.”

  Chapter Nine

  NO LONGER ANNOYED by MacAvoy’s inflammatory comment about my “personal homicide detective,” I brooded over his insistence that Grey had been seen with Mason the morning of his death. If it was true, which I hated to admit that it probably was, why had Grey lied to Malone? What in the world was he doing at Hot Handbags first thing in the morning? More importantly, if MacAvoy knew about it, so did Malone. Could that be what he had been questioning Grey about? I rolled my shoulders a couple of times, working out the kinks in my stiff muscles. It suddenly felt like weeks since Mason’s death, not twenty-four hours.

  By the time I returned to the boutique it was almost time to close for the day, and I still needed to drop off the donation check to Ella. I entered the shop to find Betty and Grey crouched down, heads together, organizing the merchandise on the bottom shelves. The bell above the door announced my arrival.

  Grey looked over his shoulder with a warm smile. “Well, hello. You came back,” he said as he stood.

  Like a bad habit, my heart skipped a beat seeing his handsome face.

  Betty tried to spin around but landed on her bottom. “Where you been, Cookie? I was about to call that sexy detective to look for you.” She swatted away the hand Grey offered her.

  I dropped my tote bag on the counter next to the register. “After lunch with Darby, I stopped at Hot Handbags to thank Quinn for the donation. Where are all our customers?”

  Grey’s cheek twitched. “You talked to Quinn?”

  “Were you investigating without me?” Betty jumped to her feet. Okay, she didn’t exactly jump—more like awkward newborn fawn standing for the first time. She held up her hand. “Don’t say anything. Let me get my investigator notebook first.”

  “Whoa. Hold on there. There was no interrogation. I stopped by to thank Quinn for the donation.”

  I wanted to talk to Grey without an audience. Betty would not only record what I said in her notebook, but she would insist on paying MacAvoy a visit for follow-up comments. My knee-jerk reaction was to blurt out, “Why didn’t you tell me you were at Hot Handbags the morning Mason was murdered, Grey? Why did you lie to Malone?” But for once, I held my tongue. It was pure torture keeping quiet about MacAvoy’s tidbit of information. Pure. Torture.

  Neither Betty nor Grey immediately commented. I held my breath while they both scrutinized me. Knowing me so well, the story I was selling about only visiting Hot Handbags to thank Quinn was difficult to buy.

  Betty brushed off her silk periwinkle-colored loungewear. “You disappoint me, Cookie.”

  Ouch. A twinge of regret gripped me. Maybe I should just tell them both what happened. Grey continued to study me. I could tell by his extended silence that he knew I’d learned something about Mason’s death.

  “If you’d like to get home to Missy, we can close up. Betty has been showing me the ropes.”

  Was I being dismissed from my own business?

  I tilted my head. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  Betty snuggled up to Grey. “Yeah. We’re making plans.” She wiggled her sunset-orange eyebrows and was already over whatever hurt feelings she’d had minutes before.

  Grey wrapped his arm around her bony shoulders and smiled warmly. “She’s giving me pointers on how to win back your heart.”

  God bless her, but why couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

  “I thought you were Team Cookie?” I looked at Betty pointedly.

  She scoffed, nudging Grey with her elbow. “That’s why I’m giving Handsome here a list of dos and don’ts. He’s got some work to do.”

  “You’re spilling my secrets?” I could always count on Betty to do the opposite of what I wanted her to do.

  “Do you have secrets?” Grey’s serious tone surprised me.

  “Who doesn’t?” My flippant tone fell flat.

  “Either I’m having a hot flash or the sexual tension between you two is heating up the store. Why don’t I close up, and you two get a room?” Betty fanned herself as she walked toward the register.

  Betty was right, there was tension between Grey and me, but it wasn’t sexual.

  I cleared my throat. “Both of you go home, and I’ll close up. It’s my store. Thanks for holding down the fort while I had lunch with Darby. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, I’m not going to fight either of you to stay. I’m outta here. Sorry, Handsome, I’ve got a better offer at home. I’ve got to let my big boy outside to relieve himself. Raider doesn’t like being alone for long periods of time.”

  While Betty disappeared to the office, I started to cash out the register. Grey finished sorting the plush dog toys.

  Betty returned with her handbag. She dropped the bank deposit bag on the counter as she sped past.

  “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Lock up behind me.” And with that she was out the door, no looking back.

  “If you’d like to get home to Missy, I’ll finish here.”

  I suspected his offer had more to do with his undercover surveillance—which, by the way, I was now calling Operation Bow Wow—than it did about being considerate. I wasn’t purposely throwing a wrench into his stakeout, but how could I leave for Dallas if he was a murder suspect? I needed answers.

  I turned around and faced Grey. “Why were you at the Reeds’ shop the morning Mason was murdered?” I tried to keep my tone from being accusatory.

  He tossed the last squeaky squirrel toy in the basket. “Murder? Is that the official word?”

  I waited until he faced me. “So, you’re not denying it? You were at the shop.”

  “Are you sticking your nose in Malone’s investigation?”

  “Hello? Have we just met? Of course. Don’t act so shocked. You’re avoiding my question, which tells me you were there. Why?”

  “We had unfinished business.”

  “Good grief. Don’t talk like that in front of Malone. You sound like a murder suspect.”

  He looked surprised. “Do you think I had something to do with Mason’s death?”

  “Of course not. But I’m not the one who can sway public opinion.”

  “MacAvoy.”

  My head was starting to ache. I rubbed my temples. “Exactly. He showed up at Hot Handbags, stirring up trouble. I’d like to place a gag order on him.”

  Grey’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “You better hope nothing ever happens to your favorite reporter, or you’ll be at the top of that suspect list.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure it’ll be a long list.” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t distract me from the topic. Is this what Malone came to talk to you about? He knew you were the last one to see Mason alive? Besides the person who shoved him down the stairs. And you lied to him?”

  “I never said I saw him.” He headed to the front door and locked it.

  “Arg! You make me crazy. Stop with the verbal sparring and just answer the question. Please.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I went to see him. The door was locked. I knocked. When no one came to the door, I left. End of story.”

  “S
o you lied to Malone when he asked where you were that morning?”

  “The only way you’d know about that was if you were eavesdropping on our conversation behind a closed door.”

  “Well I was. And now Malone knows you lied because someone saw you and told MacAvoy. He’s planning on running a story about it. He also told Quinn, and let’s just say, she didn’t take it well.”

  “He didn’t tell you who the eyewitness was?”

  “Not a hint. He’s a moron. He didn’t even consider that the person who saw you could be the real killer and was lying. For some reason he wants to believe the worst about you.”

  “You said Quinn didn’t take it well. What did she say?”

  “She was confused. I don’t think she knows anything about her husband’s little switcheroo with the art. She refused to believe he was capable of purposely trying to pull one over on you. I told her to talk to you about it. I didn’t want to say much about Mason’s explosion in front of MacAvoy.”

  His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Good call.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. In all seriousness, we have to figure out how to get you off the suspect list. I can’t leave for Dallas until I know you’re cleared. There’s no telling what type of murder investigative fiasco Betty would whip up in my absence.”

  “You’re not going to miss seeing your new niece,” he promised, his expression serious.

  My head and my heart wanted to believe him. That was a dangerous combination.

  His eyes shifted away from my face. “Are you going back there?”

  “To Hot Handbags? I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  Even looking at his profile, I could see the wheels turning in his head. He was planning.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Go home to Missy. I’ll finish up here.”

  “You’re not fooling me. You want me out of here so you can use my shop to run your covert operation.”

  “That was the agreement. Now get out of here. The sooner I close my case, the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”