The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  I leaned against the granite counter. “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “Because I’m a suspect in Mason’s death,” he said simply. He took a sip of his coffee.

  “Malone said you were a suspect?”

  “No. But he did give me fair warning I was a person of interest, which got back to the bureau.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged.

  I set my tea on the glass-topped kitchen table. “There’s no real evidence. What Malone has is circumstantial.”

  “The paper found in Mason’s fist had my cell number written on it.”

  “So? He bought a painting from you. That’s not suspicious.”

  He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Not my personal cell.”

  It took me a second before I caught on to what he was saying. I felt sick. Mason had had a burner number in his hand. That explained all of Malone’s questions. I paced the length of the kitchen. Kitchen table to refrigerator, then back again, processing what he was telling me.

  “How did he get that number? How did Malone trace it back to you?”

  “Malone is a good detective.”

  “Grey, how did Mason get that number? Did you give it to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does this have to do with the art piece?” My mind raced for answers. The pieces began to fall into place. “Mason was your undercover operation?”

  Grey stayed silent.

  I rubbed my face trying to make sense of everything. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

  He sighed. “I’d rather we didn’t. Isn’t that the t-shirt I gave you for Missy’s birthday?” He smiled slowly. “‘Crazy dog lady’ still fits you.”

  I ignored him. “Did Mason really buy that painting from you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it really a forgery?”

  “What he was returning, yes.”

  “But if he’s dead, and you know he didn’t have anything to do with the fake art, why the charade to stay at my shop? The investigation should be over.”

  “I didn’t say the investigation was over. I said I was removed. The new agent will arrive tomorrow. Tom James. He’ll be there acting as my overseas art broker for the gallery. Since ACT is still closed for wiring work, he’ll need a place to work out of. It should be an easy and believable transition.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I agreed to work with you, not some stranger.”

  “Mel, I told you, this was official. Once started, pulling the plug isn’t easy.”

  “But you can’t make me agree.”

  “No.”

  “Then tell them Mason is dead. So . . . whatever it is you’re doing is over, too. Finished.”

  “But it’s not. This case doesn’t work that way.”

  We stared at each other. My chest felt heavy. I pressed my fingers against my temples. I understood what he wasn’t saying. “Because your case has nothing to do with the art. The case is about Hot Handbags.”

  “You know I can’t talk about it.”

  “Why not? You’re not involved anymore.”

  “It’s still an active investigation.”

  “Apparently using my shop. Now run by someone I don’t know.”

  “Agent Tom James. An art broker—”

  I held up my hand. “I heard you the first time. Honestly, I don’t really care what his name is or what his cover is. I want to know what’s going on. Do you trust me or not?”

  “You know I do. You also know this has nothing to do with trust.”

  I resumed pacing. Grey drank his coffee in silence, watching me. In my head I knew he was right. The trust comment was a throw-away argument in order to protect my heart. One thing I’d come to accept over the last few months was that Grey had always trusted me. He had also tried to protect me.

  “So Hot Handbags is under investigation. And now Mason is dead. There’s a random piece of forged art work in the middle of everything that has nothing to do with the case. Does that about sum it up?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed. I hated those annoying one-word answers. I drank more tea, thinking about what do to next.

  Grey pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit. “You’re making me dizzy with all the pacing.”

  “Do you think his death has anything to do with the current investigation?” I asked.

  He sat in the chair across from me. He leaned back, stretching out his legs under the table. “I don’t know.”

  “Drugs?”

  “What?”

  “Are they selling drugs?”

  Silence.

  “Money laundering?

  More silence.

  “Good grief, what’s left? Fake handbags?” I laughed at the absurdity of it. Only Grey wasn’t laughing with me.

  I leaned forward. “No way. Are you kidding me?”

  “Come on, Mel.” He abruptly stood, turned around, and dumped the remaining coffee in the sink.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re investigating counterfeit purses.”

  He sighed. “There’s a lot of money in it.” He turned to face me and crossed his arms.

  “That’s so brazen. They named their store Hot Handbags. They didn’t even try to hide what they were doing. This is right up my alley. Why didn’t you ask for my help?”

  He raised a questioning brow. “I did.”

  I nodded. “Fair enough, but not exactly what I meant. I was thinking more about secret shopping.”

  “I didn’t want to get you caught up in it. Besides, we already knew they were selling counterfeit goods. We needed to know where the supply was coming from.”

  I suddenly remembered the black Chanel clutch in my closet. “I bought a handbag from them. Am I in trouble if it turns out to be counterfeit?”

  “No. Which one? Have I seen it?”

  I shook my head. “I bought it after we broke up.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  I polished off my tea. If Mason’s death was connected with the hot purses, we needed to clear Grey’s name. “What exactly does it mean that you’re off the case?”

  “I can’t be near or involved with the investigation.”

  I tilted my head. “So you can’t come to the shop?”

  “Technically, I shouldn’t.” His face was unreadable.

  Why didn’t I feel relieved Grey wouldn’t be invading my space? Wasn’t that what I wanted? I felt sad that he wouldn’t be able to close the case he started. Worried that he was dependent on Malone to follow evidence without all the facts. And then there was Betty who would be disappointed. She was looking forward to spending time with him. Knowing Grey was going to be at the boutique while I was in Dallas had kept me from worrying about being away and what trouble Betty might get into while I was gone. But that level of reassurance had been pulled out from under me.

  “You should know, Malone paid me a home visit this morning.”

  His shoulders tensed. “What did he want?”

  “Your phone number. He also mentioned that it was a woman who saw you that morning at the Reeds’ shop.”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “No. Do you remember seeing a woman hanging around the store? Or waiting in her car for the store to open?”

  He thought about it for a few minutes. “No.”

  I stood and rinsed my mug, then set it in the sink. The longer Grey stayed a murder suspect, the more potential it had to hurt his career. I couldn’t believe what I was about to suggest.

  “If we really were together, they couldn’t keep you away from visiting the boutique.”

  He looked at me with a big question mark. “Possibly. With our history it would give me a legitimate reason to be there.”<
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  I exhaled and jumped in with both feet. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

  We stood an arm’s length apart, watching each other. “You’re sure about this?” he asked softly.

  “Not at all. By the way, I think Betty has a boyfriend.”

  He whistled softly. “Anyone I know?”

  “Ever met Leo Montana? Looks like a character actor from the forties, smells like egg rolls.”

  He shook his head. “How did they meet?”

  “I saw him at Hot Handbags talking with Quinn. Apparently he’s a family friend. He asked what I did, and I told him about the boutique. He stopped by with his dog, and suddenly he and Betty are acting like star-crossed lovers. He said he’s in the import-export business.” Wait a minute! “What about this Leo Montana? A long-time family friend of the Reeds. Import business. When I pressed him for details he gave vague answers. Could he be involved?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But why would he be interested in a dog boutique? Wouldn’t that be unorthodox for someone involved in high-dollar crime?”

  “I can have someone look in to him.”

  I shook my head. “I think I’m just being overprotective of Betty. She doesn’t always think before she acts.”

  “We’re all protective of her. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  I sighed. “I think Leo knows Colin, Darby’s new boyfriend.” I recounted the strange interaction at the shop just a couple of hours earlier.

  “It does sound odd. Be careful.”

  “Since we’re ‘back together’”—I used air quotes—“can you run a background check on Betty and Darby’s new boyfriends?” I batted my eyes.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think either one of them would appreciate that.”

  “Darby won’t. Betty would be upset she didn’t get to run the background check herself.”

  Grey chuckled. “Talk to Darby about what happened. It’s possible there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.”

  “I hope that’s the case.”

  My gut said otherwise.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AN HOUR LATER, I already regretted my proposition to Grey. What had I been thinking? Pretending that we were back together was an insane idea. I’d been against that suggestion since he’d first proposed it. Darn my spontaneous nature. I’d always been the type of gal who takes action. I wasn’t into hesitation or watching life passing me by. Planning? I’ll be honest, eight times out of ten, that was an afterthought.

  I decided to focus on the positive. Grey would still be able to babysit Betty. He’d know if this Agent James was doing his job. And best of all, we could concentrate on clearing Grey’s name.

  Grey asked to keep Missy with him. He wanted the company. He promised to bring her back to my place this evening. I agreed. She couldn’t have been in better company unless she was with me. I texted Colin letting him know he was off Missy duty for the day.

  I wanted to find Bree Young. Even though Malone had talked to her, she had been with Betty when she found Mason’s body. I had a few questions of my own. I had to start with the last place I’d seen her—Hot Handbags. Before I could talk with Quinn, I had to cover for Betty and her “personal errand.”

  I pointed the Jeep toward downtown. Traffic in the early afternoon was a bear. PCH crawled along. What would take only fifteen minutes in January, took almost twice that amount of time during peak tourist season.

  While I was sitting in traffic, my cell rang. I answered using my hands-free.

  “Hello?”

  “Mel, it’s Ella Johns. Did I catch you at a good time?”

  “Of course.” I watched a group of young surfers head toward Thalia Street Beach, surf boards in tow.

  “I wanted to let you know I got the check. Thank you so much for dropping it off.”

  “Wonderful. We’re only five thousand shy of our goal.” The light turned green, and I drove toward the shop.

  “Not anymore. And it’s thanks to you. Nina Hernandez and Dash asked to be a sponsor. I was picking up her check when you dropped by.”

  God bless Nina. She was such a great supporter of all things animals. “Congratulations!”

  “I wanted to celebrate reaching our goal. What about holding a small gathering to thank our major donors and sponsors?”

  “What a great idea. Would you like to use the boutique?”

  She laughed. “I was hoping you’d offer. I know this is really short notice, but I wanted to hold it on Saturday.”

  I almost jumped the curb. That was only four days away. I was thinking after I came back from Dallas. “That’s awfully fast. Will we have time to get the word out? Will people come on such short notice?”

  “The majority of them. I don’t want to hold it too close to the event; otherwise people suffer from event exhaustion and won’t come out to support the cause. I promise, if you provide the venue, I’ll do everything else. I know Saturday is probably a busy day, so I was thinking we could do a brunch, around ten. You could open at noon.”

  “Of course. Anything for you and the dogs.” This gathering was an excellent excuse to corral most of our murder suspects in one room.

  “Mel, you’re the best. I might have a special guest.”

  “Please don’t say Sal Poochino.”

  A lusty laugh carried through the receiver. “No, no. He’s semi-committed to the actual event. Unfortunately, Ms. Sweetin had a prior engagement, but is sending some memorabilia we can auction off.”

  “That’s very generous.”

  “Isn’t it? I’ve got to run. Thanks again for everything. I’ll call you tomorrow with more details.”

  I suddenly had a wild idea. What if I added a few extra guests to our party? Like Grey. And maybe I’d let Betty invite her new boyfriend. I’d like to see Quinn and Leo in the same room. I had a feeling they were hiding a very important piece of their relationship from the rest of us. Maybe it was a link as to why Mason was killed.

  I BREEZED INTO THE shop. The afternoon sunlight brightened the space, filling it with a lazy warmth. It smelled like freshly brewed coffee. Betty must have replenished the breakfast blend I’d brewed earlier in the morning for our coffee bar. Complimentary coffee was always a hit with our customers.

  “Sorry I’m a little late, Betty.”

  She wasn’t paying any attention to my late arrival. She was too busy reprimanding a young man wearing a polo shirt and khakis. He held his black backpack defensively in front of him.

  “Look, kid.” She poked his backpack. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. If Cookie hired you, I’d know all about it. I’m her Girl Friday.”

  Darn, darn, darn. FBI Agent Tom James had beaten me to the boutique before I’d had an opportunity to prepare Betty. This undercover business was hard for someone with no training and no experience. Heck, what was I supposed to call him? I assumed FBI Agent Tom James wasn’t an option. I rushed to where Betty and Agent James faced off in front of the interactive toys. She eyed him suspiciously, blocking his pathway of a quick escape. One look at Agent James in his laid-back attire, I had to believe there’d been a change in plans that I didn’t know about. Time to improvise.

  “Betty, I forgot to tell you we’ll have an intern from the Future Entrepreneurs organization for a few weeks.”

  Agent Tom James stared wide-eyed at my self-proclaimed right-hand woman, having a hard time keeping his eyes off her icy-pink eyebrows. What kind of undercover operator couldn’t hide a reaction to something as simple as lipstick eyebrows? This didn’t bode well.

  He was young. Black curly hair, dark eyes, and he lacked the typical polished “Tom Ford” professional look I’d come to associate with the FBI.

  He dragged his gaze away from Betty and looked at me. Relief washed over
his youthful face. “Hi, nice to see you again. Thanks for taking me at the last minute.” Agent Tom James possessed the deepest bass voice I’d ever heard. I swear it felt like I’d just received a voice massage.

  Thankfully he knew enough to play along to my improvisation on his cover. I wondered what he’d been told by his superior. Hopefully, more than I had.

  Betty crossed her arms. “Don’t let his voice fool you, Cookie. He’s still a kid. There’s not enough room for Tommy Boy here. We’ve got all the help we need.”

  I sighed. This was going to more difficult than I realized. “If you’re referring to Grey, he had something come up and won’t be able to spend as much time here as he hoped for a few days. So this all works out for the best.”

  “The best for who? You’re not leaving him with me while you’re dealing with your crazy family a thousand miles away. I didn’t take this job to babysit.”

  “You won’t be babysitting. He’s perfectly capable of working in our boutique. Even fifteen-year-olds work retail. Sorry,” I said to Agent James.

  He frowned, obviously insulted at our assumption regarding his age. “I’ve had plenty of jobs.”

  She scoffed. “He’s barely old enough to tie his own shoes.”

  Good thing he was wearing loafers.

  “Does she always talk about people like they’re not there?”

  “All the time. You’ll find it charming once you get used to it.” I shoved my tote under the counter. I’d lock it in the office later. Right now it was more important to do damage control.

  “Betty, I talked to Ella this morning, and she asked that we host an open house Saturday for the donors and sponsors of the film festival. It starts at ten so we’ll need to be here at nine.”

  She huffed. “Good thing we keep our place in tip-top shape.” She glared at Agent James as she spoke, her pronouncement of an organized environment for his benefit.

  She wasn’t wrong. We did keep a tidy boutique.

  “Cookie, can I bring a plus one?”

  I was sure she was talking about Leo.

  “I’ve got my own boy toy now,” she announced loudly, even though we were standing right in front of her. “I want to show him off.”