The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo

by Sparkle Abbey

I didn’t trust him. And not only because he was a reporter. Maybe it was the way his eyes continued to assess the area. Or maybe it was that he wanted to call me by a nickname without knowing me.

  “I’m good at research.”

  That remained to be seen. He could have read my bio in the vendor pamphlet. Easy to find with little effort.

  “Is that your dog?” He pointed at Missy who’d returned to her worn spot under the table where she’d spent the majority of the day.

  “I call her Missy, but her papered name is Miss Congeniality. Although, being good at research, you probably already knew that.”

  He held my gaze for a second, then bent down and extended his hand. Missy stretched her thick neck inviting him to pet her. “I don’t know much about bulldogs,” he confessed.

  He was good. He’d picked up on my weakness. I was always willing to educate people on how wonderful bulldogs were. “Don’t let her looks deceive you. Bullies are extremely gentle and affectionate. Definitely stubborn, especially when they’re bored or really want something. She snores, drools continually, and is prone to skin infections if I don’t keep her skin folds dry.” I left out her flatulence problem. “All in all, bulldogs make great companions.”

  Once he finished greeting Missy, he stood and motioned toward the table. “Leaving?”

  “Eventually. Where’s your shadow?”

  “Who?”

  “Your camera guy.”

  “Oh. That’s Ryan. He’s gathering B-roll.”

  “B-roll?” I asked.

  “Sorry. Supplemental footage we can use later.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Look, I’ve been kicking around an idea about a piece to spotlight local businesses. Are you interested?”

  I set my bottle of water on the table. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “What you really want.”

  My directness managed to surprise a genuine smile out of him.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he said.

  “That’s not a good trait in a reporter, forming a conclusion before you have the facts.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I shoved my hair behind my ear. “Are you going to tell me what you really want or make me guess?”

  He sat on the table. He propped his elbow on the lid of a plastic tote. “I want an exclusive on the Richard Eriksen case. On the record, off the record, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’ll make it work.”

  “Why me? Why do you think I know anything? And if I did, why would I tell you?”

  The smug smile returned. “Because I have what you want.”

  “I doubt that.” I shoved my hands in my hoodie pockets. Mostly to warm them up, but also to keep from smacking Mr. TV upside the head. Let’s be honest here. Half the time I didn’t even know what I wanted. How could someone who’d known me all of two minutes know what I wanted?

  “I can help you find the person you’re looking for,” he claimed.

  “Who said I’m looking for anyone?”

  “Betty Foxx, your fascinating assistant.”

  Good grief. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? She wasn’t helping her situation by talking to everyone who asked her a question. Where was Betty? With the police? Or wandering the park looking for more trouble?

  “When did you talk to her?” The last person I wanted help from was Mr. TV. Unfortunately for me, the reporter had more answers than I did at the moment.

  He shrugged. “I ran into her earlier.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. The distant chatter of reckless speculation about Richard’s death and Missy’s heavy snores were the only sounds.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Evasive, spill it. What did she say to you?”

  “I should find the girl with the dachshund tattoo.”

  Of course she did. “Did Betty tell you why?”

  He slipped a hand into the pocket of his blazer. “I’d like to hear from you. Do you think she can clear your friend?”

  I didn’t like that he used “clear.” That didn’t bode well. I also found it dodgy that he’d chosen now to shove his hand into his jacket pocket. Call me suspicious, but I’d wager a year’s salary he had a recorder hidden in there.

  “I thought you were more daytime talk show fluff pieces than hard news.”

  His broad shoulders tensed. “It seems you also draw conclusions without all the facts. I’m a serious journalist. I follow the news.”

  Well, give the man an Emmy for his journalism excellence.

  He followed the news. Malone followed the evidence. I followed my gut.

  “You said you had something I want. So far all you’ve done is ask questions.”

  “In my line of business you don’t give away information.”

  Finally, the truth. I picked up the collapsible bowl I’d left in the grass and dumped the small amount of water Missy hadn’t finished. “Don’t let Detective Malone hear you say that.”

  “Why?”

  I folded the bowl and dropped it on the closest storage container. “I’m going to do you a huge favor and give you a heads up.” I pointed at his blazer pocket. “Make sure your little voice recorder is on so you get every word.” His eyes widened, and I knew I’d been right. I continued, “Malone hates it when people butt into his investigation or withhold information. If you’re going to follow the news on his turf, make sure you stay out if his way.”

  “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

  I shrugged, not willing to confirm or deny his assumption. “Keep in mind, you may both have the same goal, but he has the badge.”

  He was about to say something when Darby appeared. God bless her. She had perfect timing.

  “Hey, Mel.” She strolled up to Mr. TV and me. Her gaze darted between us. She cocked her head and asked, “Am I interrupting?”

  He jumped off the table and shot Darby a boyish grin. “Not at all.”

  If he thought I was going to introduce him to Darby, he was barking up the wrong tree. “Actually, Mr. MacAvoy was just leaving.”

  His green eyes flashed with a promise that he’d be back. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” I had to give him credit. He didn’t attempt to outstay his welcome.

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “No doubt.” My delivery was as dry as the dirty martini I’d downed last week at a charity event for pet health awareness.

  As soon as he turned his back, Darby spoke, “Mel—”

  I cut her off with a look.

  Once Mr. TV was out of earshot I said, “He’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Don’t trust him.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Your Texas doesn’t come out often, but when it does, it means you’re mad. What happened?”

  Darby knew me well. She was right about my Texas side.

  “Mr. TV Reporter was clearly pumping me for info on Betty and Stephanie. He claimed he has something I want, but he made it crystal clear he wasn’t willing to tell me anything without some type of deal.”

  “Do you have any idea what he meant?” She pulled her electronic tablet from her messenger bag.

  “None. He had a voice recorder in his pocket. I called him out on it. He wasn’t expecting that.” I replayed the surprise on his handsome face in my head. “Oh, he may show up around the store. He mentioned doing a segment on local businesses. I have no idea if that was a legitimate idea or a flimsy ploy.” I leaned toward a tactical move.

  “If that’s a sincere offer, that would be great exposure.”

  I shook my head. Sweet Darby. Even after the dire circumstances she’d endured since she’d arrived in town, she was still a trusting soul. You can take the girl out of the Midwest, but you couldn’t squash the natural instinct to believe the best in people.

  I reached out and gave Darby a quick hug.

  She laughed. “What was that for?”

  “I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

  She squeezed my hand. “I feel the same about you.”

  I tugged the hem of
my hoodie back into place at my waist. “Enough of the sappy love fest. What’s up?”

  Darby’s face lit up with excitement. “I’ve been thinking about what Grey had said. You know, about my pictures. If they could be that important, I thought I should review them now. I’m only halfway through the five hundred photos, but when I saw this I couldn’t wait. You’ll never believe what I found. Look.” Darby shoved her tablet at me.

  On the screen was a photo of Richard arguing with a female protester. The woman was at least six inches shorter than he was. Her long, brown hair flared around a beautiful heart-shaped face. Her mouth curled in anger. She looked primed to whack Richard over the head with her “Save the Doxies” sign. The right corner of the photo was time-stamped—two thirty.

  A smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean spread across my mouth. “Looks like we’ve got a new suspect!”

  Chapter Eight

  “DO YOU KNOW her,” I asked Darby, flipping through the other photos.

  “No, but I asked around. Her name is Fallon Keller. She’s the head of Rights for Doxies, an animal rights organization that’s known to protest all the dachshund races in southern California.”

  Darby had taken a handful of pictures of the protesters, but there was only one perfect shot capturing Fallon Keller, arms raised, poised to beat Richard with her peace-love-and-save-the-doggies sign.

  “Is Malone still here?” she asked.

  “I haven’t seen him since his stock comment about throwing me in jail if I didn’t stay out of his way. It takes a while to process the scene and talk to everyone. Certainly, he’s around here somewhere.” I handed her the tablet. “Will you email me a copy of that?”

  “Sure.” After closing the cover, she tucked it safely in her bag. “I saw Grey talking to Hagan Stone. I didn’t realize they knew each other.”

  That was news to me too. However, Grey had been looking for Betty’s gun, so he would have talked to everyone. It was part of his training. You never knew what small detail could break a case wide open.

  “He meets a lot of people through the gallery. Have you talked to Hagan since he decided to postpone the rest of the event?”

  She nodded. “He’s worried people won’t come back.”

  That was a possibility. I pushed out a long breath. I couldn’t believe what I was about to suggest, but I wasn’t the type of person to hamper the success of the race because I didn’t like or trust someone.

  “If we see MacAvoy again, let’s make sure he knows about tomorrow. He can at least get that on the evening news.”

  Darby grinned. “That hurt.”

  “More than you know.”

  She grabbed my arm and tugged. “Hey, there’s Hagan.” Darby waved him over with gusto.

  Somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut and my expression neutral. This was my first face-to-face with Hagan Stone. Up until this moment, all of our interaction had been over the phone or by email.

  He didn’t look at all like I had imagined. He was fortyish, with thick dark hair in need of a trim, a high forehead, hawkish nose, and the voice of Cary Grant. I half expected him to air-kiss my cheeks or the back of my hand. He barreled over and introduced himself.

  “Melinda, you’ll be here Sunday, correct? We really need you. Your Bow Wow Boutique is widely respected and enormously popular. It’s been a huge draw for the event.”

  Normally, I was immune to flattery, but I couldn’t deny the warmth of satisfaction that washed over me. “Sure, I can do that. Not a problem.”

  He squeezed my shoulder gently. “Wonderful. I believe I’ve talked to almost everyone now, and they’ve all agreed to come back.” He nodded, satisfied with his accomplishment. “I think we’ll do okay. I may be short a judge. Would you mind filling in if that proves to be the case?”

  “Whatever you need.” I had no idea what I’d agreed to, but his enthusiasm was contagious.

  He smiled broadly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Any news on Zippy? Will he race?” Darby asked.

  Hagan’s brows furrowed. “That’s not up to me. That’s for Gia, Mrs. Eriksen, to decide. But I don’t see why he wouldn’t. He’s our big name, you know.”

  “Did you know Richard well?” I asked.

  He smiled sheepishly. “This is my first year as Chairman of the Board, but he seemed like a decent chap.”

  “We should have a moment of silence for him,” Darby suggested.

  Hagan nodded in agreement. “That’s very thoughtful. I’ll make sure to take care of it myself.”

  “Did Richard have a lot of enemies?” I asked.

  He pushed his thin lips together and pondered my question. “There’s always a variety of rivalry; that’s the nature of competition, correct? No, I wouldn’t call them enemies, but there was definitely tension between him and a number of other owners. Not to speak ill of the dead, but he could be difficult.”

  I’d noticed. His wife was equally difficult. “What about the protesters?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t pay them any attention. They’re a nuisance, nothing more.”

  Interesting. Darby and I exchanged a questioning look but refrained from commenting. We had proof it was possible the head protester was more than a nuisance.

  “Are they here every year?” I asked.

  “From what I understand, yes. Last year there was an altercation between the animal activists’ organizer and a couple of doxie owners. I’m terribly sorry, but I wasn’t informed about the specifics.”

  Well, maybe Darby and I need to find out. My phone chirped, interrupting our enlightening talkfest. A quick glance at my cell showed it was Grey. I looked at Darby and said, “Excuse me.”

  I walked toward a couple of locust trees for privacy before I answered. I released the breath I’d been holding and managed a half smile. “Hi.”

  “Hey. I saw I missed your call.”

  I looked around the grounds for a glimpse of Grey making his way toward me. I didn’t see him. “I thought you’d be back before now.”

  He hesitated then said, “Something came up. I had to leave.”

  I recognized the indifferent tone. He used it anytime he worked on a case I couldn’t know about. I started to pace. Was he on his way out of town already? Was that why he seemed happier after his call this afternoon?

  Good grief. Pull yourself together. “Will I see you tonight?”

  “I’m not sure. I have a couple of things to take care of.” The tension crackled across the phone.

  “Are you blowing me off?” I leaned against a tree, the rough bark pressed against my back.

  He sighed so hard I was amazed I didn’t feel his breath on my ear. “No. I have people waiting for me.”

  I rubbed my chest, pushing back the ache building inside. I was waiting for him too. I’d been waiting for him for weeks. “It’s just as well. I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of days so I made plans.” My face warmed at my blatant lie.

  “Melinda, we’re not finished.” His voice softened, but it still sounded detached. “We have a lot to discuss. Just not tonight.”

  “I don’t really want to talk tonight either,” I muttered. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I love you.”

  He didn’t respond immediately. I felt sick to my stomach.

  “I love you too,” he finally said.

  I ended the call hurt and frustrated, and in no way reassured. What a horrible day.

  IT WAS DUSK by the time Darby left to find Malone and update him on the photos. I’d managed to load three of the storage containers in the Jeep fairly quickly. Frustration could be a terrific motivator. Bless Missy’s sweet bulldog heart, she didn’t complain about all the back and forth between the Jeep and the booth. I’m sure she thought I’d lost my mind. She deserved an extra treat when we finally made it home.

  I slid the final tote off the table and started toward the Jeep for the last time. Missy dutifully brought up the rear, her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth. As I walke
d across the park, I mentally planned the rest of my night. First, a hot shower. Second, a glass or two of Pinot.

  “Hey, Cookie. Did you miss me?” Betty called out brightly.

  Startled, I almost dropped the plastic storage bin on my foot. I set down the tote before whipping around. “Where the heck have you been? I’ve been worried about you.” Immediately I was embarrassed I’d lost my temper.

  Betty, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye at my outrage. “Talking to Officer Cupcake.”

  “For two hours?”

  Betty squatted in front of Missy. With a thin hand, she patted Missy’s head with great affection. Betty’s white hair needed brushing, and her pajamas were rumpled. For the first time since I’d met her, she looked frail. That scared me more than not knowing where she’d been since she’d walked away with Officer Shughart.

  “I had some things to take care of,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  She straightened. “It’s private.”

  “Privacy’s never stopped you from poking your nose into my business.”

  “That’s because someone has to keep an eye out for you, Cookie. You act before you think.”

  Look who’s talking? The godmother of impulsiveness. I needed to calm down. What was I doing, interrogating a woman old enough to be my grandmother?

  I inhaled deeply and counted to five, searching for a shred of patience.

  “You look like you’re about to pass out. Stop holding your breath.” Betty said.

  “Will you tell me where you’ve been?” I pushed one last time.

  She shook her head.

  I tried a different approach. “What did Shughart say?”

  Betty sat on top of the storage container. I noticed her sneakers were no longer white, but grassy green. “You’d like her. She’s a smart one. She’s got two pugs, Charlie and Daisy. Cupcake promised to stop by the shop next week to check out our travel carriers. She’s leaving on vacation next month.”

  “I meant what did she say about your involvement with Richard’s death?”

  She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Don’t leave town. Don’t talk to the press. And if I see Stephanie to call her or that handsome Detective Malone.”

  “Holy cow, Betty. You’re officially a murder suspect.”