The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo

by Sparkle Abbey

  “Unfortunately, your husband lied to you,” MacAvoy said.

  “I knew he was no good,” Betty muttered under her breath.

  “Shh,” I whispered back. I didn’t believe either woman would admit to killing Richard, but there was a chance they might say something incriminating, and I didn’t want to miss it. You know, so I could fill in Malone later.

  Gia scowled. “You’re wrong. He wouldn’t lie to me. She stalked us. I have proof.”

  Fallon shook her head. “I wasn’t stalking anyone. Richard could have told me to leave him alone at any time. He didn’t. Not once.”

  Okay, it didn’t take a genius to see where this was going. Gia was also putting two and two together and coming up with the same conclusion I had. I felt badly for her. It was one thing to learn your dead husband might have cheated on you. It was a whole other story to find out about it from his mistress in front of fifty strangers.

  Gia rallied quickly. “Your pitiful attempt to take what didn’t belong to you failed.”

  “You’re wrong,” Fallon bit out.

  “You’re a jealous vindictive witch. He didn’t want you so you shot my husband.”

  There was a collective gasp at Gia’s accusation. Oh, it was on like Donkey Kong.

  “I didn’t kill Richard.” Fallon’s dark eyes glared at her enemy.

  “Someone call 911. There’s a murderer among us,” Gia wailed, pointing at Fallon.

  “It’s you. You’re the killer.” Fallon’s condemning words fell into an expectant silence. “He was going to leave you, but you murdered him first.”

  I felt like we were watching two B-list actors act out a scene from Clue. I half expected her to finish her declaration with, “In the dog park with the revolver.”

  All at once, Gia dropped Zippy’s leash and jumped Fallon. The picket sign landed with a solid thwack on the grass.

  “You tramp,” Gia screamed.

  “Murderer.” Fallon managed to wrangle free, and push Gia away. “You’re crazy.”

  Zippy jumped around, dragging his leash behind him as he barked his head off.

  “That dog’s jacked up,” Betty said.

  I called Zippy, but he refused to come. He was too worked up to obey, and Gia was too upset to notice her pooch needed her.

  “You killed my husband you selfish harlot.” Gia’s face grew redder with each word. “You couldn’t have him, so you shot him.”

  “I loved him.” Fallon pounded her chest. “I was the best thing that ever happened to him. We were going to start our lives together. You killed him. He hated you.”

  “Liar!”

  “You’re the liar. You refused to give him a divorce. You didn’t love him. You just wanted his money. He was going to leave you and retire Zippy after this race.”

  I met MacAvoy’s gaze. We knew that was the truth. He’d confirmed it with the filmmaker.

  Gia lurched for Fallon again, who quickly backed away, keeping out of Gia’s threatening clutches.

  “You told him the only way he’d get rid of you was over your dead body. Well, look who’s dead. Richard.” This time Fallon lunged for Gia, shoving her in the chest.

  Gia stumbled back, dropping her purse at her feet. Zippy frantically pawed at the bag, managing to unearth the purple water bottle I’d been wanting to nab earlier.

  The women circled each other like the Mob Wives cast at a Hollywood premiere. It was about to get ugly. Where were the police? Hadn’t Hagan called the police like he’d promised Betty?

  “That’s it. You’re dead.” Gia shoved Fallon so hard she tripped over Zippy, barely managing to stay upright. Zippy yelped, jumping to the side.

  The mass of onlookers stumbled back, granting wide berth. I scanned the faces in the crowd. We all had the same stunned look of fascination and horror. Although judging by the number of people who’d whipped out their cell phones to snap pictures of the fight, the allure of drama had outweighed their alarm.

  Zippy ran in circles around his owner and Fallon, wrapping his leash around their legs. The fighting women toppled to the ground with a loud thud. Gia wrangled Fallon onto her back and sat on the poor gal. Within seconds, the screaming match escalated into an all-out brawl, which included hair-pulling, scratching, and rather impressive foul language. Gia never relinquished her advantage.

  “I’ve got twenty on the crazy one,” Betty shouted.

  “Which one’s that?” the ginger-haired man asked.

  “Damn, I don’t have a camera.” MacAvoy looked over his shoulder, presumably for his cameraman, Ryan.

  I jerked my head in Mr. TV’s direction. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

  “It’s my job,” he said unapologetically.

  I was worried about Zippy being injured. I watched for an opportunity to grab the dog without being kicked when his leash somehow managed to untangle itself from the women’s thrashing legs. Zippy raced off toward the track with his ears flapping in the breeze—all four paws taking flight as his long body stretched out to full length. Barking dogs tugged on their leashes, yearning to give chase to the current wiener champion.

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Betty cried out. “Look at him go.”

  Luis set Barney on the grass. “We’ll get him.” They took off after the runaway pooch.

  It was a complete and utter madhouse. I pulled out my cell to call the police when I felt a heavy presence loom behind me.

  “Break it up.” Malone’s voice roared over my shoulder.

  Startled, I fumbled with my phone almost dropping it. Holy crapola. Where’d he come from?

  The crowd parted, inviting Malone to wade into the lion’s den. Gia and Fallon continued to pull hair and scream vicious names at each other, oblivious to the police’s arrival.

  “Enough!” Without a second of hesitation, the detective effortlessly lifted Gia off Fallon and set her aside.

  Well, I don’t know about everyone else, but I was certainly thanking the good Lord for Malone’s timely appearance. At the rate those two were going at it, someone was going to end up dead.

  And we all know, I’m the last person who should be reporting a dead body to the cops.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE POLICE USHERED the bystanders to the side, keeping Gia and Fallon separated. Officer Salinas stood next to Fallon, his crossed arms resting on his large muscular chest as if daring her to leave. At the moment, she continued to stay put, but the girl looked like she was ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

  Detective Malone’s forceful voice hovered above the curious buzz as he questioned Gia. I couldn’t make out the words, but the low-pitched tone and wide-legged stance communicated clearly that he meant business.

  The women looked like two rolled drunks with blades of grass and leaves stuck in their hair like barrettes. Angry red scratch marks trailing down their necks. Fallon’s white jean jacket was covered in grass stains, and the bottom of her maxi-dress was torn. Gia’s bedraggled blue jogging suit hung awkwardly on her frame.

  “Who called the cops?” Betty whined.

  We hung back with the remaining handful of gawkers. For once, Malone hadn’t ordered us to wait around so he could talk to us later. Betty and I were simply being nosey. Plus I also had some information I thought Malone might find helpful.

  “In a manner of speaking, you. You asked Hagan to call when you

  spotted Stephanie.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was a long time ago. I forgot with all the excitement. They sure took their sweet time getting here. Stephanie’s long gone.”

  Something wasn’t adding up when it came to the filmmaker we’d dubbed Stephanie. Between the murder of Richard Eriksen and the physical altercation between Gia and Fallon, that was prime drama for any film. Let alone a dogumentary about the underside of wiener racing.

  Yet, she wasn’t anywhere to be found. Why not? Where was she? What could be more important than filming unscripted drama? Even MacAvoy’s first response was to look for his cameraman. Nop
e, something was off. I was beginning to wonder if she was a filmmaker or if that was just a front for something more sinister. But if she wasn’t making a dogumentary, what was she up to?

  “Hey, do you think Rodney was taking bets on the fight?” Betty asked excited by the possibility.

  “No.” He was a bookmaker. Of course he was. Just one more reason Stephanie should have been around.

  “Too bad. I’d have put money on Gia. She’s a scrappy gal.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’re not betting anymore.”

  “What’s one more wager?”

  Malone suddenly looked in our direction. He wasn’t that far away from where we stood. It was possible he’d overheard our gossip about the illegal gambling. He watched us long enough that I got a little nervous. Betty, on the other hand, waved at him.

  She sighed like a lovelorn school girl. “I think he missed me.”

  Doubtful. “Let’s stay back and let him do his job.”

  “Isn’t it his job to solve murders? Those two were just fighting. And not doing a very good job at it until the end.”

  “He’s here because of Stephanie. The fight is coincidental. Although, it is possible one of them killed Richard.”

  When you think about it, each had motive. Fallon could be a suspect because it was possible Richard wasn’t leaving his wife for her as he’d promised, and that ticked off Fallon. Gia could be a suspect because she knew her husband was having an affair and was planning to leave her for a new life with Fallon.

  That’s when I noticed the purple water bottle. Zippy had managed to paw it out of Gia’s purse, and it had rolled under a wooden picnic table adjacent to where Mr. TV stood attempting to snag an interview with the police. Malone and the other police officers dealt with the fighters, leaving the water bottle fair game.

  “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” I said to Betty.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Hopefully to grab evidence that will prove Gia’s cheating. I’ll be right back.”

  No one paid any attention to me as I made my way toward the potential evidence; their focus was on Malone, Gia, and Fallon. I hustled toward the container before anyone could beat me to it. MacAvoy glanced over his shoulder. I gave him a half wave, keeping my eyes on him as I bent down and reached for the bottle under the table. Only my fingers didn’t grasp the bottle, but another hand.

  I gasped. I turned my head only to find myself face to face with Grey.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Apparently the same as you.”

  “Where have you been?”

  He looked around. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Melinda, what do you have?” MacAvoy called out.

  I pulled the bottle from Grey’s grasp. “We’ll finish this discussion later. Let’s go before he comes over here.”

  I left Grey and rushed back to where I’d left Betty on the grassy pathway. I heard Grey and MacAvoy tailing me.

  “Good job, Cookie.” Betty rubbed her hands to together. “I like how you got those boys to follow you over here. You get Grey; I get the reporter.”

  I shook my head in exasperation. “He’s all yours.”

  MacAvoy stopped next to me. Grey was only a couple of steps behind him. Mr. TV nodded at Betty and Grey as he smoothed his Ken-doll hair.

  “Hello,” he said, in his on-screen persona.

  I rolled my eyes in Grey’s direction.

  “You’re even more handsome in person.” Betty smiled broadly. “Are you available?”

  “Sheesh. At least tell him your name first.” I chuckled.

  “I’m Betty.” She batted her eyes at him. “You got a girlfriend?”

  Grey coughed back a laugh.

  MacAvoy was clearly caught off guard, “We broke up.” He turned to me. “What are you up to Melinda?”

  “Nothing that concerns you. Go back to eavesdropping on an official police-questioning.”

  MacAvoy looked at me, amused. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

  “Only because you weren’t close enough then.”

  MacAvoy laughed. “Be careful. You’re warming up to me.”

  “Hardly.”

  Grey looked at me with surprise in his eyes. “A new friend?”

  I found it hard to believe Grey didn’t know who’d joined our cozy little group.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Callum MacAvoy. Reporter for Channel 5 News.”

  “Grey Donovan. Melinda’s fiancé.”

  They shook hands, taking each other’s measure. Sheesh. This wasn’t the first time Grey had introduced himself as my fiancé, but this was more than an introduction. He was marking his territory. Which was completely out of character.

  “Grey owns the ACT Gallery. If you’re serious about publicizing locally-owned businesses, his would be the perfect opener. He has a great eye for promising artists.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Translation: not happening.

  I unscrewed the lid of the water bottle and looked inside. The bottle was still half full of a dark liquid. I inhaled, smelling the contents. My eyes widened. I knew that smell—an energy drink. Was that safe?

  “Don’t drink that,” Grey ordered.

  I wrinkled my nose. “I hadn’t planned on it. But even if I did, it wouldn’t hurt me.”

  I’d downed my share of highly caffeinated drinks throughout my college days. Other than shaky hands, a racing heart, and an extended focus period, I’d never needed to seek medical attention.

  “What’s the importance of the bottle?” MacAvoy asked.

  “Gia’s a cheater and Cookie’s got the proof,” Betty explained. “If you’d like an exclusive on how we broke the case, I’d be happy to give you one over dinner.”

  I sighed. “For once, can you at least try to keep a subject under wrap? Betty is my assistant. I’d like to tell you she’s harmless, but that’s a lie.”

  She stroked her white hair. “I’m free tonight.” She cocked a boney hip toward MacAvoy.

  The poor reporter looked like he wasn’t sure if she was serious or pulling his leg.

  “I have to take this to Daniel. I think I know what he needs to test for,” I said.

  “You should tell Malone. I’ll get him.” Betty bounced on the toes of her sneakers eager to get her man. And just that quickly, MacAvoy was forgotten, and she was back to the handsome detective.

  I was about to burst her bubble. “Leave him be. Feeding your dog caffeine isn’t against the law. But it is against the race rules. We should give it to Daniel and let Hagan know.”

  “Don’t tell Hagan yet. Let Daniel run his test. If it’s positive, then you can tell Hagan.” Grey had been awfully quiet until now.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to inform Hagan?” MacAvoy challenged. “As the chairman, he should know that there’s a possibility of duplicity. It’s his obligation to remove any contestant if there’s a suspicion of cheating, race-rigging, or animal exploitation.”

  I looked at Grey. “He has a point.” I grimaced as I realized I’d sided with Mr. TV over my fiancé.

  “If there is a possibility of cheating, the accusation holds greater weight if it comes from the event’s veterinarian than us. Gia doesn’t strike me as the type of person who will walk away quietly.”

  An equally valid point.

  All four of us looked in her direction. Somehow, she managed to look self-righteous and pouty at the same time. She caught us staring at her. She must have told Malone because he turned in our direction.

  “Great. He’s coming over here,” I complained.

  “Yippee.” Betty cheered.

  “How can you tell?” MacAvoy asked.

  I sighed. “Experience.”

  Sure enough, the minute Malone finished his interview he made his way toward our group. As we watched him draw closer, I wondered if I was the only one who felt anxious about what he may have overheard. Not that we had anything to hide, but Betty was in enou
gh trouble as it was; she didn’t need to add illegal gambling to her list of offenses.

  If the looks on the others’ faces were any indication, Grey and I were the only ones wishing Malone would stay on the other side of the grassy area. The other two looked like they were about to be granted their greatest wish.

  “Mel, Betty.” Malone acknowledged the men with a nod.

  “Detective Hottie,” Betty cooed.

  He avoided Betty, instead turning his attention toward me. His crossed his arms and wide-legged stance indicated he wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Gia claims you have an item that belongs to her.”

  Of course she did. Darn her.

  I scowled. “First, let me tell you that I have not shoved my nose into your murder investigation.”

  He stared at me, unimpressed. “Yet, you’re still here.”

  “I did discover some information you might find helpful. Or maybe not. But before we get to that, may I ask you a question?”

  “If I say no, will that stop you?”

  I smiled. He finally understood me. “Not at all.”

  “Get it over with.”

  “Have you or your crew talked to the filmmaker? I find it odd that she’s not here, recording all the crazy drama. Look at MacAvoy, he can’t stay away, and he’s the noon reporter.”

  “I’m a serious investigative reporter.”

  I tossed him an apologetic smile. “No offense. Just stating the facts.”

  Malone watched Gia and Fallon shoot daggers into each other for a second. “We were sidetracked. But no, to my knowledge, we have not talked to the filmmaker yet.”

  “You should put a lookout for her,” Betty suggested. “What’s that called? A BOGO?”

  “A BOLO,” Grey corrected automatically. “Be On the Look Out.”

  I couldn’t decipher the expression on MacAvoy’s face, but Betty was impressed. Malone and I had to be thinking the same thing—was Grey trying to blow his cover?

  Grey shrugged unapologetically. “I like cop dramas.”

  “Oh, me too,” Betty agreed, excited to have someone who shared a mutual interest. “I like the dark gritty shows with the handsome cops.”