I pushed away the feelings of betrayal and anger toward Grey, and focused on what Malone had asked me to do.
I smoothed my hair back from my face and forced myself to grin at Betty. “We have an errand to run for Malone. He wants us to find Zippy.”
She rubbed her hands together. “Well, we can’t let Detective Hottie down. Let’s go.”
I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a quick hug. “First, let’s get you a corn dog. You can eat it while we walk.”
We followed the smell of fried calories toward the corn dog truck, aptly named The Dog House. The side of the truck was designed to resemble a popular comic strip’s dog house. We’d lucked out; the wait was short. As we stood in line, my stomach growled. I know, I’d just eaten a meatball sandwich. In my defense, Grey had only brought me half a hoagie.
Since we were already there, I bought a corn dog for myself too. I slathered mine with mustard. Betty dribbled two lines of ketchup on her fried masterpiece.
We polished off our dogs as we headed to the racetrack by way of cutting through the vendor area. Betty insisted we check on our booth, which we’d left unattended for far too long. I couldn’t deny she had a good idea.
No surprise, there wasn’t a single customer at our booth. Quinn, the owner of the Wag and Treats bakery, had pitched a vendor tent across from ours. She said she’d been watching our merchandise in our absence. I thanked her profusely with a promise to make it up to her.
Betty found a note Darby had taped to the display of dog treats, an invitation to watch the races with her at the starting gate. Betty jumped on the offer, ready to leave immediately. I quickly reminded her we needed to find Zippy first and take him to Daniel.
Truth be told, I’d been relying on Luis to catch Zippy, and once he had, that he’d maintain possession of the dog until someone came for him. A rather brazen assumption on my part, but if you knew Luis, my supposition wasn’t that inconceivable.
We found Luis within minutes. He and Barney anxiously paced in the waiting area with other racers and owners. The racetrack and waiting pen were the only areas where dogs were allowed off their leashes, and the dogs were taking full advantage of the situation.
I didn’t see Zippy. Darn. I might have overestimated Luis and his ability to catch a champion wiener racer. Besides Barney, there were two smooth-haired doxies, one black and white, the other one red. Then there was my personal favorite, a long-haired chocolate-and-tan dappled beauty. She was adorable and very friendly. She raced up to Betty and me as we squeezed through the gate.
“Hi, Luis.” I bent down to greet the congenial pup. “And who are you, cutie pie?”
“Hi, Mel. Betty,” Luis greeted from the far side of the fenced-in area.
“That’s Chloe,” her owner, a tall, warrior-princess looking woman answered. She smoothed her sleek ponytail. “Careful, she likes to nip.”
Hearing her name, Chloe eagerly nosed my hand demanding my attention. I rubbed the pooch’s deep chest. “She’s a sweetie.”
Betty stepped to the side and called Barney over. She loved him up. Nose to nose, she whispered doggie-sweet-nothings. In return, he licked her cheek repeatedly. Had her purse not been full of money, I’m sure she’d have pulled out a handful of Bowser treats for all the dogs.
I straightened and carefully backed away from the dogs that ran circles around my feet. “Did you catch Zippy, Luis?”
“Sure did.” I caught a flicker of pride in his dark eyes. “Took him to the veterinarian tent. I thought he should be checked out. You know, in case he was injured in the fight.”
I smiled. “You’re a good man.”
He looked down, but not before I glimpsed the pink tint spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Who won the fight?”
Betty snorted. “Detective Hottie broke up the brawl. Before he showed up, I’d call Gia the winner, hands down.”
Luis nodded thoughtfully. “I could see that.”
“What time is the race supposed to start?” Betty stood and patted her handbag.
I narrowed my eyes and nodded at her purse, silently communicating she needed to cease the betting references. She shrugged as if she had no idea what I meant.
“The first heat has been postponed. Again. At this rate, we’ll never run that last race,” Luis muttered.
Affable Luis was actually a little pessimistic. I wasn’t sure why that realization tickled me, but it did.
“Trust me, the show will go on.” I patted him on the back.
“Yeah, what else could go wrong?” Betty said.
That lame comment was just an invitation for catastrophe.
While Betty and Luis chatted and shared strategy tips, I observed the other competitors as they ran through their paces. I recognized the side-glances, the silent sizing-up of the other racers, and the occasional condescending backhanded compliments meant to chip away at someone’s confidence. The similarity wasn’t lost on me—whether a beauty pageant or a wiener race, the need to win pulsed through every true competitor.
I didn’t miss the mind games and subterfuge.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Darby taking candid photos near the track. I waved until she saw me. She waved back and pointed toward the starting gates. I guess we were supposed to meet her there.
“Great. Look who’s coming,” grumbled one of the female doxie owners. She pointed behind us.
We all turned and watched Lenny and Pickles chase Hagan toward us. I wasn’t sure if she was unhappy about the arrival of Lenny or Hagan. I looked forward to chatting with each of them. I had a few questions pertaining to their respective relationship with the Eriksens.
“Don’t ignore me,” Lenny shouted at Hagan’s back.
Lenny no longer looked as refreshed as he had this morning. He looked rumpled and dirty. The bottom of his shirt was torn, and there was a black smudge of what I suspected could be grease on the leg of his shorts.
Hagan, who was definitely ignoring Lenny, tromped toward us with long strides. He stopped at the gate and announced, “I’m here to inform all of you the race will start in fifteen minutes.”
Betty and Luis high-fived; the other owners cheered.
“You got Barney’s chicken?” Betty elbowed Luis. He grinned, patting the fanny pack.
“Game on, Chloe.” Xena The Princess Warrior picked up her pooch and kissed her soft head.
Lenny marched up behind Hagan. He grabbed him with a brawny hand and yanked him around. “You have to disqualify the witch.” He poked him in the chest with his beefy finger. “I told ya she was cheatin’. You should have listened to me.”
Hagan straightened his narrow shoulders, then stared down his beakish nose into Lenny’s angry face. “I beg your pardon.” His Cary Grant accent was extra thick, magnifying his indignation.
“Beg all you want, but you can’t have it. I was right. You have to kick Gia Eriksen and her dog out of the race.” Lenny cracked his knuckles.
Hagan held his hands out, palms up. “I don’t have proof of any misdeed.”
He didn’t seem particularly upset about that either. I had to admit, with my newfound information I looked at Hagan in a new way. What I once found as awkwardly endearing facial features now looked somewhat creepy and sinister.
Lenny’s face turned brick red. “Yes, you do. You don’t want to admit it.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Tell him, Melinda.”
Great, why was I being dragged into his fight?
I walked over to where Lenny stood, keeping the fence between us for good measure. “How do you know about that? We didn’t tell anyone.” And I highly doubted Daniel or Malone had informed him.
His red-rimmed eyes stared at me unapologetically. “I saw the police bring Gia’s water bottle to the veterinarian tent. Pickles and I stood by the door and listened.”
I leaned forward catching a whiff of his minty fresh breath. Was the guy drinking mouthwash? Maybe he was attempting to mask an alcohol smell with mouthwash.
&nbs
p; “You eavesdropped?” Betty asked, appalled.
I kept my mouth shut. You already know where I stand on that topic.
He snarled. “Damn straight I did. I wasn’t about to let evidence get swept under the rug this time.”
This time? As in, there had been evidence of cheating in the past? Fallon had mentioned Lenny had argued with a judge last year. Could it have been about cheating? A year was a long time to carry a grudge.
I looked at Hagan. His face was emotionless, but his fixed eyes assessed the situation. Probably calculating a way out.
“I heard the cop tell the doc that Melinda had seen Gia give whatever was inside the water bottle to Zippy.” Lenny’s face contorted into a hardened mask of scorn. “You have to act Hagan. You have to disqualify Zippy from the race.”
The sun disappeared behind a dark billowy cloud. I rubbed my arm, feeling suddenly chilled. An eerie quiet settled around us as we all waited to hear what Hagan Stone would decide.
One way or the other, someone was bound to end up very unhappy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
HAGAN RECOVERED quickly. His face softened, and his eyebrows drew together in concern. “Is it true, Melinda? Do you have proof Gia Eriksen was cheating?”
I couldn’t figure this guy out. Was he mad or concerned? “I did. I gave the water bottle to Detective Malone. I believe Dr. Darling has it now.”
He formed a steeple with his fingers and rested them against his lips. With all eyes on Hagan and Lenny, no one noticed Gia waltz up to the gate, Zippy in tow, until she opened her mouth and whined. “Are you talking about me, Lenny?”
I blinked a few times. This was the first time I’d seen her up close since the fight. Gia’s face was battered and bruised. She’d managed to pull her black hair into a messy ponytail. Her designer clothes were grimy; her torn collar hung on by a handful of stitches. Gia’s swollen lips pouted her displeasure at our horrified stares.
“What the hell happened to you?” Lenny bellowed.
“She got into a girl fight with her dead husband’s mistress. But don’t you worry. Gia kicked her butt. That is, until the cops arrived and broke it up.” Betty beamed with admiration.
Good grief, next she’d ask for her autograph. I was concerned that Gia might need medical treatment. “Did you have someone at the first aid station look you over? Make sure you’re okay?”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she snapped.
She obviously hadn’t looked in a mirror recently.
Lenny narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “You were caught fighting by the cops, cheating by the doc, and Hagan refuses to disqualify you. Are you two sleeping together?” His accusatory tone reverberated throughout the park. “What other explanation could there be?”
All eyes were glued on Gia and Hagan. Heck, I’ve learned over the past few years, anything was possible. I felt a little remiss that I hadn’t thought of that possibility myself.
“That’s enough.” Hagan sounded very un-Cary-Grant-like.
Gia waved her hand in front of her as if to dismiss all of the overwhelming evidence of her misdeeds and any possibility of her fornicating with the Chairman of the Board.
“This is all the filmmaker’s fault. She obviously wasn’t a professional. She believed Lenny and has managed to somehow turn everyone against me.”
I shook my head. This was suddenly Stephanie’s fault? I wasn’t following her logic. Maybe she had a head injury.
She turned her battered eyes toward Hagan and attempted to look sympathetic. It wasn’t that difficult, what with all the bruises around her eyes. “You know how much we need to run this race.” Her face may look broken, but her voice was steely and threatening.
Did he? Was she referring to her possible financial problems?
“That’s not the whole story,” Lenny growled.
“Gia, I saw you sneak behind the tents,” I chimed in. Good grief, if Hagan didn’t make a decision soon, there would be another brawl. Only this time Gia would not come out the victor. Lenny would pummel her into dust with one swing.
“You were spying on me?” she screeched. If she’d had something to throw at me, she would have.
“Not at all. I was minding my own business when I saw you and Zippy slink behind the Feline and Me tent. After your brawl with Fallon Keller, I noticed the same water bottle Zippy had dug out of your bag. I grabbed it. I unscrewed the cap and recognized the smell—an energy drink.”
“You busy body,” she hissed. “Why can’t you stay out of my business?”
“Is this true?” Hagan finally spoke. “Did you give Zippy an energy drink?”
She threw her shoulder back in defiance. “I don’t have to answer that.”
He nodded, his face tight. “You’re right. You don’t. Mrs. Eriksen, I regret to inform you that Zippy has been disqualified for suspicion of unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“Yes!” Lenny punched the air. “Let’s get this race started.”
“You can’t do that. I—Zippy has to race. You agreed,” Gia yelled. She charged after Hagan and grabbed the back of his shirt. “If you exclude us, you’ll regret it.”
“No, Mrs. Eriksen. Don’t threaten me. Or you’ll regret it.” His face hardened like granite, but his smile was pure satisfaction. “Do I need to call security?”
Gia let go of his shirt as if it had suddenly caught fire. She stepped back, but she didn’t stop glaring at him. “You’ll be sorry,” she promised.
“I don’t think so.”
MacAvoy’s warning about Hagan Stone roared through my head.
“Can we run this race before another fight ensues or someone else drops dead?” Betty asked.
“I’m not particularly fond of your phrasing, madam, but yes, we can start the first heat. Racers to the gate.” Hagan waved his hand in the air commanding that we all follow.
My heart was already racing. It had been years since I’d been in a bar fight, but if I needed to, I could hold my own. Unlike my cousin and Betty, I’d learned to defend myself through real-life situations and not in a classroom. For a couple of minutes I’d thought that’s where the confrontation between Gia, Hagan, and Lenny had been headed.
Who’d have thought an innocent wiener race would incite such hotheaded competition?
THE DARK CLOUD drifted onward, allowing a sliver of sunlight to shine dimly on us. Hagan called security and had Gia and her dog escorted off the field. Lenny watched with a pleased smile plastered across his face. I was surprised he hadn’t broken out in applause or his version of a happy dance.
Hagan grabbed the microphone and called for all the racers to report to the starting line. The race would begin in five minutes.
Betty and I joined Darby on the sideline.
“What was going on over there?” she asked. “I stayed back and took a lot of pictures. The whole scene looked intense.”
“Gia and Zippy got kicked out for cheating,” Betty explained.
“Technically for unsportsmanlike conduct,” I added.
Darby whistled. “She didn’t take that well.”
Betty stretched up on her toes to peer at Darby’s viewfinder camera. “You got some good shots there.” Betty nodded, impressed. “I bet you could sell those to a celebrity tabloid and make some fast cash.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, in all seriousness. Once Betty turned her attention to the track, Darby and I exchanged an amused look over Betty’s head.
The three of us watched Lenny hand Pickles to the gate attendee in lane two. Luis and Barney were assigned gate five. The other contestants quickly took their places. After a murder, a fistfight, and the smack-down Hagan had just handed Gia, a wiener race felt, well, a little anticlimactic. Does that make me a bad person?
“I still have a chance to win big. Especially now that Zippy’s been disqualified for doping.” Betty patted her purse. “If I win big I’m buying an outfit off that shopping channel.”
“Grey said to leave the money,” I muttered.
>
She hugged her purse up against her tiny body. “No way.”
This wasn’t the time to convince her otherwise. Darby paced along the sideline snapping pictures.
“Darby, have you seen Stephanie? Shouldn’t she be here?” I had a hunch there was more to the girl with the dachshund tattoo than her dogumentary.
“I haven’t seen her.” She lowered her camera, tucking a lock of blond hair behind ear. She surveyed the area quickly. “It’s odd that she hasn’t been around. Especially if she really is a filmmaker.”
“Stop jabbering over there,” Betty jeered good-naturedly. “The race is about to start. Darby, we can watch at the finish line, right?” Betty rubbed her hands together greedily. Okay, it was possible that was a show of excitement. But I was sticking with greed.
“Sure. Stay back and don’t interfere. Remember, no matter what happens, you can’t touch the dogs.”
“You got it, sweet cheeks.” Betty swung her handbag up on her shoulder and led the way.
Luis, Lenny, and the rest of the owners moved to the finish line. Each pulled their racer’s favorite item out of a pocket or bag. Luis dug the chicken strips wrapped in tinfoil out of his fanny pack. Lenny unearthed a squeaky toy monkey from somewhere. A couple other owners had balls. The owner in lane three had a box of Bowser treats.
“Last call,” Hagan’s voice carried over the loud speakers.
The excitement for the race filled the air as the crowd cheered for their favorite doxie. Cries of well-wishes and encouragement blasted toward the field. I couldn’t help but feel excited too.
The starting gate looked like a row of cubbyholes, open on the back side to place the racer inside. The front side was covered with a clear plastic door so the racer could see the owner at the finish line but not leave the block until given the signal. Once the starting gun fired, the designated volunteer at each end of the gate would pull the handle and the plastic door would lift up, releasing all the dogs at once.
The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo Page 15