Most of the vendors had already packed up and evacuated. Quinn, the pet bakery owner, had left a note. Bless her heart she had instructed my customers to stop by my shop. Betty and I were packing the merchandise when we saw Fallon and her picket sign head toward the exit. I asked Betty to hold down the fort.
“Hey, Fallon. Hold up,” I called out, running to catch up to her.
She turned around and glared at me through slitted eyes. “What do you want?”
I sucked in a breath. If at all possible, she looked worse than Gia. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised; Fallon had been on the losing end of the fight. “Do you need to go to the clinic?”
“Where do you think I’ve been?” She pointed to the bandage stuck to her temple. “Did you want something specific or to just gawk at me? I’ve had enough people staring at me today.”
I excused her cranky attitude. “I heard Richard knew about a secret Hagan was keeping. I wondered if you knew what it was.”
“I have no idea.” She turned and walked away.
I chased after her. I had more questions, and I wasn’t sure when I’d have another opportunity to ask. “Did you know Gia was feeding Zippy energy drinks?”
She froze, then whipped around.
I skidded to a stop.
“I told Richard she was up to no good.” She shook her poster in front of my face. “It’s because of irresponsible people like her that Doxie Lovers exists. She selfishly risked the life of her dog to win a race. Completely reckless. Zippy isn’t safe with her.”
I backed up. No surprise here, I agreed with her about Gia needlessly risking her dog’s life, but that didn’t mean I wanted Fallon to knock me out with her sign. “Is it possible Richard knew what his wife was doing?”
“No,” she stated adamantly.
“Think about it for a second. Could that be why he intended to retire Zippy after this race?”
“If he’d known, he would have left sooner. Zippy meant everything to him. Richard talked about retiring while they were on top. Yesterday he had decided it was time.”
“Why yesterday?” I asked.
Fallon looked at me confused. “I don’t understand.”
“What had changed? What made him decide yesterday was Zippy’s last race?”
She blinked rapidly. “I—I—I don’t know. I was so relived he was leaving that banshee and the racing circuit, I didn’t question why.” She blushed. “I guess I wanted him to leave for me.”
Hey, we’ve all been there at some point. Although most of us got over it in high school.
Her statement about Gia risking Zippy’s life brought to mind a new question. “Do the Eriksens have some type of insurance policy on the dog?”
She shrugged. “Sure. Most of the owners do. That’s not uncommon.”
“Do you know if Richard had a personal life insurance policy?” Money was a great motivator. Especially if you have an expensive shopping habit.
Her lips puckered like she’d sucked on a rancid lemon. “We didn’t talk about his finances.”
She didn’t have a problem having sex with a married man, but she drew the line at money discussions. Some people had an interesting moral compass.
Tired of waiting for me, Betty sailed across the field and anchored herself next to me. “You’re taking too long. What are you talking about?”
I suspected my lovely assistant was not only bored, but snoopy. “I was asking Fallon a couple of questions.”
Betty planted her hands on her hips. “I got a question. If Gia killed Richard, are you going to take Zippy?”
I lobbed a meaningful glare at Betty. “I didn’t mention any of that.”
My looked went heeded. “Well, why not? She’ll find out eventually,” Betty said.
“What is she talking about?” Fallon asked.
“Detective Hottie arrested Gia,” Betty charged on.
“No, he did not. Gia is at the police station answering questions. Fallon, I’m curious, where were you when Richard was shot?”
Her eyes lit up with indignation. “After visiting the ATM for some cash, I stood in line for a fish taco. But the wait was too long so I left. Not that it’s any of your business.”
The ATM would have taken a picture if she really had been there. The rest of her story wasn’t so easy to verify. Either way she had the opportunity to kill him, but my gut said she didn’t do it. I believed she really loved him.
“What were you and Richard fighting about?”
She looked away. “He was superstitious. He had to chew Juicy Fruit gum during each race.” She shrugged with a soft laugh. “Richard was out of gum and wanted me to buy him packet. I told him that was an errand for his wife.” She struggled to keep her composure.
For those who aren’t paying attention, their argument wasn’t really about a package of gum.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve answered your questions; now I have one for you.” Fallon turned her attention to yours truly. “Where’s Zippy?”
Funny how some people were hardwired to be concerned about an animal’s welfare. “Last I knew he was still with Gia, on the way to the police station.”
“Not for long.” Fallon spun around, and with her “Save Our Wieners” picket sign, she marched off into the evening.
“Where’d she go in such a hurry?” Betty asked.
“Where do you think?” I glared at her. “Next time, I’m not telling you anything.”
She huffed. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t tell her about Gia?”
I pointed at her mouth. “You’ve got loose lips.”
Betty puckered. “Nope. These are smooching lips.” She mimicked noisy kissing sounds.
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s load up and get out of here.”
“THE NEXT TIME you beg me to set up a vendor booth, remember this experience because my answer will be no.” I lifted the last plastic storage container off the table and headed toward the Jeep. Again. Betty tagged behind, jabbering about her plans with Raider.
“I think the first trick I’m going to teach Raider is to play dead.”
“I think he needs to learn to sit. Stay. Down would be a good idea. Call Caro first thing tomorrow.”
My fondness for Betty was the only reason I suggested she reach out to Caro. Sure there were other pet behaviorists in the area, but Caro was the best.
“Hey, there’s that sexy reporter.” Betty whistled to get his attention. “Mr. MacAvoy, yoo hoo,” she sang out at the top of her lungs.
I looked to my left. Sure enough, Mr. TV was heading our way, with his cameraman. “Seriously, would you leave him alone?”
“But what if he wants to interview us for the late night news? Don’t you want to be on TV?’
“No.” I heard someone, probably MacAvoy, call out my name. I picked up my pace.
“Slow down, Cookie. I can’t keep up.”
Liar. Against my better judgment, I slowed down anyway.
“Melinda, do you have a minute?” MacAvoy raced up next to me and quickly fell into step.
“Where’s your cameraman?” I didn’t slow down. The Jeep was within view.
“I sent him to wait in the van. With your aversion to cameras, I thought it was best.”
I sighed. I stopped and set the tote on the grass. I was so close to a clean getaway. “I have somewhere to be so make it snappy.”
“I’m sorry you had to find Stephanie dead.” Betty lunged for a hug. I could tell by her soft moan she was enjoying herself. Watching Mr. TV’s discomfort suddenly made the delay tolerable.
He cautiously patted Betty’s back and then stepped away. “Who?”
“The filmmaker. We didn’t know her name so we gave her one,” I explained.
His flashy smile was conspicuously missing. “Olivia. Her name was Olivia Benedict,” he said softly.
Odd. Malone mentioned no one knew her name. “Did you know her?”
He nodded. “We worked together many years ago. She was a freelance journ
alist back then.”
Well, well, well. Someone was keeping secrets. Look who was withholding information now? The pieces started to come together. “You knew who she was and what she was doing the entire time.”
Betty glared at me. “Cookie, if you had been nicer to him, he could have gotten my gun back.”
“Your gun?” he asked.
I covered Betty’s mouth with my hand, keeping her quiet momentarily. “This is all off the record. You can’t use anything she says. Your word as a journalist.” Not that I held much stock in that, but he seemed to.
He threw his hands in the air. “That seems to be the theme of the day. Agreed. What gun?”
“You already know about Betty’s public argument with Richard? She may have pulled out a gun as protection. Stephanie—Olivia—snatched the gun.”
“She said I could get into trouble waving a gun in public.” Betty pouted.
We caught a glimpse of a real MacAvoy smile. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“What will happen to her movie?” Betty asked.
I still wasn’t convinced there ever was a dogumentary. “Was there a movie?”
He nodded. “She’d been working on it for a while. She traveled from race to race throughout California. It was during the filming here that she uncovered an illegal gambling ring. She was using the film to gather evidence. For the authorities.”
“And now she’s dead.”
“And her camera is missing.” MacAvoy had to have the last word. Not that a missing camera is more important than a murder, but if that camera happened to contain evidence that might help solve the crime . . . well, it trumps the dead body every time.
“Do you think whoever killed her took the camera?” I asked.
He nodded.
That’s what I thought too. “How do you know all this?”
“Olivia and I had dinner last night.”
Since he was in a chatty mood, I continued my questions. I tried to keep my tone and phrasing conversational. “Is Hagan really behind the gambling ring?”
“I have my theories, but no evidence.”
He was singing a familiar tune. How many times had I felt that way when dealing with Malone? More than I should.
“If Hagan was making money on Zippy, he’d have motive to kill Richard. And if Olivia had captured people actually placing bets, that would have blown up his entire operation.”
“Like I’ve said, he’s not a small-time hoodlum.” I heard the warning in his voice.
It was a strong possibility Malone had the wrong person in for questioning. “Where is Hagan?” I figured if anyone knew, it would be MacAvoy.
“He disappeared immediately after the trophies were awarded. Where were you? I thought you of all people would have been here for the presentation.”
I eyed Betty. For once she kept quiet. “We were taking care of a personal matter,” I said.
His weight shifted in Betty’s direction. “Where were you when Olivia was killed?”
“You think I’m a suspect? Again?” Betty whined. “I thought we had something.”
I smiled. “Since I haven’t heard the time of death, she can’t answer that.” He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “And neither can I.” I finished.
I picked up the storage container and motioned with my head to Betty. “Let’s go. I still need a jump.”
Betty bid farewell to Mr. TV. As soon as we were out of earshot she said, “I’d rather jump Callum MacAvoy.”
I’m sure she would.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TURNED OUT, THE Jeep didn’t need a jump after all. One of the battery cables had come loose. I made a mental note to take the Jeep in for a checkup. A simple fix and I was on the road.
I raced home in ten minutes. I may have broken a few speed-limit laws in the process. Missy was excited to see me. After much love and a belly rub, I took her for a quick walk around the block so she could relieve herself.
The sun had never really broken free from the clouds, Now that it was the end of the day, the temperature dropped quickly. Keep in mind, it was still above seventy degrees.
I fed Missy her dinner. While she ate, I took a quick shower. I didn’t have as much time as I’d have liked to get ready for my date with Grey. I figured it was probably better that I was rushed. I had less time to think and just act. Have I mentioned I work better when I shoot from the hip?
One thing I did make sure of—well two things actually—I was wearing my engagement ring. And two, I grabbed Grandma Tillie’s brooch.
Grey arrived on time. As always, he looked amazing in his dark charcoal Tom Ford suit. He’d decided against the tie, which I knew was in deference to my taste and not his. There’s nothing sexier than Grey in his suit, sans tie, and a couple of buttons undone on his shirt. He looked a little dangerous. Reckless.
I’d also chosen my dress with Grey in mind. He was a leg man. I wore a butterfly-sleeve, silk mini-dress. Paired with my Louboutin glitter slingbacks, it showcased my toned legs. I was also eye level with my dashing G-man. Part happenstance. Part strategy.
Grey’s Mercedes SUV floated down PCH, comfortably taking the turns as we followed the shoreline to Newport. Inside the car was a different story. The tension was so thick I felt like I couldn’t take a full breath. It was like we were on our first date. A blind date. Our conversation was forced and stilted. As if we knew we were walking a relationship tightrope. One wrong step and we’d lose our balance.
I tightened my hold on my handbag. After the day’s events, I decided my relationship with Grey was my number-one priority. I’d come up with a plan, a grand gesture so to speak, to show him that he came first in every aspect. Since I’m not exactly the grand gesture type, I’m sure most of my nerves were a by-product of wanting to get the delivery right. Don’t get me wrong. I still had questions about the real reason he’d been at the wiener race. I was certain he’d be more forthcoming now that we were alone.
Once we arrived, I waited on the sidewalk while Grey handed over his keys to the valet. He concluded his instructions and joined me in front of the exclusive restaurant.
Grey’s hand pressed onto the small of my back above the low scoop of my dress. The heat of his hand on my skin sent a rush of warmth through my body. We strolled into 401 Chop Oceanside. The hostess greeted us with a warm smile that immediately made me feel like we were being included in her small, exclusive group of friends. She whisked us past two gold-flecked white marble columns standing guard to the floor-level dining area. The old money-feel made me think of Texas, and, for a moment, I missed home.
The dining room was thoughtfully dim, the minimal lighting casting a romantic ambiance on the room. She led us to our table with a view of the ocean that would melt even the harshest cynic’s heart. I slipped into the dark leather booth. Grey sat across from me. A long stem red rose lay across my plate.
I smiled shakily. “You’re very handsome tonight.”
His blue eyes reminded me of the morning low tide—clear and calm. I was glad one of us was calm. “Not that I’m not appreciative, but that’s the third time you’ve told me that. Why are you so nervous?”
“Maybe you look really good for a change.” I smiled. “Let’s order some wine.” I was counting on the alcohol to ease my nerves.
Grey ordered a bottle of DuMol, Russian River Pinot Noir. We sat in a semi-comfortable silence as we watched the brilliant sunset hues spread over the pristine azure waters of the Pacific Ocean. The maître d’ arrived with our wine and presented it, the label facing Grey. He nodded, and they continued the dance of a proper wine presentation until Grey finally tasted the Pinot and pronounced it perfect. The ritual complete, I finally got my glass of wine.
Grey was right; it was perfect. Black cherry and toasty oak. Nothing compared to a good Pinot.
I fingered the glass. “Betty finally confessed her secret. She has a dog. A Saint Bernard.”
His grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “Nope. I’ve met Raider. He’s a stray. His name fits him. She did have enough common sense to have Daniel look him over.”
“That explains the fall, the scratches—”
“The missing dog treats.” I laughed. “He needs obedience training. He also has separation anxiety. I told her to call Caro.”
He reached across the table and held my left hand. “Will she do it? Betty’s as protective of you as you are of her.” He fingered my engagement ring, adjusting it back and forth. Maybe he wasn’t as relaxed as he looked.
“She has to. I’m not sure her house will survive if she doesn’t.” I took a fortifying gulp of wine. “Speaking of Caro, I have something for you.”
A half smile eased onto his face. “Something I can open here?”
I felt my face warm. “Yes.” I pulled my hand away and opened my clutch handbag. “When I apologized, I meant it. I also know that for you, actions speak louder than words.” I inhaled deeply. I pulled out the white jewelry box and set it on the table. “This is the only way I know to show you how much I regret my impulsive decision. I want to make it right between us. I know we can’t go back, but we can move forward.”
I slid the box across the table.
He didn’t reach for it.
“You don’t have to do this.” He said, slow and deliberate.
I felt sick and immediately had second thoughts. I sat on my hands, worried I might grab it back, and swallowed hard. “I know.”
I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to show him I was serious, and, in my way, I was putting him first. If giving him the brooch to return to the FBI would make it right between us, I was willing to do it.
It hurt like the devil. But there would be other opportunities to repossess my brooch from Caro. It wasn’t as if either of us were leaving town.
He looked at me, his eyes serious. “I know this is difficult for you.”
He had no idea. I just handed him my heritage with the knowledge he would turn it over to my lovely, but pain-in-the-butt cousin. “You’re more important. I love you.”
He picked up the box, and, without opening it, slid it into his jacket pocket.
“I love—” He stopped abruptly. Something or someone had caught his eye. And from the strained look on his face, it wasn’t good. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.” He slipped out of the booth and walked away.
The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo Page 19