Death by Chocolate Lab (Lucky Paws Petsitting Mystery)

by Bethany Blake

  “Really?” Piper asked skeptically. She was sitting next to me and pulled back so she could see me better. Candlelight reflected off the lenses of her glasses, so I couldn’t see her eyes, but her tone was clearly disbelieving. “Honestly, Daphne? You have no idea what might’ve gotten into Dylan?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t.”

  Piper sighed and addressed Moxie. “Daphne and the detective we talked about, Black, had a certain chemistry. If I picked up on it in the few moments I saw them together, Dylan surely did, too. Assuming he saw them together, which he almost certainly did. And even a ridiculously laid-back guy can get jealous.”

  “Hey!” I cried out too loudly for the very subdued dining room. But I had to object to everything Piper had just said. “First of all, Dylan is not ‘ridiculously’ laid back,” I told my sister. “He’s just got an admirably relaxed attitude toward life.”

  Piper rolled her eyes. “One time, there was a payroll glitch, and he didn’t get paid for three weeks,” she informed us. “He didn’t even notice! I found the error!”

  That seemed like a situation that would benefit Piper, so I wasn’t sure why she seemed so aghast.

  “Dylan doesn’t need much money,” I reminded her. “Guitar strings cost, what? A couple dollars? And he gets his flip-flops at the Dollar Store.”

  Piper snorted a wry laugh. “Yes, his quality footwear ‘blew out’—to use his own phrasing—at the clinic the other day, during a procedure—”

  “We all know Dylan’s usually a mellow hippie throwback,” Moxie interrupted before Piper and I could start arguing. She popped some bread into her mouth and talked while chewing. “I wanna hear about the detective and the ‘chemistry.’”

  “There was no ‘chemistry,’” I informed her. Moxie’s eyes were gleaming with far too much interest. She’d dyed her spiky hair bright red, and that was glowing by the light of our table’s candle, too, so overall, she looked like she was about to combust. Before she could get too excited, I repeated, “No. Chemistry.”

  Piper and Moxie shared a skeptical look over their wineglasses, so I added, “Seriously, Jonathan Black is kind of terrifying. And he has no interest in dogs. I tried to introduce him to Artie and Socrates, and he didn’t so much as greet them.”

  “In Detective Black’s defense, he was there to investigate a murder,” Piper reminded me. “One committed by someone who used a tool, which indicates that the individual had at least one opposable thumb.”

  Shrugging, I took a sip of my wine. “I think how people treat animals says a lot about them.”

  “Yet you really disliked Steve,” Piper said softly. She fidgeted with the stem of her glass. “And he loved—in fact, built his whole life around—animals.”

  Part of me wanted to tell Piper that “building a life around” and “loving” animals were two different things. In fact, I’d often thought Steve mainly liked controlling animals—and showing lesser humans how easily he could exert power over dogs. I believed in having well-behaved pets, but Steve had always seemed like a bit of a showman to me—as evidenced by the odd, dramatically delivered Shakespearean command he’d used to stop the running rottweilers.

  “Hold, enough!”

  Why not just “Come”?

  All at once, I was struck by a strange thought.

  How did the dogs understand that unusual command?

  I studied my sister for a moment.

  And why had Dylan indicated that Piper and Steve had fought prior to last night?

  “Piper?” I ventured tentatively. “Did you still care about Steve?” I leaned forward so I could watch her expression. “Were you guys back together?”

  I was seated across the table from Moxie, but I could tell she tensed up, waiting for Piper’s answer. And given that Moxie loved a good, twisty-turny romance, she was probably disappointed when my sister said, “No. We weren’t.” Then Piper hesitated before adding in a whisper, “Not really.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “And is that what you argued about last night? Your relationship?”

  I’d pushed reticent, private Piper too far. She didn’t answer me, and I didn’t force the issue.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t like Steve,” I said quietly. “It was mainly because he hurt you.”

  “No,” she countered, eyes downcast. “You didn’t like him before that.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, and I was grateful when Moxie tried to explain, albeit in terms my sister probably didn’t really understand. “I think Steve and Daphne just have . . . had . . . different auras. Sometimes opposites attract, but sometimes they’re just . . . opposite.”

  I thought about a certain tall, intimidating, very serious detective. A guy who basically lived to enforce law and order, while I loved chaos. He also really hadn’t seemed to care about dogs, which were a huge part of my life.

  Could there ever really be chemistry?

  No...

  “I know you didn’t like Steve, either, Moxie,” Piper said, interrupting my thoughts. She kept staring at the table. “Maybe nobody in this town did.” She finally looked up at Moxie and me, confessing, “I wasn’t exactly fond of him sometimes. He could be argumentative and bullheaded. But he certainly didn’t deserve to die.”

  “No, he didn’t, Piper,” I agreed. “Of course, nobody believes that.”

  “Somebody believed it,” she reminded me. “Somebody believed it strongly enough to bludgeon him.”

  There was a long silence, and that very grim word bludgeon seemed to hang in the air.

  Then Moxie asked, “Did they find the weapon?”

  “I don’t think so,” Piper said. “At least, the police didn’t tell us anything about finding it.”

  I wondered if, like me, Piper was suddenly having slight misgivings about going home late tonight, after dinner. I hadn’t thought much about my own safety, or hers, up to that point. I’d assumed that whoever’d killed Steve had targeted him for a reason. But to think about the weapon still being out there, along with the killer who’d wielded it . . . It was kind of creepy.

  Fortunately, before I could get too worried about things beyond my control, the waitress arrived with our meals, cutting short the discussion. Both Moxie and Piper had ordered Franco’s signature pork medallions in a sour cherry sauce with wild rice pilaf, which almost made me regret being a vegetarian, until a plate heaped high with pasta and garlicky house-made marinara—another secret recipe dating back to the Roaring Twenties—was slipped under my very grateful nose. As we all adjusted our napkins on our laps and prepared to dig in, I found myself recalling how Detective Black and his partner, Detective Fred Doebler, had questioned me about the day’s and the previous night’s events.

  Detective Doebler was older, but Jonathan Black had clearly been in charge, just like he’d taken the lead at the crime scene. He’d asked all the questions, and I’d ended up saying more than I’d wanted under the pressure of his intense gaze.

  I’d felt like I was betraying Tom and Tessie Flinchbaugh when I mentioned their presence at Winding Hill right before Steve’s death, but I was pretty sure they’d never be seriously considered as suspects. They were two of the most mild-tempered people I’d ever met, and they had no reason to hate Steve. At least, not that I knew about.

  I’d felt guilty for admitting that Giulia and her boyfriend, Christian Clarke, had been there late, too. But I wasn’t the only person who’d seen them at Winding Hill. Surely the truth would’ve come out sometime.

  And then there was the car that looked like Virginia Lockhart’s, and the Jeep I’d never seen before.

  All at once, I pictured Steve and Piper arguing when she’d brought him the thermos. And I recalled seeing Steve at his truck, unloading the retractable vinyl tunnel that would become his temporary resting place. The trailer had still held a lot of equipment the next day.

  Something wasn’t adding up. . . .

  I tried to focus, but my brain, which was not used to thinking so hard sinc
e I’d finished my doctoral dissertation, started to hurt, and I was actually glad when Moxie changed the subject back to one of her favorite topics. Men.

  “So, tell me,” she said, leaning forward, toward me. She was more subdued, but there was still a small gleam in her eyes, and a slight smile played on her bright red lips. “What’s this Detective Black look like, anyhow? Just out of curiosity.”

  I didn’t want to answer that question. Detective Black was undeniably gorgeous. That was a fact. But if I started using terms like athletic build, deep blue eyes, and strong jaw, Moxie and Piper would definitely get the wrong impression.

  Luckily, as I tried to figure out how to avoid answering, I suddenly didn’t have to bother. Fate was providing a three-dimensional response to Moxie’s inquiry.

  I jerked my thumb toward the restaurant’s front door, which had just opened and then closed behind a new customer, and told my friend, “He looks exactly like that.”

  Moxie spun around to get a not very subtle glimpse of Detective Black, and she offered a low whistle of approval.

  I, meanwhile, nearly choked on my pasta, because the detective was not dining alone.

  He was accompanied by a woman I certainly hadn’t expected—or hoped—to see that night.

  Chapter 11

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I groaned as Maeve Templeton swept toward our table, tossing a chiffony floral scarf over her shoulder like it was a mink stole. Her wide-legged, Lauren Bacall–inspired pants billowed out like sails. I leaned to look past her, to where Detective Black was settling into a booth and accepting a menu from a waitress. “And why are you with him?”

  My mother ignored my questions. She frowned in an exaggerated way, although I knew she wouldn’t hold the expression for very long. She prided herself on having incredibly smooth skin for her age—which even Piper and I weren’t allowed to know.

  “I am so sorry, girls,” she said, bending down to squeeze Piper’s and my wrists. Then she patted Moxie’s arm, too, presumably to make her feel included. “I was out showing homes all day and just heard about everything that happened at Winding Hill. You must be so shaken! And poor Steve . . .”

  My mother’s voice trailed off, because while she was obviously shocked by the murder, she hadn’t liked Steve, either, after he’d dumped her daughter. I also noted that my mother had made the tragedy more about the property than about the victim. She was no doubt worried that the value of Piper’s investment had just dropped precipitously.

  “I tried to call you both,” Mom added in a slightly accusing tone. “But I couldn’t get through.”

  “We turned off our cell phones about an hour ago so we could relax,” Piper explained. “Sorry if you were worried, but it was a long day.”

  “Actually, my battery’s dead,” I noted. It seemed like I couldn’t keep myself from saying things that would agitate my mother. “And the phone hardly works, anyhow. I ran over it with a wheelbarrow once, and it’s never been the same.”

  Mom opened her perfectly lined lips, no doubt in preparation for a lecture about my lack of responsibility, which would inevitably touch upon how she could help me get a Realtor’s license if I would just apply myself and take the exam. But she stopped herself, apparently realizing that diving into that bottomless pit of a topic would leave her dinner companion waiting far too long.

  I glanced across the room to see Detective Black studying the menu like he would be tested on that. Even off duty and slightly slouched in the booth, he was a commanding presence. He wore a black polo shirt and jeans, and his legs were stretched out far under the table. He definitely had a way of claiming space.

  “Seriously, Mom,” I said, returning my attention to our little party. “What are you doing here with him?”

  Mom turned to waggle her fingers at her companion. He did not waggle back—I wouldn’t have expected that—but he did look over and nod to all of us.

  Apparently, he had no interest in wandering across the room to mingle with witnesses.

  Or were Piper and I both suspects?

  I hadn’t been disrespectful when discussing Steve during my earlier questioning, but honesty had kept me from going overboard and singing his praises.

  Mom turned back around. “Jonathan is new in town, and he doesn’t know many people yet,” she explained. “The maternal side of me couldn’t bear to think of him eating alone every night.”

  I took a few moments to digest all that.

  First, she’d confirmed my suspicions that Detective Black was new to Sylvan Creek. And she’d used his first name, which I had not been invited to do. Last but not least, Maeve Templeton had a “maternal side”? Why hadn’t she ever shown it to me?

  Of course, my mother was also working a business angle by wining and dining Jonathan.

  “Although he is single,” she continued, emphasizing the last word and shooting Piper a meaningful look, “he is interested in purchasing property. Which I think is very sensible. Renting is such a terrible investment!”

  That was a mantra we’d grown up with, and I couldn’t believe Mom still tried to hammer that message home, given that I’d completely ignored that advice for my entire adult life.

  And no wonder Mom was trying to set up Piper and Detective Black.

  What could be more romantic than two sensible property owners discussing their mortgage rates on a first date? It would be a match made, if not in heaven, at least in the Recorder of Deeds office.

  “I like renting,” Moxie said, piping up, with a shrug. “My landlord—you know, Mr. Flinchbaugh—does everything!”

  My mother did not dignify that comment with a response. Maybe she couldn’t even understand what Moxie had just said. Maybe it sounded like Greek to her.

  “I must return to Jonathan now,” Mom said. Then she leaned close to Piper and practically winked as she whispered, “He’s considering a four-bedroom, which means he must be ready to settle down.”

  Of course, my mother didn’t fully wink. Facial movements of any type caused wrinkles and were to be avoided when possible. That was another Maeve Templeton axiom.

  She spun around dramatically—what she lacked in expressions, she made up for in sweeping gestures—but looked back, adding, “Given what has occurred at Winding Hill, I want you girls to stay with me tonight.” It was my turn to get a pointed look. “Sans animals, of course!”

  She sailed away before Piper and I could both refuse her offer. My sister might’ve been the unquestioned favorite, to the extent that none of us even bothered pretending otherwise, but Piper couldn’t last one night at Mom’s house, either. It was never clear which towels were only “for show,” and woe to the person who dried her hands on the wrong one.

  “That is not happening,” Piper grumbled, digging her fork into her rice pilaf, which had to be getting cold, like my pasta. “Not happening.”

  “Definitely not,” I agreed, setting down my fork. I really hated cool marinara. Sitting back in the booth, I decided I’d just ask for a doggy bag the next time the waitress stopped by.

  She seemed quite busy at the moment, smiling incandescently as she took Detective Black’s order. He handed her the menu, and for a second I thought she might hand it back and ask for an autograph. She looked that starstruck.

  Did we have such a dearth of good-looking men in Sylvan Creek that when one arrived, women pounced on him?

  “Stop staring at him,” Moxie whispered, nudging me with her foot. “Although it’s definitely hard not to!”

  “I wasn’t staring,” I said, without taking my eyes off the exchange that was happening across the room.

  I honestly wasn’t fixated on Detective Black and his interaction with an extremely flirtatious server.

  My mind had wandered elsewhere, from doggy bags to dogs.

  Specifically, one missing dog.

  All at once, I sat bolt upright and blurted to Moxie and Piper, “I’ve gotta go! Now!”

  Chapter 12

  Given that I had already
been caught trying to “tweak” justice—I liked that word better than the one Detective Black had used, “obstruct”—I probably shouldn’t have set out to explore Steve Beamus’s property after telling Moxie and Piper that I needed to leave dinner early to catch a new PBS special on the Dalai Lama.

  Fortunately, Piper’d been preoccupied enough to forget that I didn’t own a TV.

  Heck, I wasn’t even sure PBS still existed.

  I’d had to make up some excuse, though. I couldn’t have told my sister or Moxie that I needed to break into Steve’s house to check on Axis. Not only would Piper, especially, have objected, but I hadn’t wanted Detective Black, who probably had super-keen hearing to match his piercing laser stares, to overhear my plans. Although, in retrospect, he hadn’t even looked up from his discussion with my mother as I’d sneaked out of Franco’s.

  “Where do you think Cookie Puss is?” I asked Socrates and Artie, whom I’d picked up before heading out to investigate. The dogs, in safety harnesses, were sharing the front seat, although Socrates kept surreptitiously squishing the Chihuahua against the door every time we rounded a curve.

  Artie cheerfully held his ground. He seemed to think it was a game.

  I took my eyes off the dark, twisting country road for just a second to glance at both dogs.

  Axis always used to go everywhere with Steve, just like Socrates usually accompanied me. But I couldn’t recall seeing the Lab at Winding Hill the night before. Axis might’ve been in the truck, though.

  Had someone harmed Cookie Puss, too?

  Or stolen him?

  Or was he home alone, terrified and confused by Steve’s failure to return?

  “We’re not really going to ‘break in,’” I told Socrates, who I swore understood our mission. He was giving me disapproving looks. “It’s not a crime if you don’t plan to take anything—and you use a key.”