Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series)

by Sparkle Abbey

  When I pulled the Mercedes up in front of the house, it appeared the crew was wrapping things up. Crime scene techs were packing up their gear. Detective Malone stood in the front yard talking on his cell phone.

  One of the techs approached me. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m a friend,” I explained. “And I was concerned about Blanche’s dogs.”

  “They’re still in the house.” He pointed to the house. “I’m not sure what the plan is for them. You’d have to talk to Malone.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at the open front door and was tempted. There was no yellow crime scene tape stretched across the entry, and I was truly concerned about Blaze and Trixie. But Malone and I’d had a previous incident with an unmarked crime scene, and I was taking no chances. I would wait for him to finish his call.

  I watched him pace as he talked on the phone. Tall, dark, and intense. All cop, all business. For some reason, I imagined it might be Agent Milner on the other end. I stayed in the shade by my car until he was done and then approached him.

  “I thought I told you not to come here.” He tucked his cell into the pocket of his jeans.

  “You did. But I forgot to ask about the dogs, and then I couldn’t reach you.”

  “They’re still in the house. I called Don Furry at the ARL about what to do with them.”

  I smiled to myself. See, he could be trained. A year ago, Malone would have just had them dropped off at the pound.

  “What did Don say?”

  “He said normally they would have called Blanche in a situation like this.”

  That was true. Blanche was our go-to Greyhound person.

  “Did Don have another suggestion?”

  “He thought they’d be able to either accommodate them at the shelter or find a temporary foster home for them.”

  “I can drop them off,” I offered.

  “Great.” No hesitation. Malone headed toward the house. “Mr. Furry said it could be a while before he could get away.”

  I followed Malone inside.

  Blaze and Trixie were asleep in a spot of sunlight that slanted through the chintz drapes at the front window.

  The room looked the same. Solid, sensible, no-nonsense furniture. The Greyhound pictures on the walls. The photos of Blanche with stars and celebrities.

  And yet, the house felt so different without the energetic Blanche. When I’d been there to talk to her after the Greyhound event, she’d been so nervous and on edge. I’d attributed it to the disastrous fund-raiser, but there may have been much more going on.

  “I talked to Blanche the day before yesterday, and yesterday morning, she was supposed to meet me for coffee, but she never showed up.” I stroked both dogs lightly, waking them. They lifted narrow elegant heads and looked at me. Their soft short fur was warm from the sun.

  “Why were you meeting?” Malone stood arms crossed and watched as I gathered a few of Blaze and Trixie’s things and looked for a bag to put them in.

  I filled him in on the call I’d made to Blanche, her initial denial that she knew the dead guy, and then her admission otherwise. Or at least that’s how I’d interpreted Blanche’s slip in calling him by his real name.

  “She didn’t say how she knew him?”

  “No, I thought maybe she’d say when we met, but . . . .” I couldn’t finish. “How did she die?” I still couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that Blanche had killed herself.

  “A combination of alcohol and drugs.”

  “Really?” No way was Blanche a drinker.

  “It looks like not only was she a drinker but also had a bit of a problem with drugs. How long it’d been going on, we don’t know. There will be an autopsy.”

  “Blanche was a Type A on-the-move person. I’ve never noticed anything that would lead me to believe she had a problem with drugs or alcohol.” I shook my head.

  “She left a handwritten note that said, ‘It’s my fault.’” Malone wasn’t judging. This was his “just stating the facts” tone.

  “Is this case still the FBI’s, even if she’s the one that killed Victor?”

  His laser-like gaze focused on my eyes. “Why do you think she killed him?”

  “I don’t. But it seems really pretty coincidental that Blanche knew him, and he was killed, and now she’s dead.”

  “Funny you would say that. Dirk Pennick, our guy who was stabbed at the Greyhound event, was a private detective.” Malone hesitated as if he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share. “Based on the note, it looks like maybe Blanche LeRue had something to hide.”

  “I’m sorry. I still can’t believe Blanche had a problem with alcohol or drugs.” I fidgeted as I packed up a few toys, some dog treats, and the blanket the dogs had been asleep on.

  I was sure I wouldn’t have missed signs of drug or alcohol abuse.

  “Caro, I’ve seen several suicides in my career, and, with almost every one of them, the friends and relatives say the same thing.” Malone rubbed his forehead. “Maybe part of what pushes someone over the edge is hiding their problems from everyone they know.”

  “Detective, I’m a psychologist.” I snapped the leashes I’d found hanging by the door to each of the dog’s collars in turn. “I’m trained to notice warning signs. I’m telling you, they weren’t there. Even the last time I talked to Blanche, she was upset, but she agreed to meet me.”

  “If we find any link to the other case, or anything to indicate it wasn’t suicide, I promise you we’ll follow the trail.” Malone took the bag from me and opened the front door.

  “Blaze, Trixie, let’s go.” The two gentle canines tipped their heads and looked at me, dark eyes questioning, and long elegant bodies still. And then finally, apparently deciding it was okay, moved toward me.

  I stepped past Malone and outside. Walking the dogs to my car, I was glad I’d left the top up today. Sighthounds and convertibles might be an iffy combination.

  Once I had them situated in the back and their bag stowed in the passenger seat, I turned back to Malone. “These two dogs were family to Blanche. She would not have abandoned them.”

  “Caro, there was a note. A handwritten note.”

  “I understand.”

  I understood, but that didn’t mean I agreed with his assessment.

  The dogs and I drove toward the ARL. Don Furry would take good care of them. I knew Don, and I knew he would.

  But it wouldn’t be the same.

  Blanche, what were you thinking? I wish you could tell me.

  ONCE I’D LEFT Blaze and Trixie with Don, I felt better. He’d already made arrangements with a foster family so the dogs would have some human comfort tonight. Also, he had been given access to some of the files at Greys Matter by Diana Knight and was working with the volunteers there to find a permanent adoptive home for the two.

  I only had one more quick appointment—a follow-up—and then I wanted to check in with Diana.

  I made my stop to check in with a newer client with a young bluetick Beagle whom I’d seen a couple of weeks ago. Gustav was high energy and needed more exercise than he’d been getting, a common problem in the pampered world of Doggie and Me yoga, puppy strollers, and dog “pawlish.” It seemed I constantly found myself preaching “a healthy dog is an exercised dog.”

  I was mostly following up to make sure Gustav’s owner had kept up the exercise routine. I’ve found, just like with us humans and our exercise intentions, it’s good to give some goals. It’s easy to start out strong and then to lose momentum.

  Gustav’s family had done pretty well. I encouraged them to keep going and scheduled another follow-up visit.

  Next up, I took PCH to Ruby Point and checked in with Tucker at the guard shack.

  I drove to Diana’s, still thinking about what Malone had told me. Her house was a castle that somehow managed to look like a cottage. Flowerbeds lush with colorful blooms lined the drive.

  I rang the doorbell, and her housekeeper answered.

  “Hel
lo, Bella, how is she?” I asked.

  “She is doing well, considering.” The dark-haired Bella automatically put one leg out to stop the little Puggle, Mr. Wiggles, and Barbary, Diana’s one-eyed Basset Hound, from heading out the door on a grand adventure.

  “Is she up to company?”

  “Oh, yes.” Bella’s soft and musical Spanish lilt echoed the warmth of her smile. “Your company especially.” She winked, her dark eyes dancing.

  “I guess I’d better come in then, before we have any more attempted escapees.” I laughed as a Maine Coon cat slipped around Bella’s extended leg and eyed the open door.

  “Yes, go on through.” Bella reached down and nabbed Miss Kitty. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Diana’s kitchen was a big country kitchen with cheery yellow walls and all kinds of room. She had a nice formal dining room, but more often than not, she ate at the large oval oak table or out on her patio. Diana lived alone, having outlived several husbands. And though she cared for Dino and he was clearly crazy about her, I think she liked living by herself. It was hardly like she was really alone with the menagerie that shared her space.

  “Hello,” I called out as I entered the kitchen.

  As usual, Diana was done up nicely, at least that’s how Grandma Tillie would have said it. I don’t think I’d ever seen her when she didn’t have it together. Even a while back when she’d spent some time in the Laguna Beach jail, she’d looked like a million bucks.

  Today, it was white slacks and a black-and-white sweater set. Makeup on and perfect as usual. The only thing that hinted at how hard the news about Blanche had hit her was the slight sag of her shoulders and a bit of a shake in her hand as she handed me a crystal glass filled with sweet tea.

  “Diana, hon, you didn’t need to make anything for me.” I hugged her. “I know my way around your kitchen.”

  “I thought you’d stop by.” She smiled a faint smile. “I hoped you would.”

  Her first question was, of course, about Blanche’s dogs, and I filled her in on taking Blaze and Trixie to Don Furry and what he’d told me about the foster family.

  I’d expected Diana to be sad, and she was, but she was also upset with Malone and company. She wasn’t buying the suicide pronouncement any more than I was.

  “There’s more to this story, Caro, I just know there is.” Her voice was as determined as the set of her jaw. “I only wish Blanche were here to tell us.”

  I wished that, too. Like Diana, I was sure there was more to Blanche’s story.

  I took a seat at the table, and Diana did, too, sliding a plate filled with Bella-made pastries my way. Having tasted Bella’s treats before, I knew better than to take one with the thought that one would be enough.

  I slid the tempting plate out of my reach.

  “Oh, go on.” Diana pushed the plate back across the table. “You tall, gorgeous thing. Your figure can stand it.”

  “You’re so good for my ego, sugar.” I caved and picked up a powdered sugar-coated cookie.

  “Besides, remember we’ve got another workout coming up at our ‘Be Safe’ self-defense class.” Diana made a few slicing moves with her arms á la Pajama Betty.

  “Yes, we do. Sam had no idea what he’d signed us up for.”

  “I have to say Betty Foxx has made the class more entertaining than it would have been.” Diana took a drink of the coffee she’d poured for herself. “Where do you suppose Melinda found her?”

  “I can’t imagine, but I’ll bet Matt has had to rethink his classroom technique.” I nibbled at my cookie.

  “I’ll bet you’re right.”

  “I thought I’d get a chance to question our instructor after the last class,” I noted between bites, “but Matt was surrounded by a whole slew of women who must think they’re going to need to disarm a gunman.”

  We sat quietly for a few minutes.

  I reached down and lifted Mr. Wiggles to my lap for a cuddle.

  “Your Detective Malone is out of his gourd if he really thinks Blanche LeRue killed herself.”

  I’d known she’d get back to Blanche’s death when she was ready to talk about it. “He says there will be an autopsy, and they’ll review all the evidence.” I ignored the “your detective” comment.

  “Right. I say we don’t wait on them. Let’s put our heads together. Caro, you’re good at this.” Diana put her cup down on the saucer with a clank. She crossed the room and rifled through a drawer until she came up with a pen and paper. “Where do we start?”

  I didn’t think Detective Malone would appreciate our assistance, but at this point, we needed to do something. I wasn’t going to discourage the armchair “detecting” if it helped Diana cope with the loss of her friend.

  “We start with ‘why,’” I said. “It always comes down to ‘why’, so let’s look at the people involved.”

  Diana made notes as we listed the people who we had questions about. People who might have something to hide.

  Eugene had to go first on the list, though neither of us believed he was a killer. He hadn’t come forward. In fact, he had run from the police. Twice.

  Alana Benda had been hiding her relationship with our self-defense instructor, Matt. I remembered Matt’s interest in what I knew about the stabbing when we’d met at the dog park.

  There was the attorney, George Thomas, who’d argued with Blanche. A question of billable hours, she’d said, but he’d seemed very angry for it to be something so simple. Diana didn’t have a great opinion of the man to begin with, and when I shared what I’d observed, we agreed we had questions about him.

  Then there was Blanche. Like Detective Malone had noted, it did look like Blanche had something to hide. What I’d known of Blanche would not put her on the list, but if there’s one thing I’ve found, it’s that we may work with someone, see someone every day, even care about someone, and then find out we really don’t know them.

  I looked at the time and realized I needed to get home to my own much smaller menagerie.

  Diana and I agreed to think more about the people who might need to go on our suspect list. I helped clear up our dishes and resisted as Diana tried to send treats home with me.

  I FED MY CREW and then fed myself. I turned on the news, but there was nothing about Blanche LeRue’s death.

  As Dogbert and I took our evening walk, the sun was setting. I still felt unsettled about Blanche’s death and couldn’t help but wonder if there was a link to the man who had been killed at the rescue event.

  So Dirk Pennick was a private detective? What was he investigating? Whatever it was had gotten him killed. Someone had something to hide that was worth killing to keep hidden. And it looked like there were a number of names on the growing list of people with something to hide.

  I reviewed in my head the list that Diana and I had made.

  There were at least a couple of people on the list whom I could easily get to and ask a few pointed questions. Tomorrow, I would continue my visits with Greyhound owners. I’d just moved Dave and Alana Benda to next on my follow-ups.

  Chapter Twenty

  THE FACT THE man who’d been killed had been a private detective shone a whole new light on everyone who’d been keeping secrets.

  I called Alana Benda as soon as I thought she’d be up, and told her I’d be stopping by to check on her dogs. I didn’t really give her an option. I didn’t actually think Alana and Dave Benda’s dogs had problems left over from the Greyhound event. They’d appeared to be fine when I’d seen them briefly at the Koffee Klatch. But the follow-up was the perfect ploy to get a chance to talk to Alana without tipping her off.

  And I’d still make my report on the dogs I’d already seen, even though there was no Blanche to receive the report.

  Alana answered my knock wearing workout clothes. “Oh hi, Caro.” She opened the door to let me in, but left it open when she walked away. I closed it and followed her.

  The dogs were perched on a chair that’d been placed by the window. They
turned to look at me as I came in the room and then went back to watching whatever it was they’d been watching outside.

  “I’m happy to have you check the dogs over.” Alana waved a hand holding a crystal tumbler in their direction. Her ever-present diamond tennis bracelet was absent this morning, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she’d had a nip of something alcoholic for breakfast. “But I don’t have much time.”

  “I think Louie and Lexie are fine.” I leveled a look her way.

  “Don’t you need to examine them or something?” She looked at the dogs still watching out the window.

  “I really came by today because I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Caro, I’d like to chat with you, but maybe we could do lunch or something another time.”

  Oh great, she thought this was a social visit. “I wanted to ask you about Matt Bjarni.”

  She went still, her aqua eyes wide.

  I thought that would get her attention. “I didn’t know the two of you were close.”

  “Wha—?” Her sharp intake of breath let me know I’d hit the mark.

  “I saw you two at La Mie.” I watched her face for reaction. “It appeared you are very good friends.”

  “Yes, friends. That’s all, we are just friends.”

  “A friend you’d rather your husband didn’t know about? I’d just left the office a few minutes before I saw you, and Dave told me you had an appointment at The Spa.”

  “I did. That’s right.” She went to take a sip from her glass but realized it was empty. “But the appointment got canceled and I was sitting alone, and Matt was having lunch and we were both alone, and so we were talking about my workout and . . . .”

  I let her ramble until she was out of breath.

  “Did you know the man who was killed at the Greyhound event was a private detective?”

  “Who?”

  “The dead man. He was a private detective.”

  “I can’t imagine why a private detective would be stabbed, but they know who did it, don’t they? Wasn’t it that young waiter? That’s who the police have been looking for, right?”