Dial C for Chihuahua

by Waverly Curtis

  I had to laugh. The little guy cheered me up. I gave him a pat on the head and said, “Thanks, amigo.”

  Jeff walked in looking rather dapper in an expensive tan suit and an eggplant-colored linen shirt. He looked at me, and he looked at Pepe, then he went out to his secretary’s desk. I could hear him having words with her, probably about Pepe, because that was where he started when he came back into the office.

  “Do you take that dog with you everywhere you go?” he asked.

  “His name is Pepe, and yes,” I said.

  “Tell him I’m your partner,” Pepe said.

  “I can’t leave him alone in the house because of Albert,” I added. I hoped that would make Jeff feel guilty. Jeff chuckled. “Yes, I suppose Albert would make short work of that dog.” He was proud of Albert’s prowess. When we lived together, Albert was always bringing home dead birds and mice. I didn’t point out that Albert always brought them to me, not to Jeff. I wasn’t really too happy about it at the time.

  “Hey, tell him it was I who vanquished the cowardly cat!” Pepe said, puffing up his chest a little and strutting back and forth on the sofa, tossing his head.

  “I don’t suppose you called me up to lecture me about my dog,” I said.

  “No.” Jeff buzzed Kathy and asked her to shut the door to his office. That was typical of him. He couldn’t be bothered to get up from his desk and shut it himself. “Hold my phone calls, too!” he added.

  I wondered what was so important that he had summoned me to his workplace. Was he thinking of breaking up with Amber and asking me to try again? I hated it that my mind even went there. More likely he was going to ask me what sort of present to buy her for their first anniversary. Jeff was that clueless.

  Pepe had jumped down and was sniffing around the desk.

  “Keep him away from me!” said Jeff, with a slightly hysterical tone in his voice.

  “Oh, it’s about the shoes, isn’t it?” I asked.”I can write you a check right now, if that’s what you want.”

  “No, it’s not about the shoes,” Jeff said. “In fact, you can forget about paying me for them. I want you to quit your job.”

  Chapter 38

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve!” I said. Pepe had stopped in his tracks and was looking at me quizzically. Then I added, “Which job?”

  “Oh,” said Jeff. “Are you still doing staging?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I just got a new project. For a guy with a multimillion dollar home in Laurelhurst.”

  “That’s good,” Jeff said. “But I meant your PI job.”

  “Why would I quit that?” I asked.

  “Yes, why would we?” asked Pepe, staring at Jeff’s shoes.

  “I think it is dangerous for you,” he said.

  I have to admit I felt a twinge of affection. He obviously still cared for me if he was worrying about me. Then again, he was being as condescending and controlling as ever. I hadn’t realized how demoralizing it was to live with someone who was always telling me what to do until after we broke up. “Well, I appreciate your concern,” I said, “but I can take care of myself.”

  “Tell him I take care of you!” Pepe piped up.

  “Hush!” I said, “I can take care of myself,” I told him, both of them, firmly.

  “If it’s because you need money, I can loan you some,” Jeff said.

  “That’s generous of you,” I started. Then I realized that he was offering me money that would have been mine if he hadn’t divorced me.

  “No,” I said. “It’s not the money.”

  “It’s the adventure, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of knowing we have made the world a safer place,” said Pepe.

  “Wow! You really have been watching too much TV,” I said.

  “What?” That was Jeff.

  “Sorry. It just sounded like a line from a TV show,” I said. “I don’t want your money, Jeff. I’m fine.”

  “Look, I’m not suggesting you quit your job,” he said, standing up. “I’m ordering you to quit.”

  I stood up, too. “You can’t order me to do anything,” I said.

  Pepe looked at Jeff and growled.

  “It’s for your own good,” Jeff said.

  “I am not a child,” I said. Unfortunately, my voice got a little high and squeaky. It always does that when I’m mad, which undercuts the effect I’m trying to have. “You don’t get to tell me what’s good for me. I decide that myself.”

  “Yes, if anyone is going to tell her what to do, it is me!” said Pepe.

  “Oh, hush!” I said. “You can’t tell me what to do either.”

  “Look, Geri . . .” Jeff came to the side of the desk, but Pepe was standing at my feet growling so fiercely that Jeff didn’t dare to come any closer. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m trying to protect you from getting involved in something that’s illegal. I’m afraid you’re in danger.”

  “What?” said Pepe, perking up at the word danger.

  “Yes, what?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say this.” Jeff lowered his voice as if his office could be bugged. “There’s something funny going on at the Gerrard Agency. I don’t want you there if the police raid the place. You could end up in jail for a long time.”

  “Good grief, Jeff!” I almost shouted. “You can’t get me to back off a job to which I’ve made a commitment [that was a dig], when I’ve finally found something that fulfills me on so many levels [OK, that was another dig], by hinting at raids and jail. Either tell me what’s going on, or I’m out of here. Right now!”

  “You tell him, Geri!” Pepe looked up at me with admiration and added a menacing growl.

  “OK, OK,” said Jeff, motioning for me to sit down again. “You are so stubborn!” He glared at me. My “stubbornness” was one of his chief complaints when we were married. It just meant I wasn’t doing what he wanted me to do. “I can see I’m going to have to give you more information.” He leaned across his desk. “Do you know the term Ponzi scheme?”

  “Isn’t that like a pyramid scheme?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Jeff. “An operator, under the guise of offering an extraordinary return on investments, uses the money of later investors to pay off early investors, but there’s never any real investment, and eventually the scheme collapses.”

  “Like Bernie Madoff,” Pepe said.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “You can learn a lot from daytime TV,” Pepe said.

  “After Don mentioned his investment with the Gerrards, I got curious and did some investigating of my own,” Jeff said. “It took a while to figure it out. There were all kinds of shell companies and bogus boards, but I finally traced it back to him.”

  “I don’t think Jimmy G. is capable—”

  “Not the younger brother. The older one. Stewart. As far as I can tell, he just uses the detective agency for money laundering. It operates at a loss, so he doesn’t have to pay any taxes.”

  “What about Don and Cheryl’s money?”

  “I’m worried about that. I called Don this morning and told him to get his money out before the whole thing collapses. I’m not going to go to the authorities until he’s recouped his investment. Once the police get involved, Gerrard’s assets will be frozen. It might take years to get it sorted out and pay back the investors.”

  “Oh,” I said, “but I know someone else who has money invested with Stewart—Rebecca Tyler.” It made sense now that Stewart was putting her off for a few days. He didn’t have the money she needed and he was trying to buy time. “She should get her money out, too.”

  “You can’t warn her,” said Jeff. “If you do, that might alert Stewart to the fact that we’re on to him.”

  “Then what will happen to Dancing with Dogs?” Pepe asked. He sounded wistful.

  “But she needs the money desperately,” I said. I decided not to tell Jeff what she was going to use it for. He would probably consider it frivolous.

  “Where�
�s your loyalty, Geri?” Jeff asked. “To your sister? Or some woman who, for all you know, killed her own husband? That’s who usually does it, you know. The wife!”

  “Yes, I know,” I said, “and I can see why!” I glared at him.

  “All I’m asking you to do is to keep this information confidential. Don’t go into the office for a few days. Wait until I tell you the coast is clear. Then you can do anything you want.”

  His phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then picked it up. “Yes, darling. I’ve got the tickets.” Then a pause and, “I’ll pick it up on my way home.”

  While he responded to Amber’s demands, I pondered his demand. For some reason it did not sit right with me. I thought of both Jimmy G. and Rebecca and realized that I felt more loyalty to them than I felt to Don and Cheryl. My sister and her husband had been greedy and wanted to get an extraordinary return on their investment. But Rebecca was an innocent victim of her husband’s misplaced trust. And what would happen to Jimmy G. if his brother’s empire collapsed?

  “What do you think, Pepe?” I asked.

  “It is not for me to decide,” he said. “This is a choice you must make on your own, Geri. But I hope you will make the right one.” And that was all he would say on the matter.

  Chapter 39

  Rebecca was in the dining room, dining alone on pizza that was still in its cardboard box. It was an incongruous sight—the long, linen-draped table, the sparkling chandelier overhead, the sideboard glistening with crystal. And the woman hunched over a slice of pizza. She was wearing a purple velour track suit, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked years younger without makeup.

  “Yum, pizza!” said Pepe. “I hope it is pepperoni.”

  A bottle of champagne stood on the table in a silver bucket and Rebecca held a champagne flute in her hand.

  “Geri!” She called out when she saw me. “Good news!” She lifted up her glass, and I saw the bubbles dancing in it.

  “Stewart just called. I’ll have the money I need for Dancing with Dogs by noon tomorrow.”

  That was the last thing I expected to hear.

  “Where is Siren Song?” asked Pepe. “Can I have some pizza?”

  “That’s not what Mandy told me,” I said. “I was just at his office, and Mandy said the money was invested in offshore accounts.”

  “Oh, what does Mandy know! Did you talk to Stewart?”

  “No, he wasn’t there.”

  “Well, he just called, I mean just. Twenty minutes max. Said he needed my bank account information so he could transfer the money into it.”

  “And you gave it to him?” I was horrified. Probably he was going to clean out whatever money she had in there.

  “Sure! Pour yourself a glass! Want some pizza?” She waved her glass wildly in the air. I got the idea she had polished off a few glasses already.

  “Yes, pizza!” said Pepe.

  “I guess I will take a slice,” I said.

  “The plates are over there!” Rebecca waved her hand at a credenza against the outside wall, between the two windows, which were draped in white satin, edged with crystal beads.

  I came back with a gold-rimmed plate and set it down at the place to Rebecca’s right. She handed me a slice of pizza. It was dripping with grease and there were big gobs of sausage and rounds of pepperoni all over it.

  “I can’t eat this!” I said, dropping it on my plate

  “What?”

  “I’ll eat it!” said Pepe.

  “Hold on,” I said to him. “Go find Siren Song!”

  “Siren Song is in her crate in the kitchen,” Rebecca said. “Why do you want her?”

  “Pepe wants to play with her.”

  “Sure. Go let her out of her crate!”

  I got up and went into the kitchen. I took my plate with me, hoping to have a chance to tip it into a trash can or set it on the floor for Pepe to eat. The kitchen was about the size of a small high school gymnasium. Everything was black and glass and silver—stainless steel appliances, black granite counters, and glass-fronted cabinets.

  Rosa was in there, stooping down to put dishes into the dishwasher. She looked around, startled.

  “Mrs. Tyler told me I could let Siren Song out,” I said.

  Rosa did not seem to understand me.

  “Siren Song!” I said again. Rosa’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, where I saw a large metal cage.

  Pepe was already there, pressing his nose against the bars. His little tail was standing straight up and ticking back and forth as regularly as a metronome. As I approached, I saw that Siren Song was facing him and her fluffy tail was swishing in perfect rhythm. It was nice to know that he prioritized love over food.

  “No, no, no!” said Rosa, advancing on me as I fumbled for the latch on Siren Song’s cage.

  “I have permission,” I said. “¡Permiso! ”

  “No, no, no!” she said.

  Pepe broke away from his lovefest with Siren Song to growl at Rosa. Her eyes got big and she backed up. She hurried off into the dining room, probably to tell on us.

  Siren Song, once released, tore around the kitchen in big circles, sliding on the marble floor. Pepe followed at her heels, occasionally skidding into her. I set my plate of pizza on the floor and watched both dogs tear into it. It was fun to watch but I needed to get back to Rebecca.

  By the time I returned to the dining room, Rebecca had given Rosa a champagne flute and poured her a glass. “Drink! Drink!” she said, pantomiming what she wanted Rosa to do.

  Rosa took a cautious sip.

  Rebecca handed me another empty flute and poured in a hefty swig of champagne, sloshing a bit onto the table and the pizza.

  “We drink to Dancing with Dogs!”

  I took a sip. The bubbles immediately went to my head. Champagne always does. And this was excellent champagne. It was smooth and supple and full of flavors—toast and nuts and cream.

  Rebecca clinked her glass against mine and then against Rosa’s. Rosa took another tiny sip and wrinkled her face. She didn’t seem to like champagne. I was quite happy with it until I remembered my errand.

  “I think this celebration is premature,” I said.

  “You are bringing me down,” said Rebecca. “And that’s not the right attitude to have when drinking champagne.”

  “I really don’t like it that you gave Stewart your bank account information. He could use it to rip you off.”

  “Why would he do that? He’s got plenty of money of his own.”

  “That’s not what I heard. I just was visiting a friend, well, actually, my ex-husband, and he said that Stewart is running a scam, something called a Ponzi scheme.”

  The dogs came running into the room and circled the table, Siren Song in the lead, Pepe right on her tail.

  “So?” said Rebecca. “That doesn’t change the fact that David gave him our money to invest and now he’s giving it back to me!” She swayed a little in her chair and clinked our glasses again. “Drink! Drink!”

  Rosa did as she was told.

  I took another sip and sighed. Delicious! Or, as Pepe would say, Delicioso! It was hard to keep focused but my task was to give Rebecca the unpleasant facts.

  “That’s the nature of a Ponzi scheme. Stewart uses the money from later investors to pay off the early investors.”

  “And there you go! We were early investors. David has had his money invested with Stewart for over twenty years, and it’s more than tripled in value.”

  “And don’t you think that’s strange in this economy?”

  “Stewart is good at what he does.”

  There was no way to get through to this woman. I took another sip of the champagne.

  “Show her the pen, Geri!” said Pepe, skidding to a halt by my chair.

  “Good idea!” I grabbed my purse and took out the gold pen. I laid it down on the tablecloth in front of her. That got her attention.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I foun
d it at Stewart’s.”

  “Stewart had it?”

  “Either him or Mandy.”

  “I knew it!” Rebecca stood up, flinging her arms out and knocking over the champagne bottle. It went flying and almost hit the two dogs. “That little bitch! She’s the one!”

  “What? Who? Mandy?”

  “No, no, no!” said Rosa. She set her glass down with a thump. Was she upset because of the spilled champagne? Or because of the dogs who were now lapping it up?

  “I don’t care if she’s your daughter! She’s just a little gold digger! She’s been after David for years.”

  “What?” I was confused.

  “No,” said Rosa firmly. “¡Manuela es una muchacha buena! ”

  “Manuela? Who’s that?”

  “Her daughter!” said Rebecca, flailing her arms at Rosa. “Get out! I’m tired of looking at you. All this time, you’ve been plotting to replace me with her!”

  “Mandy is Manuela?”

  “Yes,” hissed Rebecca. “We took the whole family in when they needed a place to live. We put the kids through private schools. Mandy was always batting her eyes at David. He thought it was cute. He kept buying her little presents. I told him to knock it off. He said it was totally innocent.”

  Rosa unleashed a string of Spanish, which ended in “loco.”

  “What is she saying, Pepe?” I asked.

  “She has a most impressive vocabulary,” said Pepe, his eyes going wide. “Many swear words I have not heard since hanging out with sailors in the bars of Tijuana.”

  “I don’t need the swear words,” I said. “Just the gist of it.”

  “She says her daughter is a good girl. That she thought of David as her father. And that Rebecca is an arrogant, self-centered, controlling bitch.”

  “I can sort of see that,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” said Pepe, “why humans use that term as one of denigration, when a bitch is one of the most beautiful things on earth.” He looked fondly at Siren Song who was tottering around, in small, unsteady circles. She apparently had imbibed a bit too much of the champagne.

  Rosa stomped out of the room, throwing a few more choice epithets in her wake.