Bow Wow Big House

by Addison Moore

  “Bizzy, we needed a way to stop her from blackmailing us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like feeling as if someone has me over a barrel. It’s my fault Camila knows about my ability and by proxy yours, so I took it upon myself to find a way to stop the bleeding.”

  “And you came up with feeding us to the feds yourself?”

  “No. I came up with feeding Camila to the feds. Right after you mentioned she threatened you on Christmas Eve, I came up with an idea. What if we turn the tables and hand her over to the MRD instead?”

  “What? Leo, that’s insane.”

  “The agents from the MRD gave me their card. I’m a cop. They trust me. So I let them know there have been some complaints about a woman who hangs out at the inn.”

  My hand slaps over my mouth to keep from screaming at him.

  “Not you.” He nods toward the café. “Camila. And they’ve been sniffing around her ever since. Once I knew they were following her, I put part two of my plan into motion. That night at the Rawhide? It was the clincher. About six years ago, I used to work at the place. I still know the staff, the cooks, the waitresses, the waiters. I’m a regular. And they like me. They trust me, too. So when I told them I was a part of an office gag on a co-worker, they were anxious to help me pull it off.”

  “What gag?” The words come out wooden because, frankly, I’m terrified of what the answer might be.

  “I let them know Camila was up for a position at the sheriff’s department and the men worked in our internal review department. I let them know the deputies liked to pull off a little hazing stunt and that I’d straighten everything out with the internal review department come morning—that essentially she already had the job. And I told the staff to head over and tell the men that Camila was a regular and that she had demonstrated some unique abilities. Some suggested she could talk to the dead, some suggested she could predict with frightening accuracy things that were about to happen, and some suggested that she could read their thoughts.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.” He starts to back away. “And you’re welcome.” He nods to the café once again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more of those rocky road brownies lying around, would you? I’m having a hankering.” He gives a sly wink before taking off.

  Oh, dear God, if Leo’s plan doesn’t work, it could backfire spectacularly.

  It’ll work, Bizzy. Leo doesn’t hesitate to interject. Trust me.

  Winnie comes this way, her big brown eyes wide with worry.

  “Bizzy! You wouldn’t happen to have a portable register we could use tomorrow, would you? If not, I guess I could run out and pick one up. I’m a bit frazzled. It feels as if we just had Siena’s funeral and now this.”

  “How did the funeral go?”

  She sighs as she considers it. “It was tense. I’m not sure if you know this, but Mariah was sleeping with Murphy.”

  “Siena’s father?” I balk a little too loud, even though I kind of knew it.

  “That was everybody’s reaction when they found out. Anyway, that’s sort of old news. He really did seem to care about Mariah. But Siena, being the spoiled princess she was, made sure Mariah didn’t become her new stepmother. Mariah never truly forgave Siena for that.”

  “Never forgave her? She sounds angry.” But was she angry enough to kill?

  “She was mad.” Winnie nods furtively. “I like to say Siena made sure everyone had something to beef with her about. Some people aren’t happy unless there’s a sufficient amount of drama rotating around them. And in that respect, Siena was very happy. So, about that register?”

  “Oh yes, I’ve got a couple spares I’ll lend you. Not a problem.” Several employees from the rescue house stream by and an idea comes to my mind. “You really do have all hands on deck today. Who’s minding the dogs?” I ask and Winnie cringes as if she’s loath to admit it.

  “No one, actually. And I hate leaving them alone during the day. We usually have a steady stream of visitors, but we’ve been really slow these last few weeks—understandably so. People are weirded out about what happened. But today’s blunder is for a good cause. I’m just positive all of those adorable puppies will find a good home come Saturday, and right now we absolutely need all hands on deck.”

  “I’m actually headed that way. I need to pick up something from the vet for my own brood. I can pop in and take a look at them if you like? In fact, I’m a little sad you didn’t bring Pickles. Would you mind if I brought him back to visit with Fish and Sherlock?”

  “Go right ahead.” She digs into her purse and pulls out a paw-shaped keychain and hands it to me. “Lock up before you leave and don’t let any lookie-loos in. I like to supervise all guests who visit.”

  “I won’t, but I’m sure you’ve got security cameras all around that place.”

  She sighs. “Did. The shelter is barely breaking even at the moment. I had to cut costs where I could. But don’t worry about us. After this weekend, we should be in the black again.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Rummaging through the office will be a lot easier now that I know there won’t be a watchful eye on me. Not a human eye anyway.

  Nessa comes back to the front and I ask her to hold down the fort.

  I’ve got an errand to run—and a murder to solve.

  I’m just inches from the truth, I can feel it.

  I have a feeling whatever those financials have to say will be very, very enlightening.

  I hope.

  Chapter 15

  The Bow Wow Rescue House sits sullen against the gray sky as I wiggle the key into the lock and let myself in.

  The sound of happy barks and howls greets me as I quickly bolt the door shut behind me. Despite the lack of human presence, it’s impossible to feel alone in here.

  “It’s just me, Bizzy!” I call out as I head back toward the stalls where the animals are kept during off hours.

  Bizzy! a choir of voices call out at once as the entire rescue house fills with echoing barks.

  Is it time for the fashion show? someone yodels.

  “Not yet! But it’s just a few days away.”

  Another dog growls, I’m not wearing a wig! They tried to put one on me, and I ate half of it. If they try again, I’ll eat the rest!

  A small chuckle comes from me. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  I spot Pickles right away and open the door to his quarters.

  “Hey, good lookin’,” I say, bending over to pick him up. “Are you up for coming to the inn for a bit? I told Winnie I’d stop by and pick you up.”

  Of course. Any excuse to break free from these howling walls.

  “Perfect. Could you direct me to the office? There’s something I need to see in there.”

  He lets out a happy little chirp, and I set him down as he leads the way to a small room in the back strewn with papers on a smooth metal desk. There’s an oversized computer monitor sitting prominent over it, an iMac twenty-seven inch with retinal display. I know it well. It’s the exact model my mother has. I helped her set it up last summer.

  Pickles lets out a quick yip, What are you looking for, Bizzy?

  “I don’t know.” That paper I took from Jackson Wellington’s office comes to mind. I haven’t been able to make heads or tails out of it. There was nothing but an expense report, including utilities, dating as far as four months back.

  I grab the mouse, and the enormous monitor lights up before me. There’s a screensaver with the rescue house logo on it and a picture of a few cartoon animals. Along the bottom are the usual suspects of applications and software, and I note the giant dollar sign, a symbol I’m far too familiar with because it happens to represent the same Fast Books accounting software used by the inn. I go ahead and click on it and the screen lights up again with a pie graph on one side, and just below that there are a few categories—open invoices, overdue, paid last month. I start clicking away and I’m shocked to see how low the funds are according to this. Lucy i
s right. There’s hardly enough to pay the electricity. How is that possible? It seems the Bow Wow Rescue House has been holding fundraisers almost nonstop these last few months. The money has to be going somewhere.

  I click on the button that reads donations. Sure enough, there’s a sum of every size. I click to see the donations for the last six months and it quickly recalibrates.

  “Hey? Look at this,” I say as Pickles runs in a dizzying circle.

  What is it, Bizzy? Did you find the killer?

  “No, but I found a mighty generous donor. There’s ten thousand dollars being donated almost consistently every month. That’s a lot of doggie biscuits.”

  Who’s it from?

  “It says WHC.” I shake my head as I lean toward the screen. “Any idea who that could be?”

  Nope.

  “And where in the world were those funds going?” I scroll through and none of it seems to have been added to the general fund. “Wait a minute. Siena has two books going here.” I click over to another box marked outgoing and a breath hitches in my throat. “Oh my God. It says Winnie Capris.” I pause a moment. “Pickles, this lists each ten thousand dollar donation as going straight to Winnie. She can’t be getting paid that much, and if she is, I’m in the wrong line of work.” I pull my phone out and document every page of this wonky worksheet by way of pictures. “I think I have everything I need,” I say before shutting down the app. “Now why would Winnie be taking all that money? It’s not like this started after Siena passed away. She’s been taking it consistently for the last six months as far as I can tell. And how does Harry fit into the picture?”

  I pull a few drawers open, hoping for a clue of any kind, but there doesn’t seem to be anything. I’m about to leave when a picture on the bookshelf catches my eye, and I head that way. It’s a picture of Siena, Harry, and Molly at what looks to be a party. They’re all holding up their drinks and smiling wide for the camera. Molly said she introduced Harry to Siena.

  Something isn’t sitting right with any of this.

  So many motives, so many enemies. It’s horrible to say, but Siena was the constant in each of those equations. It really does seem she was a hard person to get along with. Her life of privilege made her expectant of the people around her, and not in any good way.

  I pull my phone out once again and take a picture of that snapshot of the three of them. I head over to the smaller filing cabinet by the door and pull it open. Nothing but a bunch of records on the pets that have come through here. I pull the bottom drawer open, and to my surprise it’s a bunch of employee files. I find Winnie’s name and pull it right out. Her résumé is there and photocopies of her personal documents along with a copy of her employee records. Assistant management position. Seventeen fifty an hour.

  Winnie is an hourly employee? What about the ten grand a month she’s been getting?

  I take a quick picture of the document in my hand before putting it back and closing up the office just the way I found it.

  I scoop up Pickles in my arms and we lock up the rescue house before heading back to the inn.

  Another storm is getting ready to push through Cider Cove. Dark purple clouds sit over our sleepy little town like welts, ready to rip open and pelt down rain that will fall hard as sickles over our heads.

  Winnie Capris has been getting quite the bonuses each and every month.

  Outside of making her a wealthy woman, I wonder what else it could mean? And if the rescue isn’t getting those funds, why make a record of them?

  Something dirty is in the water at the Bow Wow Rescue House. And I think if I dig a little deeper, I’ll discover that there’s poison at the bottom of the well.

  Siena Thompson was up to something.

  And I have a feeling that’s exactly why she was pushed that day at the Chadwick mansion.

  Someone was angry enough at Siena to want her dead.

  None of her friends are all that sorry that she’s gone.

  But which one did the dirty deed?

  That’s exactly what I’m about to find out.

  Chapter 16

  As soon as I got back to the inn, I tried to busy myself to make the time go by. Watching Pickles play with Sherlock and Fish certainly helped. They really do get along well. But eventually Winnie, Lucy, and Pickles himself went back to the rescue house. The café served dinner to all of the guests and, of course, there were more than enough rocky road brownies to go around for dessert.

  I asked Jasper if he could swing by my cottage after work and he said he’d be happy to. He also mentioned that he had a meeting regarding that crime ring, so he might be running late but he’d pick up dinner for us.

  It’s just after eight and Jasper let me know he’d be here in about twenty minutes, so I decide to sneak off to the café to pick up a platter of brownies. The café itself is closed to guests and locked up for the night, but one of the perks of being the manager is that I have the keys to the chocolate-covered kingdom. No sooner do I let Sherlock, Fish, and myself into the dimly lit café—have menagerie will travel—than the sound of murmuring voices emanates from somewhere deep in the kitchen.

  “What in the heck?” I whisper as Sherlock and Fish run on ahead.

  Fish immediately hops onto the counter—a huge no-no—and I shoot her a look.

  Oh, come on, Biz. She waves her tail my way. There’s nobody here. While the guests are away, the cats will play. She lets out a soft meow and I can’t help but pat her on the head.

  Sherlock ticks his head toward the kitchen as if beckoning me to hurry.

  Let’s go, Bizzy. I know where they keep the bacon. Just throw it on the ground and I’ll have at it. I’m not picky.

  The voices pick up again and I freeze. It sounds like a man and a woman, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s some heavy duty giggling involved.

  Oh dear God, if I find Emmie in a compromising position with one of Jasper’s brothers, I’m going to whack them both on the head with a rolling pin—one of the exceptionally heavy ones made out of marble. There are hygiene issues at play here. The health department is liable to shut down the entire inn because of their hormonal shenanigans.

  Speaking of rolling pins, I’d better arm myself, lest it’s a horny thorny safe heist happening instead. The proceeds for the night won’t go to the bank until tomorrow. There’s at least a couple thousand dollars sitting there. I bet they’re trying to pick the lock right now.

  I snap up a cookie sheet that was left on the baker’s rack just past the counter as I make my way on back.

  I hold a finger up to Sherlock just before I nod and we storm on in.

  A man in a dark sweatshirt has his back to me, and I don’t waste a second contemplating my options before smashing him over the head with the pan.

  He lets out an egregious roar as Sherlock barks up a ferocious storm. Fish hops up on his back and digs her claws into his sweatshirt, holding on for dear life as he screams and flails.

  An older woman jumps out of the walk-in refrigerator with her robe split open in the front and—dear God, please tell me that’s a wrinkled flesh-colored sweat suit she’s got on underneath.

  “Bizzy?” she shrieks.

  “Georgie?” I howl.

  The poor guy staggering before us turns around with his hand up over his face.

  “Hold your fire,” he moans as Georgie pulls him close.

  “Elvis! Oh, Bizzy, you almost killed Elvis! I’ve already mourned the man in the seventies. Isn’t once in a lifetime enough?” She does her best to pluck Fish off him. “Down, Sherlock! If you bite, you’ll never taste bacon again.”

  Sherlock immediately crouches and lands his paws over his face. Bacon isn’t just Sherlock’s love language—it’s essentially his currency.

  “I’m so sorry, Elvis,” I say as I quickly gather a bag of ice for him.

  Georgie pulls a slab of bacon out of the refrigerator and lands it on the floor for Sherlock.

  “Let’s take a seat,” I say. “I’ll get us
some brownies.”

  “No.” Elvis crosses his arms again and again as if he were trying to land a 747. “I’m out. I’d better get going. There’s a new storm coming in, and I don’t want to get caught up in it.” He squints my way. “Remind me not to get on your bad side again. Georgie, we’ll talk.” He brushes past us as he speeds his way out of the café.

  “I’m so sorry, Georgie. I ruined your night.”

  She waves me off before cinching her robe shut. “You didn’t ruin anything. I dragged him to the kitchen in an effort to avoid what was about to happen in the bedroom. I guess you could say I chickened out.”

  “What?” I pull her in by the hand. “The Georgie Conner I know isn’t a chicken. You’re confident is what you are. And you were confident that Elvis Hendrix wasn’t the one for you. And as a woman, you certainly have the right to change your mind. I say it’s a good decision. You’ll find someone else.” Sooner than later, I’m afraid.

  “I already have,” she laments as she picks up Fish. “I have three dates lined up for next week. That Dependable app is turning out to be a very dependable way to meet available men.”

  “It sounds like your new year is off to a busy start.”

  Fish mewls, Georgie needs a protector. Tell her I’m available at all hours to perform my shock and claw routine.

  I translate quickly and Georgie buries a kiss on Fish’s head. “You’re my favorite cat and don’t you forget it.”

  Sherlock slogs over, looking a little green around the gills, and he lets out a pitiful bark.

  “And you’re my favorite dog, Sherlock Bones.” She pulls me in close. “And you’re my favorite girl, Bizzy Baker. But don’t tell my daughter that.” She gives a heavy wink. “Now let’s get that platter of brownies ready for you and that hot vampire you’re dating. You might be able to read minds, but I can read naughty intentions.”