Doug listened carefully. He was always reluctant to participate in my amateur sleuthing, but his superior intellect came in handy. “It sounds like you have no shortage of suspects with solid motives. How are you going to eliminate them?”
That was the million-dollar question. I shrugged. “Right now, I don’t know.”
Meg patted my shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry. We’ve been down this road before. Something will turn up.”
Clarence gave a small bark, either a gentle reminder we were there to celebrate his victory or a command to get to work. Either way, we parted ways to start the interrogations.
I scanned the crowd for Christy, whom I’d chatted with earlier on the phone. I hadn’t thought to ask her for a physical description. After surveying the people and the dogs in attendance, I spotted a woman bustling about and directing another volunteer about something. A nametag was stuck to the upper right-hand corner of her chest, but I couldn’t make out the writing. I walked toward her for a closer look and confirmed she was my mark.
Timidity at a Washington D.C. party was verboten. I charged forward with my hand outstretched so Christy couldn’t escape. “Hello, I’m Kit. We spoke earlier today about my dog, Clarence.” I turned around and noticed Doug and Clarence hadn’t followed, so I motioned for them to come over.
Clarence pulled enthusiastically. I followed his line of sight. Helpers were placing boxes of pizza on the table behind Christy, and the enticing smell had drifted across the room. One whiff spelled trouble. This was no ordinary cheese pizza—it was definitely pepperoni. Doug and I often joked that Clarence would kill for pepperoni pizza. In fact, whenever we had it delivered to our condo, Clarence routinely attempted to overtake the poor soul who delivered it. To avoid a scene, we’d put Clarence behind the closed bedroom door until we secured the pizza safely on the stovetop. Then we carefully shared one piece of pepperoni per slice with him. As long as we kept it coming at a reasonable rate, Clarence waited patiently. But if we missed his share, Clarence threw the doggie equivalent of a terrible twos tantrum. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
I mouthed silently to Doug, “Pepperoni.” He helplessly shook his head from side to side.
After shaking my hand, Christy smiled and bent down to pet Clarence. “This must be our champion!” She quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. “Whoops. You didn’t hear that from me. It’s not official until Jordan makes the announcement at seven thirty.”
“Our lips are sealed. By the way, this is my boyfriend Doug, who also takes care of Clarence. Can you introduce us to Jordan before we start the program?”
“Of course. I’ll take you over to meet him now. Follow me.”
We fell in line behind Christy. Doug tightened his grip on Clarence’s leash as we passed by the tables with the pizza. Clarence’s nose wrinkled and his tongue passed over his teeth and lips in anticipation. When pepperoni was involved, Clarence meant business.
Jordan Macintyre stood between the food station and the bar. He was younger than his deceased husband by a decade, but strongly resembled Jack in handsomeness and style. Jordan looked like Washington’s version of Christian Grey. Tall and lean, he wore a fitted suit jacket and pants that hinted at muscular definition. His tousled, dishwater-blond hair seemed to be the product of a professional stylist, yet, like the Beltway crowd, he wore conservative clothing. The dark rectangular frames of his Prada eyeglasses made him appear both shrewd and sensual.
Christy interrupted Jordan’s conversation with another contestant and owner. The cute retriever/shepherd mix was edged out of the way in favor of the three of us. “Jordan, I know you want to meet this VID.” She winked at me. “That stands for Very Important Dog.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doug roll his eyes.
Jordan turned in our direction and smiled confidently. “This must be Clarence and his owners, Kit and Doug. Welcome to the Capitol Canine family.”
I was almost mesmerized by Jordan’s sparkling blue eyes and his perfect teeth. He played for the other team, but a girl could still enjoy the view, right? I eked out a response, something like, “Nice to meet you.”
Immune to Jordan’s charms, Doug pushed past me and extended his hand. “We’re sorry about Jack and wanted to offer our condolences.”
“I appreciate it. This is a difficult time. We’d only been married for a few months …” his voice trailed off, and he reached behind his glasses with a handkerchief to blot a tear.
His grief seemed genuine, but he’d have to play the part of the grieving spouse convincingly, especially if he was the killer. “Were you at home when you found out what happened to Jack?” I asked innocently.
Jordan narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I was. Jack had left early for work. He always kept strange hours, and it was worse during a political crisis.”
No alibi for Jordan. Clarence wiggled and whimpered. We’d have to move quicker. Surrounded by the pungent aroma of pepperoni, Clarence was losing patience. We needed to get over to that food table and give him a slice.
“Do you have any idea who might have killed Jack?” I reached down to pet Clarence in a feeble attempt to keep him under control.
Jordan peered down at me over his designer frames. “My husband had a lot of enemies, Ms. Marshall. It came with the territory.”
I took in his stoic expression. Jordan was a man of few words.
Doug piped up, perhaps sensing I had struck out thus far. “Are you planning to stay in the D.C. area?”
“As a matter of fact, once the estate is settled, I’ll be putting together investors for my latest venture. I hope to open a chain of canine restaurants.”
Doug looked skeptical. “Did you say restaurants for dogs?”
Jordan smoothed his suit coat. “Yes, I did. There are eighty million dogs in the United States. That’s a lot of untapped consumer potential.”
As if on cue, Clarence barked. Jordan laughed. “See, I think Clarence is a future customer.”
Only if pepperoni is on the menu. Clarence was clearly exasperated, but I had to keep pushing with Jordan. I might not get another chance to interrogate him about Jack’s murder.
“What about Hill Rat? I heard Jack knew his identity. Did he tell you?”
Jordan pursed his lips. “You certainly ask a lot of questions. Yes, Jack hated Hill Rat, and he said he’d figured out who he was. He never told me the name, but he did start referring to Hill Rat as ‘he’ and mentioned his identity was surprising.”
“Did Hill Rat know Jack was going to expose him?”
“Jack hadn’t confronted him in person yet. If he had, he would have told me. As I understood it, Jack floated the rumor he was getting ready to reveal his name to the congressional press corps. He said something about wanting to see if the rat took the cheese.” Jordan blinked back a tear. “That was his idea of humor.”
Doug broke in, “We appreciate the opportunity to talk with you. Once again, our sincerest condolences.”
I whispered to Doug, “Let’s grab pizza before Clarence explodes.” We had just started to walk toward the food table when Jordan put his hand out to prevent me from leaving.
“Wait a second. Did I read on the Capitol Canine website that you work for Representative Maeve Dixon?”
Uh-oh. I’d hoped Jordan hadn’t noticed my place of employment. Hill Rat’s revelation earlier today fingered Maeve as a suspect. Now I was in Jordan’s crosshairs.
He shook his finger. “I remember now. Jack mentioned you the night before he died. He said something about emailing all his contacts and telling them to vote for your dog so he could win favor with you and therefore your boss. I told him it was a ludicrous idea—that he shouldn’t use Capitol Canine as a political pawn.”
Doug offered, “Given the circumstances, would you like us to withdraw Clarence from the contest?”
I shot daggers at Doug. Sacrifice Clarence? Was he crazy?
“I don’t really care which dog wins the contest. I do care who killed Jack,” Jordan sniffed. “I haven’t h
eard much from the police, but the media is reporting Maeve Dixon as the prime suspect.”
Jordan glared at me. Just as Jack had transformed instantaneously in his office when annoyed, his husband stopped pouring on the charm. When I didn’t respond immediately, he maintained the angry glower coupled with an uneasy silence.
Jordan wasn’t going to let me end this conversation without an answer. A cardinal House of Representatives rule repeated itself in my head: when in doubt, always toe the party line. I took a deep breath and spoke in my calmest voice. “Representative Dixon sincerely hopes this murder is solved quickly. She has no further comment at this time.”
Jordan’s eyes bulged behind his fashionable glasses, and his cheeks flushed. “Typical Washington bullshit.” He squared up and shook a defiant fist in the air. More of a lover than a fighter, Clarence immediately stood up from his reclining posture with an anxious look on his face. We’d denied him a pepperoni feast and now a random stranger had threatened violence.
Jordan turned to walk away, but not before a parting shot. “Mark my words. Whoever did this to Jack is going to pay.” Again, he pumped his fist aggressively, presumably indicating he planned to deliver a mammoth knuckle sandwich to Jack’s murderer. His last maneuver must have been the last straw for poor Clarence.
My dog sprang into action. With the grace of a hippo lunging at its prey in the Amazon, our normally mild-mannered puppy leapt into the air and lunged at Jordan’s arm. His canine teeth weren’t even visible. Maybe Clarence thought Jordan’s fake punches in the air were a game. His substantial beagle snout hit Jordan in the side, which caused him to stain Clarence’s white fur with the entire contents of the red wine he’d been nursing. In the midst of the confusion, Doug dropped Clarence’s leash. As soon as Clarence realized he was free, he lunged toward the food table. All I saw was his chunky behind.
At the top of my lungs, I yelled, “Stop! He’s going for the pepperoni!”
But it was too late. In one smooth move, Clarence put his front paws on the edge of the table, grabbed a pizza box with his teeth, and dragged it to the floor. In a matter of seconds, at least ten other dogs had joined him in the pepperoni feast.
Doug and I stared at each other, truly mortified at the mess Clarence had made. But the whole scene was so outlandish, I couldn’t contain myself. The stress of the last several days must have done a number on my mental health. No one said a word, but I doubled over in unstoppable peals of laughter. Doug smiled nervously and whispered, “Kit, can you please stop? Everyone is staring at us.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes, drew myself up, and gradually regained my dignity. Doug had recovered Clarence and secured his leash. Exceedingly pleased with himself, Clarence bounded over to me with his tail wagging triple time. I couldn’t resist my own version of a parting shot. I reached down to pet my dog, who licked my hand appreciatively. While rubbing his ears, I remarked loudly, “We’ll take that pizza to go.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I’ll have a glass of the Chardonnay.”
The bartender asked dully, “Which one?”
“Cakebread, please. I need something buttery and oaky that fills up my mouth.”
“You got it, sister.”
Doug tossed me a disapproving glance. After the Capitol Canine debacle, we persuaded Meg to join us for a quick dinner and drink in Arlington. A District dweller, Meg rarely crossed the Potomac willingly. The three jurisdictions comprising the greater Washington D.C. metropolitan area each had their own flavor and culture. The denizens of each locale swore by their respective dominions and predictably attempted to persuade friends from the other two, usually in a futile effort, to visit them instead of venturing outside the motherland. The District/Arlington divide wasn’t unbridgeable since the Orange line of the Metro connected them. Thank goodness Meg didn’t live in a Maryland suburb. Due to the inconvenient lack of a subway transfer, I’d never see her outside Capitol Hill.
Within five minutes of Clarence’s meltdown, the governing authority of Capitol Canine, led by Jordan Macintyre and the irrepressible Christy, decided our pepperoni-loving pooch wasn’t worthy of the big prize. Citing a bylaw giving them power to override the popular vote and name the winner if a contestant “displayed behavior unworthy of the title,” Jordan announced a golden retriever named Wonk as the “Top Dog” on Capitol Hill. Clarence did receive honorable mention. Given the circumstances, we concurred the consolation prize was generous.
The three of us piled into the Prius and headed for the hills. The hills of Arlington, that is. After depositing Clarence in our condo, we walked to the ever-popular Green Pig Bistro. No tables were available, which was par for the course since Washingtonian magazine named the French-inspired restaurant one of the top local eateries. Luckily, we claimed three open seats at the bar.
After ordering drinks and several appetizers, it was time to get down to business. With Meg on one side and Doug on the other, I summoned the gods of deduction. Turning toward my best friend, I asked, “Were you able to find out anything at the party?”
Meg stopped typing on her iPhone and shoved it into her purse. “Sorry. I had to text Kyle. I wanted to give him a heads up if my name ends up in a gossip column tomorrow related to Clarence’s fiasco.”
On my right flank, Doug rolled his eyes. He thought Meg’s obsession with D.C. culture bordered on pathological. His assessment wasn’t far off the mark, but without that influence from Meg, I’d have no idea what happened on the Hill after hours. Much to Doug’s chagrin, intelligence wasn’t everything on the Hill. More often than not, the political became personal, and vice versa.
After a moment of silence, she said, “Right, I almost forgot. Solving the murder. You asked me what I found out?”
Did Kay Scarpetta have to deal with such a lack of focus amongst her band of faithful crime-solving helpers? I doubted it. Since I was no Scarpetta, I waited patiently for my comrade to elaborate.
Meg took a sip of her bubbly. I needed to get the information out of her before she had any more drinks, particularly on an empty stomach. Meg’s recollection abilities were inversely related to the amount of the alcohol she consumed.
“I would have extracted additional tidbits if Clarence hadn’t imploded. That said, I was able to talk to a longtime buddy of Jack and Jordan’s. He knows them from their fundraising efforts at the Human Rights Campaign.” HRC was the leading gay and lesbian national advocacy group in Washington D.C.
Our food arrived, distracting Meg. The eatery’s signature dishes looked almost too good to eat, except that all three of us were starving. Clarence had been the only one in our party to consume a pizza dinner. The lineup of buffalo pork ribs, kung pao sweetbreads, and pig tostadas made up for what we’d missed earlier.
After we filled our plates and enjoyed our first bites, Meg continued, “I can’t remember the guy’s name, but he was more than happy to chat with me about Jordan and Jack’s relationship.”
Doug interrupted her. “Why was he so forthcoming?”
Meg smiled. “He was wearing a Gucci suit from the winter line. The gray wool checks gave it away. As soon as I asked him about it, he was putty in my hands.”
Many times I had borne witness to the fact that Meg’s allure with the opposite sex transcended age and race. After this interaction, I could add sexual orientation to the growing list.
“After we commiserated about the federal government shutdown for a bit, I inquired about Jack and Jordan.”
“What, specifically?” I asked.
Meg finished her drink and motioned for the bartender to pour her another. Her food-to-booze ratio was too low; thus her mental focus had officially lost its edge. Ironically, “Danger Zone” from Top Gun played softly in the background.
Meg popped the remaining tostada in her mouth and then took a long swig from her refill. “I couldn’t be too obvious. I expressed my condolences about Jack and asked how Jordan was handling it.”
Doug prodded, “And? What did he s
ay?”
“Impatient, aren’t we?” Her willingness to chide Doug indicated she was getting tipsy. “He said Jordan was holding up well. Then I asked why that might be the case.”
The bartender cleared our plates and asked us if we wanted anything else. I was about to ask for the check when Meg pointed to the menu. “Yes, I’d like the banana bread pudding, please.”
The look of astonishment on his face said it all. I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Where the hell did this woman put all those calories?
With an amused expression, he asked, “With ice cream and caramel?”
“Of course! No need to ask,” Meg stated emphatically.
I giggled. Meg was truly one of a kind.
With an incredulous look, she said, “Why are you laughing? I read online this dessert was not to be missed!”
“I’m laughing because even though you’re not a dog lover, you and Clarence have more in common than you think.”
Meg tapped her chin with her finger, lost in thought. She said slowly, “You might be right. We both enjoy a delicious meal.”
Doug listened without comment. He had a limited tolerance for inconsequential banter. He rarely intruded on my alone time with Meg, especially when drinks were involved.
Doug’s growing impatience required an inquiring prod. “Meg, what were you going to say about Jordan holding up well under the difficult circumstances?”
“Right. The well-dressed friend said it was because he planned to use his inheritance from Jack for a new business venture.”
“Do you mean the dog restaurant?” asked Doug.
As we chatted, waiting for dessert, Doug listened without comment.
Meg’s banana bread pudding arrived. It smelled like a Yankee candle had just been shoved under my nose. Without a second’s hesitation, Meg grabbed her spoon and dove in. After a few bites, she came up for air. I could barely make out what she was saying due to the considerable amount of caramel impeding her speech. “Delicious,” she mumbled.
Homicide in the House Page 13