Raider of the Lost Bark
Mel’s enemy may be barking up the wrong tree . . .
But someone is about to become a killer.
WHY IN THE WORLD had I believed for one minute Addison Rae would keep her word now? When she’d yet to prove an ounce of trustworthiness beyond reneging on our agreement at every turn. The traitor would willingly give her last breath to lead me on for one more day.
I ran my hand over my face. Addison had shown me the envelopes and one of the letters. I recognized my mother’s handwriting. Plus, Addison knew things about that week during the pageant that only people who were there would know.
And most importantly, what I’d said to my mama when we were alone.
I checked my watch for the last time. Two forty-five.
She wasn’t coming.
I charged back to the campground, determined to ransack Addison’s sleeping quarters if I had to. Once I’d learned where she was staying. Dang. Dang. Dang. I couldn’t believe I’d let her get the best of me.
I was so focused on berating myself for foolishly believing Addison’s lies, I almost ran Betty over in front of the showers and restrooms.
“Holy cow. I’m sorry, I was preoccupied.” I steadied my petite assistant before she tumbled over.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” She clutched her chest. “Where have you been?” Her face was flushed. The dogs were nowhere in sight. Betty was generally full of life and energy, not worry. My stomach knotted. I grabbed her delicate shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Betty’s gray eyes were huge. “It’s the pet chef. Addison. She’s dead.”
My throat constricted so tightly I barely got the words out. “What do you mean, dead?”
“Murdered. Someone stuck a fork in her. She’s done.”
The Pampered Pets Mysteries
from Bell Bridge Books
Desperate Housedogs
Get Fluffy
Kitty Kitty Bang Bang
Yip/Tuck
Fifty Shades of Greyhound
The Girl with the Dachshund Tattoo
Downton Tabby
Raiders of the Lost Bark
Raiders of the Lost Bark
by
Sparkle Abbey
Bell Bridge Books
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Bell Bridge Books
PO BOX 300921
Memphis, TN 38130
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-695-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-677-2
Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.
Copyright © 2016 by Carter Woods, LLC
Published in the United States of America.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
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Cover design: Debra Dixon
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo/Art credits:
Dog © Anna Velichkovsky | Dreamstime.com
Campground (manipulated) © Dannyphoto80 | Dreamstime.com
Woman (manipulated) © Mycoolsites | Dreamstime.com
:Elrb:01:
Dedication
To our Pack. You are the best street team ever, and we are so grateful for your support.
Note to Readers
If you’re looking for Laguna Hills Regional Park, please note it only exists in our imaginations, along with the ARL glamping event. While our fictional park allows domesticated pets, wilderness parks closest to Laguna Beach do not allow pets other than horses for a number of reasons. We all know wild animals rely on scents to determine territories—hunting, breeding, and their home. When our pets “mark” their territory, it alters the habitat for the wild animals. Since dogs are natural hunters, their natural hunting instincts spring into action when they smell or see rabbits, squirrels, and other natural prey. And if that’s not enough, keep in mind, all the wilderness parks have bobcats, mountain lions, and rattlesnakes, which put our pets at a high risk of injury and death. If you’re interested in visiting an Orange County park, which we highly encourage, check out the OCparks website for a complete listing of parks that allow dogs in camping areas and which ones do not. ocparks.com
Chapter One
THE IDEA SOUNDED LIKE fun. A week of camping at the Laguna Hills Regional Park with your beloved pooch. Or in this case, a week of “glamping.” Glamorous camping. Think oversized, celebrity RVs, king-sized beds, and Persian rugs. I like to refer to glamping as experiencing the outdoors on a silver platter—service, luxury, comfort. Well, it is Orange County. You didn’t think we’d actually sleep in polyester tents and smelly sleeping bags from the local sporting goods store, did you?
Here’s the catch—if I attended the event, I had to spend a week with a blackmailer.
Betty snickered. “Glamping Under the Stars By the Sea. Sounds like a prom theme.”
“Yes, it does.”
My feisty assistant, Betty Foxx, tapped the gold-leafed, engraved invitation I held. “I’m not about to pass on an opportunity to cozy up next to a hunk all night. What about you, Cookie? You ready to let down all the brown hair you keep hogtied to the back of your head?”
No, Betty wasn’t the blackmailer, although she had been pushing me hard for the past couple of weeks to attend the “Five Paws-Up” Laguna Beach Animal Rescue League fundraiser. I was referring to that sneaky, no-good, pet chef, Addison Rae.
I scowled at Betty and smoothed my ponytail. I’d traded the beauty queen routine for my tomboy style years ago and hadn’t looked back. I liked my laidback style. It sure beat evening dresses and two-sided tape.
“You’ve got to let it die. I’m not going. Stop pestering me about it.” In the past month, I’d had all I could take of Addison and her “favors.” Just thinking about her got my hackles up. Only the good Lord knew what I might do if she walked through the boutique door.
I tossed the extravagant invitation in the wastebasket and returned to stocking the doggie neckties. I’d make a generous donation, volunteer a couple of extra days next month at the ARL, and call it good.
“Why are you being a stick-in-the-mud?” She immediately retrieved the invitation and tucked it safely in her pocketbook, which was stowed under the counter.
“It’s June. Tourist season. You of all people know it’s not the ideal time to close the shop.”
Bow Wow Boutique catered to the pampered pets of our beachside town whether resident or visitor. May through mid-September was the busiest time of year, with Christmas coming in a close second.
Don’t get me wrong. My desire to keep the shop open wasn’t because I needed the cash. Lucky by birth, I came from the Texas Montgomerys. We had an abundance of two things—money and a love for competition. While I didn’t advertise my family’s wealth, the same could not be said about my competitive nature.
Despite my built-in excuse, Betty wasn’t convinced. I didn’t need to see the suspicion in her sharp gray eyes or her arched vengefu
l red-lipstick colored eyebrows. (I follow the don’t ask, don’t tell philosophy when it comes to Betty’s eyebrows.) I could feel the heat of her questioning gaze across the boutique. I braced myself for the inevitable interrogation from the eighty-something know-it-all clad in her purple silk lounging ensemble most women would call “pajamas.”
“Cookie, ever since your handsome fiancé stomped on your heart and then handed it back to you in pieces, you’ve become bor-ing,” she sang out the last word in her best Oprah imitation. “Where’s that gutsy chick who’d close the boutique without a second thought so we could solve a crime like Rizzoli and Isles?”
Wow. Nothing like kicking a girl while she was down. I ignored the sharp ping of truth about Grey Donovan, my on-again, off-again fiancé. We were presently off-again. I was pretty certain our relationship was permanently flat-lined. Yes, Grey had broken my heart. But the truth of the matter was, I had played a larger part in the demise of our relationship with my rash actions and lack of trust. But enough about that. No sense dwelling on the past.
It didn’t take a detective to know Betty wanted a reaction from me. I loved her for it. If she wanted to think I wasn’t willing to participate on the adventure because of Grey, that was fine by me. That reason was easier to explain than the truth.
I looked down at my graphic tee which read “Rescued Human”, faded jeans, and motorcycle boots I currently wore. “Am I supposed to be Rizzoli?”
Betty’s white sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor as she made her way to my side. “Look, each day I wake up with something to look forward to. Sometimes it’s coming here. Most times it’s taking my Raider boy to the dog park like that bossy cousin of yours insisted. But tomorrow, I’m looking forward to sleeping in a gigantic RV and being waited on hand and foot by my very own butler. And finding a little bit of trouble. Since when do you pass up the chance to babysit me?”
I sighed. She did need to be kept on a short leash at times. “I don’t want to close the boutique for a week.” I checked my watch. “Come on, It’s six o’clock. Lock the door and let’s get out of here.”
Before either of us could make our way to the front, the boutique door swung open, the chimes chirping. We looked toward our last-minute guest. Betty automatically called out a warm greeting. I, on the other hand, choked on mine.
Wouldn’t you know it? The “real” reason I wanted to avoid glamping under the stars strolled toward us as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Or my mama’s future in her hands. I sent a quick prayer to the good Lord that I didn’t do something I’d regret later. Just so you know, in the past, He hadn’t been quick to grant that request.
“If it isn’t my favorite blue-haired chef,” Betty announced, completely unaware that she was kissing the fanny of a black-hearted blackmailer. Side note—Addison really did have blue hair. In my humble opinion, it was hideous, which meant Betty adored it.
I dropped the paisley tie I clutched in my fist before I ripped the silk fabric into pieces.
“I’m so glad I caught you before you closed.” Addison’s reedy voice sounded thinner than usual. Like she was out of breath from rushing to catch us before the shop closed.
The girl was a con artist. The only running she did was to catch her next victim.
“Mel, is it true?” she asked. “You’re not coming tomorrow?”
“Sure is,” I ground out. I broke down the empty cardboard box with more effort than it needed. Better the box to be on the receiving end of my ire than Addison.
“You have to go. It’s only because of you that I even got the job for the event.” She weaved past a shelf of dog beds. She spoke with the most annoying false tone of gratitude; surely even Betty had to have picked up on it.
“That was awfully nice of you, Cookie.”
Or not.
“I didn’t get you the job,” I corrected. “I recommended you.”
I brushed past Addison, making my way toward the counter. The two quickly started to gossip like schoolgirls. My heart kicked up a few beats when I realized Addison’s unexpected visit today could possibly be her last. The sooner Betty left, the sooner I’d complete my business with Addison and she’d be out of my life.
I propped the flattened cardboard against the wall and focused on closing out the register. After a quick tally, I stuffed the day’s worth of cash into a red night-deposit bag and locked it.
“Hey Betty, drop this off at the bank. Don’t dillydally.” I didn’t need a witness for what was about to go down next.
She grabbed the deposit bag I held toward her, then snatched her oversized pocketbook off the shelf. “Don’t you worry about a thing, boss. I’ve got pepper spray in my purse, and Detective Hottie on speed dial.”
Good Lord. The bank was three blocks down the street. If I’d thought for a moment she was in any real danger, I’d drop it off myself. I wished her fun on her glamping trip and in turn, she shot me the evil eye. She muttered something about me being a party-pooper just loud enough for me to hear as she walked out the door. I waited until the white-haired rabble-rouser was out of sight before I turned my full attention on Addison.
I crossed my arms. “What do you want now?” I thought I saw Addison flinch at the edge in my voice.
She fingered the pet tags hanging on a display rack. “Still can’t talk you into joining us tomorrow?” She looked at me sideways, her thick blue hair falling across the side of her face.
I shook my head. “Still not interested.”
“But you worked so hard to help me out,” she cooed.
“Save the theatrics for an audience.” I brushed past her toward the coffee bar. The last item of the day was to rinse out the coffee pot. “I held up my end of the agreement.”
“Agreement.” Addison nodded. “I like that.”
I refused to call it blackmail in front of her, even though that’s what it was. “What would you call it?”
“A friend helping out another friend.” She casually waved her hand through the air.
I scoffed. “We are not friends.” If we were, I’d stop her from looking like a taxicab in those black-and-white checkered shorts, and yellow scoop-neck tee.
She shrugged. “Under different circumstances, we could have been. We’re similar, you and I. We’re enterprising women who refuse to be people pleasers. We’re both highly ambitious.” She flipped her hair and continued. “That complicates life, being ambitious. But it’s our fuel to succeed.”
Good grief. She acted like she was stumping for my vote. “You’re wrong. We are nothing alike.”
“Just because you want me to be wrong, doesn’t make it a fact.”
What I wanted was to tell her what I really thought of her and her blackmail scheme, but it wasn’t the right time. I may have held up my end of the bargain, but Addison had yet to follow through with her end. And until then, I needed to keep my cool.
I gently set the empty pot on the counter. “Where are the letters?”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s what I forgot.” A nasty smile tugged at the corner of her small mouth. “I didn’t bring them with me.”
I bit the inside of my lip to keep from shouting. “Why not?”
“I have one more favor to ask of you. As a friend.”
“No. No more. I’ve introduced you to everyone you wanted. You’re the pet chef for the ARL fundraiser. There’s nothing left for me to do.”
She smiled. “But you still haven’t written the foreword to my cookbook.”
I could feel my temper slipping. “And then what? Sell your Pampered Pet Cookbook here? But that won’t be enough for you, will it? What next? Get you on Top Pet Chef?”
She snapped to attention, momentarily sidetracked by the possibility of national celebrity fame. “Can you do that?”
“No.” I spat out the word like it was
poison in my mouth.
“I’ll tell you what. You write that foreword and bring it to the campground tomorrow. If I like what you’ve written, which I’m sure I will, I’ll give you the letters.”
“I have zero credibility in the chef world.”
Addison’s eyes narrowed as she weaved a tangled web of manipulation around me. “But you have enormous credibility in the pampered pet world. You’ve built up a trustworthy reputation.” She pushed her lips together. “You do know how to write a foreword, don’t you? All you have to do is tell the readers why they should purchase my cookbook. An anecdote works best to create that emotional connection. I’d suggest writing about how you bounced back from the public humiliation of being kicked out of the Miss America pageant, and how you see that same determination in me.”
I was going to kill her. I crossed my arms to keep myself from strangling her skinny neck. “That’s never going to happen.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. It was just a suggestion. Write something boring.”
Write something boring? It was as if she didn’t take the cookbook seriously. “Again, I’m not a chef. Certainly, you know some else more qualified.”
“Do you want those letters or don’t you?”
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t.” She laughed lightly. “But you want those letters so badly, you’re willing to take the chance.”
I closed the distance between us, until our noses almost touched. I smelled the mint on her breath. Surely she could feel the rage on mine. “You’d better keep your word or you’ll be sorry. You can only push me so far. Do you understand me?”
A quick movement caught my eye. I jerked my attention to the front of the store. Great! Callum MacAvoy, afternoon news reporter looking for the fast track to the evening news, had his busybody face pressed against my front window, watching Addison and me argue.
I took a deep breath and stepped back. With a short nod toward the front door I said, “You need to leave. Neither of us wants the nosey reporter poking around in our business.”
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