Raiders of the Lost Bark

by Sparkle Abbey

  I shook my head. “You’re going to give me those letters like you promised or I’ll find them myself.”

  Hudson Jones traipsed into the tent, interrupting us. “Hey, Addison. How are you coming with those sweet potato chips for the Toss Across Challenge?” He skidded to a halt right next to me. “Gosh, sorry. I didn’t see you. Mel, right?”

  I tucked the envelope in my back pocket. “That’s all right.” Lordy, I hope he hadn’t heard me sound like a bad imitation of an angry mob wife.

  He pushed back his hat and looked at Addison. “The game starts in an hour. Are you ready?”

  “Melinda, why don’t we meet up later? In the meantime, you should relax. This could be a fun weekend if you let it.”

  It galled me to no end that she sounded like the calm and reasonable person in the conversation. I ignored her advice about unwinding. “When and where?”

  “After the game. We can take a walk along the trail. We’ll meet at the first resting point.”

  Privacy. I hated to admit it, but it was a good idea. Betty wouldn’t be hovering around, wanting to know what I was doing. Random people wouldn’t barge into the middle of our tête-à-tête.

  “Two o’clock.” I spun around and stomped out of the tent past the sous-chef.

  “I’ll get them back. One way or another,” I muttered.

  Chapter Three

  IN THE WORDS OF Grandma Tillie, Betty “came out swinging her purse like a southern church lady” during the Toss Across Challenge.

  No one, and I mean no one, other than Betty and Raider stood a chance at winning a game that involved a dog and his owner standing five feet apart, catching sweet potato chips. Raider didn’t miss one. And Betty made sure everyone knew. Most people seemed to take her excessive celebration in stride. A few others weren’t so forgiving.

  I pulled Victory Dance Betty and Raider away from the group of other contestants she’d been bragging to. “You need to relax. You won a game. Oprah didn’t gift you with a brand new car.”

  “Nah. She doesn’t do that anymore. You need to keep up with your pop culture, Cookie.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Be a gracious winner and a good neighbor. Rein it in. Stop being a blowhard.”

  Betty blinked. “Oh.” She looked over her shoulder at her new friends. An awkward silence fell over the group. She shrugged helplessly. “I was excited.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “I know. I’ve been there. Trust me. Just go back and tell everyone they did a great job. When you and Raider win the next game, keep your celebration to a couple of fist pumps, and hoots and hollers.”

  She regarded me seriously. “You’re a good friend.”

  I smiled. “Don’t let that get out.”

  She slipped her arm through mine. “I have a surprise for you. You’re going to like it.”

  That was a change of topic I wasn’t expecting. “You’ve mentioned that,” I replied, cautiously.

  Betty could have a pocketbook full of dollar bills or backstage passes to a Van Halen reunion concert. I always expected the unexpected where Betty was concerned.

  “Come with me.” She tugged on Raider’s leash for him to stand.

  I checked my watch. “I have to meet Addison . . . can you give it to me after that?”

  “What are you meeting her for?”

  I patted her hand. “It’s not important. I shouldn’t be long. Keep Missy with you, okay?” I handed her the lead. “I’ll be back and then we’ll do whatever you want.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Just give me an hour.”

  “What if I want to get a massage?”

  “That sounds like heaven.”

  “We’ll go horseback riding. I haven’t done that for over twenty years.”

  I laughed. She’d change her mind three more times before I got back. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  I left Betty and the dogs and rushed past our fellow glampers with a shout good-bye. My adrenaline was pumping out of control. This was it. For the first time since Addison rode into town on her larger-than-life broom of malice, I felt as if the end was within reach.

  Finding the trail was easy. Since it was the only trail our group was allowed on, it was heavily marked and right off the roadway. The first resting point was about a quarter of a mile into the walk, which I reached easily within five minutes. I checked my watch—one-fifty-five. I wasn’t that early.

  I lifted my ponytail off my neck, sweating in the early afternoon heat. It was unseasonably warm. I shielded my eyes from the sun’s glare. I cast about for even the smallest amount of shade. Nothing. In my haste to be early, I’d left my sunglasses and a hat at camp. I reminded myself to apply fresh sunscreen when I returned to the RV.

  I paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. It was just me and the chirping birds. The absence of human chatter and hiking footsteps filled my ears. I slapped the envelope in my hand. Where was she? I began to have a sick feeling I’d been played. Again. I felt like complete idiot. Or as my daddy was fond of saying, I was dumb as a post.

  Why in the world had I believed for one minute Addison would keep her word now? When she’d yet to prove an ounce of trustworthiness and reneged on our agreement at every turn. The blackmailer would willingly give her last breath to lead me on for one more day.

  I kicked a rock into the sad green bushes on the side of trail. She’d never had any intention of handing over those letters. Heck, for all I knew, they really were love letters between her father and mother.

  I ran my hand over my face. I knew that wasn’t true. 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. Or who’d written about it in a letter. Like what restaurant my mother had eaten at the night the scandal had broken. What we were both wearing when we’d argued that night.

  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 glamping ground, 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 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. She’s dead.”

  My throat constricted so tightly I barely got the words out. “What do you mean, dead?”

  “Murdered, Cookie. Someone stuck a fork in her. She’s done.”

  Chapter Four

  I PULLED BETTY into our RV for a full-on discussion, not just the highlights.

  Missy and Raider greeted us with barking and spinning. I bent down and loved on Missy briefly before she waddled back to her dog bed. Raider realized he wasn’t getting a treat, so he moped toward the leather couch.

  I tossed the envelope containing my foreword to Addison’s cookbook onto the table. No need for that now. Addison was dead. I had so many questions. Who would have killed her? Where were the letters? How would I get my hands on them now?

  “Melinda, you’re shaking.” Betty shuffled to my side. She grabbed my hands and held them firmly between hers.

 
I glanced down. Sure enough, I looked like I was on a caffeine high. Then it registered what she’d said. “You called me Melinda.”

  “So?”

  I tilted my head slightly. I’m not sure I’d ever figure her out. “The last time you called me by name, you were trying to convince me that you hadn’t killed someone.”

  She planted hands on her narrow hips. “Was I lyin’?”

  Not that long ago, Betty had been a suspect in a murder during a Dachshund dash. It was the first time she’d ever called me by my first name. At the time, I had feared she was hiding evidence about the murder. I was half right. She had a secret, but it wasn’t the worst-case scenario I’d concocted in my head.

  She inched up on her toes in an attempt to look me eye to eye. She failed miserably, but I appreciated the effort. “I got to tell you something,” she said with a quiet intensity. “Word around camp is that you did it.”

  I matched her tone, “Did what?”

  “Work with me here. You killed Addison.”

  I stepped back, holding my hands in front of me in defense. “Oh, no. That’s ridiculous. I may not have liked her, but I did not kill her. Who’s saying that?”

  She pushed her lips together silently, debating if she should rat out her new friends or keep her mouth shut. Let’s just say no one would describe Betty as someone who “spoke less” and “smiled more.”

  “Let me explain. When I say word around camp, what I mean is, eventually people are going to think you were involved once word gets out that you were jealous of her and you didn’t like her.”

  “I was not jealous of her.”

  “You didn’t like her.”

  Because she was blackmailing me. A legitimate reason if I’d ever heard one. “What does that have to do with anything? If I was someone who rammed a fork in everyone I didn’t like, I would have started much sooner than Addison. Besides, I was supposed to meet her . . .” Oh. My. God. I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Betty pulled a notepad and pen from the end table. “Cookie, we need to get our stories straight before the coppers get here. I didn’t tell anyone you were meeting that pet chef. What do you want me to say?” She set the paper on the counter, ready to write down whatever I told her to.

  I grabbed the pen and slammed it down. “Stop that. Don’t talk to anyone. We wait until Malone gets here, and then we spill our guts.”

  “He ain’t coming here. This isn’t Laguna Beach. This is The Hills. The Laguna Hills police will be in charge.”

  I knew that. Since when was Betty the one who made sense? “We talk to them and no one else. I wasn’t even around here. I was waiting for her on the trail.”

  I twisted my ponytail around my fingers, wracking my brain for anyone who could corroborate my alibi. No one, not a single soul, had walked that trail the whole time I’d been waiting. I rubbed my temples. At the time, I’d thought that was a good thing. Now I’d learned I was alone because everyone else was gawking at a dead body.

  “Who found her?”

  Betty looked down. “Well, about that. Before I tell you, promise you won’t get upset.”

  “I make no such promise.” I needed to sit down for this. I parked my backside on the edge of the booth in the dining area.

  She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I was talking with my new friends and I sort of got distracted. I dropped the leashes at some point, and the dogs went for a walk by themselves.”

  I did a double take. Missy was curled up tightly, snoring away in her bed. “Go on.”

  “When I realized they’d wandered off, I went looking for them. It’s a good thing I stopped by the spa to check on prices for that massage you promised me, because that’s where I found the pet chef. Lying on the massage table with a fork stuck in the side of her neck. I think I’d rather see dead people who’ve been shot.”

  I didn’t bother to correct her about the massage. My stomach turned as I realized where her story was heading. “But you obviously found Missy. Since she’s right there.” I almost managed to keep from raising my voice.

  “Sure. She was here, lying in front of the door waiting to be let inside.”

  “With Raider?”

  Betty shifted. “Well, he was missing for some time, but I found him in the kitchen tent, rootin’ around for an afternoon snack. By the way, can you spot me some cash? A hundred should cover it. I need to buy a couple of legs of lamb.”

  At some point during her story, my mouth dropped open. I snapped it shut. “Did you call 911?”

  “No. I told you, the dogs were fine.”

  “Not for the dogs. For Addison!”

  Betty blushed. “Oh. I may have frozen and screamed like a little girl when I first saw her.”

  I swear I’m not a bad person, but I did giggle just a little as I pictured what that looked like. I’m sure it was nerves that made me laugh. “Has anyone called 911?”

  “Of course.” Betty looked offended. “Veronica called. She’s pretty calm under pressure. By the way, I think I’ll pass on the massage you promised me.”

  I shuddered. I wasn’t all that excited about the idea myself. “You need to get back outside. The police are going to want to talk to you.”

  “Not as badly as they’ll want to talk to you,” Betty countered. “I have one more thing to tell you.”

  There was a knock on the RV door. We both jumped. The dogs barked. Good campground etiquette required that we quiet down the dogs. For Missy, that was a quick command to be quiet and lie back down. Raider wasn’t so easy. When the simple “sit” command didn’t stop his deep bark, Betty pulled out a dried apple ring from her jumpsuit pocket. That worked like a charm. Raider sat and immediately shut up. Betty counted to ten out loud then held it out for him.

  She looked at the door. “What should we do?”

  I didn’t have a good feeling. I pulled out my cell phone.

  “Who you calling?”

  I quickly thumbed through my favorite contacts. I had two choices. I stared at Grey’s name for a long time. Yes, we’d broken up. But if he knew I was in trouble—serious trouble—he’d come. As an undercover FBI agent for white-collar crimes, he knew a thing or two about working with law enforcement.

  The knock came again, louder. Then the doorbell rang.

  We had a doorbell?

  The barking started all over again. I snapped my finger and pointed at Missy. She stopped the noise and hung her head. Betty didn’t waste time going through all the proper steps this time; she tossed Raider a treat and that was that. I was pretty sure Caro had counseled against rewarding bad behavior.

  “I’ll peek out the window and see who it is.” Betty loved to play cat and mouse games, and peering from behind a window shade, spying on an unsuspecting guest, certainly filled the bill.

  I returned my attention to the phone, focusing on my contact list. My other choice wasn’t any better.

  “Oh, it’s that sexy reporter,” Betty cooed.

  Damn. MacAvoy has been nothing but a pain in my side since the day I met him. I heaved a sigh of resignation. I didn’t have any other option. I needed expert advice. There was only one thing I could do. I swallowed my pride and placed the call. I closed my eyes and waited for him to pick up.

  One ring.

  Two rings.

  “Detective Malone,” the no-nonsense man barked.

  I opened my eyes.

  “It’s Melinda Langston. I need your help.”

  Chapter Five

  THERE WAS SILENCE on the other end of the phone.

  “Do I let the reporter in?” Betty continued to peek out the window.

  I shook my head no and waved her off. “Are you sorry you answered your phone?” I asked Malone, hoping for a little levity before I unloaded on him.

  “Yes.”
r />   MacAvoy knocked again, only this time louder. “I see you, Mrs. Foxx. I just want to ask you a couple of questions,” he shouted through the door.

  Betty dropped the shade. “He’s awfully persistent. Maybe he’s here to ask me on a date?”

  “Are you still there?” I could picture Malone in his black jeans, black T-shirt, and stoic face. It was possible he’d hang up if I didn’t speed it up and get to the point.

  “Yes.”

  I hated his one-word answers. And now that I had him on the phone, I quickly realized this was one of those times when my impulsiveness wasn’t doing me any favors. Really, what did I think he was going to do? Hop in his silver Camaro, drive up here, and handle the investigation? “Do you know anyone working homicide in Laguna Hills?”

  A deliberate pause. “Why?”

  I switched the phone from one ear to the other, stepping away from the RV door. “Betty and I are in Laguna Hills glamping. It’s an ARL fundraiser. The event has been advertised all over town. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

  “Get to the point.” I imagined him rubbing his temple, wishing for patience.

  I glanced over my shoulder to find Betty watching me. “Right. Well, the chef was murdered.”

  “Hang up and call 911.”

  “Someone’s already placed that call,” I said quickly. “I-I . . .” I wasn’t even sure what I wanted. I just knew if Malone was on the case, he’d listen to all the facts.

  “Ms. Langston, are you in trouble?”

  Yes. The person who was blackmailing me is dead and I have no verifiable alibi. That didn’t seem like a confession best given over the phone to a homicide detective. Instead, I said, “I’m not sure yet.”

  “You have two choices. Hang up and call a lawyer.”

  I really hoped it didn’t come to that. “What’s my other choice?”