Raiders of the Lost Bark

by Sparkle Abbey

  “Oh. Oh! Are we in stealth mode? Maybe we should be wearing all black,” Betty whispered.

  I shot her a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

  “Aren’t we spying? In the movies, spies always wear black.”

  I pointed to the group of campers tossing a dog disc on the grass. “We’re surrounded by people. There’s no chance of spying. We’re going to eavesdrop. There’s a difference.”

  Okay, there really wasn’t, but this was one of those times I mentioned earlier where redirecting Betty was easier than stopping her. In Betty’s mind, spying required a disguise. Eavesdropping was what she did on daily basis.

  We nonchalantly approached the coach, acting as if we belonged there. I noticed all the blinds were pulled shut. Because he was gone, or because he wanted privacy? Either option was a possibility.

  Betty shoved her ear against the side of the coach.

  “What do you hear?” I asked.

  “Quiet as a church mouse. I don’t think they’re in there.”

  “I’m going to ring the bell. Back away so he doesn’t hit you with the door if he answers.”

  Betty stepped back just as the door swung open, almost knocking her in the head.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” she cried out, glowering at MacAvoy.

  He looked me straight in the face, his green eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be snooping.”

  “We’re not,” Betty denied.

  “How’d you know we were here?” I asked.

  He leaned out the door and pointed to a small black circle on the side of the RV. “The security camera. I’ve been watching you.” He smiled casually, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied grin off his face.

  I’m sure we looked ridiculous sneaking around, acting like he was expecting us. I wondered how long he’d been watching.

  “How’d the interview go with Sunday?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t arrived yet.” His gaze flitted around the area; he was obviously looking for her.

  I couldn’t help smiling myself. “She stood you up?”

  Frustration flashed across his face. “Not at all. What do you want? Have you finally realized you need my help?”

  Lordy, he sounded like a broken record. “I can’t imagine what type of assistance you could even offer me.”

  “You’d be surprised. I have connections you’d find helpful.”

  I had no idea what he was referring to. Nor did I want to know. If I needed some type of favor, asking MacAvoy would be an option so far down the totem pole, it’d be underground.

  “Aren’t you part of the RV tour? Asher let us peek inside his rig earlier; now it’s your turn.” Betty tried to walk inside.

  MacAvoy held out his hand, effectively stopping her. “Hold up there. This isn’t a good time.”

  “Oh. Do you have a lady friend in there? Don’t you worry, I’m not jealous. We’re very discreet. Our lips are sealed.” She tried to push her way inside again.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Even I know you don’t keep quiet.”

  “So you do have someone in there?” I asked, surprised.

  “There you are,” MacAvoy called out over Betty’s head, relief coloring the cheerfulness in his tone.

  I spun around to see Sunday stomping across the lawn, teetering side-to-side as her heels sank into the grass. “You’re the media, you need to do a report on this. It’s ridiculous,” she shrieked.

  MacAvoy stepped out of the RV. Betty and I parted like the Red Sea for Moses, eager to watch, but not wanting to get caught up in the middle of whatever meltdown was about to happen.

  Sunday barged past us, stopping inches from MacAvoy. Her face was pale and puffy, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. From crying? Hardly. She didn’t seem to be the type. Maybe allergies. Pollen? Grass? Dogs?

  “I don’t have time for their red tape.” Her voice rose with each word. “I have business to conduct.”

  MacAvoy looked like he was about to tell her to calm down. He’d better rethink that fast. Sunday didn’t come across as a woman who appreciated being told to “calm down.”

  He cleared his throat. “Come in. Let’s talk. What seems to be the problem?” he asked, holding the door open for her.

  She didn’t move. Could be because her high heels had sunk into the ground, rooting her in place like an oak tree. Most likely because she wasn’t finished being angry.

  “The police still have not released Addison’s personal belongings. I’m on a deadline. I need her stuff now.”

  MacAvoy nodded his understanding. “Of course. I’m not sure what I can do. The police have their own timetable. Have you talked to them?”

  So much for his claim that he had “connections.”

  She huffed. “Of course, dimwit.” She turned in my direction. She looked like she was channeling the devil with her red-rimmed eyes. “Who has leverage with the police around here?”

  I held up my hands. “Don’t look at me.”

  “You won’t get the coppers to cough up that pet chef’s stuff until they’re good and ready,” Betty said.

  “Why are you here?” Sunday asked Betty. “Are you giving an interview too?”

  “Not me. Cookie doesn’t want me talking to Handsome.” She squinted. “You sure you want to go on camera looking like that?”

  Sunday touched her face. “Like what?”

  “Like you’ve been crying all night. You need some ice. Mac, get her something for her face.” Betty pointed to MacAvoy. He didn’t move. He looked to Sunday for direction.

  She tensed. “It’s allergies. I took a pill twenty minutes ago. I’ll be fine in five.”

  “Grass?” I asked.

  “Cats.”

  Betty’s gray eyes widened in fear. “The only cats around here are mountain lions. Let me inside.” Betty charged up the steps, pushing MacAvoy out of the way.

  “You can’t go in there,” he sputtered.

  Sunday quickly followed Betty. I was right behind. No way I was going to miss the show.

  MacAvoy’s RV was modest compared to the other RVs we’d toured. That’s not to say it wasn’t luxurious, because it was. Maybe there were only high-end RV manufacturers.

  His coach was shorter than ours, and instead of a dining booth, he had wooden chairs for two. The floor was tile and not marble, but it was still beautiful. I was a little disappointed. Mr. TV didn’t have a woman inside. Instead, he had a scruffy cameraman who wore cargo shorts, a Channel 5 polo shirt, and unruly curly red hair, preparing for the interview.

  “You know, I’ve seen you a lot lately. I think it’s time I called you by something other than the cameraman. I’m Mel.”

  He looked at me suspiciously. “Ben.”

  MacAvoy handed an icepack to Sunday. She eyed him skeptically before gently placing the pack against her face.

  “Now that you’ve made introductions, Melinda, it’s time for you to leave.” MacAvoy pointed toward the door.

  “We just got here,” Betty whined.

  “Excuse me, this is my interview.” Sunday took control of the conversation. “There’s been a change in plans, Callum. We’re going to talk about the police and how they’re botching this investigation.”

  For a second, I wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Had I not just learned the cameraman’s name was Ben, I’d have thought she was talking to him. I don’t recall hearing anyone refer to MacAvoy by his first name. It sounded odd.

  “I’d rather we talk about Addison.” Callum shot her a pointed look.

  Unfazed, she glared right back at him. “Do you want this interview or not?”

  He swallowed hard. “Have a seat. Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside?”

  Betty claimed the driver’s s
eat, which was facing the back of the RV. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  “Look, we’ll see it eventually. What does it matter that we see you film it? Unless you plan on spinning it in an unflattering way?” I said.

  Sunday plopped down in the chair. Once Ben had her hooked up with a microphone, he handed her eye drops, and she shoved the icepack in his hand.

  She took a few seconds to freshen up her makeup. “I told you five minutes; the timer has started. If you want to keep wasting time arguing with those two who don’t matter, that’s up to you. Just know, you’re now down to four minutes, thirty seconds.” She looked at Betty. “How’s my makeup?”

  “You look great,” she reassured her.

  The camera was set up, ready to shoot them sitting in the recliners. Sunday was looking stylish in a crochet-lace top, linen tie-belt shorts, and nightclub heels. MacAvoy was dressed in his boring khakis and Channel 5 polo shirt, just like Ben.

  Sunday perched herself on the edge of her seat, her legs extended toward MacAvoy. It was almost as if she were blocking him from escaping. Or maybe she was trying to communicate she wasn’t intimidated by him. Whatever she was trying to convey, she was used to being in control.

  I made myself comfortable on the passenger seat. I found the release lever and swung the chair around to face the show.

  “Wish I had some popcorn,” Betty whispered.

  “Shh.” Ben glared at us.

  I mouthed “Sorry.”

  Ben motioned to MacAvoy that he was recording. Once MacAvoy introduced Sunday, he quickly started with the questions. “Tell me about Addison Rae. She was the head chef for the ARL fundraiser this week.”

  Sunday looked bored. “She’d been cooking for her dogs back in Atlanta for years, but wasn’t finding the fame she longed for.”

  Wow. She couldn’t sound any more bored if she was reciting the names of the U.S. Presidents.

  “Her father recently passed away. On his deathbed, she’d promised him she would move to southern California to fulfill her dream to be a pet chef to the stars. That led her here.” Sunday tossed out facts about Addison’s life like a careless gesture. All that was missing was an eye roll. I wondered how that would translate on camera.

  “Was she finding that fame? I know she had some help from a few friends.”

  My stomach knotted.

  She shrugged. “Addison told me she had someone who promised to help her. To introduce her to people who could give her a boost up. I tried to tell her she couldn’t count on that. She had to do the work herself. But Addison liked to take short-cuts. She didn’t always know when to keep her mouth shut.”

  Sunday’s lips flattened. Was she upset that Addison hadn’t listened to her? According to Pepper, Sunday didn’t take to kindly to her clients going against her wishes.

  “What type of short-cuts?” MacAvoy asked.

  She shifted in her chair. “I want to talk about the incompetency of the local police department. I was promised Addison’s personal property yesterday. As of this morning, I have not received her belongings, nor have they contacted me with a timeline as to when I will receive them. I’m not even sure if they are taking this investigation seriously. They aren’t talking to me.” She stared straight into the camera as if speaking directly to Detective Finn and Lark. “If the police are watching, you need to call me with an update.”

  Yowsa. That could blow up in her face. They might do more than just update her; they might toss her high-maintenance fanny in jail.

  Ben held up two fingers.

  Mr. TV nodded in acknowledgment. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Addison?”

  She looked directly at me. “I’ve heard rumors.”

  He leaned forward as if inviting her to trust him with her secret. Him and a hundred thousand viewers. “Rumors?”

  My stomach dropped. I sucked in a breath waiting for her answer. Certainly Addison hadn’t confided to her agent that she was blackmailing me.

  “Someone was blackmailing her.”

  I thought MacAvoy’s eyes were going to fall out of his head. Whatever he thought she was going to say, that wasn’t it. He didn’t have a believable poker face.

  He’d moved to the edge of his seat. “Who?”

  “Her.” She pointed her nasty, lying finger at me.

  Ben swung the camera around and aimed it in my direction. I flinched.

  Well, hell’s bells.

  Chapter Twenty

  I WAS TRAPPED and everyone in the RV knew it.

  MacAvoy’s green eyes were huge. I could tell he was torn between wanting to jump up and down for an amazing story dropping in his lap, and disbelief that I would blackmail someone. Euphoria was winning.

  For the first time since I’d met her, Betty was speechless. She clenched her hands together. It was obvious by the strained look on her face, she was worried.

  “That’s a lie,” I ground out. “I barely knew her.” I know. I should have kept my mouth shut.

  I’d just given MacAvoy exactly what he wanted. Judging by the satisfied smile on Sunday’s face, I’d played right into her plan as well.

  Dang. Dang. Dang.

  Ben turned the camera back to MacAvoy and gave him the wrap-up signal. I didn’t wait to hear what he had to say; I busted out of the RV before I further damaged my character. Betty quietly followed.

  Outside, I paced the length of the RV, waiting for Sunday to emerge. She had to explain why she’d lied.

  “We need to talk, Cookie.” Betty’s matter-of-fact tone was final. She wanted answers. I didn’t blame her.

  “I know. Later.” The second Sunday stepped out of the RV, I planted myself in front of her. “Why would you lie? You know I wasn’t blackmailing Addison.”

  She raised a blond eyebrow. “Do I?”

  I sensed MacAvoy watching from the RV doorway. “What would I get from holding anything over her? She had nothing I wanted.” I cringed inwardly at the lie. She did have my mama’s letters. But Addison was blackmailing me. Which was a stronger motive to kill someone.

  I pushed the hair from my face, frustration pouring from my body. “Was Addison really being blackmailed?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Yes.”

  “And she said it was me?” My voice quivered. I hated the betrayal of my body.

  She shrugged. “She never said who. You were convenient.” Her gaze darted toward Betty. I almost missed it. “I’ve heard stories about the two of you fighting.”

  Was she implying Betty was telling stories about Addison and me? I didn’t believe it. Why was she implicating Betty now?

  I took a step back as I struggled to get my emotions under control. “I’m also a suspect, and you just gave the police a major reason to look at me. And it was a lie.”

  I rubbed my temple. “How many times do I have to say I didn’t kill Addison until people start to believe me?”

  Sunday rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. The more you protest, the more people think you have something to hide. If the police suspect you, they must have a good reason.”

  “Seriously? A good reason? Like the lie you just told? As her agent, and someone who supposedly cared about her, I’d think you’d want the police to arrest the right person.”

  “The police will follow the evidence. Or so they assure me.”

  I wanted to scream. Those were the same words Detective Malone had said to me repeatedly. The difference was, when he said them, I felt a semblance of comfort that he’d analyze all the evidence and would know what was real and what was fabricated. With Sunday, I felt nothing but unease.

  The big fat liar turned to sashay away. Probably back to the pit of darkness she’d clawed her way out of. Good riddance. I spun around to tell Betty I was ready to leav
e when I noticed MacAvoy staring at me from the steps of the RV. For someone who’d just gotten the story break he’d been begging for, he didn’t look as elated as I’d imagined he would.

  “Melinda,” Sunday hollered. I spun around. “Where’s Hudson? He owes me new a new Louis Vuitton bag.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” I ground out.

  “When he turns up, inform him I’ll need replacement luggage by the end of the week.” She stalked off toward her tent.

  “Do I look like a receptionist?”

  “No, you look like someone with something to hide,” MacAvoy chirped from his RV perch.

  Irritation raked through me. “She just admitted she lied. If you air that entire piece, you’re nothing better than one of those trashy TV tabloid reporters. What’s next? Hacking my phone? Completely fabricating a story just to look good?”

  “Come back and tell your side of the story.” He motioned inside the RV.

  “When hell freezes over.”

  BETTY AND I RETIRED to our RV for some damage control and a drink.

  I was hanging on by a thread. I poured us each a glass of iced tea. “I can’t believe he thought I’d sit down with him for an interview. What a snake. He better not air that ending.”

  Betty’s questioning gray eyes met mine as she accepted the glass. “Why does Sunday dislike you?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I just met her, but she obviously has no problem making me look guilty.” If it was a fight Sunday wanted, I’d give her one.

  I took a sip of my tea, then set it on the counter. I couldn’t sit. I was too antsy.

  Betty carried her glass to the dining table and sat down. “Why did Addison hate you?”

  I sighed as I began to pace. “I don’t think it was me she hated. I can’t go into detail, but just know, I wasn’t blackmailing Addison. I had no reason to.”

  “I believe you, Cookie, but whatever you’re hiding is making you look bad.”

  I stopped pacing in front of the table. I pulled the hair tie from my ponytail and quickly put my hair back into a messy bun. “Yeah, well, the truth will only make it look worse.”