by Diana Orgain
Yolanda crossed over to the table and slammed a palm against it, making the coffee spill out of Geraldine’s cup and splatter onto the table. “It is what we’re asking! What is your alibi? Where were you?”
Geraldine’s face paled, and Yolanda nostrils flared. They stared at each other. Finally Geraldine muttered, “I don’t know why my whereabouts are any of your concern.”
“Did you take Beepo?” I asked.
Geraldine whipped around to glare at me so quickly, I thought she’d give herself whiplash. “Take Beepo? Of course not! I told you, I found him on the beach!”
“What about this?” I took the note with the loopy writing out of my pocket and shoved it under her nose. “Is this your writing?”
Brenda stood and crossed to stand between us. “Now, Maggie.” Her voice was calm and full of reason, but I was beyond that now.
“Stop playing games, Geraldine,” I pressed. “Where were you the night Fran was killed?”
“I told you, I had business. About a pet show. I was hired to consult.”
Max scratched at the back of his head. “Okay, you were hired. You have a client. Who was it?”
“What difference does that make?” Geraldine demanded.
“Well, if the client is your alibi, it makes a difference,” Abigail reasoned. “What if, say Cornelia hired you. And you both were in cahoots to kill off Fran.”
“Cornelia? Why, she’s a twit! And she doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. She couldn’t hire anyone,” Geraldine said.
Brenda looked miffed. “She hired me.”
“What for?” Geraldine said.
“We’ll get to that. First, tell us who your client is. We need someone to corroborate your alibi,” I said.
Geraldine hesitated, looking out the patio window as if waiting to be rescued. We waited her out in silence. Finally, she said, “There’s a shop opening in town. They heard about my success at the Carmel Pet Show. They wondered if I might be able to lend my expertise—”
“A new shop?” Yolanda asked. “Do you mean the Kitty Corner?”
A collective gasp came from the group followed by a stunned silence. Then suddenly everyone burst into, cries of “You’re kidding!” and “The Kitty Corner” and “How could you?”
Even the dogs seemed to share in the outrage.
“Traitor!” I said. “Rachel is going to be out of her mind with the Kitty Corner opening up! Are you trying to put us out of business?”
“It won’t affect the Wine and Bark. It’s a cat adoption place,” Geraldine protested. “It’s not like it’s a cat bar. Wine Lives. That would be direct competition … Anyway, they were going to open up shop anyway,” Geraldine said. “It didn’t have anything to do with me. I was only going to help them get into the pet show. I didn’t create the lease!” With that final comment, she glared at the one attorney seated at the table.
Brenda!
I groaned and Brenda looked as if she’d rather be swallowed whole by the earth than have to face us.
“It’s not my fault,” she squeaked. “The landlord for Bradford and Blahnik is the same one as the property where the Kitty Corner wanted to lease. I had to do it or risk a bad relationship with my own landlord. So I wrote in ridiculous terms. I never thought the Kitty Corner would agree to it.”
Yolanda let her head bonk on the table and Abigail got up and paced.
“So you didn’t kill Fran,” I said to Geraldine. “And I hope the news that you and Brenda are helping the the Wine and Bark’s competition isn’t going to kill Rachel.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Roundup Crew dispersed to take their dogs to the beach, leaving Max and me alone at the Wine and Bark.
I loaded some dishwater with the coffee mugs, while he took out the trash. When he returned he said, “If the editor of Doggie Day wants a different look for the Wine and Bark why don’t we grab the leather sectional from my place and bring it here? It’s leather, so the dog hair won’t cling so much and it won’t cost Rachel a dime.”
I perked up. Fixing up the Wine and Bark would take my mind off Fran’s murder. “That’s so sweet of you to offer, Max. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He examined the floor. “What about a floor polisher? We can rent one and I can polish up the floor, nice and bright.”
“Yeah!” I said, my excitement growing. “She mentioned draperies. I don’t know what to do about that.”
“I’m not an interior designer.” Max glanced at the windows. “Let’s see, she wanted a couch, draperies, sort of like fabrics to soften the place up?”
“Right,” I agreed.
“A lady’s touch.” Max smirked.
“Hey, hey! Watch out, buddy! What are you trying to say? That Rachel and I don’t have any taste?”
He laughed. “No. I’m just thinking … Wasn’t Cornelia trying to hit up Rachel for a job?”
I studied him a moment. “Yes.”
Max scratched at his chin. “Maybe we should hire her for the day. See if she has any advice on draperies…”
“Grill her about Fran, you mean?” I asked.
He grinned unabashedly at me. “Noooo. Your boyfriend doesn’t want you investigating.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”
“Good,” Max said. “I like the other guy better for you.”
I laughed. “You only like Gus because of his culinary talents.”
“Guilty as charged,” Max confessed. He looked longingly across the patio at DelVecchio’s. The closed sign hanging in the window weighed on my heart.
“He made the show,” I said. “He’s worried about landing in the crisper in the first episode. I promised we’d all call in and save him if that happened. The show airs tomorrow night.”
“Let’s grab the TV from my place, too, then. We’ll turn the Wine and Bark into a trendy viewing lounge. The editor of Doggie Day will love that.”
“Let’s do it,” I agreed.
As we walked together to the front door, a plump elderly woman with scads of gray curls shooting out in every direction atop her head hustled over to us.
“Who’s that?” I asked Max.
He shook his head. “Beats me. She must be new in town. Never seen her before.”
The woman wore a floral housedress and black ballet slippers. She had on bright fuchsia lipstick and large horn-rimmed glasses. In her arms she held a fruit basket. She approached the front door of the Wine and Bark as if on a mission. Although she seemed startled to see Max and me standing there watching her.
I unlocked the door and greeted her.
“I’m looking for the owner, Rachel Patterson,” she said.
“I’m her sister, Maggie. Rachel isn’t available,” I said.
“What a shame!” she said. “I was hoping to introduce myself. I’m Lois, the owner of the new Kitty Corner.”
Max and I exchanged a look.
Adrenaline shot through my system. So this innocent-looking nice lady, who reminded me of my grandma, was to be our business rival. I suddenly felt sick.
Lois studied us anxiously. “I was hoping we could be friends. Local businesses getting together and helping each other,” she said, shoving the treat-filled basket into my hands. “Even though I encourage cat adoptions and I know you cater to little dogs, it doesn’t mean we can’t get along.” She smiled brightly at Max and me.
Max quirked an eyebrow at me, encouraging me to respond to Lois.
I accepted the basket. “Of course not,” I said. “Pacific Cove is a very tough town to make a go of business. We all try to support the local economy.”
Lois smiled brightly, then craned her neck to see around us into the Wine and Bark. I moved slightly to block her view. She licked her fuchsia-colored lips and turned around. “I see that DelVecchio’s is closed now.” She tsked. “So many good places have closed down.”
“That’s just temporary,” I said, but didn’t elaborate for her when she turned
back around and gave me a curious look.
Max riffled through the gift basket unabashedly and popped a chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth.
Lois looked pleased. “I hand-dipped those myself.”
Max gave her his winning boy-next-door smile. “Delicious!”
Lois pulled out a bundle of knitting yarn from what seemed like a permanently attached handbag, then dug further into the bag until she found flyer, which she handed to me. “I hope you and your sister can stop by and maybe help me get the word out.”
“I’ll see what we can do,” I said noncommittally.
Guilt surged through me as I took the paper from the woman. Rachel wouldn’t like my talking to her one bit.
Lois smiled and patted my arm. “Thank you, dear, I hope to see you soon.” She pushed up her glasses and smiled at Max and me as she turned to leave.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Max glanced at the flyer she’d handed me. It was for a grand opening happening on Friday. There was an image of a kitten climbing up a scratching post.
Max laughed, but I said seriously, “I suppose we could go to the grand opening.”
“Are you kidding?” Max said. “Rachel would kill you if you went. And if Rachel doesn’t kill you, then Yolanda, Brenda, or Abigail would.”
I made a face. “Not as a patron,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “What then? Like a spy?”
I shrugged. “Why not? What do you think she was doing over here? Being nice? Being neighborly? She was snooping around. Checking out the competition.”
Max snorted. “Maggie. Don’t go over the deep end. She’s, like, someone’s grandma. She’s not an evil villain just because she’s a cat person.”
I snatched the fruit basket out of his hands. “Aha!” I said, pointing a finger in his face.
“What?” He laughed.
“You’re a cat person, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Actually, when I was a little boy, I had a kitten named Whiskers. He was a gray puff ball. Cutest thing in the world.” He put his finger to lips. “Don’t let Brenda know, though. She’d kick me to the curb if she knew I was a cat lover.”
I giggled. “Hardly. She’s too soft on you.”
Max smiled. “Even still, I wouldn’t want to risk it.”
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
* * *
Max drove us to his place while I poked around on my phone, researching where we could rent a floor polisher.
“There’s a place on Oak View Circle. Will that work?” I asked.
Max nodded as he parked his pickup in front of his beach home. “I’m going to need some help lifting the couch. Let me see if my neighbors are home.”
“What am I? Chopped liver?”
He shook his head. “I’m not letting you lift a heavy couch. If you throw your back out, the fuzz will be all over me.”
“Chicken,” I said.
Max indicated the beautiful wraparound porch of his house. There were a few Adirondack chairs sprawled on the deck. “Plus, my TV is really heavy. If you drop it, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Right,” I said, slipping out of the pickup truck, walking over to his porch, and sinking into one of the deck chairs. I slipped off my sandals and tucked my feet under me. “I’ll just take a load off here in the hot sun. Pretend that I’m on my cruise after all.”
Max waved as he ran down the street to one of the neighboring bungalows. “I’ll be right back.”
I dialed the hospital to check on Rachel. She picked up immediately.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
Rachel sighed. “I’m okay. Up and down. I hope they let me out of her soon. I’m going a little stir-crazy.”
“I’m sorry. Do you wants some company?” I asked.
“Ronnie is with me. He’s taking very good care of me. But I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow,” Rachel said. “I’m hoping I can get out of here by then and meet with Vrishali, but I’m going to need some help.”
“Don’t worry. Max and I are on it. We have a few cards up our sleeves.”
“Aww, Mags. I wouldn’t be able to survive without you.”
“Before you hang up, Rach. Max and I are going to need some help, too. I know Cornelia was looking for a job … Is it okay if we hire her temporarily?”
“That’s a great idea,” Rachel said. “I’ll call her right now.”
A few minutes later Rachel texted me Cornelia’s address, with a little note saying she was in.
In the distance Max came into view with two of his neighbors in tow. They were burly guys, one with a green goatee and the other looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of a surfing magazine. Neither looked particularly happy to be roused so early in the morning to move furniture.
Max gave me the thumbs-up, to which I replied, “Game on.”
Once we had the couch and TV loaded onto the back of Max’s pickup, we headed toward Cornelia’s duplex. She lived on the east side of town. The district was eclectic, with a healthy mix of California natives and a more recent bohemian population of artists and musicians who’d been priced out of the west side.
Cornelia’s place was a small pink bungalow with a straggly palm tree in the front. The siding was chipped, and in desperate need of fresh coat of paint. The front porch was also badly sun damaged and creaky.
Max whispered under his breath. “I don’t know about having her redecorate the Wine and Bark.”
I socked him in the arm and rang the bell. “Don’t go weak-kneed on me now.”
He smiled and shifted his weight onto his heels, giving me his best aw-shucks look, just as Cornelia came to the door. She was dressed in dark clothes and her frizzy dark hair looked unkempt. Her face was splotchy and red, her eyes swollen and raw.
Have we interrupted a crying bout?
She sniffled as she held the door open for Max and me. “Maggie! Come in. Rachel told me you’d be by. Please come in.” She gestured for us to enter the living room.
The living room was haphazard; everything seemed perched an inch close to tumbling off into the next pile. Laundry overflowed onto a shabby couch and Cornelia raced around the room straightening items.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting company. Ever since finding out about Fran, I’ve sort of been zoned out and not up to housework. Can I … uh, get you anything? Tea or—”
Max waved a hand around. “No. No. Don’t worry about that. Maggie and I just came by to see if you are up for helping us at the Wine and Bark. Rachel said you were looking for a job.”
Cornelia perked up. “Oh, yes. Yes, that would be perfect. I can’t really be around here anymore. I’m going crazy. That’s what I told the police, too.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “The police?”
“They were just here,” Cornelia said. “Asking questions, always questions.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “This whole ordeal must be really awful for you.”
Cornelia pulled a tissue from the pocket of her lumpy sweater and dabbed at her eyes. “You have no idea. It feels like, well,” She sniveled into the tissue. “It feels like…”
I glanced at Max and he nodded, encouraging me to probe. After all, wasn’t that why we were here?
I patted Cornelia’s shoulder and waited. After a moment, she said, “It feels like the police don’t want to believe my story.”
“What story is that?” Max asked.
I frowned at him and he shrugged.
How do men get away with being so direct?
Cornelia blew her nose and cleared her throat. “About Fran being alone in the store that night. She’d gone back after she’d been at the Wine and Bark. She called me all upset and begged me to go pick her up so we could get a drink somewhere in town. But I was mad at her. Upset that she was cutting my hours at Chic Chickie. I didn’t feel like being her shoulder to cry on that night. So I told her to stuff it and that I was quitting.”
“Wow, ‘stuff it,’ huh?” asked Max.
I poked him in the ribs. I didn’t want him interrupting her confessional flow.
“I told the police I didn’t go down there. But they don’t seem to believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t they believe you?” Max prodded.
“It’s just a feeling I get. The way they ignore me. Not Ellington, he’s fine. I think he buys my story alright. It’s the other one. The mean one, Brooks.”
My heart clenched.
She thinks Brad is mean?
Well, given that I thought Ellington was the mean one, it occurred to me that maybe they traded off playing good cop/bad cop.
Cornelia looked up from her crumpled tissue. “Could you talk to Brooks for me? I mean, being that he’s your boyfriend and all?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, fighting the feeling of being put under a microscope.
How could Cornelia possibly know Brad and I had gone on a few dates?
I suddenly missed New York, where everyone was anonymous and strangers had no interest or information about your love life.
She shrugged. “He isn’t? I thought that’s what Ellington said. A friend anyway, he’s certainly sweet on you. Maybe you can put in a good word for me?” Then, Cornelia fixed her eyes on me, her look so determined and cutting, I couldn’t help but be reminded that her boss was dead.
Murdered.
Chapter Seventeen
Cornelia and I were tasked with pushing around the tables at the Wine and Bark. We moved a few of them to the back storage area to make room for the couch and TV Max had provided.
It was a good thing Max was so resourceful, he immediately found two men walking down the street and convinced them to help him unload the couch in exchange for a bottle of wine.
“What do we do about drapes?” I asked Cornelia.
She frowned as she looked at the bare windows. “I like them open like that.”
“Me, too, but the editor of Doggie Day wanted curtains. And I think Rach is committed to doing whatever it takes to get the spread in the magazine, you know?”
Cornelia spun around the room, blinking rapidly, lost in thought. “What if…”