Trigger Yappy

by Diana Orgain

  I stroked his triangle-shaped ears and he jumped up to settle into my lap.

  I warmed to him, hugging him to me. “I never thought I’d appreciate a little canine affection.”

  Yolanda nodded. “They know how to cheer a girl up. And he won’t walk out on you.”

  “I guess you don’t have to worry about that sort of thing with Gottlieb, huh?”

  “What? Him walking out? Sure, a girl always has to be on the lookout for that.”

  “I mean, he won’t dump you for investigating. Or say that he’s trying to get a promotion or whatever.”

  “Do you think he’s the one who told Brad to end it?” Yolanda asked.

  I shrugged.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Yolanda said.

  “No, don’t. Brad’s a grown man. It was his decision no matter what pressure came from above.”

  Yolanda shrugged. “Well, the good news is, you always have the hot chef.”

  “He’s in New York,” I complained, hating that it sounded like I was whining.

  Yolanda patted my knee. “Let’s get over to the Wine and Bark. I’m sure it will cheer you up. Plus, Rachel wants you to return those curtains.”

  I sighed. “No rest for the wicked.”

  * * *

  Yappy Hour was going strong when Yolanda and I arrived at the Wine and Bark. The Roundup Crew was already there and celebrating.

  Cornelia, dressed in an oversize sweatshirt and jeans, leaned against the bar, chatting with Rachel.

  “Hey, Maggie! I was hoping you could help Cornelia return the curtains.” She turned to Cornelia. “I really appreciate you lending them to us.”

  Cornelia shrugged. “No problem. I know you’ll keep my kindness in mind when I need a referral.” She winked and turned to Yolanda. “Have you thought about my offer?”

  “Yes,” Yolanda said, “I’ve given it a little bit of thought.” But before Yolanda could answer, Cornelia reached for a manila file folder that was on the bar. “Look at this,” she said, flipping through some pages as Yolanda looked on.

  Yolanda oohed and aahed, her enthusiasm growing with each turn of the page.

  “What is it?” I asked, peering over her shoulder. They flipped the pages rapidly, but I could make out at least a few designs for purses. Yolanda suddenly grabbed the folder possessively.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She looked at Cornelia. “Nothing, I … These seem…” She stuttered, which wasn’t like her. “These designs seem a little familiar, is all,” Yolanda said.

  Cornelia beamed. “Great minds think alike. I also thought of a new name for your business. Cluckety Clutches,” she said.

  Rachel roared with laughter. “That’s a great name.”

  “Well, you keep thinking about my offer,” Cornelia said. She turned to me. “Maggie, are you ready to get the curtains?”

  “One second,” I said. “Let me see if we can borrow Max’s truck.”

  Cornelia nodded, and I approached Max and Brenda. They were seated at a table in front of the window. A pitcher of Mutt-tinis between them and Pee Wee nestled at Brenda’s feet. I noticed that Brenda, as usual, had on a new pair of shoes: silver flats that glimmered in the light. I tried to hold my shoe envy in check.

  When Brenda saw me move toward them, she pulled over a chair for me. “What’s up, honey? You look a little down.”

  I sat in the chair, and Max sprang up. “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “To get you a glass.” He went to the bar and grabbed a martini glass for me. When he returned to the table he poured me a cocktail.

  “Not too much,” I cautioned. “I need to borrow your truck to return the curtains.”

  He nodded and stopped short on the pour. “Why do you look so depressed?” he asked.

  I filled them in on my morning, both of them listening intently. When I got to the part where I accused Lois of kidnapping my great uncle, Brenda laughed so hard she startled Pee Wee and nearly fell out of her chair.

  “What were you thinking?” she said, through her fit of giggles.

  I shrugged.

  I told Max about turning my journal over to Brad. He bit his lip as he listened to me. “Are we in trouble?” he asked.

  “We?”

  “I was there with you. I knew you were taking it. I’m as much responsible for that as you are.”

  I patted his knee. “Aren’t you sweet. It wasn’t you, Max. It was me. Brad knows that. I’m the one responsible. Anyway, I don’t think he’s going to press charges, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Brenda made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I guess it all depends on what they find in the journal.”

  “‘In the journal’?” I asked, worried. What were they going to find in the journal? While I might have daydreamed a bit about Brad, I certainly hadn’t recorded any thoughts that would help them solve the crime. Who would read it? I envisioned the entire police department snickering over my entries.

  “I mean, on the journal,” Brenda clarified. “If they find some prints that can lead them to the murderer.”

  I shrugged. “I hope I haven’t messed that part up. Smudged them or whatever.”

  Brenda picked up Pee Wee and placed him in her lap. “Don’t worry so much, Maggie. Maybe it’s a dead end. The killer could have been wearing gloves when they handled it.”

  I turned to Max. “Are you allergic to strawberries?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You got sick when you ate a chocolate-covered strawberry from the basket Lois brought over.”

  Max laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that. When I was kid I would break out in hives if I ate one. Then it just kind of went away in college. Maybe it’s back?”

  Brenda rubbed his back soothingly. “Oh, sweetie, did you get sick?”

  They began to make cooing noises at each and I figured three was a crowd. As I stood, Max passed me the keys to his truck. Pee Wee must have figured the same thing because he followed me over to the bar, looking forlorn that Brenda preferred Max’s attention to his at the moment.

  From behind the bar, Rachel tossed Pee Wee a Bark Bite and he immediately forgot his woes.

  Rachel wagged a finger at Max. “You have to be careful what you eat. The hospital called and the lab results finally came in. I got sick from peanut butter!”

  “What?” Brenda said. “Are you allergic to peanuts?”

  “No,” Rachel said, “but I guess there was some kind of contamination at the factory. There was a recall, but I never saw the notice.”

  “Good grief!” I said. “Well, at least that’s one mystery solved!”

  I tapped Cornelia on the shoulder. “I’m ready to take back the curtains when you are.”

  As Cornelia got up, Rachel asked. “Are you all going to the grand opening?”

  My mouth twitched in annoyance. “You mean at Kitty Corner?”

  “Yeah,” Rachel said, overly cheerful for my taste.

  “You’re supporting the opening? I thought we were in competition with them!”

  Rachel’s delicate features crumpled in confusion. “Competition?”

  “The Doggie Day spread!” I said, hardly able to keep the harsh tone out of my voice.

  Rachel held up a hand to soothe me. “Right, right. Well the cover decision is up to Vrishali, but Lois asked me to cater the event. Make it really pet friendly. All the cats and dogs in the neighborhood getting along.” She shot a meaningful glance at Yolanda, who in turn pursed her lips. “We’re serving wine and a few little appetizers…”

  Yolanda harrumphed. “I told her it was a bad idea.”

  From across the bar, Abigail came over to join us. “I pulled a fabulous recipe from online: Kitty Litter Cake.”

  “Stop it!” Yolanda cried.

  “No seriously,” Abigail said. “You use Tootsie Rolls to—”

  “Ewww. That sounds disgusting!” Rachel screamed.

  Abigail scrolled on her phone. “How about Hairb
all Cookies?”

  “No!” Rachel said.

  “It sounds purrfect,” Yolanda sneered. “Or should I say pawsome!” She gave a fake little cheer by swinging her hands in the air.

  “We better get on those curtains,” I said to Cornelia. “It’s about to get ugly in here.”

  Rachel grabbed my hand. “Before you go, can you call Gus tonight? Please!”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “Ask him if he has any ideas. I can’t serve the Arf d’oeuvres at a cat-themed party. There has to be something else I can make.” She pointed a silencing finger in Abigail’s direction. “Something other than Hairball Cookies and Kitty Litter Cake.” She batted her eyelashes at me. “I’m sure Gus can think of something. And remind him, it has to be easy. You know my culinary talents are limited.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Cornelia and I carried out the curtains in short order, and piled them in the back of Max’s truck. I revved up the engine, and together we took off toward Chic Chickie.

  “Are you gonna be able to run the store?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Well, I talked to Fran’s brother again. He said I should carry on with what we agreed. He’s going to talk to Hendrick for me.”

  “That’s a good plan,” I said. “Hendrick’s pretty torn up about everything. I doubt he’ll stand in your way if you want to continue to run the shop.”

  Cornelia made a strange noncommittal grunt, which made me turn away from the road and look at her.

  “It must be really hard for you to figure out which direction to go in now after Fran’s death,” I said.

  She waved a hand in the air. “I’ll land on my feet. I always do.”

  I maneuvered the truck into a parking spot outside of Chic Chickie. The storefront looked sad now without its bright curtains. It seemed strangely vulnerable, as if it had been unwittingly stripped naked. Cornelia and I climbed out of the truck and circled around the bed to unload the curtains.

  Her phone rang from inside her sweatshirt pocket and she pulled it out to look at the display. Without preamble, she pressed a button to silence the call.

  “How are things going with Ellington?” I asked, as we unloaded the curtains.

  She shrugged. “He’s a very nice man. I don’t know how long it’ll last, though. But I’ll enjoy it while it does. How about you and Brad?”

  I felt something sour inside me. Being that I was dating both Gus and Brad at the same time, I wouldn’t have thought I’d taken it so hard that Brad didn’t want to date me. But I still felt terrible about it. Cornelia must have read something in my face because she patted my shoulder.

  “Is something the matter?” Cornelia asked.

  My eyes suddenly teared up, but I avoided her gaze. “Not really,” I mumbled. I didn’t know Cornelia all that well, and I didn’t want to tell her about the fiasco with Lois the day before, and especially not about things with Brad.

  She dug out the key for the store and unlocked the front door. Together, we stepped inside and put the curtains down in front of the windows.

  Cornelia said, “I’ll get the step stool.”

  She left me alone in the front, looking out the window. She didn’t seem to have the heebie-jeebies about going into the back room any longer, which I supposed was good, if she was planning on running the shop while the business with Hendrick was straightened out.

  After a moment, she returned with the step stool and reached to put up the left side of the curtains.

  “Don’t worry about Brad,” she said, as if reading my mind. “Men sometimes need to be told what’s good for them.” She gave me a glance and I simply continued to stare out the window.

  “He’s angry with me. He didn’t want me to interfere with the business about Fran,” I said. Cornelia looked down at me.

  Cornelia paused hanging the curtains and came down from the step stool. “What do you mean ‘interfere’?”

  I shrugged, trying to avoid the growing discomfort I felt in my belly. “I was holding back evidence.”

  Cornelia staggered back, lost her footing, and ended up sitting on the step stool. “What were you holding back?” she whispered.

  “My house had been broken into,” I said. “Someone took my journal. I found it the day I found Darla at the vineyard. My journal was there. On her nightstand.”

  Cornelia put a hand over her mouth and gasped. “Oh my gosh. So you think Hendrick broke into your place and took your journal. That’s so creepy!”

  Thinking about people riffling through my journal made my skin crawl. I shivered. “I know. It is pretty creepy.”

  Cornelia scratched at her chin. “I don’t get it, though. What did Brad think the journal could prove?”

  I shrugged. “I think he’s hoping to lift some fingerprints off of it.”

  Cornelia eyes shifted in a way that made a chill zip up my spine. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything about the journal.

  She suddenly stood and took off her sweatshirt.

  “I’m so hot in this. I can’t continue to work.” She threw it to the floor. When she took off the sweatshirt, she revealed a huge western belt that had the head of a rooster at her belly. The rooster looked suspiciously like Ronnie’s prize chicken, and I had to stifle a laugh. “Do you like it?” she said, noticing my eyes stopping on it.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “It’s amazing.”

  She climbed back on the step stool and finished hanging the curtains. When she turned to me, I noticed something that made my breath catch. The belt was bejeweled, and in the middle of one of the belt loops, where a belt loop ended, there was a missing spot. A million thoughts rushed into my head at the same time.

  Could it be?

  The gem that I had found had come from Cornelia’s belt.

  It made perfect sense. She worked here. So it had fallen while she was at the shop. There was nothing sinister about that.

  And yet …

  My knees felt weak.

  I glanced around the store at all the chicken knickknacks. Cornelia had told me what a passion she’d had for it all. That’d been her idea. Her stolen idea. With no legal recourse …

  Could Cornelia have killed Fran and Darla?

  It all started to make sense.

  I remembered Cornelia showing up early at the store the morning Yolanda and I found Fran dead. What had she been doing here? Coming to get rid of the body? Or maybe to scour the place for some forgotten evidence, like the gemstone?

  Then what about my journal? She’d stolen it probably to see what I knew about the investigation. Then she’d left it at Hendrick’s in order to frame him.

  The room began to spin and I grabbed for the wall.

  Cornelia gave me a sidelong glance. “Is something the matter?”

  I needed to get out.

  “I need air,” I mumbled.

  My phone buzzed from within my purse and I fumbled for it. Cornelia watched me as she moved the step stool toward the other window and began to put up the other curtain.

  I answered my phone.

  Yolanda practically shrieked in my ear. “Maggie! Maggie, are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, my eyes on Cornelia.

  “Are you at Chic Chickie?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s her.” Yolanda said. “Get out of there right now. I think Cornelia did it.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  Cornelia stopped working on the curtains and glanced at me.

  Could she hear Yolanda through my phone? I began to back away.

  “Shying away from the work?” Cornelia asked.

  Through the phone, Yolanda said, “The designs that she gave me, that folder, I’ve been studying it since you guys left. I think the writing is just like the note you found in your apartment. And another thing, there’s no way she came up with these designs on her own. I think she copied some of the designs that she saw when she broke into my house.”

  My blood seemed to drain to m
y feet.

  “Maggie, are you there?” Yolanda asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I should be over at the Wine and Bark in just a minute. We’re finishing up here.”

  “She’s with you?” Yolanda asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “Get out of there,” Yolanda said. “I called Gottlieb. He sent Brad and Ellington. They’re on their way there now.”

  I glanced out the window. Brad and Ellington were nowhere in sight.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up.

  Cornelia turned away from the curtains and loomed above me, narrowing her eyes at me. “What’s going on, Maggie?” she asked. Her voice was suddenly deeper, with a menacing quality I’d never heard.

  Adrenaline shot through my system, and my body tensed. “There’s been an emergency at the Wine and Bark. I have to get going.”

  I yanked the truck keys from my purse with trembling hands. Cornelia saw the fear on my face and seized the moment, she leapt off the stool and tackled me.

  “What did Yolanda tell you?” she screamed.

  I gasped for air and tried to squirm out from under her. “Are you crazy?” I squeaked.

  She punched me in the stomach. “Answer me! What did she tell you?”

  Some survival instinct deep inside me surged through the pain of her punch and I swiveled myself out from under her. “You killed Fran because she stole the shop from you!”

  Cornelia went to land another punch, but I was quicker. I blocked her arm and kicked frantically, desperately trying to recall any self-defense maneuvers I could from a class I’d taken long ago in New York.

  Eyes and throat are the most vulnerable.

  She lunged for me and I swiped her leg out from under her. She staggered but caught her balance. We faced off against each other.

  “Then you killed Darla,” I said. My eyes darted around the shop searching for a weapon.

  She gave a cynical laugh. “You’re so naïve.”

  “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Darla?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want to kill Darla,” she said. “She was in my way is all. I went up there to plant the evidence to frame Hendrick. Darla had figured it out, though. She was smarter than you. She figured it out from the beginning. You’re a bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Maggie? Doesn’t matter that you have a New York pedigree. You’re the same as us after all.”