Wags to Riches

by Ally Roberts

  “If involved means that I helped figured out who was responsible, then yes. I was involved,” I said primly.

  She nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She was quiet for a moment, her eyes still locked on me. “Doesn’t really sound like you’re much of a dog walker.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. Even my own father had his doubts about my newest career choice.

  Carmen continued. “It kind of sounds like you’re a private investigator.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that, either, and I’d been quick to deny it the last time someone used those same words.

  But this time was different, I realized.

  This time someone had offered to pay me to help solve a crime.

  And I’d accepted.

  Which meant I needed to keep looking and to follow the lead Carmen had provided, however thin it was.

  I needed to talk to Gunther Lawrence.

  NINE

  I did need to talk to Gunther.

  But first I needed to walk some dogs.

  Not just to prove that I still considered myself a dog walker, but because I had clients who needed their dogs exercised and because that was my only source of income at the moment. I appreciated the fact that Jonah was planning to pay me, but there were contingencies in place…the biggest one being I actually had to find his missing money if I wanted to see any of it come my way.

  Besides, I had tried to see Gunther immediately after my conversation with Carmen, but when I stopped by Shawnty’s after our impromptu cupcake date, I was told he was out sick and to check back the next day.

  Which was exactly what I intended to do this morning, just as soon as I was done walking the dogs.

  I had three dogs with me today: Trixie and Duke, of course, but Dempsey had joined us, too. Even though Rudy had mentioned potentially needing me on Friday, he’d asked if I wouldn’t mind swinging by and grabbing Dempsey for a Wednesday morning walk, too. Rudy lived about two blocks from my grandmother’s house, in an older, four-unit condo complex, so it was never a problem to swing by his place.

  I kept Duke and Trixie’s leashes in one hand and Dempsey’s in the other as we ambled down one of the sidewalks between my house and the beach. Like his owner, Dempsey was a little leery of large dogs and did much better if he had some personal space to sniff and to not feel as though he might get trampled by bigger canines.

  All three dogs’ noses hovered just above the pavement and grass as they sniffed out delicious smells. I yanked Trixie so she wouldn’t collide with a fire hydrant and tugged Dempsey out of the way of a small palmetto tree. It was a wonder none of them had suffered a concussion from a head-on collision with some random object.

  We rounded the corner of the street where Caroline Ford’s house was and I immediately looked for the For Sale sign in the yard. It was still there, accompanied by a new sign positioned on top of it. PRICE REDUCED.

  I bit back a sigh.

  It had been almost a week since I’d talked to either of my parents, and I’d had hopes that the next time we spoke, my dad would have some good news regarding his first real estate sale: Caroline Ford’s house. However, the new rider stuck on top of the sign told me the exact opposite.

  It wasn’t moving.

  The sympathetic part of me tried to focus on the fact that selling houses took time, and that it had only been a few weeks. But the realist knew that the market on Sweetwater Island was hot, and that homes didn’t tend to sit vacant for long. I’d seen three others on my walks around town that had been listed and then sold during my brief time on the island.

  And, yes, the circumstances involved with this particular house were…unique. After all, I’d stumbled upon Caroline Ford’s dead body in the living room. Not every potential homebuyer would be cool with purchasing a house where someone had died, especially when it involved a homicide. Well, an unintentional homicide. So I understood the challenges any real estate agent might face in trying to sell the property.

  But I also knew that there was a good possibility the real estate agent involved might have a little to do with the fact that the house hadn’t sold and that the price had to be reduced.

  My dad.

  Right on cue, the front door to Caroline’s house opened and my dad stepped across the threshold. He was dressed in black slacks and a white button-down shirt, complete with a blue and black striped tie. He looked professional, which was a weird look for him. But I also wondered how much money he’d had to spend on a new wardrobe for this latest business venture, because my dad had never been a suit and tie kind of guy.

  He locked the front door behind him and then, after a cursory glance at his surroundings, tapped in the code to the lockbox attached to the doorknob. It opened and he popped the key back inside, then shut it firmly. He strolled toward his car and his eyes landed on me.

  I waved hello.

  He stopped walked and waited for me on the sidewalk.

  “How are you?” I asked. “How’s the house selling going?”

  He puffed out his chest a little. “Just showed the place to a couple. I think they might be the ones. I have a good feeling about it.”

  I just nodded. I’d heard that before, in countless other jobs.

  He glanced down at the dogs. “Three dogs today, huh? Business must be booming.”

  It wasn’t hard to miss the sarcasm in his voice.

  Anger flared inside of me. I straightened my back and stared him down. “Actually, it is. I have a new client.” I tugged on Dempsey’s leash, bringing him front and center.

  My dad didn’t look impressed.

  “And another one coming,” I said, thinking of what Ginny mentioned, about the foster puppies. Granted, there was no guarantee those dogs would be adopted locally and then turn into clients, but I wasn’t about to tell my dad that.

  “Well, good for you.” He smiled. “It’s great to hear that business is picking up. Sounds like you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

  He didn’t have to say anything else because I knew what he was implying. Back on my feet meant out of my grandmother’s house. Which meant he could then go ahead and work on my mom about getting it on the market.

  I swallowed. “That’s the goal.” And it was. I wanted nothing more than to be back on my feet, with a steady income and able to take care of myself without getting handouts from my parents.

  “How much more time do you need?” The eagerness in my dad’s voice was evident. “A month? Two?”

  I balked. “Probably a little longer than that,” I said quickly. Knowing him, he’d drive directly to my grandmother’s house and start packing up my belongings himself.

  His face fell.

  “But I’m working on it.” I forced a smile that felt as fake and plastic as it probably looked.

  He looked with disdain at the dogs. “I don’t think your current job is going to get you there. I’m telling you, Wendy, real estate. That’s where the money is at.”

  I almost rolled my eyes. I didn’t think he had any personal experience to support this claim. In fact, I knew he didn’t. My mother had confirmed just last week that Caroline’s house was still his only listing. If he’d gotten another one since then, I had no doubt he’d be crowing about it to me already.

  “I’m just fine doing what I’m doing,” I told him.

  His answering smile was equally tight and equally fake. “I’ll look forward to hearing your exit strategy soon, then.”

  Exit strategy?

  “From your grandmother’s house and into your own place.”

  I frowned and said nothing.

  Despite my assurances to my dad that business was going well and that I expected to add more clients, I had no idea if this was actually going to happen. The flyers I’d plastered around town had netted me exactly one new client: Rudy. And even though Leah had said she’d posted about it on one of the local Facebook groups—a group I’d since joined—not a single person had contacted me because of it.<
br />
  On any other day, I might have been able to talk myself out of the panic I felt rising up inside of me. I could tell myself that I just needed more time, that it was summer and people’s schedules were all out of whack.

  But today? Today I was thinking about my dad and how anxious he was to get me out of the house he wanted to sell.

  My thoughts instantly went to Jonah and his missing money.

  I’d already agreed to help him, of course, but now it felt like it was more important than ever. Sure, I wanted to help him and in the process help save the restaurant that had quickly become my favorite on the island.

  But I also knew that I needed the payment he was offering in return to help myself.

  Because if my dad had his way, I was going to be out of my grandmother’s house far sooner than I wanted to be.

  And I really didn’t have anywhere else to go.

  TEN

  Shawnty’s was just opening as I made my way back to the marina. With all three dogs safely dropped at their respective places, I had a few hours to devote to Jonah’s case before I needed to head back to collect Duke for his afternoon walk.

  I walked with purpose down the wood plank boardwalk that wound its way through the shops and restaurants of Sweetwater Marina. There were tourists milling about, loaded down with shopping bags and melting ice cream cones, and a few locals, too. I saw Dalton, Leah’s husband and the manager of the actual marina, walking toward one of the docks where an impressive boat with a For Sale sign on one of the windows was tied up. He saw me and offered a quick wave hello. I waved back.

  I waited my turn at the hostess station, behind a half dozen other people looking to be seated inside the restaurant. Although Shawnty’s had a spacious outdoor seating area, complete with stunning views of the marina and the bay, everyone was opting to eat indoors. I didn’t blame them. The sweltering heat was enough to send even the locals inside to seek shelter from the sun and cool off in the air-conditioning.

  When it was my turn, I ordered a cup of chowder to go. It was my go-to order; not just the menu item but the status, too. I didn’t like dine-in because that meant tipping, and money was scarce. In this particular case, I figured I could order it and then, while I was waiting the few minutes to get my order, casually ask to talk to Gunther.

  The girl at the hostess station didn’t even glance up from the map of tables taped to her workstation. “That’ll be about a half hour.”

  “Excuse me? For a cup of soup?”

  She popped her gum, her eyes still glued to the maps, and nodded.

  I craned my neck so I could see into the restaurant.

  It wasn’t busy. In fact, the people who had been waiting in line in front of me appeared to be the only people ordering food. They were scattered throughout the restaurant, at three separate tables. But the remaining tables—about twenty of them, from what I could see—remained empty.

  “Thirty minutes?” I said, still not sure I’d heard her correctly. “For a bowl of soup?”

  She finally looked up at me. “Wait. Do you want a bowl or a cup?

  “A cup,” I said, irritated.

  She jotted this down on an order pad. “I’ll go run this back to the kitchen.”

  I tried again. “And it’s going to take a half hour?” Did they need to send someone to dig up the clams at the beach? Is that what the hold up was going to be?

  She cracked her gum again. “We’re a little short-staffed today,” she explained. “It might only be twenty minutes but I just like to give worst-case scenarios. You know, so you’re happy when you get it sooner than you expected.”

  I just stared at her as she trotted off to the back of the restaurant, the order for my chowder barely clutched in her hands.

  As soon as the girl returned, I said, “Hey, is Gunther around today?”

  She squinted at me. “Gunther?”

  “The owner?”

  Her expression cleared. “Oh. Right. Um, I think so?”

  I was getting the distinct impression that she was either new to her job or she wasn’t firing with all cylinders. “Could you tell him I need to talk to him, please?”

  The girl was immediately suspicious. “Why? Are you going to complain about me or something? I need this job.”

  I shook my head. “No, not at all. I just need to talk to him.”

  She still didn’t look convinced.

  I glanced around the front of the restaurant, my eyes landing on a sign I hadn’t noticed before.

  Happy customers make a happy owner. I want to hear from you about your experience at Shawnty’s.

  I pointed. “He says he wants to hear from me. Right there. And I want to talk to him.”

  The hostess frowned. “I don’t think he really means it. I mean, that’s just a sign.”

  I folded my arms. “Well, it says he wants to hear from customers. And I want to talk to him.”

  “Look, I’ll see if I can get your chowder faster, okay?” she hissed.

  “I don’t care if I have to wait an hour,” I told her. “I just want to talk to him.” Her frown deepened and I added, “This has nothing to do with you or the chowder. I promise.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Fine.” She pivoted away from the hostess station and disappeared back inside the restaurant.

  A few minutes later, she came back out, a large man trailing behind her. He was easily six-four, with a bald head and a handlebar mustache that hinted at what his hair color would have been if there’d been any left on his head.

  Gunther Lawrence was all smiles. Apologetic smiles. “I’m sorry about the wait for your food,” he said. “We had a little mix-up with our line cooks today, and we’re a little short-staffed in the kitchen. It should be out in just a few minutes.”

  I waved my hand. “Oh, that’s fine.”

  He nodded and turned to go back into the restaurant.

  “Wait.”

  He stopped.

  “I just recently discovered chowder,” I told him

  He lifted a bushy eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I mean, I’m not a seafood fan at all but I had a bowl a few weeks back at The Perfect Catch and discovered I really like it. I…I thought I should try it out at some other places, too. You know, to see if it’s that particular recipe that I like or if I really have found a new favorite food.”

  Gunther’s eyes narrowed. “Our chowder is just as good,” he said. “Better, actually.”

  “Better?”

  He nodded. “Of course. All our food is better.” He glanced into the nearly empty restaurant. “Now, if we could just convince everyone of this, that would be great,” he muttered.

  I seized on this comment. “Is it normally like this?”

  “Like what?”

  I waved my hand toward the entrance. “The empty tables. Is it normally this quiet?”

  “Well, we did just open a little bit ago,” he said, crossing his arms in a defensive posture.

  “Of course.” I smiled. “I just…I heard your comment and couldn’t help but wonder if business had slowed down or something.”

  “Everything ebbs and flows,” Gunther said.

  There was some truth to this statement, but I also knew we were in the height of the tourist season. And if tourists were his main source of business, there should have been more people seated at those tables. Even if it was before lunch.

  “All the tourists come here, right?” I asked. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway. That your restaurant is popular with them.”

  He nodded. “Very.”

  “But not the locals?”

  He hesitated, his eyes narrowing a bit. “The locals are a little stuck in their ways,” he finally said.

  “Well, not me,” I said with a smile. “I’m here to check things out.” If he only knew there was more behind those words than checking out his chowder recipe.

  Gunther smiled back, the tips of his mustache nearly touching his ears. “That’s good to hear. I wish more of the locals would do th
e same.”

  “I’m sure you can figure out a way to lure them in and get their business, too.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’m working on it.”

  I suddenly straightened. “You are?”

  He stroked his chin, his eyes focused on something off in the distance. “Things are going to change for me and this restaurant. In fact, I’m already working on it.”

  ELEVEN

  I went straight to see Jonah.

  I’d stuck around at Shawnty’s long enough to get my clam chowder—it didn’t seem like I could leave without getting it, especially after the conversation I’d had about wanting to try it so badly—and then hurried away from the restaurant and back toward Jonah’s place.

  Maggie was at the hostess stand, talking to a group of four customers. She led them to a table right near the door and was back behind her podium just as I approached.

  “You’re becoming a regular,” she commented. Her gaze drifted to the bag I was holding and she frowned. “Why do you have a bag from Shawnty’s?”

  “Research,” I said.

  Her frown deepened.

  “Listen, I need to talk to Jonah. Is he around?”

  She picked up a dry erase marker and drew an X across the table where she’d just seated a party of guests. “He’s in a meeting.”

  “A meeting? Where?”

  “Here.” Maggie capped the pen. “In his office.”

  “I’ll wait for him,” I said. “Do you mind if I sit down inside?” The heat was starting to get to me.

  She glanced at the bag in my hand. “We don’t usually allow outside food…”

  “I won’t eat it,” I told her. “I promise.”

  Maggie nodded. “Okay. Grab a two-top toward the back. I usually fill those last.”

  I did as I was told and seated myself at the same table Tate and I had occupied during our dinner a few weeks back. And just like then, Brenda was there, waiting on tables.

  Her face lit up when she saw me. “You here for lunch?” she asked.