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Authors: Waverly Curtis

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BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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Chapter 4
I dashed toward the door, but Larson and Sanders kept pace with me. Sanders grabbed me by the elbow just as I was about to plunge off the front porch.
“Catch that dog!” Larson shouted as Pepe scuttled through the high yew hedge that bordered the yard.
One of the policemen made an attempt to penetrate the hedge, but he couldn't part the heavy branches. Another cop, noticing the delay, took off around the hedge, but he came back a few minutes later, shaking his head. “That pooch is gone,” he said.
“That's my new dog,” I said. “I just got him today.” I turned to Sanders whose fingers were pinching my elbow. “I've got to go after him. He doesn't know his way around Seattle. He's from L.A.”
He rolled his eyes but called one of the uniform cops over. “Have your guys canvas the neighborhood. We need to know if any of the neighbors heard or saw anything out of the ordinary. And tell them to keep an eye out for the dog.”
“But warn them, he's vicious,” said the technician, who had come out on the porch and was holding his wrist.
“Go and have that looked at,” said Larson.
“Probably need a rabies shot,” the technician muttered as he headed towards the red-and-white emergency vehicle that idled on the street. It was too late to be of any use to David Tyler.
“He's current on his vaccinations,” I called out as he passed by. Just then, a sleek, black Lincoln Town Car drove up the street and coasted to a slow stop beside the cluster of blue and white squad cars in front of the house. A woman got out of the car and came rushing up to the yellow crime-scene tape that cordoned off the front yard.
“Who's in charge here?” she asked. A tall, slender woman with long, dark hair, she wore a pale blue linen blouse, which beautifully set off her tan. Combined with her beige linen skirt and gold high heels, she looked dressed for Beverly Hills, not Seattle. Which turned out to be the case.
“I'm in charge,” said Larson, heading down the stairs to meet her. “Who are you?”
“I'm Rebecca Tyler,” she said impatiently. “I live here. What's going on? Was there a burglary?”
Surely she knew the police didn't use crime-scene tape for burglaries. Even I knew that, although I was only a private detective in training.
“You're just the person we need to talk to,” said Larson. He motioned for Sanders to bring me over. “This woman claims she was supposed to meet you here.”
Rebecca looked me over. I could see the disdain in her startlingly blue eyes as she scanned me from the tips of my scuffed black cowboy boots peeking out from under my jeans to the hand-crocheted beret crammed over my unruly curls. A tall man in a dark suit had gotten out of the Town Car and was opening the trunk.
“I certainly didn't have an appointment with this woman,” she said. “I don't even know who she is.”
“I'm Geri Sullivan—” I started to say, but Sanders stopped me.
“Don't say anything,” he said.
“Besides, I've been out of town,” said Rebecca. “I've been in L.A. meeting with studio executives. So I couldn't possibly have made an appointment to meet her.”
As if to back up her claim, the driver approached with two large blue suitcases that matched the color of Rebecca's blouse. I was impressed. I had never thought of coordinating my attire with my luggage.
“Where should I put these, ma'am?” he asked.
“Let me get this straightened out,” said Rebecca. She turned to Larson. “Who is she? And what's going on here?”
I tried again. “Geri Sullivan,” I said. Perhaps Jimmy Gerrard hadn't passed along my name. “I work for the Gerrard Detective Agency.”
She looked like she was trying to frown but couldn't manage it. “Never heard of them,” she said. She turned back to Larson. “You haven't answered my question.”
“Ma'am, I have some bad news for you,” he said, his voice soft. “I think we should talk about this in private.”
Her smooth composure cracked. “Oh, no!” she cried out. “He can't do this to me! Not now!”
Larson put his arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the house. The guy with the suitcases followed. Sanders delivered me to one of the uniformed policemen and told him to take me to the East Precinct station. I tried to object, but they told me they could hold me as a material witness at the very least. It was raining as we drove away. I began crying as I thought of Pepe out there alone, cold and lost.
 
 
They put me in a little interview room with several orange plastic chairs and a linoleum-covered table bolted to the wall. They removed the cuffs and brought me a cup of bad coffee.
I used my cell phone to call Jimmy Gerrard, but his voice mail picked up. “You've got to get me out of here,” I said. “I'm about to be arrested.” I thought about calling someone else, but who? My sister would just sniff at me and tell me it was probably my fault. My ex would laugh. Anyway, his fiancée would probably answer the phone. Amber had an annoying habit of forgetting to tell him I had called.
Every once in a while one of the detectives would come in and pepper me with questions. They asked me what I was doing at the Tyler residence. They asked about the location of the gun. They asked about my affiliation with the Gerrard Agency. I kept asking them if they had found my dog.
They seemed really puzzled by Pepe.
“Tell me again why you brought your dog with you,” Sanders was saying, when the door flew open and a tall, imposing man entered the room. He had broad shoulders and a pale, round face, with a hint of five o'clock shadow around his jowls. He wore a black hat and a long, black wool coat.
“I'm Sherman Foot,” he said, holding out his hand to Sanders. “I've been hired to represent Miss Sullivan.”
“Don't say another word,” he said to me.
Then he turned back to Sanders and asked, “Are you charging my client?”
Sanders shook his head. “She's free to go.”
“Fine. We're leaving,” Foot said to me.
“Just don't leave town,” Sanders said.
 
 
Foot offered me a ride back to my car, which was still at the Tyler residence. He had a very nice black Lexus.
“How did I become your client?” I asked as I slid into the front passenger seat.
“Mr. Gerrard called me and told me of your plight,” he said. “I'm his personal lawyer.”
“Thank God,” I said. “They didn't seem to believe me when I said I worked for the Gerrard Agency.”
“Well, that is a problem,” he said, as we took off into the night. The car practically purred. The rain had stopped but the streets still glistened. He drove slowly as if he had all the time in the world.
“Why is it a problem?” I asked.
“Well, technically you don't work for the Gerrard Agency.”
“That's not true. Jimmy hired me!”
“I don't work for James. I work for Stewart Gerrard.”
“Who's that?”
“Stewart actually owns the agency. James is his employee. So if Stewart says you don't work for the Gerrard Agency, well then, you don't work for the Gerrard Agency.”
I pondered that as the big, black car nosed up the hill.
“James should not have sent you out without proper training. So Stewart will have to deny that you have any connection with the agency.”
“He can't do that!”
“You've got to understand. Stewart must protect his business investments.”
“But what about me?”
“Stewart will take care of you. That's why I'm here.”
I didn't like the sound of that at all.
“So what's my defense?”
“You don't need a defense,” Foot said. “You didn't commit any crime. Did you?”
I was about to reply, when he cut me off. “Never mind. I don't want to know. We'll come up with a plausible story that fits the facts.”
“I don't want to come up with a plausible story,” I said. “I want to tell the truth.”
“You'll find out soon enough,” he said, “that the truth is usually not the best defense.” That was a sobering thought.
We pulled up in front of the crime scene. That's how I thought of the Tyler house now. There was still yellow crime-scene tape festooning the yard, but the house was dark.
Foot pulled a card out of his pocket as I opened the door to get out. “Give me a call tomorrow and we'll talk.” I took the card and tucked it into my purse. Foot drove away but I wasn't going anywhere without my dog.
I wandered up and down the block, calling Pepe's name. I don't know if you've ever done this but it's one of the worst feelings in the world. You're pouring your heart into those two syllables and all you hear is silence.
The night was dark and cold and I was drenched. A bitter wind was blowing. There was no sign of a little white dog, but I did hear other dogs barking inside their warm houses. Occasionally people would peer out from their lighted windows. One man even came out to ask what I was doing.
After a while, I was afraid that one of the neighbors would call the police, and I certainly didn't want to end up back at the police station. So I got in my car and drove around. I had the heater up full blast, but I was still shivering.
At every corner, I rolled down the window and called Pepe's name. I drove in wider and wider circles. The only animal I saw was a raccoon waddling across the road near the park. Which really scared me when I thought about how small Pepe was. An encounter with a raccoon would probably be the end of him.
Around 11
PM
, I gave up and headed home. I had adopted a dog and lost a dog all in one day. Maybe the whole thing was some elaborately staged April Fools' prank. I parked down the block and trudged through the rain towards my home.
I live in one of eight adjoining units in an old brick courtyard building that was turned into condos. I'd fallen in love with its retro charm. My unit is the first on the right as you enter the courtyard, with the front door hidden behind a juniper bush. And there, to my surprise, was Pepe sitting on the welcome mat at the top of my front steps.
“Pepe!” I shouted. I gathered him up in my arms and covered him with kisses. He didn't seem to mind. Gave me a lick or two with his pink tongue.
“I've been looking for you everywhere,” I said. “And here you are.”
“I have been waiting for a very long time,” he said, shivering. “It was most unpleasant. I suggest you install a dog door.”
I wasn't sure the homeowner's association would approve of that, but I agreed. I was just so happy to see him. I unlocked the door and we tumbled into the living room together. Pepe headed straight to his bowl, which was empty, so I went to the refrigerator to get his food.
“I've heard of dogs returning to their homes, traveling thousands of miles,” I said, as I spooned out the Alpo, “but how do you do it? Is it smell?”
“Perhaps for some dogs,” Pepe said, as I set the dish on the floor in front of him. “But for me, it was easier. I simply memorized your address.”
Chapter 5
Pepe wolfed down his food like he hadn't eaten for a week. I ate the rest of last night's Thai takeout (basil fried rice) straight from the container while leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him.
As he slurped the bowl clean with his long, pink tongue, I said, “Pepe, I'm so glad you're all right. When I thought I'd lost you, I just didn't know what I'd do.” A tear rolled down my cheek, and I brushed it away, saying, “I love you, little guy.”
He looked up at me with those big dark eyes, and I thought he was going to say something equally mushy. But instead he said, “What is that noise?”
“I don't hear anything.”
“Listen.” His long pink ears swiveled towards the bedroom. “Do you not hear it?” He walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I followed. “There!” he said. “It is coming from behind that locked door.”
“Oh, my God,” I said, finally recognizing the scritch of claws against wood. “It's Albert!” I exclaimed.
“Albert?” Pepe asked.
“My cat.”
“
Un gato
?” His tone was a cross between disdain and disbelief.
“I locked him in my bedroom before I picked you up,” I said. “I wanted you to get used to each other's scent before you met. I can't believe I forgot him.”
“You forgot him?” Incredulity.
“I know,” I said, “but it's not as bad as it seems. I put his food dish and his bowl of water in there with him and he has access to his cat box, which is in the bathroom.”
Pepe stopped in his tracks and looked up at me. “How could you forget to tell me about
el gato
? You told me I was the only animal.”
“Dog. You asked if there were any other
dogs
and I told you ‘no.' I was completely truthful.”
“That is parsing the question, if you ask me,” he said.
I was impressed by his vocabulary and was about to say so, but the scratching intensified. Now that Albert could hear my voice, he was more insistent. Or perhaps it was because he smelled Pepe.
Albert is a big cat, and when he's unhappy he can do a lot of damage. Jeff and I never got back our security deposits after Albert shredded the curtains and the carpet of every apartment we rented.
“You stay here, Pepe,” I said, turning to the little dog who was sitting in the hall staring at the door. “It's too soon for you to meet Albert. Especially when he's in this mood.”
I opened the door just a little, planning to slip into the bedroom and close the door behind me. But Pepe was too fast. He darted around me. By the time I got into the room, Albert had jumped up on my bed and was standing in the middle of my pink chenille bedspread staring down at the small white dog who stood at the foot of the bed looking up at him. Everything in Albert's demeanor read
outrage
.
Did I say that Albert is a big cat? Eighteen pounds of pure muscle. He is an orange shorthair with powerful hind muscles and an extra-long, fluffy tail. I could see his tail swishing back and forth behind him, but I wasn't sure Pepe could see it.
“
Hola, el Gato
,” said Pepe. “I have come to introduce myself to you. I am Pepe but you can call me el Jefe.”
“Do you speak Cat?” I asked Pepe.
“Of course, I do,” said Pepe.
“Well, then can you tell me what Albert is saying?” I asked. I could hear a low rumble emitting from the cat's throat. It was not a purr.
“He is saying, ‘I will obey your every command, O noble and magnificent Dog,'” said Pepe.
It was true I didn't speak Cat, but I was pretty sure that wasn't what Albert was saying. My foreboding was quickly confirmed, when, with a mighty roar, Albert launched himself off the bed and landed on top of Pepe.
The next few minutes were pure pandemonium. I caught glimpses of white fur and orange stripes, heard yips and yowls, saw claws slashing and fur flying.
“Stop it, Albert!” I said. “Come here, Pepe!”
They both ignored me, but the fight was over almost as soon as it began. Albert leaped back on top of the bed and licked his paws, while Pepe trotted over to me, shaking himself off. I saw spots of blood on his white fur, right behind his right shoulder, and there was a red stripe across one of his ears.
“Well, I certainly showed that cat who is boss,” Pepe said, before exiting the room. I followed behind him. He was limping a little.
“Are you sure you're all right, Pepe?” I asked. “Let me check you out.” He jumped up on the sofa and I looked him over. He had a few superficial cuts and a lot of damaged pride.
I got the rubbing alcohol out of the bathroom and checked on Albert at the same time. He seemed unscathed but annoyed. Thank God, he couldn't talk. I really didn't want to hear what he would have said.
Back in the living room, I applied rubbing alcohol to Pepe's injuries. He winced at the bite of the liquid but didn't complain.
“Are you sure you'll be all right?” I asked. “Maybe I should take you to the vet.”
“I will be fine,
senorita
,” he said. “I have endured much more. In the Everglades, I fought off an alligator.”
“An alligator? Pepe, that's ridiculous. Why would you be in the Everglades?”
“On a film shoot,” he said. “But that is another story for another day.”
“Well, if you're fine, I am going to bed. I've had quite a day,” I said. “Are you coming with me?”
Pepe looked down the hallway at the bedroom. I think he was thinking of Albert. “I will stay out here to guard you,” he said, but his voice trembled a little.
“I appreciate that, Pepe,” I said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. If he wanted to play the macho role, I would have to let him. I went to turn off the lamp.
“Do you think you could leave that on, Geri?” he asked, in a forlorn little voice. “I like to sleep with a night light.”
To my surprise, I fell into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was knowing that Pepe was on guard. Albert seemed to have suffered no harm from their encounter. He was already fast asleep in his usual spot at the bottom of the bed.
I've had Albert ever since the divorce. He was my husband's cat, but his fiancée is allergic to cats so now he's mine. Albert always liked me more than Jeff anyway. He lets me pet his tummy. I'm the only one that can get that close to him. And Albert lets me sleep in his bed. At least that's how I think
he
thinks of it. Because by the end of any night, he's taking up two-thirds of the space and I'm clinging to the side. Which is very similar to the way things were with Jeff, actually.
I woke up as the gray dawn light began to filter in through the rose-colored dotted swiss curtains over the bedroom window. I could hear the patter of raindrops against the glass. Albert was sprawled out on the other side of the bed snoring.
And then I heard voices coming from the living room. Instantly I was on alert, although Albert continued to slumber. Two men were arguing. They spoke so rapidly, I couldn't make out their words. But their voices were rising in volume.
Who were they? What did they want? How did they get in? I didn't remember locking the door the night before, but surely Pepe would have alerted me if intruders had come into the house. And why wasn't Pepe barking? He barked once yesterday, why not now when it counted? Then I thought about how very small he was. It would be easy for a burglar to hurt him, kill him even. Maybe that's why he hadn't barked.
I leaped out of bed.
BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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