Yappy Hour (20 page)

“Who?” I asked.

Yolanda grimaced. “Rachel. She wanted to buy Dan's share of DelVecchio's.”

 

Chapter Twenty-two

“Rachel wanted to buy out Dan's share of DelVecchio's?” The shock reverberated throughout my body as if I'd been hit by a semitrailer. First, the internal organs feel the hit, blood rushing to your heart and head, leaving the limbs feeling numb and deadened. How much of what Rachel had really been up to did I know?

Yolanda pursed her lips. “Well, it was a good idea, right? She'd have a share in the business and then—”

“And then what? Force Gus out? Make it a doggie diner?”

Beepo yelped his protest from his little bed nestled against my window.

I buried my head in my hands. “This is awful, Yolanda. It gives Rachel even more motive to kill Dan.”

“No, it doesn't!” Yolanda slammed her fist on my kitchen counter, and Beepo's ears flapped up. “It gives Gus motive! He didn't want Rachel ending up with half his business!”

“Well, the way she runs her life, I don't blame him!” I said.

“So when Dan went into the bar to get Rachel to sign the paperwork, Gus followed him and thumped him on the head with the magnum bottle.”

I stared at Yolanda. “What paperwork?”

“The contract selling his share of the business to Rachel.”

“There was a contract?”

Yolanda worked her lip and shrugged.

“Was there a contract, Yolanda? Tell me what you know.”

She leveled a gaze at me, and Beepo came over as if sensing she needed his support. The bad feeling rumbling around my gut started to churn into determination. Had Yolanda shared her suspicions with Sergeant Gottlieb?

Is that why Gus was being held by the police?

So far nothing she'd said was conclusive, it was all hearsay, and certainly my type-A analytical personality needed more information. I was a by-the-numbers kind of gal. Things had to add up for me.

“I don't actually know if there was a contract.” She scooped Beepo back into her lap and made a big show of kissing him. He licked at her lips. Finally, when she realized I'd wait out her dog-and-Yolanda show, she said, “It's just stuff I heard.…”

“From who?” I asked.

Her eyes grew wide. A shot to the heart of every gossip is to ask them to reveal their source. She leaned in close, as if she expected the person she was about to throw under the bus might manifest themselves out of thin air.

“Well, I'm not supposed to say. I was sworn to secrecy.”

“I know.” I refilled her tea mug. “But you have to realize that two people have died and my sister—”

“I'll tell you on one condition.” She fidgeted in her chair, then lifted Beepo up and held him out toward me. He snarled. “I need to leave him with you.”

“Yolanda, come on. Isn't there doggie day care or whatever, I'm not a dog—”

“Don't say it,” she warned. “I'm only going to be overnight. My flight leaves in a couple hours. Pleeeeaaaaase.”

“What…” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as if patience was stored up there among my recessed lights. I sighed. “What do I have to do?”

She quirked her head to the side. “What do you mean, what do you have to do? Nothing. Feed him, walk him, love him.”

“That's not nothing.”

She stood abruptly. “Come on, Beep! We know when we're not wanted. Someone claims to want to help her sister. Someone claims to want to help Gus … and yet, when it come to a little quid pro quo,
someone
acts stupid.”

“Don't call me stupid!”

“I'm not calling
you
stupid. I just said
someone
—”

“Come on, don't manipulate me. What do you know about Rachel!”

Yolanda bent over to put Beepo on the ground; he tore off out of sight. When she straightened she said, “She's in Vegas.”

“What!”

“She's not on the cruise. She went to Vegas to elope.”

“Was the whole accessory show a lie? Something you made up to go to Vegas?”

“No,” Yolanda said adamantly. “The show is true.” She thumped a hand over her heart. “You have to help me. Do you know how hard it is to get into that show?”

I turned my back on her and topped off my mug with hot water. I was getting to know her rhythm: If I showed a lack of concern, she'd come to me. If I pressed, she'd walk out in a huff. I rummaged through my cupboard. “I wish I had some little cookies to go with the tea.…”

“The show is absolutely true,” Yolanda shrilled, unable to stand my disinterest a second longer. “But you're right, I was going to try and find Rachel, too.”

“Do you know where she's staying in Vegas?”

Yolanda's head flipped to the right as if she found something else infinitely more interesting.
Ah, avoidance in its true glory.

“Spit it out!” I said.

“She's staying at The Mirage.”

The Mirage. How apropos. Everything felt like a mirage recently.

“Have you told your Sergeant Gottlieb this?”

She smoothed down her skirt. “Of course not! I wouldn't throw Rachel under the bus. I know Gus is the killer! Absolutely without a doubt!”

Suddenly Beepo tore down my hallway, yapping at the front door. Yolanda and I fell silent as my doorbell rang. We stared at each other in a game of chicken. The doorbell rang again.

Slipping out of the kitchen, I went to the answer the door, but out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of Yolanda glancing at the slim gold bracelet watch on her wrist.

I swung open the door, hoping to see Rachel's bright face and give her a piece of my mind, but instead Officer Brooks was leaning into the door frame.

I jumped back, deadly embarrassed at my appearance. I was still in my rumpled robe, with no makeup on and my hair frizzed with bed head.

“Oh, hi!” I tightened the belt on my robe. “I wasn't expecting you.”

He nodded, a serious expression on his face. “I'm sorry to barge in on you. Do you want to get dressed?”

“Oh, yeah. I … come in.” I gestured toward the couch as he stepped toward my living room. Yolanda wiggled her fingers at him. He greeted her warmly and then bent to pick up Beepo, who was sniffing around his boots.

“Hey little fellow.”

Beepo shook his Yorkie tail so hard in response to the attention, it seemed his little bottom would wiggle straight off.

I beelined toward my bedroom to get dressed. I slipped into a pair of tan capris and a peach-colored blouse, hoping it showed off my rosy complexion. I applied the bare minimum of makeup—a touch of lip gloss and a wave of the mascara wand—so Brooks wouldn't get the impression that I'd suddenly gone into a tizzy over him.

My hair was a different matter altogether. I wished I had time for a proper shower, complete with shampoo and blow-dry, but as it was, I couldn't afford to leave Yolanda unsupervised with Brooks too long. Who knew what gossip would be exchanged! I settled for spritzing my hair with a scented styling lotion, dragging a brush through it, and promising myself a trip to the beauty parlor soon.

I was half certain even Yolanda, Ms. Never-leave-the-house-unless-you-look-your-best, might approve my appearance, but even if she didn't, I didn't have thirty minutes to do a full coif.

What the heck was Officer Brooks doing here anyway?

Had he come to bring me news? Or to interrogate me about Rachel again? He certainly had a serious vibe going on, and that didn't bode well. I gave myself a final glance in the mirror.

There, much better!

I emerged into the living room and found it empty. Where was Yolanda? A shadow moved across my deck, and I realized that Officer Brooks was standing on my patio, which overlooked the beach.

I slid open the glass patio doors and stepped out onto the small deck with him. He was holding Beepo in his arm and squinting out toward the ocean, the sun beginning to bloom into full force over the water.

“Nice view,” he said.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

“I'm sorry about last night, Maggie,” he said. Before I could reply, he continued. “I've got bad news. I wanted you to hear it from me. Gottlieb has put an all-call out on Rachel. We got confirmation from the forensic team: Rachel's prints were on the bottle that killed Dan.”

I was stunned. I hadn't had a moment to process his apology before making out what he'd just said about Rachel.

“Of course her prints are on it!” I said a little too loudly. “It's her bar, her prints are on everything!”

“I know. I'm sorry. I tried to talk to Gottlieb, but he's suspicious about her disappearance. It doesn't look good and—”

“She hasn't disappeared. She's … she's … Where's Yolanda? She'll tell you.”

Brooks tilted his head to the side, and he studied me a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. “Yolanda took off. She said you were watching Beepo for the day. Said she'd be back tomorrow.”

He handed the dog to me. Beepo curiously refrained from snapping at me. It was as if he knew he had to be on good behavior now. I took the dog from Brooks and settled him against my chest. He let out a whimper to let me know he'd been abandoned by Yolanda, too. I stroked his head.

Brooks watched me with Beepo, giving me the impression he was evaluating me. What did it mean if I was good with a dog? Did it mean I was loving, kind, nurturing?

I set Beepo down one of my deck chairs.

“Rachel didn't kill Dan,” I said.

Brooks let out a sigh. “I believe you, Maggie. I don't think she did, either, but her disappearance and now … well … we've uncovered a few things in her background,” Brooks continued, “that don't look … well, I can't say much right now. I hope you understand.”

“I don't understand! What things?” Even as I asked, I knew I didn't really want the answer. My voice must have sounded shrill, because Beepo leapt off the chair and scurried to my defense, growling and yapping at Brooks.

Doggie homeland security at its finest.

“Maggie, I can't share all the details of the investigation.…” He reached out for my arm.

I shrugged him off. “Whose side are you on?”

He scowled. “I'm on Dan's side and Oscar's side. The side of justice!” His expression returned to solemn, reminding me this wasn't a social call.

Why couldn't he just be here asking me out on a date? What did I have to do with all these troubles?

It had been a stupid question. What could he have said?

Still, I was on Rachel's side, that was for sure. I knew my sister and, yes, even though she was harebrained and impulsive and didn't think things through, she wasn't a murderer.

“If you find that Rachel did anything, I'm sure it was in self defense.”

Was that the right thing to say?

I probably should have argued that Rachel wasn't a killer. Anxiety rippled across my chest. It seemed like there was no winning here.

Brooks pressed his lips together and looked out toward the ocean. The sun was getting higher, the heat wave in Pacific Cove would live another day. I tried to find hope in that. If the sun shone brightly that day, then everything would turn out all right … right?

“Rachel didn't kill Dan or Oscar,” I insisted. “We know she's not even in Pacific Cove … how could she have killed Oscar?”

Brooks sighed. “I want to believe that, too,” he said in a low voice. “But I can't take sides like that. I have to follow all the leads.”

“Are there more leads? Who else are you looking into?” He was quiet, and I said in a mocking voice, “I'm not at liberty to say.”

He squared his shoulders toward me and narrowed his eyes. “Gus DelVecchio.”

I tried to repress the shudder that surged through me, but Brooks saw it anyway.

“Are you going to argue his innocence as well?”

I shook my head, feeling a bit defeated. I looked out at the Pacific for strength, and then asked the question I really didn't want to know the answer to: “Was it his gun that killed Oscar?”

Instead of answering, Brooks countered, “Do you know if Rachel owns a gun?”

Nausea threatened, and I squeezed my eyes shut to ward off the sensation. This was a turning point, I knew. If I sided with my sister, I'd likely alienate Brooks, who I so desperately wanted to get to know better, and yet … she was my sister, protecting her was second nature to me. Even as I told the lie, I knew Brooks saw through me. “I don't know.”

“Um hum, that's what I thought,” he said, keeping his eyes on mine, as if to give me another opportunity to answer.

Instead, I asked, “What about Yolanda?”

Beepo barked sharply at me, sensing my betrayal of his lovely owner. Guilt hammered at my temples. How could I throw Yolanda under the bus after she had been so nice to me? But the instinct to protect Rachel was overwhelming.

“What about her?” Brooks asked.

“Yolanda was standing over Dan when I walked into The Wine and Bark on Friday night. She could have easily cracked him on the head—”

“Finding a body is not a crime,” he said.

“I heard from the singer of the Howling Hounds that Yolanda and Dan were fighting over the fund-raiser.”

Brooks said in a low patient voice, “Yolanda's prints were not on the bottle.…”

“She could have worn gloves! She's got thick leather driving gloves. She wore them the day we drove to…” I stopped myself short. I couldn't complete my sentence without admitting I'd gone to Stag's Leap looking for Rachel and found a semi-death threat to Dan instead. “And she just left town! She could be fleeing the scene—”

I knew I was grasping at straws, but couldn't stop myself. Brooks leveled a gaze at me, a cross between pity and frustration. “I don't think she'd leave Beepo with you if she was fleeing the scene.”