Yappy Hour (26 page)

“Well, I'm not part of the Roundup Crew or anything.”

We both giggled at the thought of him walking alongside the ladies of the Roundup Crew. Max, with his boy-next-door charm, seemed to fit in with them, but Brooks was so stoic it was comical to imagine.

After a moment, he said, “I have a big dog.”

It seemed that his having a large dog made more sense. I studied him, trying to see if I could guess what kind of dog: a German shepherd, maybe, or a Labrador?

“It's a dog that I adopted from the shelter.” He scratched at his chin and I averted my eyes. “Sort of at Yolanda's prodding. You know how big she is on pet adoption. It's the whole reason behind the Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser.

“Anyway, I'll only have Sizzle for little while, until Yolanda can find a home for him.”

I chuckled. “She's not going to find another home for him, she already found you.”

“No no no,” he said. “I'm not keeping him for good. I'm really not supposed to have any dog at all. Not according to my lease.”

I pressed a hand to my heart and feigned surprise. “You mean you're breaking a contract? Isn't that the same as breaking the law?”

“No,” he said. “I can't go to jail for having a dog! That's not against the law. Worst thing is I could get evicted.”

I wondered about it. He was right, of course. It wasn't against the law to own a dog. And yet, my family was in a strange predicament, possibly up against a lawsuit, for having dogs on their premises.

“How about the break-in? Do you have any leads on who broke into Rachel's apartment?” I asked.

He shook his head, but something unspoken was in his eyes.

“Do you suspect Gus?” I asked.

Brook glanced across to the patio at DelVecchio's, then back at me. “I hope you're not getting too close to him,” he said slowly.

“He's been very kind to me,” I replied.

Brooks shifted and I could tell he was uncomfortable with the topic; for that matter, so was I. I didn't really want to be discussing my feelings about Gus. What were they anyway? I wasn't even sure I knew.

A look crossed Brooks's face that was hard to read, a cross between disappointment and something else. “I don't think Gus broke into Rachel's apartment,” he said. It looked like it pained him to admit it. Likely he wanted to keep me from being interested in Gus.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Maggie, sometimes … and please don't be offended … but sometimes when people are trying to be well meaning … and by people I mean
family
members … they can unduly influence an investigation.”

I sat a little straighter and leaned in. A message was coming to me loud and clear. “Are you implying that you think I ransacked my sister's apartment?”

He cringed but said nothing.

“What about my great-uncle? Someone spooked his horse. You think I was behind that as well?”

The door to the bar creaked open and some patrons floated out to the patio for a cigarette break. “I better get back in there and relieve Max,” I said.

Brooks rose and grabbed my hand. “Don't be mad, Maggie. I'm just doing my job.”

I leaned in close to him, so the patrons smoking wouldn't hear me. “You never answered me. Can you match urine to a dog?”

His eyes locked in on mine. “Yes, I believe so. What do you have in mind?”

I placed my finger over my lips, indicating silence. “Come by tomorrow for the fund-raiser and find out.”

I winked at him and turned on a heel to return to The Wine and Bark, a plan brewing in my head.

 

Chapter Twenty-nine

It was the big Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser day. Max had promised to help me bartend, Evie and the Howling Hounds were set to play, and I'd received a new shipment of Bark Bites. Everything seemed in order for the big day, except my sister was still AWOL and I needed a new hairdo.

I walked the short distance to Abigail's apartment, wondering how far I should go with the hairstyle. Did I really only need a trim? Maybe it would be fun to lighten up the color? I glanced at my watch. I probably didn't have time for a dye job with all the errands I needed to run today.

Abigail opened the door, but I was soon accosted by Yolanda and Beepo. Yolanda's hair was in curlers and Beepo was sniffing around my feet, presumably looking for a treat.

“Thank God you're here, Maggie!” Yolanda shrieked.

“What's wrong?”

“Camilla's gone into labor!” Yolanda trilled.

“Who's Camilla?” I feared she was going to tell me it was someone's dog and that maybe I needed to assist with the labor and delivery.

“The lady that runs Piece of Cake,” Yolanda said.

“Oh! She's so nice! I'm so happy for her.” Yolanda only stared at me. “It is a good thing, right?” I asked.

“Well, sure, it's good for her, but bad for us. I was counting on her to provide the catering tonight for the Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser! We can't just serve those awful frozen dogs in a blanket, you know.”

Abigail silently watched us debate as she swept hair trimmings from the floor into a dustpan.

“I think they're pretty bad, too, honestly,” I said.

Abigail patted the floral-patterned beauty chair that dominated her living room and said, “Hop on up.”

Taking a seat, I said, “Not too much off, just a trim.”

Abigail got started by spritzing my hair. “Do you want to finish with an updo for tonight?”

“Well, nothing too fancy,” I said, “I'll be working tonight—”

“I can't believe you two! Only concerned with yourselves and your hair!” Yolanda sputtered. “What about the catering service?”

“Oh, well, I guess I can ask Gus. DelVecchio's is closed—”

Yolanda's eyes grew wide and she thumped her hand over her chest as if she were experiencing a cardiac arrest. “Gus DelVecchio! Never!” she spat. Beepo immediately ran over to Yolanda and whined in sympathy with her.

I glanced at Abigail, who pressed her lips together and suddenly took great interest in my split ends. Her dog, Missy, took refuge under the couch, her bejeweled collar jangling as she darted out of sight. There was some serious history here that I was missing.

“What's wrong with him catering? I mean, if he's available and agrees and all. He's the best chef in town.”

Yolanda shrugged off my question and turned to the giant mirror on the wall. “How long do we need to leave these in, Abby?” She was referring to the curlers, but Abigail didn't seem eager to have her leave.

“A little longer, honey. If you want it to set properly. Why don't you have a seat?”

Yolanda examined her profile in the mirror but said nothing.

“Well,” I demanded. “What's wrong with Gus catering?”

“You know what's wrong!” Yolanda said. “He's killed two people!”

I sprang out of the chair. “He didn't kill them!”

Abigail put a hand on my shoulder and reseated me in the beauty chair. “She's right, Yo. He probably didn't kill them.”

“Thank you!” I said to Abigail.

Yolanda took a seat on the couch, then picked an imaginary speck of dust off her red leggings. “What makes you so sure?”

Abigail shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I don't know. Maybe I just miss his cooking. Remember last week, before all this happened, you and I went to DelVecchio's and devoured that fettuccini Alfredo?”

Yolanda licked her lips as if suddenly tasting the fettuccini again. She hesitated. “Okay, if you think he'll agree, Maggie, you can ask him to cater.”

*   *   *

After I left Abigail's, my hair a good two inches shorter and definitely with added volume, my first stop was Designer Duds. I'd thought about the jacket with the anchors on it long enough; it was time to buy it, along with the chicken purse. It seemed crazy, but I figured it would be the easiest way to get the sample I needed.

The salesgirl tried to talk me into a jaunty red scarf for dramatic effect, but I assured her that the chicken purse would be dramatic enough, especially with what I had planned.

I dialed Gus and got his voice mail. I left a brief message asking him if he was willing to help us cater the event that evening.

My next stop was to Magic Read for a latte; however, as soon as I stepped inside the doorway my cell phone buzzed. I hurried to answer it, expecting Gus. Instead, it was Jan from Soleado Cruise Line.

Oh my gosh! The jacket had brought me luck.

“Maggie, this is Jan. I'd like to make you an offer. Are you still interested in the purser position? I have a cruise leaving next week. Ten-day Mexican Riviera, but after that there's a two-week Bahamian Cruise, and the Keys.… Well, I can probably keep you busy until October. Feel like traveling a little bit?”

I nearly dropped the phone.

I got the job!

The Mexican Riviera, the Bahamas, the Florida Keys! It was happening. I was going to be traveling. Away from the dogs! Away from the bar! Away from Pacific Cove.

I almost screamed into the phone, but instead I composed myself and accepted the job gracefully.

The young clerk with the green Mohawk, whom I'd come to know as Melanie's brother, quirked an eyebrow at me. “Good news?” he asked.

“Yes. Excellent news. Wonderful news. I'm taking a trip far, far away. And for quite a while. It's a much-needed vacation and, better yet, I'll get paid for it!”

As soon as I'd said it, guilt engulfed me. I'd come to Pacific Cove to be close to Grunkly and Rachel. And now with Rachel absent and Grunkly's arm in a sling, I couldn't very well leave him. He'd refuse a nurse, I knew. And then there was the matter of the impending lawsuit, which I hadn't had the heart to tell him about.

What was I going to do?

As I ordered a latte and pondered my options, the clerk said, “Nice handbag, by the way.”

Glancing down at the chicken purse, I realized that I was still on a mission. I couldn't leave Pacific Cove until I proved who the killer was.

Time for action!

*   *   *

“I don't need a nurse, Maggie!”

I ignored him as I continued to vacuum. It'd taken an almost Herculean effort, but fueled by my latte and job offer I'd picked up everything off the floor well enough to vacuum. “I'm not a nurse,” I told him, shutting off the machine. “I'm your niece. You have to let me help you.”

The idea of getting sued and losing Grunkly's property sickened me, and it drove me to clean.

Grunkly may have put up more of a fuss as I shuffled the stacks of papers, straightened the table, and dusted his mantel, but since there was another horse race just minutes to post, he settled for clutching his remote with his good arm.

“Are you doing the exercises the physical therapists gave you for your arm?” I asked.

Grunkly squirmed in his leather easy chair and averted my eyes. “Sure, I am.”

The announcer called two minutes to post; the horses took the field.

“Grunkly, I've been given a job offer,” I said.

“That's nice, honey,” Grunkly said, his eyes glued to the TV.

I stared at the graveyard of old electronics that I'd pushed aside in order to vacuum, and something inside me hollowed out. I wanted to travel so badly, see the world, and yet Grunkly needed me. He wouldn't discard an old broken-down TV or VCR, and yet I was ready to push him to the curb, let him hire a nurse and fend for himself.…

I collapsed onto the couch, sitting haphazardly between a semi-filled cardboard box and a wool blanket. “It's a traveling job, Grunkly. I'd be gone for months on end. Mazatlán, Florida Keys … Bahamas…”

His eyes were still on the TV. “Sounds great Maggie. Good opportunity to see the world.”

I picked at the clutter on the sofa. “But I don't feel right about it. Leaving you—”

Grunkly waved the remote control at me. “Shhh. I have two hundred dollars on Flying Barb to place. Hand me my hat,” he said, indicating a blue ball cap on the mantel.

I reached for his lucky ball cap and passed it to him. With his arm in a sling, he had to release the remote control in order to grab the hat. He flashed me a look as if he didn't trust me not to grab the remote and toss it out the window. And had his windows not been painted shut years ago, I would have been tempted. As it was, I settled down to watch the race with him.

“Two minutes to post, Magpie.”

“Grunkly, I don't feel right about leaving you without someone around to care for you. If Rachel was here, it would be different, but as it is, with your arm in a sling and Lord knows when she'll reappear, well, I think—”

My thoughts were drowned out by the gunshot on the screen and Grunkly's war whoops. “Go, Flying Barb! Go, baby, go!”

Grunkly's pick started out strong, but soon fell back and finally finished next to last.

“Aw, that's a shame!” Grunkly said, turning off the TV with a disgusted look on his face.

When I knew I had his attention again, I asked, “Grunkly, do you know anything about Rachel's gun?”

“Like what?”

“Like where it is?” I asked.

He frowned. “Why?”

I hadn't wanted to tell him about Oscar. It seemed unnecessary to worry him, but now I didn't really see a way around it. “Someone was shot and killed the other night, and I heard it was by a gun similar to the one Rachel had.”

Grunkly paled. “Doesn't she keep it in a safe?”

“I don't know. Her apartment was broken into and I can't find it. It's not at the bar … I'm afraid someone might be out to frame her.”

“No, it's gotta be a misunderstanding. Maybe it's at the cabin? I think she liked doing target practice out there.”

I cringed inwardly, thinking about the target practice someone had taken on the blow-up image of Dan's face.