Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series) (10 page)

DETECTIVE MALONE raced around April Mae’s house like a crazed rodeo clown being chased by a bull.

Though I didn’t think he’d appreciate the clown comparison, I’d have to say I’ve never seen him move so fast. He’d pulled the gun that’d been hidden by the leather jacket, and he dashed down the hallway, feet pounding, slamming open every door.

He checked the bathrooms, the bedroom, the closets, and the guest room where Eugene had been staying. He had us show him the back door and then he searched the backyard, all the while on the phone requesting assistance.

Two uniformed officers arrived within minutes, and Malone was in full cop mode
.
He sent them off to search the backyard again and the surrounding neighborhood.

He made us repeat—several times—the information Eugene had shared about Victor aka Dirk. I thought Eugene had said Dirk Pen-something, and Verdi thought he’d said Dirk Ben-something. Neither of us were sure about the name, but, hey, we hadn’t planned to have to repeat the information word for word to Detective Malone. We’d expected Eugene would give his own firsthand account.

“Tell me again what he said about what this guy did.” Malone’s voice was tight.

I looked over at Verdi. She sat cross-legged on the couch and twirled her hair with one finger. Her whole small being sagged against the cushions. The corners of her eyes drooped with exhaustion. I would take this round.

“Eugene said Dirk was a con man.” I said, for what had to be the hundredth time.

“Which would make sense,” I continued, “because the alias he chose to use was the guy who sold the Eiffel Tower to several people. Did you know the real Victor Lustig not only swindled people into thinking they were buying the Eiffel Tower, he also conned Al Capone?” I’d done my due diligence and looked him up after Davis Pinter had pointed out the phony name.

“I’m aware.” Malone’s blue eyes were so dilated they looked black.

Okay, so not a good time for a history lesson.

The doorbell rang. “You two stay put.” Malone jabbed his finger at us.

It was the two officers he’d sent to check the neighborhood. “Nothing. Do you want us to go door to door?”

“Nah.” Malone shook his head. “He won’t stick around here. Make sure the night crew is on the watch for him though.”

Verdi jumped up abruptly and pushed past Malone. “But don’t shoot him.” She grabbed one officer’s blue-clad arm. “My brother’s not armed, and he didn’t do anything. Please don’t shoot him.” Her voice broke on the last word.

Malone led her back to the couch. “We have no intention of shooting your brother.” He turned back to the two policemen. “You can go.”

They opened the door to leave, and that’s when things got even more crazy.

Several men in dark suits pushed through the doorway past the two officers.

Wait a minute. I knew these guys. It was the G-men from our trip to Huntington Beach. I felt my cheeks get warm as I remembered how I’d been dressed the last time they’d seen me. Suddenly, my yoga pants and sweatshirt seemed like a great fashion choice.

This time Agent I’m-Too-Serious-For-Myself Milner wasn’t focused on anyone else in the room. He was completely one hundred and twenty percent focused on Detective Malone.

“What part of ‘this is a federal case’ did you not understand, Detective?” No “hello”, no “hey, what’s happening.” He went for the jugular.

“Hello, Agent Milner.” Malone went quiet. Always a bad sign. I knew this from experience. “Maybe we could talk outside.”

Agent Milner’s stance said he was still on alert, but he seemed to become aware of the tension in the room. He scanned the crowd. His eyes lighted on Verdi and me, still parked on the couch.

I could see the moment recognition dawned.

“Oh, hell.” He stood down. “All right, come on, Detective, let’s talk.”

The two stepped outside, and, while we couldn’t hear the heated conversation, I got the general picture. Milner was not happy with Malone. Malone was no happier with the way the evening had gone than I was.

I’d tried to help by having Verdi call Malone, but had only made things worse by giving Eugene the opportunity to get away.

I know you can’t tell if a person is a murderer from talking with them. If you could, police departments around the nation would be able to cut down their case loads, there’d be no need for fancy forensics and we’d all be a lot safer. But even knowing it wasn’t that simple, I’d been convinced that Eugene wasn’t a risk. After talking to him, I was still convinced that he’d only run because he’d been scared.

He’d been misjudged before. The system had not been his friend, and he was afraid of a repeat performance.

Malone and Agent Milner came back inside. Agent Milner sat down in the chair across from Verdi. The same chair Eugene had occupied earlier.

“Is there anything you didn’t tell Detective Malone?” he asked. “Anything at all?”

“No.” Verdi whispered. “Nothing.”

“All right.” Milner ran his palm over his face. He looked rumpled, like he’d been at it all day and all night, without time for niceties like a fresh shirt or a change of clothes. “Young lady, if you hear from your brother, you are to call me directly.” He handed Verdi a business card. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“And you,” Agent Milner turned his attention to me. “
You
, Ms. Lamont, are to stay out of this business entirely.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

Any shrinking violet would have wilted under the hard stare he leveled at me. But I’m from Texas, and we’re made of sterner stuff.

I moved forward on the couch, level with him, so I was sure he could see the determination in my eyes.

“What I understand, Agent Milner, is that you think you can bully this poor girl who was trying to do the right thing by calling the police.” I glared at Malone and came back to Agent Milner. “I understand you also think you can bully me, who is involved in this business whether I want to be or not. And”—I paused for effect—“I understand you have taken property that belongs to me. Property I expect to be returned immediately.”

“What? What property?” He looked to Malone, who stood by the door. And who didn’t seem at all inclined to jump in and help him. I imagined Malone had also been told to mind his own business.

“A family heirloom which was taken as evidence by the crime scene people and which has now been transferred to you. It’s a brooch I was wearing when the stabbing victim fell against me, but it has nothing at all to do with your case. And I want it back. Pronto.”

“Oh, hell.” Agent Milner ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “A brooch?”

“Yes.”

“Why me?” He glanced around at the room of people and then dropped his head and looked at the floor.

I couldn’t answer his question, but I felt sure he’d gotten my point.

“All right, Ms. Lamont.” He raised his head and looked at me. “I’ll see what I can do to locate the whereabouts of this brooch.”

“Great.” I smiled my best Miss Congeniality smile. “Then we’re on the same page, sugar.” I reached over and patted his forearm.

Agent Milner stood. “And it would be great if you’d stay out of my investigation.”

I bristled.

“Wait.” He held up his hand in a stop gesture. “Before you get all over my case again.”

“Okay.” I stood also.

I was kind of wishing for my Tomb Raider outfit at this point. It was harder to be fierce in yoga pants and a sweatshirt.

“If you happen upon any information about the case in your daily work”—he pulled a card from his jacket—“you should call me. Directly.”

I took the card from him and tucked it in my pocket. I didn’t know if the fact I believed Blanche had lied about knowing the dead guy counted as information about the case. In truth, I didn’t know for sure she’d lied. A more in-depth conversation with Blanche was definitely in order. Then I’d decide about calling Mr. FBI.

Agent Milner crossed to the door and motioned to his posse to join him. As he passed Malone, I heard him mutter, “Is she always such a pain in the butt?”

Malone made eye contact with me from across the room.

“You have no idea,” he answered. “You have no idea.”

THE NEXT MORNING, before I’d even showered, I called Blanche LeRue.

She answered on the first ring.

“Blanche, this is Caro Lamont.”

“Do you have information from the Greys Matter donors?” The brisk and efficient Blanche was back. I’d be willing to bet she’d showered hours ago.

“No, I’m afraid this is about the murder investigation.” I didn’t see any reason to dance around the reason for my call. “Eugene, the missing waiter, showed up last night.”

“He did?” I could picture her pacing as she talked.

“Yes, but then he disappeared again. The police came to question him, and then the FBI, but he was gone.”

“The FBI?” There was a sharp intake of breath and then she went very quiet.

“That’s mainly why I’m calling. The agent in charge asked that I let him know anything I find out about the man who was stabbed.”

“Yes?” Her voice was still.

“And I believe you knew him before the night of the fund-raiser, and for some reason you’re not admitting you did.”

Absolute silence from the other end.

“Blanche?”

“Yes.”

“If that’s true, hon, it would be best if you talked to the FBI.” I wished I could see her. It was difficult to gauge her reaction over the phone. “I don’t know what exactly they’re investigating, but it’s not just a homicide. They’ve booted Laguna Beach PD off the case, so it’s got to be something more.”

“It’s not that black and white, Caro. It’s complicated.” I could hear tapping. Probably her on her tablet computer. “I understand the awkward position this has put you in. Please continue to check in with my Greyhound owners. And please don’t say anything about Dirk until we’ve had a chance to talk again.”

“Agreed. But we need to talk soon.” I couldn’t let this go on for too long without contacting Agent Milner like I’d promised.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Ten o’clock at the Koffee Klatch.”

“I’ll be there.”

I’d been pretty darned certain about Blanche hiding the fact she’d known Victor—or rather, Dirk—but her using his name confirmed it. I couldn’t imagine what would make her keep such important information to herself. Good grief, a man was dead. She had to have a good reason. At least, I hoped it was a good reason.

Feeling relief at having handled the hardest task of the day, I showered, dressed, and reviewed my schedule. The sun was shining, the coffee was ready, and I was off to tackle the morning.

I’d thrown on my Vince khaki cargo pants, tank top, and a vintage black Chanel jacket that had been Diana’s. Practical but fun. Sort of grunge meets old Hollywood. I liked it. My mama would not have approved.

I glanced next door as I backed out of the garage. I’d offered Verdi the option of staying with me last night. She’d declined, preferring to go back to her apartment. I knew she thought her brother might try to contact her there, but I also knew the FBI probably had both her place and the house next door under surveillance. Poor thing. She was really caught up in this mess now.

First on the list for today was Sam’s grandmother and her Greyhounds.

Dmitri and Dorothea Drakos had raised Sam after his mother and stepfather had been killed in a car accident. His grandparents had dealt in olives, his stepfather had dealt in movies, and his birth father wasn’t in the picture at all.

Dmitri had been gone for years, and his grandmother ran the business. According to Sam, she always really had, but had kept a low profile because it hadn’t been an acceptable role for women when his grandparents had first started the olive business.

Her home was located in an area accessed off Laguna Canyon Road and sat on several acres of land. There was no guard to check in with, but there was an intercom for the gate, and, after I provided my name, the gates slid silently open.

As I drove up the long drive and parked in front of the multi-car garage, I felt my chest tighten. The terrain was different, but there was a feel about the place that reminded me of home, of the Montgomery ranch. I didn’t dwell on it often, but there were times when a longing for the wide-open spaces where I’d grown up welled up inside me.

I got out of the car and grabbed my bag with the notes Verdi had compiled. Dorothea had two Italian Greyhounds, Ari and Angel. I rang the bell, and the door immediately opened to an extremely disheveled Sam.

His dark hair was mussed, his jeans were crumpled, and his knit shirt, while probably some designer label, looked like he’d been rolling around on the ground in it.

“Caro!” He flashed a heart-melting smile and kissed my cheek. “I’m so happy you are here. Come, Yia Yia is expecting you.”

I followed. I knew very little Greek, but I knew
yia yia
(which he pronounced ya-ya) meant grandmother.

The house was one of those where the exterior was deceiving. Not that it looked small from the outside, but what you saw when you first walked up in no way prepared you for how big the home was inside. A bit different from the home I’d grown up in where everything was a bit in-your-face. If the decorating reflected the personality, I guess that’d be right, because Mama was of the if-you’ve-got-it-flaunt-it mind-set. The Drakos home was very elegant, but with an old-world flavor. Classic lines, rich warm colors, vibrant art on the walls. Family pictures lined the mantel, drapes were open to the outdoors, dog toys left a trail through the room. Elegant but lived-in.

“She’s outside in the garden.” Sam motioned for me to follow. “She’d live out there if she could.”

He opened a wide patio door, and we walked onto a flagstone path which led to a courtyard lush with trees and foliage. Dorothea was cutting a couple of long-stemmed Bird of Paradise flowers. She dropped them into a vase of water on the nearby table and removed her gloves.

She was beautiful. Her hair and eyes were dark like Sam’s, but where he was tall and athletic, she was small and round. “Carolina, I’m so glad to meet you properly at last.” She took my hands in hers.

Though the touch was gentle, I sensed a powerful might lived inside that little body.

“So very nice to meet you, as well.” I felt like I should curtsy. It was a bit like meeting a little Greek version of Queen Elizabeth.

“Did I not tell you, Yia Yia, how beautiful she is?”

“Yes, yes, Samuel. You might have mentioned it.” She winked at me. “The fiery red hair, the porcelain skin, but in the warm eyes I see more. The beauty on the inside.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “You’re too kind.”

“Come.” She pointed with a small but sturdy hand to the table where she’d put the flowers. “I have a little
kolatsio
for us.”

I looked at Sam.

“A snack,” he explained. “I know you’re here about the dogs, but I couldn’t stop her.”

“You.” She pointed at him. “Go make yourself presentable.”

“Be right back.” Sam jogged back toward the house. “I’ll wash up.”

“He rolls around on the ground with the dogs.” She indicated the two sleeping Greyhounds who lay in the shade of a large eucalyptus tree. “Come, let us sit.”

She moved the vase of flowers to the middle and removed linens from plates of food. A small feast had been laid out on the table. Cheeses, some pastry triangles, and, of course, olives. There was also coffee and tea.

We sat and soon Sam joined us. “Presentable?” He patted his grandmother’s arm and helped himself to a sliver of cheese.

Though he didn’t live with his grandmother, Sam was clearly comfortable with her, and it was apparent he spent time in her company.

My mind slipped to all the times I’d enjoyed in my grandmother’s big country kitchen or on the wide front porch at the ranch. She’d been a pillar in my life, and I missed her every day. In all honesty, the battle between Mel and me over Grandma Tillie’s brooch really came down to the fact that my cousin and I both missed her like crazy. If we could agree on our mutual heartache, maybe we could sort things out. Maybe.

I shook myself from my musings, though the courtyard would have been an ideal place to sit and ponder, and returned to the conversation at hand.

“Your Greyhounds are beautiful,” I accepted the cup of coffee Sam handed me. “Have you seen any changes in Ari and Angel since the ill-fated Greyhound event?”

“None at all.” She dropped her hand to her side, and the two dogs came and nuzzled it. “This is Ari.” She patted the black dog. “And this is Angel.” She scratched under the dappled dog’s chin. “I only agreed to the visit as a thinly-veiled ploy to get a chance to meet you.”

The dogs worked their way under the table, and one leaned against her legs and the other against Sam. A very loyal and affectionate breed, these two Greyhounds were no exception. Moving fast or cuddle bugs.

“I got the dogs very young. Neither had raced, but were born to a racing mother and an unknown father. Often, those dogs are destroyed by the breeder because the lineage isn’t clear and they can’t race them.” She reached over and patted Ari, who’d now wormed his way onto Sam’s lap.

“That’s awful.” I couldn’t imagine.

“This breeder had a heart, though, and turned the litter over to Greys Matter, and I was blessed to have these two come live with me.”

I wasn’t aware of the practice, but it certainly explained Blanche LeRue’s passion for the cause even more. And also explained why Dorothea had talked Sam into serving on the board of Greys Matter.

“Blanche seems concerned the incident at the fund-raiser and all of the news around the unsolved murder may hurt the rescue’s efforts.” I looked to Sam. “Have you seen any indication of those kinds of problems?”

“Nothing so far.” He leaned back in his chair, one tanned arm thrown over the back, the other resting on the dog in his lap. Even scruffy, he looked like he’d walked off a
GQ
photo shoot—handsome, casual, comfortable with himself. And he seemed totally unaware how gorgeous he was. “What do you hear on the investigation?”

I gave him a brief summary. I left out the part where Verdi and I were dressed like video game chicks and almost arrested by the FBI. It didn’t seem appropriate in front of his
yia yia
. I ended with an account of Eugene’s appearance and subsequent disappearance last night.

“There’s been nothing in the news,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Well, I don’t mean to snoop.” I popped an olive in my mouth.

Sam’s raised brow said he was not buying my disclaimer.

“But is the rescue okay financially?” I asked. “Blanche seemed worried.”

“Nothing I’ve seen in the financial reports would indicate any problems. The fund-raising event was to be the biggest infusion of cash, but overall, the donations meet the expenses.” Sam rubbed his jaw. “But I could take a closer look if you think there’s a concern.”

I shook my head. “Blanche is very competent. I don’t think there’s a need. I’m meeting with her tomorrow anyway.”

“Our Samuel, he’s very good at financial things.” Dorothea nibbled at one of the cheese pastries. “It’s important the donor’s contributions are given the proper care.”

“I agree completely.” From what I’d heard it wasn’t just Sam. Yia Yia Dorothea herself was a bit of a financial expert. “I hope to know more after I talk with Blanche.”

“Good.” She nodded.

“I had better get going.” I stood. “I’ve got another appointment coming up, and it’s my day to volunteer at the ARL. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

Sam removed Angel from his lap and got up, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

Ari scrambled to his feet, and both dogs looked at Sam, eyes hopeful, ears at attention, sleek bodies ready to run.

“Ah, you want to play some more, don’t you?”

Sam’s grandmother also stood, took my hands, and gave them a squeeze. “Come back again. Soon.” Her look was just as expectant as the two Greyhounds.

Sam walked me back through the house and out to my car. I slid in, and he shut the door and then leaned in for a swift kiss. “You’re a hit with Yia Yia Dot, Caro
kopelia mou.”
He touched my cheek with his knuckle. “Not easy to do. She’s a tough cookie.”

I knew all about tough cookies. I came from a long line of tough cookies. But I was glad I’d passed muster with Yia Yia Dot.

“She’s a gem, Sam. Please thank her again for the snacks, even though I now need to add at least a mile to my evening run.”

I started the car and put it in gear. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I’ve talked to Blanche.”