The Silence of the Chihuahuas (20 page)

The police agreed to transport Brad to Harborview for evaluation and Chuck went with them to make sure the transfer was handled properly. I told Sanders I had some additional information and he ushered me into an interrogation room where I told him about the white van and my theory that the killer was someone Brad had hired to work for him.

“So all you have to do is figure out who Brad had hired to help him,” I said eagerly.

“Well, thanks for that tip,” said Sanders, setting down his pen. “I'm sure we'll hop right on that.” He looked tired.

“Oh,” I said, recognizing the sarcasm. “You've already done that.”

He nodded. “And came up with a big fat zero. Brad doesn't keep very good records. We couldn't find any indication that he was working with anyone else.”

I winced.

“We're still combing through the records,” he said. “We haven't found his cell phone, but we can get those records. And bank statements. Those might help. We can see who he was paying.” He shook his head. “Meanwhile, I suggest you stop poking your nose into this. If Brad isn't the killer, and you find the person who is, you could become a victim. And we don't want that happening, do we?”

I agreed that we didn't want that.

 

 

After talking with Sanders, I headed across the street to get my dog. The bar was noisy and crowded, filled with big screen TVs and people wearing blue-and-green Seahawks jerseys. Pepe was roaming up and down the bar begging for snacks—and getting them too. Jay sat on a bar stool with one empty seat beside him, practically right under one TV where men in blue jerseys and helmets scrambled around in the rain, clashing with and running away from men in white jerseys and white helmets.

Jay saw me coming. He looked around for Brad, then realized I was alone, and cast his eyes back down on the glass of amber liquid in front of him. Pepe came trotting down the bar dodging glasses and schooners, carrying a French fry in his mouth. He laid it down in front of Jay. I thought that was a sweet gesture, until I saw that he had placed it there so he could gnaw on it, breaking it down into small bites.

Jay asked if I wanted anything to drink and I thought that sounded like a good idea. I ordered a Cosmo in honor of Amber and her liberation. We drank silently for a while. Then the whole room erupted in screams. I startled, then saw they were all on their feet looking at the screens where I saw a lone man in a blue uniform, dodging and twisting and heading down the field, all alone, the ball grasped in his hands.

“That's a one hundred and one yard kickoff return for Leon Washington!” shouted the announcer and the whole room cheered. People were pounding each other on the back and clinking glasses. Pepe did a victory lap along the bar.

“Let's get out of here,” whispered Jay. “I can't stand all this happiness when Brad is suffering.” He tossed back his drink and I did the same.

After gathering up Pepe, we threaded our way through the crowd, almost as gracefully as Leon Washington. Pepe was disappointed at leaving his new friends, but I just wanted to get home.

Rain was falling as I drove home with Pepe curled on the seat beside me.

“How are we going to prove that Brad is innocent?” I asked Pepe.

“Have you considered that he might be guilty?” Pepe asked.

“How can you say that?”

“A detective must be willing to look at all the facts, even if they do not please him,” said Pepe.

“Well let us assume it was not Brad, for a moment,” I said.

“Then it must be the man who smells like Budweiser and Camel cigarettes,” said Pepe.

“What are you talking about?”

“So you have still not read my blog? Which I wrote only for your edification?”

“Pepe, we've been busy avoiding thugs and getting out of loony bins and rescuing runaway brides. Poor Teri!” My mind went to my sister. “I hope she is safe. Anyway, what's this about Budweiser and Camels?”

“Those are the scents I smelled on the corpse of Mrs. Fairchild,” said Pepe.

“So we just need to find a contractor who smells like Budweiser and Camel cigarettes,” I said. “That shouldn't be too difficult.”

As usual, Pepe missed my sarcasm. “Indeed!” said Pepe. “We will do a scent lineup.”

“Pepe, there's no way I can get all the suspects to come in and stand in front of you. And, anyway, even if you could identify the murderer—-”

“Your lack of confidence is most disturbing to me,” said Pepe. “It is not if but when.”

“Even when you identified the murderer,” I continued, “the police could not take your word for it. Because you don't talk!”

“Rather, it is they who do not listen,” declared Pepe

 

 

Back at home, I turned on my computer to do some research while Pepe went scrambling for his iPad, doubtless to write another blog entry. I decided to search for his blog and found it pretty quickly. I was shocked to find his latest entry, recruiting attractive female dogs to work with him. It sounded like he was planning to go off on his own. I couldn't believe my own dog was plotting to eliminate me.

It was a dark moment. Was it possible my best friend had killed a woman simply because she didn't like the paint color he had chosen to paint her kitchen? Was it possible that my dog was planning to replace me? Was it possible my boyfriend was falling in love with an attractive pet therapist from Laguna Beach? And was my sister about to be killed by the Gang who Couldn't Shoot Straight?

That reminded me that I had never done any searching to see if I could verify the Marshall's assertion that my sister was a key witness in a murder trial. I entered a few key words and quickly found what I was searching for. Phil Pugnetti, the ostensible head of the Pugnetti gang, was going to appear in Federal court on Tuesday (only two days away) to face conspiracy charges for a murder that happened in 1992 in one of the strip clubs he owned. The suspected trigger man who had allegedly committed the murder had been killed the following year and his murder was still unsolved. I was shocked when I read his name: Ted Lister. He was supposedly a smalltime drug dealer who worked for Pugnetti and whose girlfriend danced in one of Pugnetti's clubs. I knew that name because I knew his girlfriend. Teri had been living with Lister when she disappeared. She must have either been present when Pugnetti was instructing Lister to commit the murder or she had learned about it later from her boyfriend. Either way, she was obviously the key to putting Pugnetti away, because, as the article made clear, law enforcement had tried for years to indict him on many charges—extortion, money-laundering, and prostitution—but they had never been able to assemble enough evidence to press charges against him.

 

 

As I was heading out to the living room to share what I had learned with Pepe, and confront him about his treachery, my phone rang.

“Geri, where are you?” It was Felix.

“Where are you?” I asked, suddenly thinking I had totally missed a promised dinner or a date.

“At Rebecca's for the wrap party. We're about to watch the rushes. Are you coming?”

“Oh, sure. I can be there in fifteen minutes.” All I had to do was change my clothes, rush out the door, and drive up the hill to Rebecca's grand mansion.

I found a place to park about a block away and walked back through a misting rain with Pepe, who found it necessary to leave his mark on several stone walls and tree trunks and rhododendron bushes. A huge van with the name of a lighting company on it was parked in Rebecca's driveway, along with a trailer that I assumed was used for costumes and make-up. We passed through the wrought-iron gate and between the stone lions and mounted the steps to the front door. I remembered the first time we came to Rebecca's house when the door had been open and Pepe had scampered inside to find the corpse of Rebecca's husband lying in the living room.

Now the living room was full of glamorous people in glamorous clothes: women wearing tight, sparkly dresses and high heels, men in designer suits. I was really underdressed in a simple black cocktail dress from the fifties and black tights. I wished Felix had told me it was a fancy affair. I stood on the threshold, afraid to enter, while Pepe went running off as soon as he saw the precious Pomeranian, Siren Song, who was basking on an orange velvet pillow under the baby grand piano.

Then Rebecca spotted me and came hurrying over.

“I'm so glad you're here, Geri,” she said, giving me the quick air kisses she had adopted after many months in Hollywood. “Just wait until you see how well Felix did in his segment.” She paused and looked around, then spotted him in the corner, talking to Caro. She was wearing a short magenta satin dress which showed off her long legs. They were laughing together. I felt a little pang in my heart. Had I lost Felix to the glamour of the life he had left and the beautiful women in it?

Rebecca grabbed me by the elbow and hurried me over there.

“Felix, just look who I found!” she declared. “Caro, this is Geri Sullivan. She's a private detective!”

“Oh, really!” said Caro. She looked surprised. “I had no idea that's what you did. That must be so interesting.”

“She's being modest,” said Felix. I thought for a moment he was referring to me and would brag about all of the murders I had solved. But instead he said, “Caro has had some success, as well, solving crimes that involve animals.”

I tried to smile. “I'd love to hear all about it,” I said. And so she proceeded to tell me about some woman who had been shot in her car, leaving her famous Siamese cats as orphans, and another client who had been murdered in his house and it was his dogs who alerted everyone to the identity of the murderer. I tried to look impressed.

Where was my dog who was supposed to be helping me figure out who murdered Mrs. Fairchild? He seemed to getting busy with Siren Song under the piano. Maybe I should ask Miranda Skarbos to help me figure out who killed the dragon lady. I saw the famous pet psychic on the other side of the room, this time dressed in a long black dress with voluminous chiffon sleeves that fluttered as she waved her arms about. Her brightly hennaed hair was gathered up in a messy bun on top of her head.

“So when you come down to visit Felix, you can always stay with me in Laguna Beach,” Caro was saying, when I tuned back in. “I think you'll love it.”

“What?” I looked at Felix.

“Oh!” That was Caro when she saw the expression on my face. “I didn't realize you hadn't told her yet.”

“There's nothing to tell,” said Felix with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Can I have your attention?” That was Rebecca, clapping her hands in the doorway. “The media room is ready. Follow me!”

I grabbed Felix as the crowd surged towards the door. “What was Caro talking about?” I asked.

“Don't worry,” said Felix. “Caro thinks I'm going to get the lead in the show, but I know the film business. There's nothing certain until you've signed the contract.”

Just the thought of Felix leaving for California sent a chill through my body.

The basement had been set up like a theater. One wall was completely covered by a screen, which must have been concealed behind the red velvet curtains, which were parted and held back with gold ropes, like stage curtains. The settees and couches and armchairs had been shifted away from the wall so people could lounge on them, facing the screen. There was even a popcorn machine on the bar, and the scent of freshly popped and buttered popcorn filled the room. On a sideboard stood an array of champagne flutes full of sparkling, golden liquid. I helped myself to one of them, as did most of the guests, although several headed for the bar for more potent concoctions.

Rebecca took up a position in front of the screen and called out the names of several people she wanted to thank, including the director, and her production assistants. I took a seat on one of the settees with Felix in the middle and Caro on the other side. I looked around for my dog but couldn't see him anywhere.

As Rebecca was talking, a server came around and refilled our champagne glasses. I was surprised to see mine was already empty. I really wanted some of the buttered popcorn. I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast at Mrs. Snelson's. I wondered if Pepe had found something to eat.

“And now, the moment we've all been waiting for!” declared Rebecca. “You'll get a chance to see all of our pet experts at work and then we'll announce who won the lead role in the show.”

I felt Felix tense beside me. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. The lights went dim. The first person to appear was Caro and to my surprise, the dog she was working with was Bruiser. I recognized the tattooed young woman who owned him. She told a sad tale of how her beloved dog had been taken away from her and put in a shelter, and all because of an interfering old lady across the street and an annoying little Chihuahua.

“Hey, that's me!” said Pepe. He jumped up onto the sofa and settled down in my lap, turning around several times before finding just the right spot.

“So you did use Bruiser!” I whispered to Felix.

“Yes, thanks to your suggestion,” he said. “I knew you were worried about him when you found him chained up.”

Wow! I was impressed by his thoughtfulness. He really did listen to me.

Caro patiently explained to Bruiser's owner, Holly, that no dog should be kept chained up in a yard. The inability to move and respond to perceived threats or explore interesting smells would cause any animal to go stir crazy, becoming either depressed or aggressive. Bruiser quickly responded to Caro's gentle manner and was soon lying down and sitting on command with an eagerness and aptitude that was surprising. Holly seemed to be amazed too and just kept repeating, “Wow!” over and over again.