The Silence of the Chihuahuas (8 page)

When my cellphone rang an hour later, the caller ID said it was Jimmy G on the phone. I hadn't talked to ‘he-isn't-my-boss-anymore' (HIMBA, for short) in quite a while. I still hadn't forgiven him for betraying me on the last case we'd worked on together and didn't think I ever would. Not if Pepe and I actually opened our own agency.

So I let the call go to voice mail. But I was curious about what Jimmy G had to say, so I did listen to his message:

“Hey, doll! Jimmy G, here. Pick up the phone, huh? Jimmy G knows you're still steamed at him, but an old client of yours, a Mrs. Snelling, wants to talk to you. Won't talk to yours truly, only you. Says it's an emergency.”

I didn't know anyone named Snelling and thought it was just a ploy by HIMBA to try and get back in my good graces.

Then my phone rang again. And again. Same caller each time. When it rang for the third time in a row, I finally answered it.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Look, doll, Jimmy G's sorry about what happened, and—”

“So?”

“—and he doesn't blame you,” he continued. “But this is a separate issue. This old broad, Snelling, keeps calling and—”

“I don't know anybody named Snelling.”

“Wait a minute. It's not Snelling, it's Nelson.”

“I don't know anybody named Nelson, either,” I told him. “You're just trying to—”

“Hold on; let Jimmy G think,” he interrupted. “Snelling . . . Nelson . . .
Snelson!
That's it.
Snelson!
What a wacko name.”

“Mrs. Snelson? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Dame lives over in the Gladstone Retirement Home. Same one you and your rat-dog helped with the big mutt that wouldn't stop pooping in her garden.”

“Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?”

“Tried to. Look, can you help Jimmy G out here?”

I didn't answer right away. I was thinking about our first case for Jimmy G. He had sent us out to help Mrs. Snelson identify the dog who was pooping in her garden. Kind of humiliating, really, but we solved the case, and obviously the old lady was grateful. Because she wanted us back.

“So,” I finally said, “what's Mrs. Snelson's problem this time?”

“Don't know. She wouldn't tell Jimmy G. Said she would only talk to you.”

“That's too bad,” I said. “Because I don't work for you anymore.”

“But Mrs. Snelson said it was serious. Also she said she would pay our normal rates, plus a thousand dollar bonus when the case is solved.”

“That's nice, but—”

“Pretty please, doll,” he implored me.

I knew something serious was going on, because Jimmy G never used “pretty please” about anything.

“OK, here's the straight skinny,” he continued. “Jimmy G's in a fix. He hasn't had a case lately, and there's a certain type he owes dough to.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I told him. “But like I said, I don't work for you anymore.”

“Yeah, but it would be just a one-time only thing. There's plenty of stuff Jimmy G would do over if he could, but . . .”

As he went on trying to explain his past actions, I found myself thinking about Jeff's upcoming marriage, and me not wanting to attend my ex's wedding alone under any circumstances—even the one I'd just thought of.

“OK,” I told HIMBA. “I'll do it, but only under one condition.”

“Oh! Copasetic!” The relief in his voice tinged every syllable of the words. “Jimmy G's your main man when it comes to conditions—any conditions—every condition! What is it?”

“You have to attend a wedding with me.”

“That's it? What a snap! Maybe you'll even catch the bouquet, doll.”

“There is one other condition,” I told him.

“There's always a catch,” he said, much more subdued.

“I might be working under your license until I get my own, but this is my case. I handle it the way I want to handle it. I'll split the fee with you, and the bonus, fifty-fifty.” All I'd gotten in the past was a salary, often late. “Half for you, half for me,” I added.

“OK,” he agreed. “Half of something's better than all of nothing, like they say. So, tell Jimmy G about this wedding—when and where. Jimmy G will be there with bells on his toes!”

I filled him in about the time and place for Jeff's wedding. Before we hung up, he told me how good it was for us to be working together again.

Except for his delusion about us working together, the conversation with HIMBA had gone fairly well. All I still had to deal with was my ex-husband's wedding, and Mrs. Snelson, who could turn crotchety at the drop of a hat. I didn't know which would be more problematic.

 

 

I was tempted to rush right over to the Gladstone. It was exciting to be back on an official case. I didn't realize how much I had missed it. And Pepe seemed eager to go when I told him about our assignment, dancing around in circles and barking.

But then my phone rang again.

“Sullivan and Sullivan,” I said, thinking it would be fun to use my business name because I was (almost) officially in business for myself.

“Geri Sullivan,” said a deep, male voice. “We told you to leave your sister alone. If you don't do what we ask, we will have to take drastic measures!”

“Who is this?” I asked, walking over to the window. But there was no dark sedan outside and no man with glasses. And there was no answer from the voice on the phone either. I was listening to a dial tone.

“That's weird, Pepe,” I said, shivering a little. I still talked to my dog even if he didn't talk to me. I looked at the phone. “Who could that be? Should we go see if they're outside?” Probably not the smartest idea, but, you know, that's always what the heroine does in the movies. Goes down the stairs into the basement even though she knows she shouldn't. Besides I expected Pepe to protect me.

I got him fitted into his little turquoise blue harness and clipped a leash to the rings in back and off we went. He charged down the steps and out toward the street as if he were tracking a particularly interesting scent, but then he just dawdled as he usually does, sniffing under a juniper bush, circling around a telephone pole, leaving his mark on grass and bushes and tree trunks and hydrants all down the block.

I didn't see any sign that anyone was watching me and Pepe didn't seem to find anything but an interesting scent under the rhododendron across the street, so we headed back home. My phone was ringing again as we entered. I snatched it up after removing Pepe's leash. He bolted for the living room.

“Sullivan and Sullivan,” I said hesitantly. Better to sound like a business than a woman alone in her tiny apartment with her tiny dog.

“Geri, it's Felix!”

“Oh, hi!” I was surprised.

“It sounds like you were expecting someone else.”

“Not really,” I said quickly. “What's up?”

“I'm over at Rebecca Tyler's. We just finished setting up for tomorrow's shoot. She invited me—and some of the other cast members—to stay for dinner and I said I was going to go by and see you. She told me to invite you.”

“Oh, that would be great!” I looked at the living room where Pepe was working away on his iPad. “I had a busy day. I totally forgot to pick up anything to eat.”

“I'll tell her you're coming. And bring Pepe. Rebecca says that Siren Song wants to see him.”

“Is her dog talking to her now?”

Felix laughed. “You'll have to ask her yourself.”

Rebecca's house was not far away. Just up the hill and across the freeway. She lived on Capitol Hill on a street known as Millionaire's Row because it contained the mansions of some of the early business owners in Seattle. Rebecca's house was a huge white extravaganza with two stone lions on pedestals.

I had a nostalgic flashback as we pulled up, remembering the first time I had driven to this address. I had just adopted Pepe and he was talking to me, an amazing reality that I didn't fully appreciate at the time. In fact, he helped me find the address. Now he stood beside me, his back feet on the passenger seat, his front paws pressed to the window, gazing out but not saying a word.

 

 

Luis answered the door. He's Rebecca's bodyguard, or personal assistant, or boy toy. I'm not sure which. Maybe all three. He used to be the gardener until Rebecca's husband got killed.

Pepe took off running down the hall as if he owned the place. So typical of Pepe. That was how we first got involved in Mr. Tyler's murder: Pepe found the body by running in through an open front door, just as he had at Mrs. Fairchild's house.

“Everyone's downstairs,” Luis said, beckoning me through the hall. I glanced at the living room to my right where we had found the body. It was completely redecorated, which made sense. I would want to redecorate, too, if my husband had bled to death in my all-white living room. Now the walls and furniture and draperies were all gold and russet tones, creating a warm and inviting feel. Rebecca must have hired a designer to redo her house while she was in Los Angeles. I wish she had thought to hire me, but I had never really worked as an interior designer, despite going to school to learn the trade. You need a lot of wealthy clients, like Brad has, and I just never had access to people with that income.

As we went down the hall, I also noticed a whimsical chandelier, hung with pink crystals, and a playful curvy white cabinet with a pink marble top. It didn't seem at all like Rebecca's taste. I always think of her as severe and formal. Maybe she was lightening up.

According to Luis, the party was in the basement, only he called it the media room. I could hear laughter and ice tinkling in glasses and the low buzz of conversation as we descended the stairs.

The last time I was in the basement at Rebecca's it was the dog training room. But it had been transformed. Gone were the rubber padding and the boxes full of sparkly dog clothes. Now the sparkles were all in the mirrors that hung on the walls in gilded frames and the gold ropes around the red velvet curtains and the gilded low tables scattered among the plush red velvet settees.

I spotted Felix talking to a group of men and headed in that direction. Felix saw me coming and his eyes brightened.

‘You look great,” he said, coming forward and giving me a subtle once over. I had put on a Forties dress that I bought at a thrift shop. It had a wild pink and red rose pattern with a tight bodice and a full skirt. I was glad I had taken the time to wash and blow dry and tame my curly hair and put on some make-up. A bit of red lipstick can go a long way. “Where's Pepe?” he asked, looking around.

“I don't know.” I was puzzled too. Usually Pepe is right by my side. But nothing Pepe did was usual any more. “I see you brought Fuzzy.” The little white poodle-terrier mix was right at Felix's heels. “She doesn't let you out of her sight.”

“Caro says she has abandonment issues,” said Felix with a laugh.

“Oh, Caro! That's the pet therapist you told me about,” I said.

“Yes, she's right over there!” He pointed at a gorgeous redhead in a slender lime green linen dress who was in the center of a group of men over by a marble-topped table spread with appetizers. “Come on, I'll introduce you.”

“I think I need a drink first,” I said.

“Right this way!” said Felix, ushering me over to a bar that was tucked in the corner. The bartender wore a vest and a fedora and the bottles of liquor were all made of cut glass. They sparkled in the light of a flotilla of votive candles.

Felix ordered a negroni, which surprised me because he doesn't drink. I ordered my usual: chardonnay.

The negroni arrived in a martini glass. It was a pretty red color, with an orange twist. It looked a bit like a grown-up cosmo. Felix cradled it in his fingers but didn't take a sip. I clutched my wine glass and looked around the room.

“I'm shocked by all the changes,” I said. “This doesn't seem like Rebecca's taste at all.”

“Rebecca mentioned that she was working with a decorator to shift the atmosphere in the house.”

“Shift the atmosphere?” I asked. “Are you sure that's what she said?”

Felix nodded.

“That's the way Brad would describe what he does.” Brad sees home decoration as a spiritual and energetic process. He's been known to decorate rooms based on the color of the chakras and cleanse negative energy by smudging a room with sage.

“Maybe she's working with Brad.”

“I don't think so,” I said. “I'm sure Brad would have told me.”

Felix was silent. And I could guess what he was thinking: Brad didn't tell you he was getting married and Brad didn't tell you why he disappeared, so maybe he wouldn't tell you if he was working with Rebecca.

I sipped my wine while Felix pointed out various people who were involved in the filming of the pilot for
Pet Intervention
. I recognized one of the gaffers from
Dancing with Dogs
and commented on that.

“I'm surprised that your brother isn't here,” I said to Felix. I had met Tavio a few months earlier when he was working on a werewolf movie that was shooting on location in the Pacific Northwest woods.

“Oh, he's coming in tomorrow,” Felix said. “In time to start shooting the actual segments.”

“So how does it work?” I asked.

Felix looked a bit nervous. “They're going to present each of us with the same problem dog. Then film us as we figure out what's going on and provide training. We won't be able to watch each other's work and they haven't told us yet about the type of dog or the problem. I guess they'll make the decision about who to feature after they view the film.”

Caro slipped away from the group she was in and headed our way. She had an empty martini glass in her hand.

“I was just heading for the bar to get another drink,” she said.

“Taken care of,” said Felix, handing her the negroni. She thanked him with a pretty smile.

Felix introduced us. “I was just telling Geri about the concept for the show,” he said.

“I wish they would tell us ahead of time about the dog's problem,” said Caro. She was even more gorgeous up close: the lime green dress showed off her curves and her tanned legs and strappy gold sandals. Definitely a Southern California kind of vibe. “I usually know what's going on before I show up to work with a client.”

Felix nodded. “I guess they want to give us each the same chance to succeed or fail.”

“Have they chosen the dog yet?” I asked.

They both looked at me puzzled.

“Because I've got a dog with a problem,” I said.

Felix gave me a warning look.

“Oh, really,” said Caro. She had a slight drawl, maybe Texas. “Tell me about it.”

“My dog used to talk to me and now he doesn't,” I said.

“Oh!” She looked surprised. She glanced at Felix, who raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, as if to say, ‘Go figure!' “Felix told me you have a Chihuahua, I think.”

“Yes, a lovely Chihuahua,” I said, suddenly nervous. “He's very well-behaved.”

Felix cleared his throat.

“Well, OK, he's not well-behaved, but he's sweet-tempered.”

Felix rolled his eyes.

“OK, he's a bit arrogant. He thinks he's in charge of everything,” I said.

Caro laughed. “You just described the typical Chihuahua. Those little dogs always act much bigger than they are.” She smiled. “So what's his problem?”

“He used to talk to me, and now he doesn't,” I said, taking a quick sip of my wine.

“Like he used to bark and now he doesn't?” Caro asked.

“No, he used to talk to me. In complete sentences. In English. Well, sometimes he speaks Spanish. And occasionally French. And even a bit of Italian.” I realized I sounded completely crazy. I took another sip of my wine. “Plus sometimes he quotes the bard.”

Caro looked horrified.

“Shakespeare!” I added hastily.

Caro stared at me. Then she laughed. She had a really pretty laugh, like little bells ringing. “Oh, I see, you're joking! A dog that quotes Shakespeare! That's great!”

“No, he really does quote Shakespeare,” I said. I looked at Felix for help. “You said you were going to tell her about my problem with Pepe.”

Felix looked embarrassed. “It's a little hard to explain,” he said.

“You said you heard him talking!” I waved my empty wine glass at him, hoping he would notice it was empty.

“I
thought
I heard him talking.” Felix said.

“Fine! I get it! You think I'm crazy!” I said.

“I don't think that's crazy,” said Caro. “I can see it's important to you to be able to communicate with your dog.”

“So you do believe dogs talk?” I asked eagerly.

Caro laughed again. “I've never heard one speak English,” she said, “but I'd like to. Maybe we can get together after the show wraps. I decided to extend my stay.” She glanced at Felix again. Was there something going on between them? Was this why he had been so hard to reach over the last few weeks?

“That would be great,” I said. It looked like I was going to have to get my glass of wine for myself. I excused myself and marched over to the bar.

I decided to try a negroni, curious about what Caro was drinking, and ordered one from the bartender. The party was picking up steam. The talk was louder. The laughter was shriller.

My drink arrived. It had a strange bitter flavor and the color was an almost neon red. I wasn't entirely sure I liked it. But I kept on sipping it, savoring the unusual flavor.

Just then Rebecca Tyler spied me and came rushing up to me. She's a tall, elegant woman with long dark hair and a long tanned face. She wore a tight cocktail dress. Silver with a pleated top, it showed off her cleavage, which was bountiful. It looked like maybe she had had some work done in LA.

“Geri!” she said, giving me two quick air kisses on either side of my cheeks. “It's so good you could come. We love Felix on the set. He's such an asset. He knows so much about production. I guess that's what happens when you grow up in a show business family.”

It's true that Felix had grown up in LA where his father worked as a lighting tech and his mother was a costume designer.

“I'm surprised you're filming up here,” I said, “with all the talent in LA.”

“Well, Felix said it was hard for him to get away,” Rebecca said. “And besides I needed to come up here and supervise the work being done on the house.” I could tell she was trying to frown but her forehead did not even ripple. “Unfortunately my interior decorator seems to have vanished.”

“I noticed you were making changes,” I said, taking another sip of my drink. “Who did you hire?”

“Oh, I thought he would have told you,” Rebecca said. “It's someone you know. I think he said you worked together. His name is Todd or Tad or . . .”

“Brad?” I said. “Bradley Best?”

Rebecca nodded. “Yes! That's it. He approached me. Said he heard from you that my house needed a makeover. At first, I was offended, but then when he explained, about the need to shift the energy, I got it! He had some great ideas and, as you see, he did do some work. But then he just disappeared. I haven't been able to get a hold of him since I paid him.”

“You paid him?”

“Yes he showed up a few days ago, said it was urgent. He needed money to pay his landlord. I paid him in cash. He went off and I haven't been able to reach him since.”

“How much did you pay him?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”