Mimi Lee Gets a Clue

by Jennifer J. Chow

  “Where did she recognize it from?”

  “She’d smelled it before on one of the customers who’d dropped by the house.”

  “When exactly?”

  Marshmallow turned to the puppy and interrogated her. His whiskers twitched as he faced me. “Interesting. This lady must have come within the past month to adopt. And only three puppies were chosen this last round.”

  I counted the number off on my fingers, trying to match each puppy with a new owner. I gasped. My recent Chihuahua customers accounted for all of the purchases. “Three. That would make the owners . . . Lauren, Indira, or Tammy.”

  “Exactly.” Marshmallow swished his tail.

  “Can the little puppy describe the woman any further?”

  Marshmallow shook his head, and I noticed the little dog had retreated to blend in with the rest of the pack. “I asked her already. She said all humans look the same to her, what with their long stilt legs.”

  “All right, then.” I smiled at each of the dogs in turn and pulled out the stash of dog biscuits I’d brought along. Placing the treats down, I said, “Thanks for all your help.”

  Marshmallow and I slipped out. At the main house, all the lights had been turned off. The building stood tall and silent. We scrambled over the fence again, and I grinned in the dark. Nobody had suspected a thing.

  CHAPTER

  twenty

  A HEARTY POUNDING AT my door startled me from a deep sleep. I glanced at my alarm clock. Six in the morning. Maybe the visitor would go away. I shut my eyes. The knocking persisted.

  Finally, I flung off my covers, sending a startled Marshmallow flying.

  He flipped, landed on all fours, and glared at me. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Someone rude won’t quit trying to break down my door.” I yawned. “Hey, didn’t I buy you a kitty bed?”

  “It was too cramped for me.” He stretched out to his full length, taking over a good amount of my floor space.

  I stepped over his sprawled form and made my way to the front door. Upon opening it, I found myself staring at none other than Detective Brown.

  He barked out his words. “Good morning, Miss Lee.”

  I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Why are you on my doorstep so early in the morning, Detective?”

  “I’m here to take a look around your place.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He fished inside the pocket of his dark gray sport coat. Was that the same jacket he’d worn the other day? Maybe he had a whole collection of them to avoid doing laundry. He pulled out a document and waved it in my face. “Obtained a search warrant.”

  Reading through the legalese, I realized it was an official order. My mind woke up pretty fast after that. I gulped, stepped to the side, and allowed him to enter. “And what exactly will you be searching for?”

  He walked in with his clunky shoes. I flinched but decided this wasn’t the best time to tell him about my no-shoes rule. He stopped in the center of my apartment and spread out his hands in an encompassing sweep. “By all means, Miss Lee, tell me where to start looking.”

  “There’s nowhere to look. Nothing incriminating for you to find.” I stood my ground, hands on my hips, knowing that the fuzzy bunny slippers I wore tempered my serious glare.

  “We’ll see about that.” Detective Brown started searching high and low, peering into dark corners. He shifted my furniture and unearthed masses of dust balls, making him sneeze.

  Serves him right. I asked, “Why am I your prime target, Detective?”

  He turned, and I swore his eyes twinkled at me. “New evidence came up and pointed to you.”

  I gaped at him. “But that’s impossible.”

  He again reached into his jacket pocket. This time he produced a clear bag with a crinkled piece of paper. With all the stuff he kept in there, I wondered if he had some kind of magician’s coat. “Does this look familiar to you?”

  He smoothed it through the plastic protection and came closer.

  After giving it a brief glance, I said, “Looks like a standard receipt.”

  His index finger pointed to the top of the paper.

  Looking closer, I read the words: “Patron name: Lee, Mimi.”

  I recoiled from the receipt. “Where did you find that?” One of my old library slips. I felt relieved that at least it didn’t list any questionable materials.

  “This paper was discovered near the scene of the crime.”

  “That’s weird.” Had I dropped it when I’d gotten a tour of the house from Kevin Walker?

  Detective Brown tucked the evidence bag back into his pocket. “A neighbor found it stuck in the slats of her adjoining fence. Must have blown over from Russ Nolan’s backyard.”

  A neighbor? I felt my breath quicken. Did he mean Shirl?

  Detective Brown patted his bulging pocket with satisfaction. “Good thing she spotted it. She’d marked it for her recycling bin and was about to throw it out when she saw the unfamiliar name and gave me a call.”

  Marshmallow let out a low growl. “I think that’s the same receipt from when we played catch.”

  Ah, the wadded-up ball I’d used for the game.

  “You know, I visited Shirl at her house the other day,” I said. “Must have dropped it by accident then.”

  Detective Brown shook his head. “Nice try. She found it the morning after the murder.”

  My hands shook. Shirl had framed me.

  Detective Brown donned some gloves and continued to poke around my apartment. He messed up my sofa cushions while looking under them. After peeking into closed cupboards, he left them ajar.

  Why had Shirl thrown me under the bus? Well, she had acted jittery the other day when I’d questioned her about the mystery lady. Had she felt threatened somehow by my snooping?

  I followed Detective Brown’s progress. He hadn’t collected a single item yet. “There must be something dangerous I can find here,” he murmured.

  Recalling my previous conversation with the detective at Hollywoof, I wondered if he was searching for the murder weapon. Did he think he’d find something that could cause head trauma in my apartment?

  He pulled everything out of my hall closet and left the items scattered across the floor. Nothing there except my huge jumble of shoes. And the folded yoga mat.

  Good thing I didn’t own any heavy-duty exercise equipment. Something like a pair of dumbbells might have given Detective Brown cause to pull out his handcuffs.

  Did I have anything at all in my possession that could inflict a head injury? On my nightstand, I remembered I had piled up several books—in a twist of irony, all checked out from the library.

  However, I harbored a partiality for mass-market paperbacks. Thank goodness I didn’t own something like a hardcover of Crime and Punishment. Light and compact, paperbacks barely weighed down my hands while I read them. They would be too flimsy to impart heavy damage.

  Detective Brown didn’t take too long to finish looking around my tiny apartment. In the end, he confiscated one thing: my favorite mug.

  A sky blue piece of pottery, it read, “Stay PAWsitive.” I doubted anyone could’ve used a cup as a weapon.

  “Done?” I asked as Detective Brown cradled the mug in his gloved hands.

  “I suppose so,” he said, grumbling.

  “FYI, that mug is already compromised—has a big crack. Hard to fix, unless you know kintsugi.”

  He gave me a puzzled look but deposited it into an evidence bag. “I’m getting this analyzed by the lab ASAP.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Too late I thought about my choice of words. The cop blinked at me.

  After he left, I started panicking. Detective Brown had searched my home. He’d manage to wrangle approval for a warrant. That meant he was actively building a case against me and trying
to speed up my arrest.

  I took a deep breath and dialed up Josh. Immediately, I got his voice mail. I left a vague message about a legal emergency.

  Why wasn’t he answering? I shoved all the moved furniture back into place.

  Maybe Josh didn’t have good reception. I stuffed items back into the hall closet, repositioned spices in the cupboard, and straightened my stack of paperbacks before resolving to text him. I had to at least try to reach him again.

  Me: Detective Brown searched my place.

  A delay of a few seconds and then a ping.

  Josh: Stuck in court. Sorry, phone was on vibrate. Did he have a warrant?

  Me: Yes, and I think he was looking for a weapon.

  Josh: He confiscate anything?

  Me: My favorite mug. But I don’t think you can harm anyone with a cup.

  Josh: Sorry, Mimi. Must have been traumatic. Don’t need to work late tonight. Can I swing by?

  I pondered my response, shuffling through some unopened mail I’d left on my messy kitchen table. It would be nice to have Josh come by, but I’d prefer a different setting than the emotional land mine of my searched-over apartment.

  Also, I realized I didn’t want to just talk about legal stuff. Wouldn’t it be great to get away from it all? To immerse myself in a different environment? When I found the fundraiser invitation Pixie had given me in the pile of mail, I smiled. Perfect.

  Me: Pick me up after work? There’s a special charity event I’d like to attend. And wear your finest.

  * * *

  • • •

  My own fanciest attire consisted of a little black dress. I’d succumbed to the myth of the LBD as a staple item in every adult woman’s wardrobe and had impulse-bought the A-line with a swingy skirt in college.

  When Josh showed up, he was wearing a sleek suit that looked tailored to his toned frame. He gave a low whistle and said, “You look stunning.”

  I sparkled. My grin must have stretched from ear to ear.

  We drove to the charity gala in his car, a polished black Lexus with leather seats. While navigating, he asked, “So what is the event for?”

  I reread the invitation on the cream cardstock with embossed lettering. “A fundraiser for a company called PetTwin.”

  “Interesting name. Wonder what they’re about . . .”

  When we arrived, I double-checked the address to make sure we’d ended up at the right location. I hadn’t realized the event would be held at a performing arts center.

  We made our way to the lobby and saw empty tables draped in crisp white fabric arranged throughout the vast space. A stream of people flowed from the lobby and through a pair of open double doors. I assumed the entryway led to the stage.

  As we also approached the doors, an usher wearing a bow tie urged us forward. “It’s about to begin.”

  Josh and I sat in velvet seats near the back as the lights started to dim. A large screen descended from the rafters. I heard the whir of a projector, and a beam shot forward in the dark. When Josh snuck his hand over the armrest to hold mine as a commercial played on-screen, I had to muffle my soft sigh.

  PetTwin’s advertisement described them as a high-tech company specializing in apps that matched rescued animals with potential owners by using personality quizzes and interactive profiles. The commercial ended with short testimonials from a number of local shelters that had embraced the technology with gusto.

  Then the screen retracted, and a spotlight beamed right at the center of the stage. A woman with long red hair, like a real-life Ariel, climbed up the steps to the stage and stood at the podium. Speaking into the microphone, she said in a brassy voice, “I’m Stacy, the founder of PetTwin. Thank for you coming to support us and purchasing tickets to this event. I hope you enjoy the delicious appetizers.” She motioned to the lobby with a flutter of her fingers. “You’ll find a few tablets near your place settings so you can explore our apps firsthand. Rest assured that our company is on the cutting edge of the newest innovations, including 4-D pet meet-ups. We again are grateful for your generosity.”

  Everyone applauded her short speech and beelined out of the auditorium and back into the lobby. At our assigned table, I swept Pixie’s name card into my clutch. Nobody would be any the wiser that she’d given me her spot.

  I glanced at the other name placards at the table and recognized one of them: Lauren Dalton. At least I would know someone at the table.

  Too bad Lauren hadn’t arrived yet. A couple sat down and started making small talk with Josh. Then others came and immediately grabbed the tablets lying around to check out PetTwin. Peeking at their screens, I saw them flip through adorable photos of cats, dogs, bunnies, and more. Only when they’d started their personality questionnaires did Lauren and her husband show up.

  I studied Mr. Dalton. For a famous Hollywood producer, I’d expected someone more glamorous. Instead, I discovered a squat and bald man, his head too large for his frame. In fact, its size looked like it could throw off his balance.

  I greeted Lauren with a hug and shook hands with her husband. Then I turned to my dashing boyfriend and introduced Josh to the Daltons.

  In no time at all, the men started talking about their favorite sports teams, and I turned my attention to Lauren. “What a lovely outfit,” I said. She did look nice, even though she wore an atypical understated look: a simple burgundy sheath.

  “Actually,” she said, smoothing her dress, “I feel awkward not having some kind of costume like I usually do at charity functions. But my dear hubby wanted a low-key fashion statement. Plus, dressing up isn’t as much fun without Sterling to match me, and they won’t allow pets in the theater.”

  A waiter with a tray passed by and offered us flutes of champagne.

  As Lauren sipped her bubbly, I asked, “How’s your puppy doing? Are his legs any better?”

  She clinked her glass with mine. “Sterling’s feeling great. It’s a cause for celebration. He’s so much better after going to his acupuncturist.”

  I managed to swallow my sip through sheer willpower. “They have specialists for dogs?”

  “Of course. Pet acupuncture. I think his sessions have resulted in nothing short of a miracle.”

  The waitstaff approached our table again. This time, they offered a selection of small bites. Each appetizer featured unique ingredients: green chile and artichoke bread, fruit and coconut spring rolls, and ricotta fritters.

  I took a spring roll, and Lauren reached for a fritter with an elegant motion. In her simple dress, she really did look different than her usual decked-out self. Hmm. Something else was missing beyond a typical fancy costume—

  “Oh, you’re not wearing any jewelry,” I said.

  She chewed her appetizer and dabbed her mouth with a cloth napkin. “We were running late. I really wanted to wear something special, like my bone bracelet, only I don’t know where it’s gone.”

  I dropped my half-eaten spring roll, and it tumbled onto the floor. “It’s not actually made from bones, right?”

  “No, silly.” She encircled her tiny wrist with her index finger and thumb. “It’s a golden bracelet with a bone pendant.”

  I knocked my glass over. “Oops.” Using my napkin, I dabbed at the growing wet circle on the fancy tablecloth.

  I’d recently seen a bracelet just like the one she’d described—on Shirl’s arm. Could Lauren have bribed Russ Nolan’s neighbor into staying quiet? Had she been the mystery woman who’d gone over to his place and dropped her bracelet there by accident?

  I needed to find out more about Lauren’s movements on that night. Did she have an alibi for the hours between eight and ten? If only I could find someone with access to Lauren’s schedule without alerting the woman herself.

  But I did know somebody who could get those details. I whipped out my phone and asked, “Oh, Nicola left something at th
e shop the other day. Could I get her number?”

  Lauren studied me with a calm intensity, her eyes looking like deep pools of indigo. “I have a better idea, Mimi. Bring the item by my place. Nicola always comes over every morning at six sharp to make me a breakfast smoothie.”

  “That’s early. Maybe I could set up a different time with her directly?” I didn’t want my conversation to be under Lauren’s watchful eye.

  Clutching my arm, she said, “You must come. I insist.”

  She waited for me to nod before she eased her grip. Then she gave me her home address in Hollywood.

  I looked over at Lauren’s husband. At that early hour, Mr. Dalton should be home as well. And Nicola would be there. I’d be safe enough. But just in case, I planned on bringing spunky Marshmallow along. Thank goodness I’d never trimmed his dagger-like claws.

  CHAPTER

  twenty-one

  AS I’D EXPECTED once I’d seen her Hollywood zip code, everything at Lauren’s mansion appeared over-the-top. I’d gone midway up the long winding drive to her house when an attendant flagged me down and asked if I wanted to use the car elevator. I didn’t know how such a thing even functioned, so I declined.

  Instead, I parked on the side, near some sculpted yew trees. On the front steps, I spotted a male figure waiting. Mr. Dalton stood with a roller suitcase propped near his feet.

  I strode up to him and said, “Hello again. I’m Mimi Lee, and this is my cat Marshmallow.”

  Seeing his confusion, I added, “We met last night at the PetTwin fundraiser, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” He rubbed the top of his bald head and said, “I can never keep track of the faces and names from the charity events my wife makes me attend.”

  “Lauren forces you to go?”

  “Sometimes. But it’s an even trade. I also ask her to go to my press events once in a while.”

  I imagined the glitz and glamour of those parties. “Those must be exciting.”