After that, however, the similarities ended. Here, only a few of the tables’ occupants were conversing with each other or staring at their computer screens. The remainder had their eyes cast downward. They were playing with the puppies they held cradled in their laps.
More than a dozen puppies were loose in the room. All of them were adorable, of course, with their curly hair and floppy ears. I didn’t even bother trying to sort out their breeds. Nearly all the puppies were small to medium in size. Most likely because that would make them easier to pick up and cuddle—and conveniently portable if a patron decided to carry one home on a whim.
While I waited for my order to be filled, I continued to look around. Though puppies this young couldn’t all be housebroken, the pub’s floor was spotless. Idly I wondered whose job it was to clean up after them.
There was a dog bed heaped with blankets in one corner, but the puppies never seemed to have an opportunity to use it. As soon as they grew tired, the drowsy babies were rotated out of the room by employees. Then new puppies were brought in to replace them.
I was guessing that the intent was for the puppies to be alert, and lively, and ready to engage with the customers at all times. Most looked happy to comply. They appeared to love the attention.
By the time I paid for my order and found a table, it had occurred to me to wonder how many additional puppies were awaiting their turns in the pub’s back rooms. Just the thought alone was depressing. What happened to those puppies who outgrew their cute baby stage before anyone bought them? What kind of backup plan did Victor have in place for them?
Manny’s promised five minutes had stretched closer to twenty before he appeared. I’d spent the last ten minutes staring out the window, watching the road. Considering Manny’s attitude, I was half afraid that I would see a white panel van drive by.
While I was waiting, a black and white puppy had come wandering over to sniff my leg. Probably a Shih Tzu or some derivative of that breed, I decided. The puppy’s interest in me didn’t come as a surprise. I was sure I was covered with a host of enticing dog smells.
I reached down to scratch behind his ears, and when I looked up again, Manny was coming through the pub’s front door. He scanned the room, then made his way in my direction. He skirted between the closely packed tables between us, shedding his heavy coat at the same time.
Manny’s chair scraped the floor as he yanked it back and sat down. He reached immediately for the espresso. His short, blunt fingers wrapped around the small cup. He lifted it to his mouth and took a giant gulp. A shot of espresso that large would have made my eyes pop out of my head. Manny didn’t react at all.
“So?” he said.
“I got us some scones.” I gestured to the plate I’d placed on the table between us. “Blueberry and butterscotch. Take your pick.”
He glanced down at the pastries as if he thought I might be trying to poison him. “Don’t like scones,” he told me. “Clock is ticking.”
I guessed that meant I’d be eating both of them. I started with the butterscotch. “Larry Bowling told me that you and he had both been supplying puppies for Victor to sell here at the Pooch Pub.”
Manny nodded, but didn’t comment. If I was lucky, his second gulp of espresso might make him more talkative.
“He also told me that he’d made a deal with Victor. Rather than being paid for the product he was supplying”—yes, I managed to say that without wincing—“Larry was to receive eight percent of the pub’s profits.”
“Eight?” Manny’s bushy brow rose. “I was supposed to get five.”
The Shih Tzu puppy was lying on my foot. I was pretty sure he was chewing on my shoelaces. “Maybe Larry was a better negotiator than you are,” I said.
“Nah, that’s not it.” Manny sounded smug. “It sounds like Larry’s the one who didn’t know how to drive a hard bargain. I don’t just get a share in the Pooch Pub profits. My five percent makes me part owner of this place.”
He was right, I realized. He did have the better deal. In theory, anyway.
“Do you have paperwork to support that claim?” I asked.
“Who needs paperwork?” Manny said. “Victor and me had an arrangement. It was solid.”
“It might have been solid when he was alive,” I told him. And if he believed that, I had a bridge I wanted to sell him. “But what about now?”
Manny stared past me for a minute. He was thinking hard. Either that or he was reading the menu on the back wall. It was hard to tell.
“Could be things are gonna get more complicated,” he allowed finally.
“Have you spoken to Victor’s partner about the arrangement you had with Victor?” I asked.
“You mean Clark?”
I nodded.
“Not yet. I’m working up to that. It’s only been a couple days. I figure I’ll give the dust a chance to settle. In the meantime, the most important thing is that business continues as usual around here. I gotta protect my stake, you know?”
Manny tipped up his cup and finished his espresso. He started to push back his chair, like he thought we were done.
Not yet. Not if I could help it.
“How long had your arrangement with Victor been in effect?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Could be a year. Maybe longer.”
“Larry Bowling told me that Victor never paid him any of the money that was due to him. Did he pay you?”
“Look, lady.” Manny frowned. “There are things you don’t understand. Like extenuating circumstances. It’s business one-oh-one.”
The words didn’t sound entirely natural coming out of Manny’s mouth. I wondered if he was repeating something Victor had told him.
“Meaning what?” I asked.
“A business is something you gotta grow. Like a puppy. If it’s going to succeed, it needs to be nurtured. So even though you’re making money, the smart thing to do is turn around and put that money right back in. You’re building some reserves . . . you know, like a cushion for when you need it later.”
Right. Manny wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought. It sounded as though he’d been snookered too.
“Larry didn’t care about building reserves,” I told him. “He just wanted his money. And Victor wouldn’t give it to him. Despite all your fancy talk, I’m guessing he never gave you anything either.”
Manny started to scowl. Then he quickly wiped his expression clean. “Maybe not, but there’s a difference between me and Larry. I’m part owner and he isn’t. Which means when I help to build up this company, I’m building my own future too.”
“Too bad you don’t have a contract to prove that,” I mentioned. “Especially after you spent the last year working without pay.”
Manny didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up and shoved his arm into the sleeve of his coat. His answers to my questions conveyed a very different attitude than his demeanor did. Manny didn’t like the direction my probing had taken us—and apparently that last barb had really hit home.
Either that or the jolt of espresso was making him jumpy.
“Did Larry tell you about his lawsuit?” I asked.
Manny glanced at me. “Yeah, I heard about it.”
“Are you part of it?”
He leaned down. When he spoke again, our faces were only inches apart. “Lady, I don’t know where you get off asking me questions like that. How I handle my affairs is none of your damn business.”
He’d already straightened and started to turn away when I posed one last question. “Have you ever been to the Westminster Dog Show, Manny?”
“What do you think?” he asked.
He didn’t wait to hear my answer. It was just as well. Because although Manny seemed sure he’d kept his secrets safe from me, what I’d discovered was that he was the kind of man who was easily provoked to anger. Also that he wasn’t someone I would want to confront in a dark alley. Or an empty men’s room.
Manny slamme
d the door when he left the pub. A minute later I saw the white panel van peel out of the parking lot. I watched as he ran the stop sign on the corner and sped through the intersection.
It was a good thing Manny had already made his delivery. At least I didn’t have to worry about the puppies’ safety with him behind the wheel in his current mood.
Chapter 16
I finished the butterscotch scone. I probably should have wrapped the blueberry one in a napkin and taken it home with me, but instead I ate that one too. Since I’d skipped lunch I figured I wasn’t doing too much damage to the day’s calorie count.
But honestly? I don’t even lie well to myself.
Once I was alone at the table, a barista approached and asked if I wanted to hold a puppy in my lap. Maybe a cute Chihuahua mix with big eyes and a curly tail? I declined politely. I wasn’t even tempted.
She’d only gone a few steps away, however, when I called her back. “Change your mind?” she asked with a smile. She held the puppy out to me. “Button loves to snuggle. It’s her favorite thing in the world.”
I’ll bet, I thought cynically.
“Is Clark Donnay here today?” I asked her.
The question seemed to surprise her, but she nodded. “Sure, he’s in his office in the back.”
“Good.” I rose from my seat. “Clark’s a friend of mine. I think I’ll stop in and say hello.”
Okay, so we weren’t exactly friends. More like marginally acquainted. Clark and I had briefly met for the first time the previous weekend. But the barista didn’t know that. She was happy to show me to the door marked “Employees Only” that led to the pub’s back offices.
The rear part of the building consisted of a short hallway that led to just three rooms. The first one had an open door. Inside the room were several rows of stacked crates and two large, newspaper-lined ex pens. Each contained several puppies of various shapes and colors.
Most of the puppies were sleeping. Several were playing tug-of-war with a braided rag. Seeing me, they dropped the toy and raced to the side of the pen. The puppies jumped up on the wire barrier between us and began to bounce up and down on their hind legs, whining to be let out.
“Sorry, guys,” I said softly. “I’m not here for you.”
I didn’t stop for a closer look. I couldn’t stop for a closer look. We already had six dogs. I couldn’t afford to bring home more puppies just because I felt sorry for them.
The door to the second room was slightly ajar. I knocked and stuck my head inside. “Hello?”
The office was small but meticulously neat. I saw a metal desk, a matching file cabinet, two upright chairs, and a coatrack holding a puffy down jacket and a colorful knitted scarf. A window in the far wall offered a view of the back parking lot.
Clark was sitting behind the desk. He was hunched over, staring at the computer screen in front of him. A tall mound of papers had been pushed to one side of the desktop. Beside the papers was an empty cardboard coffee cup that had been knocked askew at some point. Spilled coffee dribbled down its side and there was a ring of dried liquid around its base.
Clark looked up, then sat up. He slowly straightened his back and neck, then gave his shoulders a stretch. It looked as though he’d been bent over the computer screen for some time. “Can I help you?” he asked.
I stepped into the room. “I’m Melanie Travis. We met last weekend at the Poodle seminar in New York?”
“Yes, of course.” Clark stood up and walked around his desk. He held out his hand for me to shake. “I invited you and your husband to stop by for a cup of coffee. I’m glad you took me up on it.”
“I am too,” I told him. “This place is great. I’ve been out front for the last half hour. I wondered if you had a few minutes to talk?”
“Sure, I suppose I can spare a little time. I’m swamped at the moment, but I could definitely use a break.” Clark removed his glasses and carefully cleaned them before setting them back on his nose. At the seminar he’d been wearing a sport coat and khakis. Now he had on pressed jeans and a flannel shirt. The casual look suited him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
Clark looked faintly surprised. “You mean Victor?”
I nodded. I hoped he hadn’t lost anyone else.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He motioned me toward the chair in front of the desk, then stepped around and resumed his seat. “Victor and I were business associates. But that was pretty much the extent of our relationship.”
I draped my coat over the back of the chair and sat down. “Even so, his death must have come as a shock to you. I wasn’t sure I would find you here today.”
Clark paused to consider his words before answering. “An unexpected death always comes as a shock. Especially so, in this case, when you consider the manner in which it took place. But with Victor gone, it’s more important than ever that I make the effort to be here. Payroll, orders and requisitions, managing the pub itself—those were Victor’s jobs. Now I have no choice but to bring myself up to speed as quickly as I can.”
“It sounds as though you were more of a silent partner,” I commented.
“You might say that. My contribution to the business was more financial than practical. Prior to this, I had no previous restaurant experience. And to tell the truth, I’m not much of a dog person.”
Even if he hadn’t said that, I’d have already known. In his place, I’d have had puppies crawling all over the office. But unlike the room next door, Clark’s space was quiet and pristine. And puppy free.
“Was that a problem for you?” I asked. “Considering the nature of the business?”
“Not at all. The puppies were Victor’s thing, so he took care of that. And his instincts were spot on in that regard. Right away—as soon as the pub opened—we started drawing customers away from the local Starbucks. Sure, we sell good coffee. But it was clear from the beginning that the puppies were the real reason for our popularity.”
“How did you and Victor happen to become partners?”
“He and I were acquaintances when he got the idea to open this place,” Clark said. “Victor’s enthusiasm was contagious. He could be quite the salesman, and it was a gift that stood him in good stead. He was looking for someone to partner with him on this venture and I decided to come on board. I thought the Pooch Pub looked like a good investment, and indeed it has proven to be one.”
“So the Pooch Pub is turning a profit?” I asked.
He nodded. “Not for the first couple of years, of course. But right now I would say we’re operating pretty solidly in the black. That’s why it’s important to ensure that Victor’s loss doesn’t cause any disruption to the business.”
I hadn’t expected Clark’s reaction to his partner’s death to be so cut-and-dried. Or maybe cold-blooded was a better word. He’d admitted that he and Victor weren’t close. Now I wondered how solid their partnership had truly been.
Abruptly Clark noticed the empty coffee cup sitting on the side of his desk. He grimaced as he picked it up. After crumpling the cup in his large hand, he tossed it over his shoulder without looking. It landed in a trash can behind him.
“Nice shot,” I said.
“These last couple of days I’ve had plenty of practice.” Clark frowned at the ring of dried coffee that remained. “Lots of stuff to do around here.”
“Was Victor a good partner?”
He glanced up. “You mean did he take good care of the business? Yes, good enough to make it thrive, which is what mattered to me. Victor wasn’t above letting some stuff slide. Let’s just say he was better at keeping on top of the jobs he liked than the ones he didn’t.”
“You’ve just described me too,” I told him with a smile.
“And me,” Clark returned. “I guess that’s human nature, isn’t it? Victor wasn’t always the easiest partner, but he and I worked together well enough on most things. . . .”
“And the others?” I prompted when he let his voice trail
away.
“Victor tended to fall in love with his own ideas. Like I said, he was a salesman. He hated to hear the word no. If there was something he wanted and couldn’t have, he’d get annoyed pretty quickly. Sometimes I gave in just because it was easier than arguing. Other times, I had to hold firm—and remind him that a fifty-fifty partnership is a negotiation, not a dictatorship.”
“It sounds as though you knew how to handle him.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Do you think something like that could have led to Victor’s death?” I asked. “Maybe he got into a disagreement with someone who refused to back down.”
Clark went still. He sat and stared at me across the desk. After a long pause, he said, “What do you do for a living, Melanie Travis?”
“I’m a school teacher. A special needs tutor actually.”
“So you’re not a policewoman?”
“No.”
“Nor a private investigator?”
I shook my head.
“I really hope you’re not a member of the press.”
“Certainly not,” I told him.
“In that case, I’m wondering where all these questions of yours are coming from. Last time we met, I don’t recall you submitting me to a cross-examination.”
“On Sunday, Victor was still alive,” I pointed out.
“And that makes a difference to you?”
“It makes a difference to my Aunt Peg. The New York City police consider her to be a suspect in his death.”
Clark pondered that briefly. “That’s the Poodle lady you’re talking about? The woman who was running the seminar?”
“That’s right.”
“And she and Victor had a problem with each other?”
“They did at one time,” I told him. “But it was mostly over and done with long ago.”
“Mostly?” he inquired.
Suddenly I was the one answering questions, rather than asking them. I preferred things the other way around. But I also wanted to keep Clark talking, so a little quid pro quo seemed more than fair.
Game of Dog Bones Page 13
