Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice

by Waverly Curtis

  Then he was looking at a photo of another man, a fair-haired guy, with a smooth, bare chest. The guy had a huge smile on his face. He was shown only from the waist up, but Jimmy G had a pretty good idea that he was naked from the waist down. Unable to stop himself, he clicked back, and sure enough, the camera angle widened, and he took in the whole scene. The man was tall and well-endowed. He was standing, nude, in some kind of exam room, with a stainless-steel table in the middle and glass-fronted steel cabinets in the background. A little farther back in the sequence of shots, the man was sprawled on the table.

  Jimmy G stopped there. He didn’t want to see any more. This dame that he thought was in love with Jimmy G, or at least hot for his body, was just some kind of heartless femme fatale who used men and then discarded them. No way was he going to spend the weekend with her or visit her at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm. No way was he going to give her the camera back.

  Jimmy G was going to go straight to the casino, halfway between Sequim and Port Townsend, and drown his sorrows.

  Chapter 38

  “Pepe,” I said, when I got back in the car, “Jimmy G said we should take the weekend off.”

  Pepe shook his little head, then his whole body. “We are Sullivan and Sullivan. We never give up when we are on a case.”

  “Yes, but what case?” I asked. “Are we protecting the dogs? Collecting statements to be used in the lawsuit?”

  “Finding the murderer of Mr. Boswell,” said Pepe.

  “Yes, what about that?”

  “I have been thinking about that,” he said, “when I am not thinking about Phoebe.”

  “Not Siren Song?” I was teasing him.

  He ignored me. “There was a witness to Boswell’s murder.”

  “Well, we know that,” I said. “The judge said there was someone in the house with Boswell that night. But how do we figure out who that was?”

  “There was indeed someone in Boswell’s house that night, someone who saw the whole crime go down,” said Pepe in his most portentous true crime-show-narrator voice. “Someone who watched from the shadows as his beloved companion died an agonizing death. Someone who was unable to help because of the tragic fact that he was a cat.”

  “The cat!” I said. “That’s brilliant! Of course, the cat was there.”

  But then I looked at Pepe. “But we can’t talk to a cat. At least, I can’t. Can you?”

  “Not most cats,” he said, “but I have established a sort of simple pidgin language I use with your cat. Perhaps Albert could interview the cat of Boswell and then communicate what he has learned to me.”

  “You are going to invite Albert to be on our detective team?” I asked, incredulous. Pepe and Albert were always competing, like two siblings, for a higher ranking in my affections.

  “Of course not,” said Pepe quickly. “We would be simply requesting his services as a translator. One time only. Very minor position.”

  “We would need to find the cat first,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Pepe. “He is no doubt in one of those horrid animal prisons.”

  “The animal shelter,” I murmured. “Probably in Port Townsend, which is good, since then we can talk to Kevin.”

  Traffic was light leaving Sequim since everyone was going the other way. In fact, the cars were lined up bumper to bumper, starting at the Indian casino. I was glad I already had a room for the night in Port Townsend, though sad that I wouldn’t be sharing it with Felix. I would have to try to call him again as soon as I got to Port Townsend.

  By now, I was getting angry instead of sad. How dare he assume that I would cheat on him with someone like Hugh? Of course, I was perfectly willing to let Hugh think I was interested in order to get some information for our case, but that was an entirely different matter. Or was it?

  I suddenly turned and looked at the sleeping Chihuahua on the passenger seat. Was he courting Phoebe just to get information? Or was he truly in love, as he claimed? For a talking Chihuahua, Pepe was not as easy to read as you would think.

  My first stop was at the Port Townsend animal shelter. Sure enough, Boswell’s cat had been taken there by the police, and no one had come to pick him up. Pepe wasn’t allowed inside the facility, but he insisted on coming along, so I concealed him in my purse.

  Once inside the cat room, he poked his little head out and looked around. The small room was lined with crates from floor to ceiling, and almost every one had a feline occupant. Big cats, little cats, black cats, calico cats, ginger cats, tabby cats, fluffy cats, skinny cat, fat cats. Pepe started shivering and disappeared into the depths of the purse.

  I finally found the huge Maine coon in the corner of the room. He had turned his back to me, and all I could see was his fluffy tail, but the card identified him by name. Apparently his name was Precious Boswell.

  “Precious!” I said, putting my fingers up to the bars of the cage. The magnificent animal lifted his head, turned around, looked at me with golden eyes, and then settled his head back on his paws, facing the back of the cage. I was not the person he wanted to see. His whole posture reeked of despair.

  “Poor thing!” I said. “He must be in mourning for Boswell.” I thought I saw the cat’s ears twitch at the mention of his master’s name.

  “But, Pepe,” I said, “do you really think we can talk to this cat?”

  Pepe mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but it sounded like he thought we should try. And I agreed. Just seeing this animal, so sunk in dejection, made me realize that we had to do something. His label said he was not available for adoption.

  I went out to talk to the woman at the front desk. “What’s the story with . . . um, Precious Boswell?” I asked.

  “Oh, such a sad story,” she said. “His owner died, and we have to hold the cat until the heir comes to pick him up.”

  “Oh, so they found Boswell’s family?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if the gentleman is a member of his family,” she said, looking down at some papers on her desk. “The name we have on file is Lionel Talent.”

  “That’s weird,” I said. “Isn’t he the owner of the Floral Fantasy B&B?”

  “You know him?” she asked.

  “We must rescue this poor prisoner,” insisted Pepe.

  “Yes, he’s the owner of a bed-and-breakfast just down the road.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” she said. “Let him know we are happy to turn the cat over to him if he brings proof of identity. The sooner you get the cat out of here, the better. Cats just do not do well under these conditions.”

  “I wonder why Boswell left the cat to Lionel,” Pepe asked, as we headed out to the car.

  “Well, we can ask him,” I said. “We’re headed there right now.”

  When we arrived at the Floral Fantasy B&B, Kevin and Lionel were busy at the front desk checking in an older couple. Pepe sniffed the air, trying to identify what we might have missed since we had left too early for breakfast.

  “Overripe cantaloupe and salmon quiche,” he declared. “You did much better at the waffle place, Geri!”

  “But Albert would have loved it here,” I said as we headed down the hall to the Rose Room. Albert, for some weird reason, loves cantaloupe. I was beginning to worry about my own cat. Although I knew Albert had plenty to eat—I always leave his bowl full of dry food, which he rarely deigns to devour—he had been alone for almost a day now. And although he pretends not to care if I am around, I know he does like company, if only to boss me around. “Maybe I can get Felix to go over and check on him.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Pepe, as we entered the Rose Room. He began sniffing around the edges of the wall. “I wish they would not use a vacuum cleaner. It muddles up the scents.”

  I dialed Felix’s number again, and to my surprise, he answered the phone. I was so startled, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Geri?” he asked. “Is that you, Geri?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said when I found my voice.

  “No, I
’m the one who should be sorry,” he said. “I made assumptions.”

  “I was questioning a suspect,” I said.

  There was a long pause. “Why don’t you explain to me how his licking your hand was part of your investigation?” he finally said.

  “He thought it was a date,” I said.

  “It certainly looked like a date,” he said. “The two of you alone in the restaurant. The candles. The table overlooking the harbor.”

  “That was part of my strategy,” I said, though it was actually Hugh’s strategy.

  “Someone was in here,” Pepe said.

  “Of course someone was in here,” I said. “Someone made the bed and brought us new towels.”

  “Are you talking to your dog?” Felix asked.

  “He’s talking to me,” I said.

  There was another long pause. “Did your strategy work?” Felix asked at last.

  “Not really,” I confessed. “And if it made you unhappy, it wasn’t worth it. I was so looking forward to spending a nice relaxing weekend with you at the B&B. I have a lovely queen-size bed and a claw-foot bathtub big enough for two!”

  “Geri, please!” said Pepe. “A bath is bad enough. To share it with another would be twice as horrible.”

  But what sounded so unattractive to Pepe sounded appealing to Felix. “I like the idea,” he said. “But don’t you still have to work?”

  “My boss gave me the weekend off,” I said. “And you know how rare that is!”

  Felix hesitated for a moment. “OK,” he said at last.

  “OK?” I could hardly believe it.

  “Do not forget the cat!” Pepe commanded.

  “But there is one favor,” I added.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, we’re sort of worried about Albert. Do you think you could stop by my house and check on him?” I had just given Felix a key to my house the previous week so he could take Pepe to the groomer to have his nails trimmed while I was working.

  “Sure. Do you need anything else from your house?”

  “We need the cat!” said Pepe.

  “Do you think you could bring Albert here?”

  “Bring your cat? In the car?” Felix sounded puzzled.

  “You can put him in his carrying case,” I said. “It’s on the top shelf in the hall closet.”

  “But why do you want Albert?” Felix asked.

  I looked at Pepe. No way I could tell him we needed the cat to question a suspect. Even though Felix had reluctantly agreed that maybe I thought my dog talked to me, he would never believe that my dog could talk to a cat.

  “Pepe’s lonely,” I said. “He misses Albert.”

  Chapter 39

  Pepe practically fell over when he heard that line.

  “I had to come up with something plausible,” I told him after I hung up.

  “That is hardly plausible,” said Pepe, shaking his head.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “I think we need to question Lionel,” Pepe said. “Did you not say that his name was on the list for the cat?”

  “Yes!” I said. “And I want to talk to Kevin, too.”

  No one was at the front desk when we approached, but we could hear them in the back office, arguing.

  “I can’t believe you never told me!” Kevin was saying.

  “Believe me, I didn’t know either!” Lionel was saying. “He must have drawn it up while we were still together.”

  “But you told me that was over years ago!”

  “It was!”

  “So why would he leave you everything?”

  Lionel laughed, a bitter laugh. “I suppose he never changed his will. Pretty ironic! A probate lawyer who doesn’t update his will.”

  “Then we don’t really need the money from the trust,” Kevin said. “I can tell that bully Julian what to do with this stupid document.” I could hear paper rustling.

  “Geri, ring the bell!” said Pepe.

  I slapped my hand down on the bell on the front desk. The next moment, Kevin poked his head out of the office. He did have a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  “I heard you talking,” I said. “I’m looking for a copy of the trust document. Do you have one?”

  Kevin looked back over his shoulder, and the next moment Lionel appeared beside him in the doorway.

  “You heard everything we said?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Let’s talk,” said Lionel, waving me into the office. It was actually a charming space, the walls painted mauve and covered with gilt-framed oil paintings of seascapes. There was a delicate French provincial desk with curvy legs and a small Victorian sofa covered in olive-green velvet against the wall. Across from a coffee table covered with lifestyle magazines were two comfy armchairs, with a fringed floor lamp between them.

  “Very nice!” I said, looking around.

  “Thanks to Kevin,” said Lionel. “He has a great eye.”

  “Thank God, you can cook!” said Kevin.

  The two smiled at each other, in mutual admiration, a distinct change from the acrimonious conversation I had interrupted. Was it all an act?

  “Do you have a copy of the trust document?” I asked Kevin. He was still holding a sheaf of papers. Kevin looked at Lionel. Lionel looked back. Then he nodded.

  “Yeah, we found it in one of the rooms,” he said. “Julian, that’s—”

  “I know who he is,” I said.

  “He hired a private detective, and the guy left it behind.”

  “Can I see it?” I asked.

  Kevin handed it over, reluctantly. I flipped through the pages. It seemed to be the same as the document I had obtained from Yolanda, although I hadn’t studied every clause. I flipped to the back to see the names of the witnesses: Bernie Bickerstaff and Lionel Talent. The same names that had been on the other copy.

  “I’m surprised Bickerstaff was a witness to the trust,” I said.

  Lionel nodded. “You know, Barry grabbed whoever was nearby, and Bickerstaff was right across the hall from him.”

  “But surely, given the subject matter . . .”

  “Bickerstaff probably didn’t even glance at the document. He was just there to witness the signature of the old lady. Anyway, he wasn’t hired to represent the other side until much later.”

  “So is it possible,” Pepe asked, “that Bickerstaff was killed because he was a witness?”

  “Good question!” I said. “Is it possible Bickerstaff was killed because he was a witness?”

  Lionel and Kevin looked at each other. “I don’t see how,” Lionel said.

  “Well, he would have known something about Mrs. Carpenter’s state of mind.”

  “If that’s true, then you’re in danger,” Kevin said to Lionel.

  “Yes,” I said, “and how come you were a witness?”

  Lionel blushed. “I was dating Barry at the time.”

  “And how could he sign it,” Pepe asked, “if he had a stake in the outcome?”

  “Well, he didn’t have a stake in the outcome until now,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s true,” said Kevin, with a sigh, sliding one arm around Lionel’s waist. “No one would have known that you would benefit from Boswell’s estate.”

  “Except Boswell,” Pepe pointed out.

  “Except Boswell,” I said.

  Lionel cringed, then got thoughtful. “Well, if that’s true, then that would make the trust invalid, wouldn’t it?”

  My heart sank. We had just scored a point for the other side.

  “Yes, but now we don’t need Lucille’s money,” Kevin pointed out. “You’ve got all the money from Boswell, plus his house.”

  “And his cat,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Yes, his cat is at the pound with your name on his cage. They’re expecting you to come by and pick him up.”

  Lionel groaned. “But Kevin’s allergic to cats.”

  “Maybe you can take him back to Boswell’s house temporarily
, until you figure out what to do with him,” I suggested. “Or, better yet, why don’t you put him in my room. I’m not allergic to cats. I have one at home.” Albert should be arriving, along with Felix, in a few hours.

  “Good idea,” said Kevin.

  “Your sister mentioned that she had a big fight with you,” I said to Kevin. “Can you tell me about that?”

  He looked embarrassed. “It was no big deal. We just have different opinions about Lucille. She’s entitled to her opinion. I have mine. She didn’t want me helping Julian. And I thought that if I helped Julian overturn the trust, that would help her.” He looked at Lionel. “And us, of course.”

  “So you were willing to say Lucille Carpenter was crazy?”

  “Well, she was crazy,” said Kevin harshly. “She left all her money to her dogs!” He looked at Pepe. “No offense, little fellow. I like dogs!”

  “No offense taken,” said Pepe, “as long as you never call me ‘little fellow’ again!”

  “And you?” I asked Lionel. “Did you think she was crazy?”

  “She was a bit eccentric,” he said. “She would come to visit Boswell and bring all of her dogs. Then she would spend all her time talking to the dogs instead of to Boswell. It was almost like she believed they were actually speaking to her.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “You know, stuff like,” he imitated the higher register of an old lady’s voice, “Henry says he wants another bite of that delicious pâté!”

  “Did her dogs ever say anything more intelligent?” I asked.

  “That’s pretty intelligent,” said Pepe.

  “No,” said Lionel. “Just mostly requests for creature comforts. The sort of things people pretend their dogs are saying.”

  “If only they could handle the reality of our opinions,” said Pepe.

  Chapter 40

  Jimmy G woke up feeling like he could hardly move. His mouth was dry, the light was too bright, and something was making an irritating thumping sound. He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but was met by some kind of wall that hemmed him in. Only then did he realize that he was in the backseat of his car. The “wall” was the white leather upholstery that was now smack in his face. And of course he felt cramped—his six-foot frame was wedged into a space less than five feet long.