The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  “Bryan Goosling?” Judging by what Colin had named his dog, he could possibly be the perfect fit for Darby. “He likes chick flicks?”

  “He likes all types of movies. I’ll ask him to stop by the shop this afternoon. Talk to him. See what you think.”

  “Hey, I’ll try almost anything at this point. Not to change the subject, but my mother called last night, for an actual reason.”

  A horrified look crossed her face. “She’s coming to Laguna again?”

  My eyes widened in equal horror. “Thank the good Lord, no.”

  I sat up and set my feet on the cold concrete floor. A happy grin pulled at my lips. “I’m an auntie. I have a niece.”

  She jumped up and hugged me. “How exciting! Congratulations. Is the new little family coming for a visit?”

  I shook my head. “I’m going to Dallas at the end of the month.” I patted the couch for Darby to sit next to me. “Look, I was hoping you could do me a favor and keep an eye on Betty and the shop.”

  “Of course. I’ll check my schedule. How long will you be gone for?”

  “No more than a week if that works for you and Betty.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “You’re the best. I know Betty can be a handful. I was thinking about asking Grey to pop in too. You know she adores him and will do whatever he wants. What do you think?”

  Darby’s excited expression transformed into concern. “Is that the only reason you’d ask him to come by?”

  “What other reason would there be?”

  “I don’t know. What about him and Mason yesterday? Do you know what that was about?”

  I shook my head. “That’s the first I’d heard of anything underhanded with Mason. I have to tell you, I’ve always had my suspicions about him. He triggers my spidey senses. Grey and I may not be together anymore, but you and I know he’s an honorable guy, and would never try to pass off a copy as an original painting.”

  “But you obviously still care deeply for Grey. You freaked out when you thought Mason was going to hurt him with his cell phone.”

  I caught the laughter in her words. I cringed. “I might have overreacted.”

  “You think so?”

  “You know the break-ins have me on edge. And honestly, I would have reacted the same way if I thought you or Betty were in danger.” I could hear my own deflecting and backpedaling loud and clear.

  My cell rang, saving me from continuing to dig myself a deeper hole of denial. I grabbed the phone from my tote and checked caller ID.

  “It’s Betty. Probably calling with a new excuse for why she’s late. She’s up to something.”

  Darby laughed. “When isn’t she?”

  “Good point,” I mumbled. “I thought you were coming directly to the shop? What are you doing?” I spoke into the phone.

  “Cookie.” Betty’s animated voice blasted in my ear. “You’re never going to guess what I found.”

  “Hand sanitizer?” I deadpanned.

  I could hear her heavy breathing on the other end. It wasn’t her normal excited breathing. This was I-might-be-in-trouble type breathing. I caught Darby’s eye.

  She mouthed, “What?”

  I shrugged and mouthed back, “I don’t know.”

  “Betty, what’s going on?”

  Her voice raised a handful of octaves. “I wanted that check Mason promised. When I got to Hot Handbags, the door was unlocked even though they weren’t open for another hour. I figured they were having an early-bird sale so I moseyed inside. I could pick up the check and maybe a new handbag.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, there was no sale. I called for Mason, but he didn’t answer.”

  My stomach tightened. “And?” I prompted her to finish.

  “That’s when I saw Amazon Barbie bent over Mason’s dead body at the bottom of the stairs. He looked like a broken mannequin.”

  Chapter Three

  I RUBBED MY hand over my face. Betty excitedly described the mysterious Amazon Barbie who she was certain was a shoplifter or part of the Bash n’ Dash break-ins. I shoved my feet in my flats, jumped off the couch, and grabbed my purse. Darby looked at me a bit confused.

  “Betty, take a breath.” I turned to Darby and said, “Mason’s dead. I’ll fill you in later.” I rushed out the door.

  “I hope you called the police before you called me,” I said back to the phone.

  “Of course I did!” Betty defended. “Officer Hostas is already here. I overheard him say the victim fell down the stairs—”

  “Do not touch Mason. I’m on my way.”

  Betty sighed. “I know my way around a body. It’s not me you should worry about. It’s that Amazon blond hunched over him. She wouldn’t stop touching him. Slapped his cheek, shook his shoulders. Hey, the cops can’t be mad at me for messing with their crime scene. It was all her.”

  I rushed up the street toward the Hot Handbags boutique for the second time in as many days. “Crime scene? I thought you just said he’d fallen down the stairs.”

  “Exactly. Otherwise, I would have called Detective Hottie.”

  “If it’s an accident, it’s not a crime scene.” I could hear a commotion of some type in the background. “Look, I’m almost there. Why don’t you meet me outside?”

  “I think I’ll just stay right where I am and keep an eye on Amazon Barbie. She’s sketchy.” Betty ended the call before I could protest.

  I know she said it was an accident, and I had witnessed Quinn stumble on the last couple of steps just the day before, but I couldn’t help wondering if Mason’s death had anything to do with the break-ins. Did he stumble across an intruder? I didn’t know him well enough to know if he had any enemies, or who Amazon Barbie was that Betty kept referring to, but she wasn’t his wife.

  By the time I made it to Hot Handbags, Officer Hostas’s partner was outside keeping people out of the store. I slowed my pace, catching my breath and working out an explanation for my presence.

  Apparently, I didn’t need an excuse. As soon as he saw me he said, “Your girl Betty is inside, and she refuses to come out. Grab her and take her back to your store.”

  Yes, he recognized me.

  I told him I’d be happy to take my assistant off his hands and quickly slipped inside before he changed his mind about letting me enter.

  Betty was a short gal, barely five feet, with white curly hair. Easy to pick out when she was around people her size. At times like this, when everyone towered over her, it was hard to see where she could possibly be.

  I spotted several uniformed police who milled around the store. I immediately recognized the woman Betty referred to as Amazon Barbie. She stuck out like a nylon duffle bag hanging with a handful of expensive leather shoulder purses. Amazon Barbie was the perfect description for the six-foot-something blond, with a thick braided rope of hair hanging down her back.

  I could hear Officer Hostas’s raised voice toward the back of the store. He was ordering someone—I assumed it was Betty—to stand back from Mason. As I got closer I realized it wasn’t Betty at all Officer Hostas was talking to, but Amazon Barbie.

  “Ma’am, I won’t ask again. Step. Back.” He puffed out his chest as he maneuvered between her and Mason’s body.

  “I told you, the cops don’t want you around their crime scene,” Betty said. “I know what I’m talking about. I have plenty of experience.”

  The other woman said, “It’s not a crime scene. He fell down the stairs. It’s obvious.”

  “If that were the case, he wouldn’t be lying on his face, now would he?” Betty whipped around and pinned Officer Hostas with a demanding look. “Tell her I’m right.”

  Hostas’s fat lips flattened into a grim line, refusing to answer. But that didn’t matt
er once Betty saw me making my way toward them.

  “Cookie!” She waved at me. “We need to call Detective Hottie right away. Mason didn’t fall down the stairs. He was pushed. Look at him.”

  I checked out Amazon Barbie first but didn’t recognize her. She didn’t look upset, but she didn’t look scared or disturbed either. Almost as if this wasn’t her first dead body. I looked behind Betty where Mason was sprawled, face down, at the bottom of the stairs. She wasn’t off on the mannequin description.

  This would take delicate handling. With the slightest hint that a crime had been committed, Betty would insist on “helping.”

  I cleared my throat. “You don’t know for a fact he was pushed . . . unless you witnessed it.”

  “Of course I didn’t see it. Duh! But I’ve watched enough of those cop shows to know that when people slip and fall down the stairs, they land on their backside. I’ve got twenty bucks that says he got pushed.”

  I hated to admit it, but Betty had an excellent point. I looked at Hostas and shrugged. He sighed in a way that sounded familiar—reminiscent of Homicide Detective Malone when he had had his fill of our unwanted theories.

  “What do you think?” I probed.

  “I have my suspicions. I’ve already called Malone. He’s on his way.”

  I took that for the fair warning it was. “Then this is a good time for us to get out of here. Come on, Betty, let’s go.”

  “I don’t want to miss seeing my future boyfriend. Besides I’m sure he’s going to want to ask me questions.” She pulled a compact mirror from her straw handbag and checked her hair and strawberry-red eyebrows.

  Oh, yes, he’d absolutely want to ask her questions. Probably along the lines of, “Why are you here? Do I need to arrest you or simply toss you in jail?” In Betty’s world, the only question the detective was interested in asking her was where she wanted to go for their first date.

  I was finally getting along with Detective Malone. If Mason’s death turned out not to be an accident, the last thing I wanted was to stick my nose in his business . . . and homicide was his business.

  I eyed Hostas. “If you’ve already called Malone, do you want Betty to stay here so he can question her or would you rather we wait for him at the shop?”

  Betty smiled seductively as she slipped closer to him. “Don’t you worry, Good-looking. I’ll stay out of the way. I’ll wait right over there by those Prada purses while you look at that paper Mason is clutching in his left hand.”

  We all turned and looked at the scrap of paper in his awkwardly clenched fist. I won’t lie; I was curious as to what, if anything, was jotted on the paper. I could make out a few numbers: five . . . seven . . . and possibly a nine.

  “They know how to do their job. Has anyone told Quinn?” I asked Officer Hostas.

  He reluctantly pulled his attention away from studying Mason. “Who’s Quinn?”

  “His wife. Yesterday she mentioned she had an appointment at the spa this morning, but I don’t know which one.”

  Betty scoffed. “That’s convenient.”

  I elbowed her. “Stop.”

  “Well it is,” she insisted. “We’ve solved plenty of murders to know the first suspect is always the spouse. Someone needs to drag her bony behind downtown and give her the third degree.”

  “‘Someone’ is not us. And if we were investigating, we’d start with Amazon Barbie. She’s the one you found hunched over Mason.” Sheesh! I had just said we needed to stay out of it, but the first line of questioning was so obvious, I couldn’t stop myself.

  At the mention of Amazon Barbie we all realized she had disappeared at some point. How had we not noticed?

  Betty pulled out a notebook from her handbag. “Oh, good point. We need to track her down. She’s giant-sized so she should be pretty easy to find. Have you thought about getting a PI license, Cookie? We could do it together.”

  “No,” Officer Hostas and I said simultaneously.

  I glared at him. “No need to be rude.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  I sighed. “Put your notepad away. We’re leaving this to the professsionals.”

  “Sheesh. They’re only professionals because they get paid. I could get paid, too. I’m good at investigations. I’m even better at undercover jobs. I know how to blend in to the crowd.”

  I choked back my disbelief at the claim coming from the woman who stood before us in bright-purple silky loungewear, pearls, and white running shoes.

  “You wouldn’t know how to blend in if you were invited to a pajama party,” Hostas muttered under his breath.

  What he said.

  THIS WASN’T HOW I imagined my day would begin. Coffee at nine a.m. Check. A friendly chat with my best friend at nine fifteen. Check. Drag Betty away from a possible crime scene at nine forty-five. Nope, that wasn’t top of mind.

  We managed to open the shop by eleven, believe it or not, regular business hours. In the hour we’d been open, a number of loyal customers had already stopped by. Unfortunately, they weren’t interested in purchasing anything. They all wanted the latest gossip. Betty had worked her magic and managed to convince two of them to purchase a bottle of pawlish and a couple of bags of gourmet dog treats.

  My stomach growled. I realized in all the activity this morning, I never ate breakfast. I still needed to tell Betty and Grey about my trip home.

  “Cookie, pay attention. I’m talking to you.” Betty snapped her thin fingers inches from my face.

  I backed away from Betty before she accidently poked me in the eye. “Sorry, I was thinking about lunch. I never asked you. Did you recognize the blond woman at the Reeds’ shop?” I asked, straightening the interactive toys.

  “Amazon Barbie? No. I’d remember her. She’s a big girl.”

  I silently agreed. About her being memorable. “I wonder who she is.” Her demeanor was noteworthy to me. The first time I’d found a dead body, I was a mess. She didn’t seem to be bothered.

  “Earth to Cookie!” Betty sighed. “Did you hear me tell ya about the treat jars?”

  “What about treat jars?”

  “I ordered some new ones a couple of weeks ago. The shipment should arrive today.”

  “How many?” I asked, not really sure I was ready to hear the answer.

  “Ladies,” a slick male voice greeted us.

  We were so engrossed in our conversation that neither of us heard the doorbell chime.

  Callum MacAvoy, local TV reporter for Channel 5 News stood in front of us with his TV-ready grin and annoying LA charm. Not only was he thirsty for fame, he was a pain in my backside.

  “Hubba hubba.” Betty wiggled her eyebrows. “Nice sports jacket.”

  Ugh. I wasn’t as impressed with him or his wardrobe choice of a purple plaid shirt and gray tweed jacket as horndog Betty was. It was supposed to hit eighty-four degrees today. The jacket was excessive.

  I met him in front of the rhinestone dog bowls in an attempt to keep him from getting too far into the shop. “Is there something I can do for you, MacAvoy?”

  He didn’t have a dog. He didn’t have a girlfriend who had a dog. And Bow Wow had not been broken into. That left the movie festival or Mason’s accidental death. For someone whose main motivation in life was to advance his career, his focus would be the latter.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Melinda. I heard you’re working on the movie festival for next month.”

  I wasn’t buying his attempt at social niceties for a second. “You’re leading with a fluff piece? Next you’ll tell me you’re tracking society weddings at the Montage.”

  He shot us a confident grin as he bypassed me and headed straight for Betty who stood behind the counter. “I can investigate multiple stories at once. I’m a talented guy.”

  I wanted to roll m
y eyes in exasperation, but I was afraid they might stick to the back of my head. His talent was overly exaggerated.

  He leaned against the counter attempting to project an air of trusted charm. “Since you brought it up,” he continued, undeterred by my annoyed silence, “have you heard anything new about the break-ins?”

  “No.”

  Betty zipped around the counter and shuffled up next to him. “Why don’t you ask me a question, Lover Boy?”

  He hesitated, looking a tad nervous. He returned his attention to me. “You answered rather quickly. Would you like to take a second to think about it?”

  “Not really.” I pushed past him and moved to the opposite side of the counter.

  “Is there something you don’t want me to know?” he asked.

  “You have quite the imagination.” I grabbed a spray bottle of surface cleaner and a rag, and proceeded to wipe down the counter top.

  “Cleaning up Hot Stuff’s cooties?” Betty quipped.

  Something like that.

  “MacAvoy, haven’t you learned by now that if you want to know something, just ask me.” I probably wouldn’t answer, but I’d respect him more if he was straightforward and not couch his questions in a manipulative manner.

  “Is that a yes? On the record?” He pulled out a voice recorder from his jacket pocket and shoved it under my nose.

  When he was this annoying there was only one way to get rid of him.

  “Oh, definitely.” A soft seductive smile teased the corners of my mouth. I leaned in and spoke clearly into the mini microphone. “I am not a police officer. I have no idea what direction the investigation is headed. And Callum MacAvoy is at his best when reporting on society fluff pieces. I wish he’d do more.”

  He shut off the recorder. “That was unnecessary.”

  Betty cackled. “She got you.”

  I tossed the cloth and bottle back under the counter. “Why are you here? Don’t you have an inside track or informant at the police station like all the other reporters?”

  “Never said I didn’t.” He flashed a devilish smile. “I heard the police had a sketch of the Bash ‘n Dash suspect.”