The Dogfather

by Sparkle Abbey

  I didn’t see Quinn right away. I took the opportunity to nonchalantly view the merchandise with a fresh eye. Even though it wasn’t Grey’s investigation, I wondered if there was anything I could make a note of to move it along a little quicker. It was hard to know what would be helpful when neither he nor Agent James had shared details.

  Grey had mentioned that counterfeit purses were a booming industry and that it was difficult to intercept the products as they entered the country. Usually, it was easier to pinpoint counterfeits because they were priced significantly lower than the real purses. If the Reeds were dealing in counterfeit merchandise, they were expecting full price. I roamed the display case along the wall, checking price tags. All the prices were Laguna Beach appropriate.

  I pulled out my phone and took a picture of an Alexander McQueen’s skull clutch. I had one exactly like it in my closet. This one looked just like mine, but if I was ever able to tell if a handbag was counterfeit this would be the one.

  I’d just taken the photo when Quinn asked from behind me, “What are you doing?”

  My heart jumped into my throat. I fumbled my phone, almost dropping it. “I was telling a friend about this bag. I thought I’d take a photo so she could see what I was talking about.”

  “We don’t allow photos. Delete it,” she ordered.

  I managed to calm my racing pulse. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t. The designer showcases his entire line on his website.”

  Her lips twisted disapprovingly. “Then find them there.”

  What was that saying? “The lady protests too much”? Made me believe she was hiding something. There was no way I was deleting that photo now. I set out to distract her from the photo.

  “Your friend Leo has taken a liking to my associate, Betty.”

  “Really? The one with . . .” She touched her eyebrows. I nodded. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips. “Good, she can keep him out of my hair.”

  “That will be difficult if he’s buying your store.” I launched my own version of Operation Shock and Awe.

  She sucked in a breath. “Is that what he told you?”

  I nodded. “Just a short time ago. He stopped by to see Betty.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. Heightened emotion could cause people to speak the truth before they had time to filter their thoughts.

  “Well, that’s not happening.” She spun around and yelled toward the upstairs, “Evan! Get down here. Now.”

  I flinched at the animosity in her voice. I searched the store, watching the other customers. A couple of them stared in our direction, wide-eyed with curiosity. There was no way they’d leave anytime soon.

  Evan ran down the metal stairs. He held his glasses in place as he rushed to Quinn’s side. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “Have you found any paperwork supporting Leo’s claim that Mason promised to sell him the store?”

  He gulped and glanced at me before answering. “No, not yet.”

  “I knew it.” Her green eyes sharpened with determination. “That’s because there isn’t anything. A verbal agreement with a dead man won’t hold up in court. The store is mine.”

  I half expected a victorious cackle to explode from her mouth while thunder shook the building. The handful of customers who remained buzzed excitedly in hushed tones.

  “If he comes in here again making these foolish claims, call the police and have him thrown off the premises,” she ordered Evan.

  Wow. Cold. Although if someone was trying to take my only means of making a living, I might sound eerily similar.

  He adjusted his glasses. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Sure thing.” He turned to head upstairs. Quinn grabbed his arm and stopped him.

  “About the other matter?”

  He looked in my direction nervously. “You want to discuss this now?” he squeaked.

  Her eyes widened as if she was attempting to silently communicate something of importance. “Yes, Evan. I want her out of my hair, too.”

  “Well, Mason decided he didn’t want the painting anymore and wanted to return it.”

  “Yes, yes. You’ve already said that.” She waved her hand, dismisssing the explanation. “But Mel has informed me that it came with an appraisal for insurance purposes. So why would Mason ask for another one?” She tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” Evan’s voice cracked under the pressure.

  Before I could refute this comment, Quinn said, “Grey Donovan is her ex. She should know how it works. Let me ask you again. Why did Mason want the appraisal?”

  He cleared his throat. “Like I said, he decided not to keep it. He, ah, tried to sell it, but they told him it was a fake.”

  “Who told him that?” I asked. Why would Mason change his mind about owning the art piece two months after purchasing it?

  “I’m not sure.”

  Quinn crossed her arms. “Hogwash. Mason ran everything past you. You know more about my financial situation than I do.”

  Judging from the intense scrutiny she was dishing Evan’s way, that was about to change.

  “Put the ledger and balance sheets on my desk within the hour. I’m going to review the books myself. I want to know exactly what’s going on with my money.”

  Evan blanched. “I’d be happy to review the books—”

  “I don’t need you to audit the books. I’ll do it myself. And trust me, if I find one penny missing, I’ll be looking for an explanation.”

  Judging by Evan’s expression, he had a lot of explaining ahead of him. He skittered back upstairs.

  With the drama over, the majority of customers scattered from the store, eager to report the happenings to their friends. We watched them scatter out the front door like cockroaches in the daylight.

  Quinn gasped.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I suggested in what I hoped was a helpful, concerned tone. “You can’t control the gossiping. Give it a few weeks and a new scandal will become top news.”

  “I think I saw a ghost,” she said in a hushed voice. Her unnaturally pale face worried me. Was she going to pass out?

  “Maybe you should sit down,” I suggested.

  I followed her line of vision. A group of people dawdled outside the store, faces pressed against the window. I assumed they were looking at the purses, but judging by Quinn’s bizarre reaction, I was wrong.

  “Who did you see?”

  She raced to the door and threw it open. With a loud gasp, the crowd backed away from the crazy lady. Good call on their end.

  Quinn frantically looked in both directions. “Go away,” she shouted. “Leave me alone.”

  Hell’s Bells. Who had the power to scare Ice Queen Quinn?

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE FOLLOWING morning, I met Darby at the Koffee Klatch at nine o’clock. We sat outside on the small patio facing PCH, enjoying the cloudless, blue sky and our morning caffeine. I breathed in the fresh salty air rolling off the ocean, energized to conquer the day.

  A steady stream of people flowed along the sidewalk across the street toward downtown. Although the crowds were a mixture of locals and tourists, the locals were easy to identify by their dark tans and lack of beach arsenal.

  I leaned back on the wrought-iron patio chair and turned my attention to my best friend. “You look fantastic this morning. Love the outfit.”

  Darby wore a cute canary-yellow maxi dress with white Keds sneakers. She’d tucked her blond curls under a straw hat that I wasn’t sure how she managed to keep on her head. It was impressive. I felt a bit underdressed in my plain off-the-shoulder tee and skinny jeans.

  She smiled. “Thanks. Have you replaced the boots Missy destroyed?”

  “Not yet.” I set my chai on the multicolored mosaic-tile table top. �
��Tell me about your breakfast date with Colin.”

  She grinned self-consciously. “First tell me why you were at Grey’s house yesterday.”

  “How did you know about that?” I kept my voice light.

  “How do you think?”

  Loose Lips Betty, of course. I searched for the right words to describe my current relationship with Grey that were believable without lying to my best friend.

  “With Grey spending more time at the boutique, Betty’s been pushing us together. I guess her pain-in-the-butt efforts have sort of paid off. With so much history between us, we thought we’d try one last time to see if we could work things out.”

  She watched me cautiously. “That seems reasonable. And not exactly like you. But I like your thoughtful approach.”

  “Well, maybe I’m just maturing as a person.” I laughed. “Okay your turn. What’s going on between you and Colin? How was your breakfast date?”

  Darby blushed. “It’s going fine. The date was enjoyable.”

  I tossed a crumpled napkin across the table. “Oh, no, no, no. That is not good enough. I want details.”

  “Maybe later.” She lowered her voice. “Any news on Mason’s death?”

  I sighed. “Grey is still a person of interest. I talked to Malone. He said the police are leaning toward Mason being pushed.”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Betty was right.” Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper.

  “Good grief, don’t tell her that. She’s already difficult. Did she tell you about wanting to be a private investigator?”

  “She’s serious?”

  I nodded. “Afraid so.”

  Over Darby’s shoulder, I caught a glimpse of a very tall blond with a long braid swaying across her back on the opposite side of the street. I leaned forward for a better look.

  Darby looked behind her. “What are you looking at?”

  “It’s her.” I jumped up, the feet of my chair scraping the cement. “Come on.”

  She stood. “Who? Where are we going?”

  I tossed my half-empty cup in the trash. “Amazon Barbie. I don’t want her to get away.” I took off in the direction I’d seen Amazon Barbie walking, watching for a break in traffic.

  Darby chased after me, one hand pressing her hat on her head, the other carrying her mocha latte.

  We darted across the street, cars honking at us.

  “Who’s Amazon Barbie?” Darby asked, gasping for air as we weaved between people jogging up the street.

  I didn’t answer. I kept charging forward, pushing past the clusters of people. I jumped to the side as a young skateboarder whizzed past us. We’d raced about half a block when I realized I’d lost her. We stopped in front of a local liquor store.

  Once I’d caught my breath, I explained. “She’s the woman who was with Betty when Mason was found at the bottom of the staircase.”

  Darby looked confused. “Her name is Amazon Barbie?”

  “That’s what Betty called her, and it kinda stuck. Her name is actually Bree Young.”

  Darby tossed her empty cup into the trash can near the front door of the liquor store. “Why are we chasing her?”

  “I wanted to talk to her.”

  “So you’re going to chase her down the street? That’s not creepy or anything.”

  I sighed. I was coming off rather desperate. Or crazy. I knew from past experience, Malone wouldn’t consider Grey innocent until he found proof convincing him otherwise.

  “Where do you think she disappeared to?” Darby asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe into one of the businesses?”

  We walked up the street another block, peering through each business’s windows as we passed. We didn’t find her.

  Darby pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her curls. “I don’t see her.”

  That’s when I saw the official Channel 5 News vehicle parked up the street in front of the Mediterranean bistro. MacAvoy. “Come on. I think I know where she is.”

  We power-walked to the restaurant. Without a second thought or a plan on what to say, I yanked open the door and stepped inside. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.

  “Do you see MacAvoy?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Finally, I found them in the back of the restaurant, near the window facing the ocean. Bree Young and Callum MacAvoy sat at a four-person table, heads together, conversing. Mr. TV’s dark chinos and white polo shirt blended in to the crowded bistro. But the TV station’s logo, proudly embroidered on the front of his shirt, had caught my eye.

  “Gotcha, Mr. TV.”

  I grabbed Darby’s hand and dragged her through the bistro toward them, never taking my eyes off the blond in teal-colored yoga pants and silver crop top. I pulled out the chair next to MacAvoy and sat down. Darby next to Bree.

  I flashed my own version of a megawatt grin in the reporter’s direction. “MacAvoy, imagine running in to you here.”

  He grunted, dismayed by our arrival. “Melinda. Darby. What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you.” I focused on Bree across the table. She was younger than I’d originally thought, maybe mid-twenties.

  I waited for Mr. TV to make introductions. His fake tan must have killed off the brain cells managing his social graces. When he remained silent, I took matters into my own hands. “Hello, I’m Melinda. This is my bestie, Darby.”

  She smiled cautiously. “I’m Bree. You look familiar. Have we met before?” she asked me.

  Darby eyed me. I knew what she was thinking, that Bree had noticed us following her.

  “Her ex-fiancé, Grey Donovan, is the prime suspect in Mason’s murder.” MacAvoy didn’t waste any time throwing Grey and me under the bus.

  She cocked her head. “No, that’s not it.” She tapped a finger on her bottom lip. “I remember.” She pointed at me. “You were with that crazy old lady when we found Mason.”

  I wasn’t offended. Next to Betty, everyone was forgettable. “And you disappeared before anyone could talk to you. Where did you run off to in such a hurry?”

  She looked at me and then Darby. “I’ve already talked to the police.”

  MacAvoy rolled his eyes. “She fancies herself a private investigator of sorts.”

  “No more than you fancy yourself an investigative reporter.”

  Darby groaned.

  I’d never win Mr. TV to my side if I baited him, but I didn’t really need him on my side. I needed Bree.

  Darby smiled at Bree. “Don’t mind them. They haven’t learned how to play well with each other yet.”

  A waitress stopped at the table with a coffee for MacAvoy and lemon water for Bree.

  “So are you two on a date or is this an official interview?” I asked once the waitress left.

  Bree stared wide-eyed at MacAvoy.

  He ripped open two packets of sugar and dumped them in his mug. “It’s really none of your business. Don’t you have a dog collar to sell?” He grabbed a spoon to stir his coffee.

  “You made it my business when you broadcasted a false story implicating Grey in a crime he did not commit.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “He sent you to do his dirty work?”

  “Really? That’s what you think? You need to get your facts straight.”

  He swiveled in his chair to face me, blowing coffee breath in my face. “The fact is, Melinda, he was seen at the scene of the crime shortly before Mason was killed.”

  “That doesn’t mean he entered the building or that he even spoke to Mason,” I argued. “And how do you know your source is credible?”

  MacAvoy’s gaze flickered in Bree’s direction. She squirmed in her seat.

  I narrowed my eyes and studied the tall blond across from
me. “You’re his source? The person who was at the scene when the victim was found at the bottom of the stairs.” I turned to the side and looked at MacAvoy, shocked. “Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.”

  He shrugged. “She isn’t protecting someone.”

  “You don’t think she’s protecting herself?” Darby’s logical tone wasn’t incriminating, yet it was very direct.

  Bree waved her hands in the air getting our attention. “Hello, can I talk?” She cleared her throat. “Actually, Mr. MacAvoy, that’s why I wanted to meet you.”

  All eyes turned to her.

  She looked uncomfortable. “Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I don’t think it was Grey Donovan I saw.” Her apologetic tone didn’t appease MacAvoy.

  His face turned red. “What?”

  She pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and slipped it across the table. “I think it was him.”

  MacAvoy, not pleased by the turn of events, grudgingly accepted the paper and unfolded it. I gasped. It was a picture of Colin from his Dog Days website. My head snapped up, and I looked at Darby.

  “Are you sure?” MacAvoy and I asked at the same time. He looked as confused as I felt.

  “What’s wrong, Mel?” Darby bit her bottom lip.

  I grabbed the paper from MacAvoy’s grip and slipped it to Darby. She took one look, and all the blood drained from her face.

  “I-I don’t understand.” Her gaze bounced between the three of us.

  “Do you know him?” Bree asked.

  “These two obviously do.” MacAvoy yanked Colin’s photo back from Darby. “You’re sure this is who you saw?”

  “Yes. He was outside Hot Handbags the morning Mason was killed,” Bree stated with conviction.

  “No. That’s not true,” Darby exclaimed.

  “How do you know him?” MacAvoy asked again.

  I was all kinds of confused. Colin and Grey looked nothing alike. Sure, they were both tall and handsome, but that was where the similarities ended. Grey had dark hair, Colin sandy blond. Grey had an athletic build, Colin slender. Grey had a sexy, dangerous edge to him. Colin was . . . nice.