by Diana Orgain
I stared at her, suddenly nervously aware that she’d been standing over Dan when I’d arrived.
Indeed. I could be looking at the killer.
A humming sound filled the room, causing us both to jump, and the dog, a Yorkshire terrier, to bark.
It was the refrigerator coolant system kicking on.
Something warm and wet hit my ankle. I gasped at the sensation and looked down. The small dog barked excitedly at me.
“Ewwww!” I yelped.
The woman laughed nervously and bent to scoop him up. “Beepo! Naughty, naughty.” She turned to me. “I’m so sorry. Beepo’s never done anything like that before in his life!”
Beepo eyed me with his big, brown, watery eyes, in that way that dogs have that made me feel like he could read my mind. He’d known that for a split second I’d suspected his owner of something heinous.
The woman pressed the small dog to her chest. “We must call the police,” she said, continuing on with her theatrical whisper.
I figured if no one had rushed out of the restrooms at us, then we were probably alone with the body. I moved around to the back of the bar and released the Meat and Greet bag onto the floor. I grabbed the phone and punched in 9-1-1, then snatched a bar towel and wiped my ankle.
The 9-1-1 operator answered. “What is the nature of your emergency?”
“We need the police over at The Wine and Bark immediately,” I said, tossing the soiled rag on the floor.
“Oh? Rachel? This is Jen. What’s happened? A robbery?” the operator asked.
Even though Pacific Cove was a small town, I’d barely met anyone in my few weeks here. Rachel, on the other hand, probably knew everyone in town, even the 9-1-1 operator, it seemed.
“Not Rachel. This is her sister, Maggie. We have a dead body here.”
The operator gasped. “A dead body? Are you sure? Did you check for a pulse?”
I looked up at the woman who was hovering by the door of the bar. “Did you check for a pulse?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No,” I admitted into the phone.
“Check for a pulse. I’ll hold,” the operator said.
“Can you check for a pulse?” I called to the woman.
She gasped. “Oh no! I’m not touching him.”
“All right, you come talk to 9-1-1,” I said.
She reluctantly came around the bar, still clutching the dog, who growled at me as they approached. “Hush now, Beepo.” She took the phone from me. “Jen? It’s Yolanda. Maggie’s going to check for a pulse. It’s Dan, you know? I came over early to meet with Rachel … no, I don’t know where she is.…”
I approached the man on the floor. Next to his bloody bashed head was an oversized bottle of wine.
Dear God!
Someone had clobbered him in the head and the blow had killed him. What kind of person would do something like that?
I knelt beside him and closed his eyes with my fingers, sighing at the loss of life. He was definitely dead, there was no need to take a pulse, but I grabbed his wrist anyway. When I lifted his arm slightly I saw a paper on the floor, trapped under the man’s coat.
What was this?
I grabbed the slip of paper and saw Rachel’s name on it. It was probably nothing and yet my stomach seemed to fill with dread.
I glanced toward Yolanda; she was still chatting with the operator. Almost without thinking, I shoved the paper into my pocket.
Yolanda looked up. “Anything?” she asked, sounding almost hopeful.
I shook my head.
“Just the police then, Jen. We don’t need an ambulance,” Yolanda said. “Oh, you send one anyway?” She was silent for a moment, then said, “Right, right. No sirens.”
Yolanda hung up and stared at me grimly. “I’m so sorry about this, Maggie. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “This is awful.”
“Where is Rachel?” Yolanda asked.
I wished I knew. Why had Rachel suddenly decided, mysteriously, to leave town?
I glanced toward the restrooms, the paper burning a hole in my pocket. I stood. “Um. She’s out of town. I’m going to check the restroom.”
Yolanda’s free hand thumped against her chest. Beepo’s legs cycled rapidly, alarm coursing through his tiny body. “Oh God! I forgot about that. Should you? I mean what if someone’s hiding…”
I waved a hand at her, hoping she would take it as a sign to calm down and, more importantly, shut up. For God’s sake, it was bad enough to find a dead body, did I have to be assaulted by a chatterbox, too?
Now that was mean. I just need a minute of quiet to think.
“I’m sure there’s no one in there, Yolanda. I’m gonna check the window and stuff.”
Yolanda came around the bar, squaring her shoulders. “I should go with you. Safety in numbers and all that.”
I shook my head. “No, no. I…” What could I say to this woman?
I have to be alone to read this note and see if my sister is involved in a murder?
“Uh…” I faltered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Yolanda’s face softened. “Oh, honey.” She marched toward me, Beepo yelping and snarling as she got closer. She linked her free arm through mine. “I’ll hold your hair.”
I released her arm from mine. “I can manage.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. It is an awful, gruesome sight.”
“I’ll be okay. I need a minute.” I took a step away from her and toward the corridor that led to the restrooms. She still seemed to want to follow me. “Why don’t you pour yourself a brandy?” I suggested.
Yolanda looked at me thoughtfully, then glanced back at the bar. “Yes, you know, I think you have the right idea. A brandy. I’ll pour two. We’ve had quite a shock.”
I nodded, keeping an eye on her as I pressed against the restroom door with my hip. When she seemed suitably distracted, I ducked into the bathroom and yanked the piece of paper out of my pocket.
Oh crap!
It was a letter from Dan to Rachel. I scanned it. Due to customer complaints, as the manager of DelVecchio’s, he was threatening to file charges against The Wine and Bark for serving alcohol to minors, serving alcohol after hours, and becoming a “disorderly house.” Next to each charge was a reference code to the Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control regulations along with a possible penalty of a fine or imprisonment.
In addition, there was a reference to a violation of the Environmental Health Statute 114030 regarding the harboring of animals inside a food facility.
I shoved the note back into my pocket, suddenly feeling hot, nauseous, and claustrophobic all at the same time.
Oh God, I was going to be sick, after all.
I tugged at my shirt trying to fan my face. It gave me no relief, so I opened the bathroom window, then ran the water in the sink.
I stuck my head under the faucet and let the water run down the back of my neck.
Breathe, Maggie. Everything is going to be fine.
Surely Rachel didn’t kill this guy.
Even if their fling ended badly and she didn’t like him anymore.
Even if he was … threatening her.…
Okay, so she had a motive, but …
I turned my head toward the water, letting it pour directly into my ear, hoping it would drown out the memory of the sound of Rachel’s voice as I recalled her famous joke, “Good friends will help you move, but a sister will help you move a body.”
Chapter Three
A commotion was building outside in the bar area. Beepo was yapping relentlessly, Yolanda was alternating between calm, soothing tones that I guessed were directed at Beepo and a high-pitched, nervous tone that I figured was directed at the baritone voice that was cutting in and out. Obviously, the police had arrived.
I cringed. I had to get myself together.
Why had I called the police before figuring out Rachel’s involvement?
I turned my face into the stream of water and drank unabashedly from the faucet. The water did nothing to relieve my nausea.
And what the hell was I going to do about the letter?
How many copies were out there? Fortunately, the guy hadn’t cc’d anyone on the letter, but he had to have a copy on his computer. If he’d threatened closing down Rachel’s bar, I could only imagine how angry she’d be.
But even still … she would have challenged him … or hired a lawyer … or something, but she wouldn’t have bashed him in the head with her best bottle of merlot!
I ran the water through my hair, then turned off the faucet and straightened. I evaluated myself in the mirror. Not only did I look like a drowned rat, but the color had completely drained from my face. Worse still, I looked like I had something to hide.
Prying open the door, I peeked out into the corridor.
The body was still sprawled across the sienna-colored terra-cotta. Disappointment wracked my body.
What? Had I been hoping the dead guy had been a figment of my imagination?
Yolanda was chatting with a tall uniformed officer with his back toward me.
He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and when he turned toward the sound of the creaking door, I froze.
In his hand was a sheet of paper.
Could it be a copy of the letter?
How?
I cleared my throat nervously.
Yolanda smiled at me. “Maggie, come meet Officer Brooks.”
Officer Brooks leveled his gaze on me. My legs turned to Jell-O as I stared back at his electric-blue eyes and square jaw.
Crap! Crap!
This was no time to be thinking of igniting my nonexistent love life. This was the time to focus! Focus on getting that damn paper out of his hand. Focus on getting Rachel out of hot water. Even if she had dumped the bar on me, I still owed her that much at the very least.
I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out.
Officer Brooks stepped toward me, shoving the paper into his back pocket.
Shoot!
“Maggie?” he asked. “I understand you found the body here, along with Yolanda. You have a key to the front door?”
Wait a minute. That was wasn’t right. I found the body with Yolanda? No, she was here first. She found the body. I found her straddling the body.
He was close to me, maybe only a few feet away, yet his voice sounded distant. I shook my head, thinking it would help my hearing, but now there seemed to be something wrong with my eyes, too, as if suddenly I had no peripheral vision … as if suddenly things were closing in on me.
My hand shot out to the wall, knocking into the row of famous dog portraits. The framed photos banged against each other, sending the 8 by 10 of Gidget, the Taco Bell Chihuahua, crashing to the floor. The autographed portrait of Rin Tin Tin was safe, luckily.
I steadied myself against the space vacated by Gidget and pressed my cheek into cool stucco. I pulled at my shirt collar again, trying to breathe deeply.
No, no, no.
Not a panic attack. I hadn’t had one of those since … since …
Oh no, don’t think of that! Think of the letter. Think of Rachel.
Focus!
My knees began to buckle and rational thought abandoned me. The pressing issue became getting air. I pulled at my shirt again, trying to fan my face. I was burning up.
I had to get my shirt off.
The restroom suddenly looked miles away.
I groaned.
Officer Brooks was at my side, his hand on my elbow. “Hey, are you all right there?”
“So hot,” I said.
He smiled a lopsided grin. “I get that a lot.”
“What?” I asked, tugging at the bottom of my shirt and pulling it up toward my face. The dim-witted thought of what bra I had on flashed through my mind.
He pulled my shirt back down. “Whoa, whoa. What are you doing?”
“No air,” I mumbled, trying to fan myself and wrestle my top off at the same time.
Yolanda appeared next to us. She batted my hands away from my shirt and slinked her arm around my waist. Officer Brooks joined her and together they ushered me toward a bar stool.
I wrapped my arms around their waists.
Wait! Wait!
My hand was right up above his back pocket … right next to the letter in his pocket. My finger grazed the paper.
Think, Maggie, think. Focus.
I tried to command my fingers to close on the paper, to grasp it, pinch it, whatever it took! But my fine motor—oh, who was I kidding, even my gross motor functions had totally shut down. We reached a bar stool and I flopped onto it, nearly toppling over.
Officer Brooks steadied me, then said, “Put your head down.” Hands guided my head between my knees.
I gulped in air. My racing heart slowed a bit and my vision improved.
I chanced to put my head up, but a strong hand firmly kept it in place. “Not yet,” the baritone said.
Oh, my hearing was better, too.
Now, how to get the letter?
I took a deep, calming breath.
Beepo appeared beneath my nose. We were eye to eye, nose to nose. He bared his teeth. I bared mine. He growled. I growled back at him.
The hand lifted from my head. “Did you just growl?” Officer Brooks asked.
I kept my head down.
“Jen said she was going to send an ambulance. Maybe they can give her oxygen or something when they get here,” Yolanda said.
I raised my head. “I’m fine.”
Yolanda’s hand fluttered to her chest. “No, you’re not. We’ve had a big shock and you nearly passed out.”
I glanced at Officer Brooks and caught him studying me. I self-consciously smoothed down my wet hair.
A smile played around his eyes, and he said, “You’re Rachel’s sister?”
I nodded.
“Where is she?” he asked. “Have you called her and told her about Dan?”
I swallowed past the dry spot in my throat. “No,” I muttered.
He nodded. “Okay, good. Let’s keep it that way for a bit. This is a small town and I want to be able to control the information for as long as I can.” He gave Yolanda a meaningful look. “Let me notify the next of kin before word gets out, okay?”
Yolanda stroked her collarbone, a strange expression on her face. As if she didn’t know whether she should be offended at being called the town gossip or take it as a compliment. She seemed to decide on taking it as a compliment, because she reached out and squeezed Officer Macho’s forearm. “You can count on me,” she said.
I stood and crossed behind the bar, hoping to put some distance between them and myself. “I’m going to pour myself a drink now.”
Officer Brooks raised a hand. “Hold on. I’m going to have to ask you not to touch anything back there. This is a crime scene.”
“Oh! I already poured one for her,” Yolanda said, managing to look contrite while batting her eyelashes at him.
I picked up the half-full brandy and raised it toward her. “Thank you.” I smiled at Officer Brooks. “Drinking a bit of brandy is not against the law, is it?”
Officer Brooks’s eyes narrowed in response.
Beepo came around to the back of the bar. I expected him to snarl at me, but instead he sat down on his hind legs and watched me.
“So, where did you say Rachel was?” Officer Brooks asked.
I sipped the brandy, enjoying the smooth burn down my throat. “Uh,” I hesitated. “She’s out of town. I’m in charge of the bar. Um. Until she returns.”
Officer Brooks frowned, and for a moment he looked like he was going to say something but then seemed to think better of it and simply nodded. He walked toward the body and asked, “Did either of you touch him?”
“Oh no, I didn’t touch him. Why would I touch him?” Yolanda squawked.
Beepo’s triangle-shaped ears perked up when he heard Yolanda and he imme
diately got up and moved out from behind the bar to go to her. I looked at the spot he’d left vacant. The Meat and Greet bag had been torn into and lay in shreds on the floor.
Figures the dog took advantage of our distraction and had himself a killer meal.
“Did you touch the body, Maggie?” Officer Brooks asked.
“I did. I took his pulse,” I said.
“Oh! Yes, poor thing! You did! That’s probably what sent you right over the edge,” Yolanda said.
“Did you move him at all?” Officer Brooks asked.
“Uh … I just lifted his arm to try and take the pulse, that’s all,” I said.
Officer Brooks looked from the body to me. His eyes held mine for a moment, then I broke the connection and sipped the brandy.
“And I closed his eyes,” I said. “They were open. He had a dead, you know, a dead glazed look.” I sighed and shrugged.
Officer Brooks nodded. “Uh huh. What about the wine bottle? Anyone touch that?”
Yolanda and I exchanged looks.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t touch it.”
I eyed her cautiously, a chill raising goosebumps on my arms. I hadn’t seen her touch the bottle, that much was true, but she’d been standing over the body when I got here. She’d said the back door had been open. Why would both the back and the front door be left unlocked? It made no sense.
And what exactly had she said to Officer Brooks while I was trying to wash away past sins in the bathroom?
I realized that Officer Brooks was waiting for my response.
“I didn’t touch it, either,” I said.
The front door opened and a wiry man wearing spectacles popped his head inside. “Got a call from dispatch,” he said.
Officer Brooks waved him in. “Come on in, Henry.”
Henry was wearing coveralls, but he had such a young, fresh-faced boyish look that it was difficult to think of him as a crime scene tech. He nodded toward Yolanda and me, while he crossed the length of the bar toward the body.
“I’m going to cordon off the bar,” Officer Brooks said as he motioned to Yolanda and me to follow him out the door.
“Wait! What do you mean cordon off the bar? I’m supposed to open in—” I glanced at my watch.
Crap! Almost 5:00 P.M. Yappy Hour!
