by Diana Orgain
Leaping out of bed, I slipped into a robe and dashed down the hall, hoping like hell it was my sister.
I pulled open the door to find Yolanda and Beepo. “Guess what!” she trilled. “My exhibitor application got accepted for Accessories The Show.”
Yolanda sauntered into my apartment with Beepo scratching along behind her. Her arms were full of gear, which she dumped on my couch. She was dressed in a mauve top, complete with ruffles, and a skintight black leather skirt.
“What? What show? What are you doing?” I rubbed at my eyes, willing my brain to click in.
“The Show—Las Vegas!” She said it like I was an idiot. She pulled out a doggie bed from the duffel bag on the couch, then marched over to a corner of my living room and set it on the floor. “Here or in the bedroom?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that is, Yolanda, but I—”
Yolanda stared at me, mouth agape. “It’s the world’s largest and longest-running all-accessory trade event!” she said.
“Oh, uh … congratulations. But I got sort of an emergency on my hands—”
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it. It’s where you go to see all the latest accessories from up-and-coming designers. From fashion jewelry to eyewear to footwear to hair ornaments and, of course, the latest in bags. Everything in bags! I’m telling you, evening, briefcases, daywear, and chickens! My chicken and frog bags are the latest, hottest, hot item! I’m talking red hot!” She grabbed my hands and spun me around. “Uber fantastique!”
“Yeah—”
“The thing is, I have to go to down there and check out the space. It’s very last-minute and I need to be back Friday for Yappy Hour and the Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser, so I’m not going to take Beepo.” She pulled out a tattered multicolored blanket from her duffel and handed it to me. “I need you to watch him while I’m gone—”
“What? No. Yolanda. I got my own problems right now—”
“Maggie! You have to. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”
“You’ll have other opportunities.”
She balled up her fist and stomped her foot like a peevish child. Beepo began to bark repeatedly at my feet.
“Hush,” I said, pointing a finger at him. He growled at me, then barked louder, finishing with an elongated growl. I ignored the dog and said, “Yolanda, last night Gus and I found one of the DelVecchio waiters dead. Oscar Ruiz. Do you know him? He worked the same shift as Yappy Hour on the patio.”
Yolanda face was curiously blank.
“Anyway…” I shoved the doggie blanket back into her duffel. “We found him dead behind the shared Dumpster last night. Shot in the back. Officer Brooks brought us in for questioning. He released me, but not Gus. I have to figure out what happened—”
Yolanda began to pad around my kitchen, Beepo circling her legs. “Don’t you have any coffee?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I guess I forgot to pick some up.”
Her hand fluttered over her heart and the look on her face said I’d just committed a mortal sin. Without saying a word, she rummaged in her bag again, pulling out the doggie bed and tossing it onto my couch. Next she yanked out her phone and clicked on the screen.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making a note to bring you some coffee.”
“I’m telling you about finding Oscar dead behind the Dumpster and all you care about is coffee?”
She looked offended. “Of course I care about Oscar. I care so much that I know I can’t listen properly until I’ve had more caffeine.”
I picked up the doggie bed and shoved it back into her duffel bag, exasperated.
“At least we know they got the guy responsible,” Yolanda shrieked. “I can’t wait to talk to Sergeant—”
“What do you mean? The guy responsible! Gus didn’t kill Oscar or Dan.”
“You don’t know that! He had plenty of reason to kill Dan. Those two always fought like cats and dogs!”
Beepo let out a howl and jumped into the duffel bag.
Yolanda scooped him out of the duffel and returned the bed to the corner of my living room. Beepo followed her and nosed his way into the bed. She crooned at him.
I retreated to my kitchen and dug out some tea bags. “I have black tea. That’s got caffeine, right?”
Yolanda made a face but said, “Fine.”
Putting on the kettle to boil, I asked, “What did Gus and Dan fight about?”
Yolanda sat on my kitchen stool and looked out the sliding glass patio doors to the ocean, as if the answer to my question was rolling out there under the powerful dark caps of the Pacific. She sighed. “Dan dated a lot of girls, you know. A playboy. I’ve never seen Gus on a date, not once. A guy that good looking…” She shrugged. “He’s gotta be gay.”
My heart lurched into my throat. “He isn’t gay!” I shrieked.
She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow at me. “R-e-a-lly?” she asked slowly, stretching out the word. “And you know this … how? I thought you were dating Officer Brooks.”
My face turned hot, and when the teakettle began to steam and screech, it felt like a kindred spirit. “Never mind about that. Brooks and I aren’t dating. We went on a date. One date. But even if you think Gus is gay, which he’s not, I don’t see what that has to with—”
“What makes you so sure?” Beepo jumped onto Yolanda’s lap. She narrowed her eyes at me, and Beepo’s ears quirked toward me.
“What?” I asked.
“What makes you so sure Gus DelVecchio isn’t gay?”
I pulled out my favorite mugs; they were white with the face of an owl lacquered on the front. I’d always considered them good luck. Hadn’t someone once told me owls were lucky? Well, at the very least they were wise, and I felt the need for wisdom at the moment. I popped in small bags of black tea and then poured the boiling water in. I handed a steaming mug to Yolanda.
Yolanda studied the owl. “These are great, by the way. Would you like a matching purse?”
I covered my face and laughed a hearty, big, stress-relieving laugh. “No! Who wants an owl purse?”
“Who, who,” Yolanda hooted.
We both began to laugh uncontrollably while Beepo growled.
“He doesn’t like my animal purses,” Yolanda confessed.
“Really? He’s jealous?” I looked at Beepo, who returned my stare with his own watery eyes. I suddenly felt a tug of affection for him.
“Jealous? Do you think that’s what it is?” Yolanda stroked his head, and he turned his attention to her. She looked back at me and whispered, “Anytime he sees one of my bags, he pees on it. That’s why I can’t carry one around myself.”
“Why are we whispering?” I whispered back to her.
Her eyes moved suggestively toward Beepo, and she continued on in a dramatic whisper. “I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
Beepo barked at us.
“See?” Yolanda said. “He knows what we’re saying!”
“Well, if he knows, then what difference does whispering make? He’s got the best hearing out of all of us.”
Beepo lost interest in our conversation and scratched his way over to his bed. He tucked himself in and looked out over the Pacific.
Yolanda and I sipped our tea in silence.
After a moment, I said, “Okay, tell me about Gus and Dan.”
“They fought about everything. Gus wanted Dan to put an end to Yappy Hour, said the dogs were killing his business.”
An unsettling feeling churned my stomach.
Was Gus the force behind the letter to Rachel citing ABC and health violations?
Yolanda twirled her hair as she sipped her tea. “Dan told me that he was trying to sell his piece of the business.”
“He did? He wanted to sell his half of DelVecchio’s?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Said he was tired of constantly fighting with Gus. They used to be such good friends, and then they went into business together and it sort of killed the friendship. Es
pecially when the business started to fail. They weren’t even able to make the payments to the Meat and Greet. Restaurants are so tough … low margins…”
“Who knew about Dan wanting to sell out?”
Yolanda shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably everybody. This a small town.”
Dread began to build inside me, a question forming that I didn’t want to ask. Yolanda’s eyes were on mine, almost warning me off. Then, as if I were watching a gruesome accident on the side of the road, one that’s so hard to turn away from, I faced the question between us.
“Who did Dan want to sell to?”
Yolanda cringed and shook her head.
The dread inside me grew to the point that my heart felt compressed in the process. I fingered the owl on my mug … not so lucky today … and its hooting echoed in my ears, the question of the day: who, who?
“Who?” I asked.
Yolanda grimaced. “Rachel. She wanted to buy Dan’s share of DelVecchio’s.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Rachel wanted to buy out Dan’s share of DelVecchio’s?” The shock reverberated throughout my body as if I’d been hit by a semitrailer. First, the internal organs feel the hit, blood rushing to your heart and head, leaving the limbs feeling numb and deadened. How much of what Rachel had really been up to did I know?
Yolanda pursed her lips. “Well, it was a good idea, right? She’d have a share in the business and then—”
“And then what? Force Gus out? Make it a doggie diner?”
Beepo yelped his protest from his little bed nestled against my window.
I buried my head in my hands. “This is awful, Yolanda. It gives Rachel even more motive to kill Dan.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Yolanda slammed her fist on my kitchen counter, and Beepo’s ears flapped up. “It gives Gus motive! He didn’t want Rachel ending up with half his business!”
“Well, the way she runs her life, I don’t blame him!” I said.
“So when Dan went into the bar to get Rachel to sign the paperwork, Gus followed him and thumped him on the head with the magnum bottle.”
I stared at Yolanda. “What paperwork?”
“The contract selling his share of the business to Rachel.”
“There was a contract?”
Yolanda worked her lip and shrugged.
“Was there a contract, Yolanda? Tell me what you know.”
She leveled a gaze at me, and Beepo came over as if sensing she needed his support. The bad feeling rumbling around my gut started to churn into determination. Had Yolanda shared her suspicions with Sergeant Gottlieb?
Is that why Gus was being held by the police?
So far nothing she’d said was conclusive, it was all hearsay, and certainly my type-A analytical personality needed more information. I was a by-the-numbers kind of gal. Things had to add up for me.
“I don’t actually know if there was a contract.” She scooped Beepo back into her lap and made a big show of kissing him. He licked at her lips. Finally, when she realized I’d wait out her dog-and-Yolanda show, she said, “It’s just stuff I heard.…”
“From who?” I asked.
Her eyes grew wide. A shot to the heart of every gossip is to ask them to reveal their source. She leaned in close, as if she expected the person she was about to throw under the bus might manifest themselves out of thin air.
“Well, I’m not supposed to say. I was sworn to secrecy.”
“I know.” I refilled her tea mug. “But you have to realize that two people have died and my sister—”
“I’ll tell you on one condition.” She fidgeted in her chair, then lifted Beepo up and held him out toward me. He snarled. “I need to leave him with you.”
“Yolanda, come on. Isn’t there doggie day care or whatever, I’m not a dog—”
“Don’t say it,” she warned. “I’m only going to be overnight. My flight leaves in a couple hours. Pleeeeaaaaase.”
“What…” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as if patience was stored up there among my recessed lights. I sighed. “What do I have to do?”
She quirked her head to the side. “What do you mean, what do you have to do? Nothing. Feed him, walk him, love him.”
“That’s not nothing.”
She stood abruptly. “Come on, Beep! We know when we’re not wanted. Someone claims to want to help her sister. Someone claims to want to help Gus … and yet, when it come to a little quid pro quo, someone acts stupid.”
“Don’t call me stupid!”
“I’m not calling you stupid. I just said someone—”
“Come on, don’t manipulate me. What do you know about Rachel!”
Yolanda bent over to put Beepo on the ground; he tore off out of sight. When she straightened she said, “She’s in Vegas.”
“What!”
“She’s not on the cruise. She went to Vegas to elope.”
“Was the whole accessory show a lie? Something you made up to go to Vegas?”
“No,” Yolanda said adamantly. “The show is true.” She thumped a hand over her heart. “You have to help me. Do you know how hard it is to get into that show?”
I turned my back on her and topped off my mug with hot water. I was getting to know her rhythm: If I showed a lack of concern, she’d come to me. If I pressed, she’d walk out in a huff. I rummaged through my cupboard. “I wish I had some little cookies to go with the tea.…”
“The show is absolutely true,” Yolanda shrilled, unable to stand my disinterest a second longer. “But you’re right, I was going to try and find Rachel, too.”
“Do you know where she’s staying in Vegas?”
Yolanda’s head flipped to the right as if she found something else infinitely more interesting. Ah, avoidance in its true glory.
“Spit it out!” I said.
“She’s staying at The Mirage.”
The Mirage. How apropos. Everything felt like a mirage recently.
“Have you told your Sergeant Gottlieb this?”
She smoothed down her skirt. “Of course not! I wouldn’t throw Rachel under the bus. I know Gus is the killer! Absolutely without a doubt!”
Suddenly Beepo tore down my hallway, yapping at the front door. Yolanda and I fell silent as my doorbell rang. We stared at each other in a game of chicken. The doorbell rang again.
Slipping out of the kitchen, I went to the answer the door, but out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of Yolanda glancing at the slim gold bracelet watch on her wrist.
I swung open the door, hoping to see Rachel’s bright face and give her a piece of my mind, but instead Officer Brooks was leaning into the door frame.
I jumped back, deadly embarrassed at my appearance. I was still in my rumpled robe, with no makeup on and my hair frizzed with bed head.
“Oh, hi!” I tightened the belt on my robe. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
He nodded, a serious expression on his face. “I’m sorry to barge in on you. Do you want to get dressed?”
“Oh, yeah. I … come in.” I gestured toward the couch as he stepped toward my living room. Yolanda wiggled her fingers at him. He greeted her warmly and then bent to pick up Beepo, who was sniffing around his boots.
“Hey little fellow.”
Beepo shook his Yorkie tail so hard in response to the attention, it seemed his little bottom would wiggle straight off.
I beelined toward my bedroom to get dressed. I slipped into a pair of tan capris and a peach-colored blouse, hoping it showed off my rosy complexion. I applied the bare minimum of makeup—a touch of lip gloss and a wave of the mascara wand—so Brooks wouldn’t get the impression that I’d suddenly gone into a tizzy over him.
My hair was a different matter altogether. I wished I had time for a proper shower, complete with shampoo and blow-dry, but as it was, I couldn’t afford to leave Yolanda unsupervised with Brooks too long. Who knew what gossip would be exchanged! I settled for spritzing my hair with a scented styling lotion, dragging a brush through it, and pr
omising myself a trip to the beauty parlor soon.
I was half certain even Yolanda, Ms. Never-leave-the-house-unless-you-look-your-best, might approve my appearance, but even if she didn’t, I didn’t have thirty minutes to do a full coif.
What the heck was Officer Brooks doing here anyway?
Had he come to bring me news? Or to interrogate me about Rachel again? He certainly had a serious vibe going on, and that didn’t bode well. I gave myself a final glance in the mirror.
There, much better!
I emerged into the living room and found it empty. Where was Yolanda? A shadow moved across my deck, and I realized that Officer Brooks was standing on my patio, which overlooked the beach.
I slid open the glass patio doors and stepped out onto the small deck with him. He was holding Beepo in his arm and squinting out toward the ocean, the sun beginning to bloom into full force over the water.
“Nice view,” he said.
“Thank you,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry about last night, Maggie,” he said. Before I could reply, he continued. “I’ve got bad news. I wanted you to hear it from me. Gottlieb has put an all-call out on Rachel. We got confirmation from the forensic team: Rachel’s prints were on the bottle that killed Dan.”
I was stunned. I hadn’t had a moment to process his apology before making out what he’d just said about Rachel.
“Of course her prints are on it!” I said a little too loudly. “It’s her bar, her prints are on everything!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I tried to talk to Gottlieb, but he’s suspicious about her disappearance. It doesn’t look good and—”
“She hasn’t disappeared. She’s … she’s … Where’s Yolanda? She’ll tell you.”
Brooks tilted his head to the side, and he studied me a moment, a puzzled expression on his face. “Yolanda took off. She said you were watching Beepo for the day. Said she’d be back tomorrow.”
He handed the dog to me. Beepo curiously refrained from snapping at me. It was as if he knew he had to be on good behavior now. I took the dog from Brooks and settled him against my chest. He let out a whimper to let me know he’d been abandoned by Yolanda, too. I stroked his head.
