by Diana Orgain
A look of regret flashed across his face. “I’m going to find whoever is responsible, Maggie.”
A door opened and closed down the apartment corridor, and my intuition told me it was from Gus’s apartment. Brooks’s instincts must have played the same message, because he jolted forward. “Do any of the neighbors have keys to her apartment?”
Before I could answer, Brooks disappeared out the front door, and he called out sharply, “DelVecchio! DelVecchio! I’d like a word!”
I rushed out of the apartment behind him, nerves rattling my system and a headache threatening.
Gus stopped in front of Brooks, a look of concern on his face. He saw me running behind Brooks, and his face became unreadable.
“What is it, Officer Brooks?”
“Can you give me your whereabouts last night? I know your restaurant was closed—”
Gus’s eyes darted over to Rachel’s apartment door. “Is everything all right?”
I leapt forward. “Rachel’s apartment has been—”
Brooks held up a hand to silence me. “Please, Maggie.”
Gus looked from me to Brooks. “The restaurant was closed. Yes. My partner’s been murdered and then one of my staff.… I didn’t think it was appropriate to be open for business. I’m grieving. I’m keeping the restaurant closed for now.”
Brooks feigned disinterest. “So, where were you?”
I chewed my lip.
Gus sighed. “Do you want to bring me in again for questioning? Should I bring an attorney with me this time?”
“A simple answer will do,” Brooks said.
“I was with a friend,” Gus said.
“Does your friend have a name?” Brooks asked.
“Me. He was with me,” I said.
A look of disappointment crossed Brooks’s face. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Perfect. Okay. I see,” he mumbled.
Chapter Twenty-seven
I rearranged the table and chairs in the lounge area while Max set up behind the bar. He fixed me a stiff cocktail and then one for himself. I watched him carefully as he worked side by side with me to get ready for Yappy Hour. Tomorrow was the big Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser, and I couldn’t wait to find Rachel so I wouldn’t have to be in charge of anything.
I daydreamed about getting the job on the cruise line and sailing away. Why hadn’t they called me yet? Was it the watercooler fiasco?
Beepo and the beagle with the plush bunny in its mouth alternated between watching Max and I prep the bar and looking out the window, awaiting the crowd.
“I think you’ve got your hands full, Maggie.”
“I know.” I eyed him. “I keep having the awful premonition that I’m going to find another body tomorrow during Tails and Tiaras.”
“Oh God. Don’t say that, you’ll jinx us.”
“Are you superstitious?” I asked.
He shrugged and took a drag off his cocktail. “Sort of.”
“Well, I won’t talk about it then. I don’t want to spook you. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you. Thanks for your help.”
He laughed. “Well, I had a meeting with an angel investor yesterday. It didn’t go well. So I might have to ask you for a full-time job.”
I wiped down the bar. “What happened with your angel?”
Max dumped a bucket of ice into the ice well. “Ack. The same thing they all say. There’s a similar technology already available, blah, blah.”
I thought about Dan, and then about the fight Norma had told me Max and Dan had had. I’d asked Max about it at his beach house, but I hadn’t gotten a straight answer. I watched as he shifted the bottle around. He was strong. He could have easily killed another man with a blow to the head. I shifted away from him and asked, “Max, what exactly did you fight over with Dan?”
Max sighed. “Oh, it’s not important now.”
I took in a deep breath. “Since he was killed in my sister’s bar … well, I think it’s important,” I said, suddenly scared of the answer.
“Brenda,” Max said.
I laughed. “Really?”
He nodded. “Dan and Rachel had been broken up a few weeks, and he seemed to be sniffing around Brenda.”
“Are you guys together?”
“I wish. But he was saying some pretty rude things around town about her and, well, I just couldn’t stand it. I confronted him and it got a little vocal, but it didn’t come to blows or anything. I have to say the guy was a class-A jerk.”
“Did Brenda know he was talking about her?” That could be a motive, right? Kill someone to save your own reputation. Although it seemed far-fetched to me. Brenda was an attorney, and she seemed so small and delicate, I couldn’t picture her whacking a man over the head with a wine bottle. Max, on the other hand … how far would he go to protect her reputation?
Max shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you going to ask her out?”
He reddened. “No way, she’s out of my league.”
“You think so? Why?”
Beepo, who’d taken to following me around, bolted toward the door and yowled like crazy.
Max laughed. “The crew must be approaching.”
Through the window of the bar, we could see a crowd forming on the patio, two women I hadn’t seen before alongside Brenda and Abigail. Every one of them had a small dog attached to the end of a Wine and Bark Day-Glo-green leash. They had just come from the Roundup Crew walk on the beach and all were decked out in walking shorts and sneakers, except for Brenda, who was dressed in her signature black clothes with a striking pair of three-inch-high Louboutin pumps in fire-engine red.
She must have walked barefoot on the beach, but judging by the way Max whistled when he saw her, I got the distinct impression she’d worn the shoes to the bar for his benefit.
The door flung open and they streamed into the bar, the energy instantly changing with their laughter and chitchat. One of the women I hadn’t seen before approached the bar. Her hair was cut short and she had a tomboy appearance. On the end of her leash was a small poodle. Beepo went absolutely mad barking at the woman and her dog. The woman only laughed at him, which actually stoked my ire.
The woman smiled at me, flashing wide, even, square teeth. “How about a pitcher of Pomeranians?”
I glanced at Max, but he just nodded. “Sure thing, Geraldine. I’ll bring it out to the table.”
Geraldine?
This was the lady Yolanda had had a problem with. My curiosity was piqued.
Max poured white rum, a splash of triple sec, and some pomegranate juice into a shaker filled with ice, then added a dash of fresh lemon juice. He shook the concoction, then strained it into a pitcher for the table.
“Who are the new ladies?” I asked.
“Geraldine and Sarah. They’re usuals, but they were in Carmel last weekend because of the dog show.”
“What’s Yolanda’s issue with Geraldine?” I asked.
“Pfft—darned if I know,” Max said.
Just like a man to stay out of women’s squabbles.
“I bet there was a lot of gossip on that beach walk today,” I said in a low voice.
Max chuckled. “Oh, you better believe it. Want to take the pitcher out and I’ll get the arf d’oeuvres going?”
Brenda approached the bar. Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she turned her attention to Max. “We missed you and Bowser on our walk today.” Max beamed at her. Brenda turned to me. “Maggie, can I have a word with you?”
I took the pitcher from Max. “Okay, let me serve this up and I’ll be right with you.” I dropped off the pitcher of Pomeranians at the table, receiving a queer up-and-down glance from Geraldine. Brenda waited for me by the front door and together we walked out to the patio. It was still early, but an ocean breeze had picked up and gently wafted across my face. I realized I’d been dying for an excuse to come outside.
DelVecchio’s was still closed, and I felt a heaviness in my h
eart. Gus had decided to remain closed for a few more days to try and make sense of which direction he should take the business.
“Dan’s folks are in town,” Brenda said. “They came by the office to talk to me about your insurance.”
A bead of perspiration trickled down my back. “You mean the building insurance?”
“Yeah. It seems like Dan’s death was caused by trauma to the head.”
“We know that, right? From the wine bottle.”
Brenda shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. He was hit with the wine bottle on the temple, which caused an injury, but his death was caused by a fracture at the back of the head, from the fall. He cracked his head on the terra-cotta.”
My mouth went dry and I felt dizzy. “What are you getting at, Brenda?”
“Basically, The Wine and Bark could be liable.”
“But that’s ridiculous. I mean, even if he fell and hit his head, he fell because somebody whacked him with a wine bottle. That was the cause of the fall. How could The Wine and Bark be liable?”
Brenda glanced over her shoulder, making sure we were still alone. “Well, the landlord is liable for injuries of visitors in cases where the landlord’s negligence has caused the injury.”
I blinked at her. “Rachel was negligent?”
“They’re saying Dan could’ve fallen because of something else,” Brenda said.
“Like what?”
She leaned into me and whispered, “Like he could’ve slipped on a wet floor.”
I frowned. “Wet floor?”
“The forensic examiner found traces of dog urine on his trouser ankles and shoes.”
Oh God, Dan had slipped in dog pee and now Rachel, Grunkly, and I would all be sued for manslaughter.
“His folks said Dan had been trying to get Rachel to stop allowing dogs on the premises. Said he’d written countless letters to her and then had threatened to go to the Environmental Health Committee to get an ordinance violation written up against The Wine and Bark.”
They knew about the letter.
A stress headache began pounding behind my temples. “We have insurance, though, right? The insurance takes care of this type of stuff—”
Brenda grabbed my arms and steadied me. “Maggie, I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, but your insurance may have expired.”
An image of Grunkly handing me his mail flashed through my mind, the insurance bill unpaid.
“The payment is late,” Brenda continued, “but I’m trying to get them on a technicality. We may have been in a grace-period window.”
My blood pressure skyrocketed and I felt faint.
Grunkly was going to lose everything.
* * *
Back inside The Wine and Bark, cocktails and laughter were flowing. The volume in the room had increased significantly, and I suddenly felt like I wasn’t going to make it through the night. A lawsuit would ruin Grunkly. It would wipe him out completely, breaking his heart and probably killing him.
Even though Brenda had assured me she’d fight Dan’s folks and press our insurance carrier, there was still a possibility that we wouldn’t be covered. She wouldn’t know until the next business day or possibly even Monday. It was gearing up to be the longest weekend of my life.
Beepo let out a howl and bolted toward the door. Through the window I could make out the now-familiar figure of Yolanda sashaying up the cobblestone path. I ran to the door and together Beepo and I pounced on her.
“Beep-Beep,” she squealed, picking him up and rubbing his tummy. “Beep, Beep, Beepo!”
“Where’s Rachel? Did she come back with you?” I asked, looking past Yolanda down the cobblestone path.
The wind picked up and Yolanda’s blond hair flew into her face. She flicked it back with a whisk of her hand. She looked very Vegas, in a low-cut clingy white dress with ruffles placed in strategic locations around her hips and chest, which made her figure look like an hourglass on steroids.
“I couldn’t find her after we talked. But I did lock in my exhibitor show! Isn’t that fabulous?”
Disappointment hollowed out my insides. I needed my sister now more than ever and she was nowhere to be found.
Yolanda linked an arm through mine. “Come on, honey, you look like you’re about to cry.” She steered me toward the front door of the bar. “Let’s join the party and forget your troubles—”
I disentangled myself from her. “Yolanda, I don’t have the heart.” I filled her in on Brenda’s update about Dan’s fall and our insurance predicament.
Her eyes flashed and darted about when I mentioned the trace of dog urine on Dan’s shoes. Suddenly she clutched Beepo possessively. “Can they tell what dog?”
“What?”
She bit her lip. “You know, like on CSI when they match the bullet to the gun, the blood to the victim, the print to the killer. Can they match the, you know, pee to the dog?”
The night air stilled and we were silent a moment. Beepo looked from Yolanda to me and let out little whimper.
Well, of all the dogs I’d met recently, Beepo was quite a marker.…
And there was no question Yolanda had been in the bar before me the night I’d found Dan dead.…
“I don’t know.” I stared at Yolanda; she stared back at me. We both looked at Beepo. He looked away from us, guilt written all over his doggie face.
“Maybe I can talk to Sergeant Gottlieb,” Yolanda said.
“Maybe I can talk to Officer Brooks,” I countered.
We stared at each other again in a game of chicken. Beepo let out a little cry.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she said.
“I agree,” I said.
The door to the bar flung open and Abigail rushed out. “Yo! You’re here. How was Vegas? Did you land your booth?”
Yolanda sprang toward Abigail, desperate to get away from me. She linked her free arm through Abigail’s and hustled her back into the bar. “I’ll tell you all about it over a salty dog!”
When the door had closed and I was alone on the patio, I crumpled into one of the patio chairs and contemplated my dilemma. The sun was just setting, the sky orange and pink and purple. It looked peaceful, and I wished that my mood could match those soothing colors.
If I could figure out who killed Dan, would it nullify the lawsuit?
What if they could match the urine to the dog? Would that lead to the killer? Did it prove the killer was the owner of the dog? Uneasiness churned my insides. Yolanda and Beepo were fast becoming my friends.
There was also the matter of Rachel’s missing gun and Oscar’s death. Could Yolanda possibly be responsible? She’d had access to the bar when no one else had been there. Could she have taken Rachel’s gun?
The thoughts swirled around my head, making me feel dizzy. Perhaps Officer Brooks had been right. I should leave the investigation to the professionals.
Chapter Twenty-eight
A tall, imposing uniform-clad figure approached. A nervous energy coursed through me as I watched him. He stepped in front of me.
“Speak of the devil,” I said.
“What? Were you talking about me?” Officer Brooks asked, glancing at the empty chair next to me. “With who?”
“She’s gone now. I scared her away.”
Brooks laughed. “Is this seat taken?”
“No.” I patted the chair. “Please, take a load off and tell me you’ve come for a pleasant social call. Maybe even a drink.”
“I can’t drink, I’m on duty, but yes, just making my rounds and making sure you were safe.”
“No more dead bodies,” I joked. But seeing his serious expression I regretted my levity. “That was a joke. Sorry, a very bad joke.”
He nodded. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to call 9-1-1 to see me.”
Smiling, I said, “Right. Well, Yolanda and I were just talking about you, wondering about your toxicology friends.”
He frowned. “Toxicology?”
“Pathology? F
orensics? I don’t know what they’re called. The CSI guys.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“Dan’s parents are in town and it looks like they might want to sue The Wine and Bark because your forensic guy, whoever that is, or the medical examiner—”
He waved a hand at me to continue. “Don’t get caught up in the administrative details, just tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Well, whoever the powers that be are ruled that Dan was killed by hitting his head on our floor and not from the impact of the wine bottle.”
Brad’s eyes shifted. “So that makes you liable?”
“Well, I would argue that the fall was caused by whoever hit him with the magnum bottle.”
“Right,” Brad agreed.
“Only, I guess they found dog urine on his shoe and think he might have slipped.”
Brad frowned. “Wow, people read a lot into our reports. How exactly did that get out?” He studied me a moment. “Because I haven’t shared any of that information.”
I shrugged. “Well, that I don’t know. Brenda told me, and she said Dan’s parents told her.”
Brad’s lips pressed together as he processed the information. Obviously there was a leak in his department. How else had the information gotten out?
“So,” I asked, “is it true then? There was a trace of urine?”
“Yeah, but we don’t know how old the urine was. It could have been on his shoes from earlier. It doesn’t mean he slipped on it. Anyway, don’t worry about it too much. Brenda’s a pretty talented lawyer, she should be able to get you out of a lawsuit.”
“Can you match up urine to the dog?” I asked.
He squinted at me. “Do you have a dog in mind?”
“Yolanda’s.”
“Yolanda? I thought she was your new BFF?”
I chuckled. “Right. The yap monster.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “She grows on you, though, and what with the drive to the country and all…” He paused and waited for my reaction.
