Yappy Hour

by Diana Orgain

  “The auction? They’re paying money to see me and the band,” Evie countered.

  Smasher scoffed at this, and Bishop said, “I need a smoke.”

  They disappeared out the front door, and Evie trailed, her cigarette case in hand.

  “That woman is a pill,” Yolanda said under her breath, while flashing a wide toothy smile at Mr. Roman Nose.

  Max resumed stringing up the multicolored lantern lights. Yolanda distracted herself by chatting it up with the auctioneer, and I suddenly found myself alone with Beepo. He circled the counter where my chicken purse was and growled.

  Oh! An opportunity!

  Could I lower it just a tad and let him get to it?

  I grabbed it off the counter and pretended to look inside it for something. When I was sure no one was watching me, I relaxed my arm, bringing the bag down to Beepo’s level.

  He sniffed at it, then bit at the fake chicken’s wing.

  Come on, Beepo, mark it.

  He growled a low rumble and bared his teeth again. He seemed puzzled as to why the chicken wasn’t fighting back. So I shook the bag a bit and he tore off running toward Yolanda.

  Oh, good God! What a coward!

  I tried to summon all my patience and left the chicken bag on the floor. I proceeded to uncork a few of the wine bottles I knew would be served first once the crowd started arriving. I could feel a set of watery doggie eyes watching my every move. As soon as he was convinced I was thoroughly disinterested in him, he returned to sniff the bag.

  He lifted his leg, but instead of spraying the chicken, he put his leg down and then looked at me. He barked several times, and Yolanda broke away from Mr. Roman Nose and came around the bar.

  “Beepo! Hush little doggie, what are you up to?” She scooped him in her arms and said to me, “Oh, Maggie, you better take the purse and put it away. Otherwise Beepo…” She made a gesture with her hand that could only be interpreted one way. She wanted me to safeguard the purse or risk Beepo spraying it.

  “Right,” I said.

  The man in the uniform finished setting up the makeshift stage with dog paraphernalia and called out to Yolanda to come and examine it. She released Beepo and together with the auctioneer, aka Mr. Roman Nose, they headed in the direction of the stage.

  Beepo shot out toward the chicken, raised his leg, and whizzed.

  I covered my mouth with my hand.

  Oh my God! I had my evidence.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Victory!

  I had the evidence that could possibly solve the crime.

  I could barely contain my excitement. Like a child, I looked around frantically for someone to share my joy, but realized probably none of these people would be happy if Yolanda and Beepo were convicted of a crime.

  Evie, Bishop, and Smasher were still on the patio smoking and yukking it up. Possibly the only person in the near vicinity that would be happy was Evie, but she had such a strange volatile energy I hesitated to share anything with her. Instead, I pulled the chicken bag away from Beepo and placed it into a plastic sack.

  Beepo snarled at me, as if he was aware of my intentions. Nevertheless, I grabbed the purse and my cell phone and ran toward the bathroom. Leaning against the foyer door of the restroom, I dialed Officer Brooks.

  He picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi, it’s me, Maggie,” I whispered urgently. “I have it! I have the evidence!”

  “Maggie? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I called because I have it!”

  “Have what?” His voice was low and deep, sending an involuntary rumble through my bones.

  “I have the DNA evidence,” I said.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Beepo peed on my purse.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brooks said.

  “No, you don’t understand. Dan had dog urine on his shoes and trousers, right? Beepo marks everything. I’m sure it was him. If you get the bag tested, you’ll get a match.”

  “And what will that prove?” Brooks asked.

  “That Yolanda is the killer,” I said.

  “Yolanda?” he asked, with a note of incredulity in his voice.

  “Yes, she had a grudge against Dan.”

  “She did?”

  “Well, I don’t know that for certain, but let’s say she did. They met up here at The Wine and Bark, and they fought. Say Dan threatens Yolanda; Beepo protects her furiously. He pees on Dan’s foot in order to get him away from her. Then, say Dan gets mad at Beepo and Yolanda whacks him with the magnum bottle!”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Apprehension inched its way across my skin. Why wasn’t Brooks saying anything? I crinkled the pink plastic bag in my hand.

  Finally, Brooks cleared his throat and broke the silence. “It sounds a bit far-fetched.”

  “She’s far-fetched,” I countered.

  He chuckled. “Well, that’s true.”

  “Can you come collect it?” I asked awkwardly, suddenly feeling like I’d done the wrong thing.

  What kind of person tricks their friend’s dog into peeing on a purse?

  I reminded myself that this just might be the evidence to keep The Wine and Bark out of a lawsuit, although some part of my brain must have disagreed, because I was overcome with remorse.

  Here was the woman who had stood by me during this torturous week, and now I was suspecting her of murder? A wave of nausea swam through me, and I rushed into one of the stalls in time to be violently sick.

  When I finished, I went to the sink to splash water on my face; it wasn’t enough to feel any relief, but I hesitated to stick my head under the faucet as I would ruin Abigail’s work on my hairdo.

  I ran the water on my wrists and panicked.

  Breathe, Maggie. Everything is going to be fine.

  There was a brief knock on the restroom outer door and Yolanda popped her head into the bathroom. “Oh my God!” she trilled. “Look at you. You’re a hot mess. What happened? Are you ill?”

  I grabbed a paper towel and rubbed it across my face. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  Yolanda plucked a paper towel of her own and soaked it, making a quick compress for the back of my neck. “You look like a chicken with its head ripped off!”

  I shuddered at the mention of a chicken and kicked the pink plastic bag back under the sink, hoping it was out of her line of sight.

  She fussed over me. “What is it? You look like you did the night we found Dan. Are you having another panic attack?”

  Ugh. I did feel hot and claustrophobic, but mostly I felt guilty. Hot with guilt—was that a side effect?

  “Can you open a window?” I asked.

  “Sure, sure, of course.” She pranced over to the side wall and tugged on the window, while I scanned the room for a better hiding place to stash the offending pink bag.

  When she turned around, she said, “I came to tell you Officer Hottie McHottie is here to see you. But maybe you should just take a minute.”

  I glanced into the mirror. The hairdo I’d been hoping to salvage was a wreck; one side was plastered flat against my face, while the other side was frizzy to the extreme. My lipstick was smeared and there were giant wet splotches on my beautiful scoop-neck dress.

  Tears threatened.

  Oh God!

  All I needed was streaks of mascara down my face. I was a disaster.

  “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well,” Yolanda said. “I would have held your hair—”

  “Stop!” I couldn’t bear to listen to her be kind to me.

  She closed the distance between us and rubbed my back. “What is it, honey?”

  I couldn’t find a way out. I had to go through with it.

  A sharp rap came to the door. “Everything all right?” Officer Brooks asked from the hallway.

  Yolanda gasped. “I’ll cover for you.” She poked her head out the door and said, “Maggie’s indisposed at the moment. Is Abigail out there yet?”

  Th
ere was a brief silence, and then I heard Brooks’s baritone voice: “Uh, I’ll check.”

  Before Yolanda could close the door, Beepo shot through like a bullet. He immediately found the pink bag I’d stashed under the sink and barked his little Yorkie head off.

  “Hush, Beepo!” Yolanda said, ignoring the bag.

  Beepo pulled open the bag with his teeth, exposing the chicken face, which returned his glare.

  Suddenly Yolanda took interest. “Oh! What’s that?” She looked at me. “Why’s your chicken purse inside a plastic bag? Is that to protect it from…” She stopped talking abruptly and looked at me. The moment stretched between us, and when I said nothing, Yolanda’s expression changed, as if she now understood my intention. She pressed her lips together and waited for my reply.

  I sighed. “It turns out they can match a dog’s urine to a particular dog through a DNA analysis, just like human blood or hair—”

  Beepo chewed on the chicken’s rubber wing and growled.

  Another rap came to the door, and Brooks called out, “Abigail’s not here, yet. How’s Maggie doing? Can I talk to her?”

  Yolanda’s face flushed red and she flung open the door, seeming to not care anymore about protecting Officer Brooks’s opinion of my disheveled appearance. “She’s right here! The traitor!”

  Brooks glanced from Yolanda, to me, to Beepo and the chicken purse, quickly assessing the situation. “Oh, all right, let’s all calm down.”

  Brooks was out of uniform, wearing a black tux for the event. The dark suit set off his blond hair and looked so handsome and smart that my legs quivered in response.

  “I’m here! Did you need me?” a voice singsonged from down the corridor, and suddenly Abigail appeared behind Officer Brooks’s shoulder, looking into the foyer of the ladies restroom. She wore a flouncy black dress that swayed when she walked. Missy, her white Shih Tzu, was fluffy to perfection, the bow on the top of her head black. “Rumor has it Maggie needs a touch-up.”

  Missy leapt out of her hands and tramped over to Beepo and the chicken bag.

  I snatched it away from them. “No, no. This is my evidence!” I thrust it at Brooks. “Here, see if it matches.”

  Suddenly Brenda appeared in the door. She was dressed to the nines in a black floor-length strapless number, complete with a slit up the side. She held Pee Wee in her arms; he was dressed in a black doggie-tux. Pressing past Abigail and Brooks, she said, “What’s going on? Maggie, are you okay? What evidence?”

  I turned to Yolanda, but before I said anything, I gave her my best stare-down. Soon, it seemed all eyes were on her, and the hush in the foyer was deafening.

  “All right! All right!” Yolanda screamed. “I admit it. Beepo peed on Dan’s shoes when we got here and found him dead. He couldn’t stand him. I didn’t know what was going on. It was dark and I hadn’t even had a chance to put the lights on. You know that, Maggie. The bar was dark when you got here, right? I only put down the box of flyers and saw a lump on the floor. Beepo knew much faster than me that it was Dan.” She scooped him into her arms and stroked his triangle ears. “Didn’t you, boy? You knew it was Dan and you got your revenge for all the times he was mean to you.” She looked at Brooks, Brenda, and Abigail. “But I didn’t kill Dan, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Of course, you didn’t!” Abigail clucked defensively.

  “It’s absurd,” Brenda chimed in.

  Pee Wee and Missy barked in agreement.

  Brooks looked as if he had indigestion.

  “But we’re going to be sued!” I screamed over the cacophony of animal and human protestation.

  Another voice, so familiar it made my heart soar, repeated, “Sued?”

  My long-lost sister suddenly poked her head into the restroom foyer. “Who’s suing us?” Rachel asked.

  The group erupted into cries of “Rachel!” and “Have you heard about Dan?” and “Good to see you!” Missy and Beepo lunged at her feet, yipping and yapping with their tails shaking their entire bodies. The piercing voices echoed and bounced off the tile walls. I thought that, between the noise and the claustrophobia I was fighting, I was finished.

  I grabbed the sink for support and demanded, “Where have you been?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re here. Your sister’s just accused Yolanda of being a murderer!” Abigail said.

  “And Beepo, too, really,” Yolanda said.

  “Well, yes,” Abigail agreed. “There’s that, too!”

  “What?” Rachel said.

  A collective hush came from the group. Although the silence was welcome, the angry looks on their faces were enough to scare me into glancing around the restroom foyer, praying for an escape.

  Brooks must have realized that I was about to succumb to a claustrophobia attack, because he said, “Let’s give her some air. We can settle this outside.”

  As he ushered the group out of the restroom, relief flooded me, and I let out a huge exhalation.

  Brooks waited for the gang to leave, then stayed back a moment with me. “Are you all right? I was afraid for a moment they were going to lynch you.”

  I laughed. “Me too.”

  He grabbed my elbow and looked into my eyes. “It wouldn’t prove she killed him, you know. Even if there’s a match. There’re just too many possibilities of how it could have happened, like exactly the way she said. They came in after the fact and the dog—”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I hung my head onto his chest and leaned against him “I’m just so desperate for a solution. And I’m afraid of losing the bar … my great-uncle’s property … everything.”

  He stroked my hair. “Oh, Maggie, what am I going to do with you?” His breath caressed my ear.

  Pulling away from his chest, I looked into his blue eyes and said nothing.

  “I told you I’ll get to the bottom of it,” he whispered. “You have to let me do my job. Do you think you can do that?”

  I nodded, even though I was entirely unconvinced. The way my stomach fluttered when he was around, I would have agreed with anything he said.

  He opened the door and held it for me, waiting for me to walk out of the restroom in front of him, but I didn’t have the heart. I wanted to hide for the rest of the night. He wrapped an arm around my waist and gently ushered me out to the corridor with a reassuring smile.

  There was a general hubbub coming from the main room, and I suddenly realized that with Rachel back, I might not have to work behind the bar, but I would certainly have to face Yolanda.

  Brooks held the pink plastic bag in one hand, but held out his free arm for me. “Come on, honey.”

  Honey? He’d called me honey?

  “I won’t let ’em bite,” he joked.

  I took his hand and let him guide me along the corridor. After all, I needed to get to my sister and wring her neck. When we entered the main room, it seemed transformed in the short time I’d been having my breakdown.

  Yolanda had resumed her flirting with Mr. Roman Nose and giggled at something he said. When she spotted me, she deliberately turned her back. Brooks’s cell phone vibrated, and he checked the display.

  “It’s my sergeant,” he said. “I have to take this. Will you excuse me a minute?”

  I nodded and watched him leave the bar to take the phone call on the patio. There was a big black Labrador, lounging, that bounded toward him as soon as he exited the bar. Ah, that must be Sizzle.

  Inside the bar, Rachel was having a powwow with Brenda and Max, and I beelined over to her.

  “Where the hell have you been? Do you care to explain yourself?” I demanded.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Oh Maggie! I can’t believe all the awful things that have happened this week. Two people dead! I’m so sorry I didn’t call you!”

  “No, you’re not! You told Grunkly you were afraid to call me. Do you know he had an accident and someone broke into your apartment and we’re going to lose our shirts over this ridiculous doggie bar?”

  “Wh
oa!” Rachel held up her hand at me. “You don’t have to go that far.”

  “We are going to lose our shirts,” I insisted. “Unless we can prove—”

  “I meant the part about my bar being ridiculous,” Rachel interrupted.

  “This is stupid. You know what? You can figure it all out. I’ve got a job and I’m on my way to Mazatlán. In fact, I think I’ll go home and pack right now.” I flung open the front door in time for Melanie, the hostess from DelVecchio’s, to appear in front of me with a tray of fragrant pizzettas.

  Gus was right behind her with another tray. The aroma of garlic and olive oil assaulted me and made my empty tummy howl.

  Gus smiled broadly when he saw me. “Hi, Maggie, what do you think? Voilà! Dog bowl pizzettas. Would you like to try the pesto or tomato?”

  “What do you mean, you’re going to Mazatlán?” Rachel demanded.

  “Mazatlán?” Gus asked.

  “You can’t leave me now!” Rachel said. Her eyes glassed over and she looked ready to burst into tears.

  “Leave? You can’t leave,” Gus said.

  “What?” Brenda said, leaning in. “Where are you going? You can’t leave.”

  A man with long hair and a scraggly beard appeared at Rachel’s side. “What’s the matter, babe?”

  Ah, he had to be the infamous Chuck.

  The door flung open and a swarm of patrons began to descend. Melanie started serving the pizzettas around, and I realized I’d probably be needed to tend the bar. In a huff, I spun on my heel and took refuge behind the bar, mixing salty dogs and mutt-tinis.

  Gus glanced nervously at me, and I felt I owed him an explanation. I mouthed to him, “We’ll talk later.”

  He winked at me. “Sure thing. Glad your sister is back,” he said.

  And I realized, so was I. She was a pain in the neck, but she was my sister, and if anything had happened to her, like I’d feared all week, I would have been devastated. Together we could figure things out.

  She sauntered up to the bar with Chuck in tow. “I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce you,” Rachel said. “Maggie, this is my fiancé, Chuck. Chuck, my sister, Maggie.”

  Fiancé? So she hadn’t had the nerve to elope after all.

  What had gone wrong?