Bark Twice For Murder: A Pet Shop Mystery, Book 2 (Pet Shop Mysteries)

by Susie Gayle

  “Eh, don’t worry about that. And be sure to thank the chief too; she gave you CPR. By the way, we should talk about the cat. She’s been staying at my pet shop. I’m not sure what to do with her.”

  Dan takes a long swig from his glass and smacks his lips. “You’re right. That is very tasty.” He sets the glass down and sighs. “To be honest, Will, I don’t think I can take care of Taffy without constantly being reminded of Brenda. She really loved that cat.”

  “And it sounds like you really loved her.”

  “I did.” He smiles weakly. “You know, they say never to mix business and pleasure, but it worked for us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, right. I keep forgetting that we’re in Maine. I’m a talent agent; Brenda was my client, one of my very first and by far my most successful. I booked her the detective show, The Animal Reader. The sad part is, now that the show’s been cancelled, she was up for some really serious movie roles. Big-league stuff.” He takes another long sip and says, “That’s all gone now.”

  “You two were together a long time?” I ask.

  “Five years.”

  “Wow. Never thought of getting married?”

  “Oh, she wanted to settle down. She brought it up a lot, actually.” He laughs a little and adds, “I just never felt ready for marriage.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been there. Sometimes it’s no picnic.” I clear my throat and steel my nerves for the question I’ve been leading up to. “But despite not being married, you thought you should be in her will, right?”

  Dan’s head turns slowly toward me, his eyes widening as it does. “Excuse me?”

  “Someone heard you two arguing about money. You were waving a piece of paper around, trying to get her to sign it. It was her will, wasn’t it? I’m guessing you’re not in it?”

  His eyes narrow angrily. “That is none of your business—”

  “No, but it’ll be the police’s business.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, Dan. I’m only asking because they’re going to ask.”

  “What, and you think I should have some sort of defense prepared? I did not kill her.”

  This time it’s my turn to look shocked. “Who said anything about killing?”

  Dan gets up forcefully, nearly knocking the stool over. “Well, what do you know. Turns out you’re just as bad as those tabloid leeches. Everyone thinks they know the lives of the famous, right? You don’t know anything.” He drains the rest of his glass and slams it down. “Thanks for the beer,” he says curtly. “I’ll walk from here.” And then he strides to the door.

  Well, that certainly could have gone better.

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  As I drive back toward the pet shop, I consider my options. I figure it would be wise to give Dan Dickey time to make his statement before I bring the torn page of the will to Patty’s attention. I’m not sure what she’ll be able to do with it anyway, since there’s no way to prove that it belongs to Brenda Hanes. And the bronze star Rowdy found might not even be a piece of this puzzle.

  I roll to a stop at a red light and a blue mountain bike rolls by through the intersection, with Hammond Dobes on the back of it. He doesn’t notice me sitting there, but at least this time he’s wearing a helmet.

  Hmm. Before I give Chief Mayhew new information that might possibly incriminate a man, I figure I should probably make absolutely certain that Ham heard what he thought he heard. He did, after all, hit his head; if there’s any doubt in his mind that the argument wasn’t about money or a will, I’d want to know about it before I present anything to the cops.

  I take a left when the light turns green and head toward the Dobes family’s home, a two-story Cape Cod just off of Williams Street. I pull to the curb about a block away and watch as Ham parks his bike in the garage and heads inside. Then I roll to a stop near his driveway and head up the walk.

  His mother answers the door. “Will Sullivan,” she says with a smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  “Hi, Melinda.” Ham’s mother was a senior in high school when I was a freshman. “Is Hammond home?” She arches her eyebrow, so I add, “I saw him in the hospital yesterday when I visited a friend. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.” I figure an explanation might be warranted as to why a thirty-seven-year-old man might come asking after her eighteen-year-old son.

  “That is so nice of you, Will.” She steps aside to let me in. “Ham is upstairs. First door on the left at the top of the stairs.”

  “Thanks.” I head up the carpeted steps and peer into Ham’s room. He’s not in there, so I step inside and wait. It’s pretty standard for a kid his age; a few movie posters on the walls, a TV and gaming system, clothes on the floor…

  And then I notice that the entire wall opposite his bed is covered, practically wallpapered, in photos of Brenda Hanes.

  There are pictures of her from magazines. Stills from low-budget indie movies she did when she was younger. Posters from her detective TV show. Photos from red carpet events. He even has a picture of her in her early twenties graduating from the New York School of Acting. “Okay,” I say slowly. “That’s not at all weird.”

  I hear a toilet flush from elsewhere in the house, and then a sink running. Something else on the wall catches my eye—a receipt from Miller’s General, the store that Ham works at, and across the bottom is the scrawling signature of Brenda Hanes.

  I peer closer to get a look at the date on the receipt. It’s from October sixteenth… yesterday.

  “Uh, Will?” Ham asks from behind me. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Hey!” I say, probably way too enthusiastically. “Ham, good to see you. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” He points out a small section of shaved scalp with a white bandage over it. “Besides a bump on the noggin, I’m totally fine. No concussion, thankfully.”

  “That’s great. Say, Ham, you, uh… you may have understated how much of a fan you are of Brenda Hanes.” I point out the veritable collage of photos and clippings.

  The boy turns a shade pinker. “Yeah, I guess I did. What can I say? I’ve always admired her… acting.” He shuffles his feet a bit, embarrassed.

  “Nothing wrong with that. But, you know, you told me in the hospital that you didn’t get her autograph.” I point out the receipt from Miller’s.

  “Gee. Did I say that? I guess I forgot.”

  Alright, I may be older, but I know that kids these days don’t say “gee.”

  “Sure, Ham. I have to get back to the shop, but you take care, okay?”

  “Will do. Thanks, Mr. Sullivan.”

  I get back out to my SUV and just sit there for a moment with the engine off. If Ham got her autograph at the store, then why did he still follow her all the way to the pier? Did he really hear her and Dan arguing? If not, it’s an awfully big coincidence that we’d find a shred of a will on the beach. But most importantly, how can I trust anything that Ham says if he’s already lied?

  I need to go over all this with Sarah, not only to talk it out but to get her take on it. I start my car and maneuver out into the street. As I do, I notice a black sedan about a block behind me pulls out as well. That alone wouldn’t be at all weird, except that when I make the next left, the black car does as well. It follows me for the next three turns I make, until I’m downtown only a few blocks from the pet shop.

  “Are you following me?” I ask no one in particular. I decide to pull over to the curb in front of the coffee shop, Better Latte Than Never, and wait.

  Sure enough, the black car also pulls off, three spaces behind me. Whoever is driving stays in the car.

  I get out and go inside the coffee shop. I don’t order anything, but I just wait casually near the door to see if the person follows me in.

  “Hi, Will.”

  I turn toward the voice and see a short brunette wom
an with bob-length hair and dark eyes quietly regarding me… my ex-wife, Karen Bear.

  Remember when I said I was married before and then said don’t ask? Thanks for not asking. Long story short, four years ago I was happily married to Karen Sullivan, née Bear, and the store was thriving—which took up a lot of my time. Karen and I have differing perspectives on who was neglecting who, but rather than talk about it she thought a better idea was to have an affair with some guy from Portland.

  The divorce was a clean severance, legally-speaking; she got the house and I kept the store. But it was messy on my psyche, evidenced by the fact that it took me three years to start dating again. And wouldn’t you know it? Barely a month into my relationship with Sarah I found out that Karen was moving back to Seaview Rock. Apparently, things didn’t work out with her new beau, and now we live in the same town again.

  It’s okay though; we’ve come to the amiable agreement that if I see her in public, I’ll politely acknowledge her existence. So, there you go. You’re all caught up.

  “How are you?” she asks quietly, both hands wrapped around her latte.

  “Well, thank you.” I haven’t forgotten about my mission to ascertain the identity of my follower, so I crane my neck to see down the block through the coffee shop’s storefront window.

  “Uh, are you waiting for someone?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. “No. I don’t know.” Stuck between a rock and a hard place—or in this case, between making small talk with my ex or identifying my mysterious stalker, who may or may not be a machine-gun wielding maniac ninja—I choose ninja. “You know what, Karen? I actually have to run. See you around.”

  I leave the shop quickly before she can say anything further. Left with no other recourse, I stride right over to the black car, the windows of which are tinted too dark for me to see inside, and I knock on the passenger-side window.

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  A motor whirs as the window rolls down, and of course, intrepid pesky reporter Shana Barnes sits behind the steering wheel of the black car.

  I should have seen that coming.

  “Why are you following me?” I ask her.

  “You have information. I want it.”

  “Fine.” I open the car door and get in. At least it’s warm inside. “I assume that as a junk-rag journalist, you know all about Brenda Hanes and her relationship with Dan Dickey?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Of course you do. You know, you picked a heck of a career.”

  “I didn’t pick it. I kind of fell into it.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and adds, “I used to be an actress.”

  “Really? Were you in anything I would’ve seen?”

  She scoffs. “I don’t know. Have you ever seen the Nasal-Flo nose spray commercial?”

  “Uh…” I have seen it, I’m sure, but I don’t want to tell her that it wasn’t memorable enough for me to recall her face. Instead I clear my throat and say, “You want information. So, I’ll give you some information. And in return, I want some too.”

  “Deal. But I get to go first.”

  “Alright, but you can’t mention my name as a source.”

  “I don’t know your name,” she tells me. I can’t tell if she’s being honest or coy.

  “Fair enough. Shoot.”

  She takes out her little notepad with NYSA inscribed on the front and flips it open. “Is Brenda Hanes dead?”

  I sigh. “Yes. She is.”

  “Do the police suspect foul—”

  “Uh-uh. It’s my turn. If you’re a Hollywood reporter, what are you doing here? For that matter, why were Brenda and Dan here in Seaview Rock in October, instead of, I don’t know, Bermuda or something?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “It’s a two-parter. Deal with it.”

  Shana rolls her eyes. “Brenda is—or was—something of an eccentric. She loved her boat more than anything, and she prefers—sorry, preferred—colder climates over the tropics. I followed them here; I finagled their destination from Brenda’s hairdresser.” Shana clears her throat and quietly adds, “It’s odd talking about her in the past-tense like that.”

  “But why follow them here?” I ask.

  “Nope, my turn. Do the police suspect foul play?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a police officer.”

  She shoots me a flat look and I cave. I can’t expect her to be honest with me if I’m not honest with her. “Alright, fine,” I tell her. “They’re not considering it a homicide at the moment, but they’re not ruling it out either.”

  “Why’s that?” she asks. I open my mouth to protest, but she quickly says, “It’s a two-parter. Deal with it.”

  “Alright, I’ll give you that one. Because Brenda was found in the cabin of the boat, instead of in the cockpit where anyone with half a brain would expect her to be.” I can be honest without giving complete answers, right? “My turn. Why did you follow them here?”

  “Some bigwig Hollywood producers have let it slip that Brenda turned down a few very high-profile film roles in the past several months, ever since her TV show was cancelled,” Shana explains. “My editor wants to know why. They suspected she was pregnant or something, but that’s not it. I suspected something between her and Dan Dickey, her agent and boyfriend.”

  Huh. Dan mentioned at the Runside that Brenda was up for some big roles, but he didn’t say that she turned them down. “Something like what?”

  Shana shrugs. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”

  “Do you think that Brenda was quitting the film business altogether?”

  “Hey,” Shana snaps. “You’ve had like three questions in a row.”

  “Alright, alright. Go ahead.”

  “What is Dan Dickey’s alibi?” she asks, her pen scratching furiously against the pad.

  “Dan went overboard in the storm. Somehow their boat got loose from the pier—” I am definitely not mentioning the cut rope to the reporter, by the way, “–and he fell off. I found him myself in the water, half-dead.”

  She nods. “Being half-dead stands up to scrutiny.”

  “Hey, hold up a second. Scrutiny? Alibi? I said the cops are not considering this a homicide.”

  “Sure. For now. It’s your turn.”

  “Okay. What was Dan and Brenda’s relationship like?”

  Shana blows out a long breath. “As far as anyone knows—me included—it was a fairy tale. They loved each other and they kept their affairs private. Brenda had plenty of interest from other men, some more successful or more attractive than Dan, but she stayed with him.”

  “Yet they never married.”

  “No. Rumor has it that Dan is terrified of that big a commitment.” Her pen pauses for a moment and she looks me right in the eye. “My turn: what was Brenda Hanes’ cause of death?”

  Ah, crap. I was really hoping she wouldn’t ask that.

  “I… I don’t think that’s a fair question for me to answer.”

  Shana’s mouth falls open a little. “What?! I answered everything you asked!”

  “I know. But this is a police matter and an open investigation. There are only a handful of people that know about this right now.”

  “And it’s only going to be a matter of time until someone spills about it,” Shana shoots back. “If it’s not me, it’ll be some other tabloid or paper.” Her gaze softens. “Will, listen to me. I know you think I’m a vulture, but I do actually care about getting the truth. I won’t publish anything until I know it’s a fact.”

  “Aha. So, you do know my name.”

  “Will!” She sets her jaw angrily. “You owe me this answer.”

  “Technically I don’t. See, you went first, so as of right now we’ve answered tit-for-tat. I only owe you if I ask another question.” I open the car door and step out. “Best of luck, Ms. Barnes.”

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  Finally, I get
back to the Pet Shop Stop after a rigorous morning, eager to share my new information with Sarah. But as I’m reaching for the door of the store, it opens toward me, and Karen steps out.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, maybe a little too accusatorially.

  She shrugs. “Shopping.”

  I look at her thoroughly bag-less hands. “I doubt that.”

  “See you around, Will.” She strides off.

  That… can’t be good.

  I enter the shop and Rowdy bounds over to me, his tail going a mile a minute.

  “Hey, pal. I know, I’m happy to see you too.” I hear a steady clack-clack-clack, and when I look up, Sarah stares daggers at me, her arms folded and her foot tapping against the tile.

  “William Sullivan!” she scolds. “Do you want to explain to me why your ex-wife was just in here telling me that she saw you get into some blonde woman’s car at the coffee shop?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan. I really thought that Karen and I were beyond the pettiness, but apparently, I’m wrong. So far she hadn’t given me any inkling one way or another that she cared I was dating again… Not that it’s any of her business.

  “Sarah,” I tell her, “please trust me when I say that was nothing to worry about. It was that—”

  The door to the pet shop swings open and Sammy bursts in, out of breath. I don’t see his truck parked outside; he must have run here from his shop three blocks over.

  “Will! Patty just arrested Hammond Dobes!”

  “Are you serious? We have to get down there!” I exclaim.

  “Will!” Sarah shouts. “Explain?”

  I take her hand and look in right in the eye. “Sarah, the blonde woman was that reporter I told you about, the one that eavesdropped in the hospital. She had some information about Brenda Hanes and I… well, I traded her some of the info that I know. I promise you have nothing to worry about.”