“No, I want a copy of the memory stick before Malone confiscates it.”
“Do you think he’d do that?” She pulled the camera back, resting it against her chest.
“I would,” he said.
I shot Grey a confused look. I wasn’t sure why he was being so helpful. I wasn’t complaining, mind you. Just confused. Normally, he was the first one to let the police do their job while demanding I stay as far from the action as possible.
“Can we make a copy?” I asked.
“We won’t. But no one will think twice if Darby’s downloaded her photos throughout the day as a precaution.”
“I have online storage. I’ve already uploaded them, just in case.”
Grey smiled. “Perfect. I’ll be back.” And without a goodbye kiss, hug, or a slap on the back, he was off.
“Is he really going to look for the girl with the dachshund tattoo?” Darby looked as confused as I felt.
“I guess so. No offense, but I’m really tired of calling her ‘the girl with the dachshund tattoo’.”
“What do you want to call her?” Darby tucked her camera in her messenger bag.
“Stephanie,” Betty stated.
What? “Where did that come from?”
She shrugged. “She reminds me of my youngest daughter’s college roommate. The poor girl looked like she slept in a garbage can. She dropped out of school and managed to get herself into a girl band.”
“Was she any good?” Darby asked.
“Horrible. Stephanie got booted from the group eventually. Right after that, the band made it pretty big. Even got a couple records on the radio.”
Man, she knew how to drag out a story. “What was the name of the band?”
“I don’t remember. I think it was the Bye-Byes.”
Darby and I stared at each other. Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Chapter Six
MALONE HAD BEEN gone for over thirty minutes. Darby and I sat cross-legged on the lawn and watched the police. Missy stretched out next to me, her head in my lap. The longer Malone kept Betty waiting, the harder she stomped the grass as she paced, smashing the thick green blades into a blanketed pathway between a eucalyptus tree and me.
“If he doesn’t hurry up and get back here, I might have to turn him down for dinner.”
“He’ll come back when he can.” I stroked Missy’s head.
Betty continued to mutter as she paced. Finally, we noticed Malone heading in our direction. He wasn’t alone. Darby immediately stood and announced she needed to talk to the event director, Hagan Stone, and split. Wise move on her part.
Malone introduced Officer Shughart to Betty.
“I have to go with her?” Betty pointed to the grim-faced female officer with the sleek ponytail, whose eyes were a little too close together to be considered beautiful.
“Yes.” If at all possible, Malone looked more stoic than usual. Or maybe, Betty had just worn him down. She had that effect on some people.
Betty slung her purse strap over her arm and huffed. “No offense, cupcake, but I was kinda hoping Officer Hottie would be the one to frisk me.”
“No one is frisking anyone.” The edge to Malone’s voice indicated he didn’t find Betty’s antics amusing. “Officer Shughart is going to ask you a few more questions. That’s it. Go.”
She gave Shughart the once-over. “You got a pet?” she asked, as they walked toward a group of police cars in the parking lot.
“Betty doesn’t mean to be difficult,” I started to explain.
Malone shot me an exasperated look. “Yes, she does.”
I tried again. “She’s lived a long life and doesn’t want to be overlooked. Can you blame her?”
Without bothering to acknowledge my defense of Betty, he walked away toward the vendor booths, cutting a path through a flock of Zippy worshipers. “I’ve been able to corroborate that the filmmaker exists,” he said, over his shoulder.
I grabbed Missy, and we ran to catch up. “That’s good, right?”
“Unfortunately, no one knows her name.”
“Did you find her? Does she still have Betty’s handgun?”
“We’re looking for her.”
His monotone answer made me a little nervous. “You can’t seriously believe Betty did this?”
“What I believe is immaterial. My job is to ask questions and follow the evidence.”
“No offense, but let’s think back to the last time you told me that. You arrested Darby. And she was innocent.”
“She was guilty of keeping secrets. That’s what got her into trouble.”
I opened my mouth to rebut, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument. He spoke the truth. And judging from Betty’s recent disappearing act, she was taking a page out of Darby’s playbook.
“When are you going to fill in your cousin on your boyfriend’s real job?”
I stumbled. Certainly, he didn’t know about Grey’s undercover work. “What do you mean?” I hedged.
Malone stopped and faced me. “I have connections. You didn’t think I’d turn a blind eye when I found out evidence that I had turned over to the FBI had been returned to someone other than the person I took it from? That someone being the girlfriend—”
“Fiancée.”
“Fiancée, of a well-respected FBI agent.”
I swallowed my unease. A couple months back, in a rather unusual turn of events, a dying man had torn Grandma Tillie’s brooch right off Caro’s beautiful Jenny Packman gown in the middle of a fundraiser. Turned out he’d been murdered, which was why Malone had taken the pin from Caro as evidence. Somehow, the Feds had gotten involved, and once they had taken over the case, they’d taken custody of the brooch too.
“What did you tell Caro?”
“I haven’t said anything. And I won’t. But you know your cousin better than I do. She won’t give up until she gets her brooch back.”
“My brooch, detective.”
The vintage pin was a family heirloom that had belonged to our Grandma Tillie. She’d left it to her “favorite granddaughter.” Caro mistakenly believed that meant her. I knew Grandma Tillie meant me. Over the years, Caro and I have been . . . how should I put it? Repossessing the pin from each other.
To outsiders, the ugly, multi-jeweled basket of fruit wasn’t worth the effort Caro and I exerted. Maybe if we were on speaking terms we could come to some type of joint-custody agreement. But we weren’t speaking. That was a whole other story.
The hard planes of Malone’s face and set jaw didn’t convey an ounce of understanding for my situation.
“That’s for the two of you to figure out,” he said. “I didn’t peg your boyfriend, fiancé, as someone who’d get involved in whatever it is you and Caro have going on.”
I bristled in annoyance. “He’s not. I called Grey’s partner for help. Grey didn’t have a clue I had the brooch until after it was all over.”
Malone raised a brow. “Wow.”
I shoved my hand in my pocket and walked toward the Bow Wow Boutique booth. Missy snorted her displeasure at the fast pace. I took a deep breath and slowed down. I sensed Malone had followed.
“Not my finest moment. Grey’s not exactly over my little stunt.” Or the fact that he’d found out from his partner, and not from me, that I’d managed to retrieve the brooch. “We’ll work it out. We always do.” Let’s be honest, I was reassuring myself, not the detective by my side.
Malone declined to comment. A smart man. We walked in silence until we reached my booth. I got the feeling there was more he wanted to say. After the bombshell he’d dropped on me, I couldn’t imagine what it could be.
He took a deep breath and said, “Against my better judgment, I want you to keep an eye on Betty.”
Okay, you can imagine my shock. For the past year, all I’d heard was, “Butt out. Keep your nose out of my investigation, or I’ll toss you in jail.” This was unchartered territory. I was so stunned, I barely heard what he said next.
“Let me make it clear, I
’m not giving you license to conduct your own investigation. You’re to keep Betty out of police business. That’s all. Got it?”
I bit back the relieved smile that tickled the corners of my mouth and nodded once. If he wanted me to keep Betty out from underfoot, he had to believe she wasn’t involved in Richard’s death. “I understand.”
He pinned me with his intense dark eyes. “Do you?”
“Absolutely. I swear. You know, I never intend to get involved. It just sort of happens.”
“Make sure it doesn’t ‘happen’ this time.” He looked unimpressed.
“Understood.” I changed the subject before he changed his mind about my babysitting Betty. “Do you know if Zippy’s been found?”
“One of my men discovered him hiding under a food truck. He seems fine, but I’ve asked Dr. Darling to check him over to make sure.”
“That’s good news. We’ve been worried. Betty’s taken a liking to the guy; she’ll be relieved to know he’s safe.”
“Keep her away from him. If she gets in my way, I’ll throw you both in jail.”
I watched Malone stalk off toward the racing area with a smile on my face. Some things will never change.
SHORTLY AFTER MALONE left, Hagan Stone announced over the PA system that the remaining heavyweight heats, and championship race, would resume tomorrow at two o’clock. It couldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that after a two-hour delay the race would be rescheduled. A dead body would dampen any party.
With the competition over for the day, I decided to pack up and return to the boutique. If Betty were with me, she’d throw a fit about deserting the booth when there were still potential customers within reach of the cash register. My smiled faded. Where was Betty? How many questions could Officer Shughart have?
I was wrapping the doggie IDs, when a cold shadow fell over me. “There you are. What have you been doing?”
“Where’s the crazy bat who killed Richard?” Gia Eriksen demanded. Her voice squeaked like an ill-tempered Chihuahua.
I looked up and cringed. Egad. She looked like she’d crawled out from the wreckage of nasty breakup. Death did not become her.
Gia wasn’t exactly who I’d expected to see next to me. “I’m sorry for your loss. But we don’t know who killed your husband.”
“Where is she? That old woman in the ugly pajamas.” She peered around me. Did she think I was hiding Betty in my back pocket?
I didn’t appreciate her attitude or comment about Betty. My mama had taught me to be polite, even when the other person was off her rocker, but this woman could make me forget all about my upbringing.
I narrowed my eyes. “Is there something I can do for you, Gia? Would you like to make a purchase?”
She shoved her hands on her curvy hips. “I want my dog. Where’s Zippy? He competes tomorrow.”
It struck me a little suspicious that she suddenly seemed more concerned about her dog than her recently deceased husband.
“Why in the world would I have your dog?”
“Because that senile woman was spying on us. She tried to lure Zippy away with a corn dog.”
I bit my bottom lip, fighting back an amused smile. That sounded like Betty. I quickly composed myself. After all, missing dogs and murder were serious business.
“I believe the police found him and took him to the vet to be looked over.”
Gia’s amber eyes glazed over with anger. Or was that fear? Hard to tell with mascara smeared around her eyes. Were her possible tears for her deceased husband or her missing pooch?
“They had no right,” she ground out. “Zippy’s a champion. He’s not to be treated by just any doctor.”
Now she was making me mad. “Dr. Darling is an amazing veterinarian. Zippy couldn’t be in more capable or loving hands.”
Dr. Daniel Darling was a friend and Missy’s doctor. He not only ran a successful practice, but he donated more time to the local shelter than any other veterinarian in our ocean-side town. In my humble opinion, he was not just any doctor.
“He doesn’t have my permission to treat Zippy. Where can I find this Dr. Darling?”
There was something about her reaction that didn’t ring true. Why wouldn’t she want her beloved pet examined? I remembered what Lenny had said about Ricky-Dicky doping his dog. At the time, I’d pegged Lenny as a sore loser. Could he have been telling the truth?
I moved to the other side of the table, directly in front of Gia. “What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even the accusations about drugging Zippy?”
She blanched. “You can’t possibly believe what that lunatic Lenny Santucci said. He’s a troublemaker. He was our biggest fan, until Zippy beat his loser dog, race after race. Since then, he’s made it his life’s mission to take us down. Including spreading those horrible, horrible lies.”
“The rumor is simple enough to refute. Allow Zippy to take a blood test,” I suggested.
Gia tossed her dark hair over her shoulder in a huff. “If the judges decide to require tests, I’m happy to oblige.” She shoved a razor finger in my direction. “She won’t get away with it.”
I stepped back. I assumed she was referring to Betty. I sighed. “She didn’t kill him.”
“Everyone saw her threaten him with a gun.”
“And everyone saw them both walk away . . . alive.” The word “alive” hung in the air between as she thought about the possibility.
“Well, if it wasn’t her, then who?”
I shook my head. “You’ll need to talk to the police.”
I’m not going to lie. That’s the same question I’d been mulling over the last couple of hours. I’ve heard that if the deceased was married, the spouse was always a person of interest until proven otherwise. For all I knew, I was looking at Richard Eriksen’s killer.
His wife.
Chapter Seven
GRANDMA TILLIE USED to say, “I’d rather die from exhaustion than expire from boredom.” Today had been many things, boring was not one of them.
First Betty had pulled a gun on abrasive Richard Eriksen. Then I’d stumbled over Richard’s dead body. Grey had unexpectedly hightailed it home from DC after being reassigned. On the positive side, Malone had begrudgingly asked me for a favor.
As sunset approached, a chill clung to the salty air. I grabbed a hoodie from my day bag and slipped it on. Since I’d spent the majority of the afternoon away from the booth, I decided to take a quick inventory as I packed the merchandise in a plastic totes.
I sorted through the leftover stock. I was only short one water bowl and one box of Bowser dog treats. Not bad. I quickly recounted and came up with the same total. For as long as we’d left our merchandise unattended, I was pleasantly surprised more items weren’t missing.
I lined up the four large storage bins on the table. I felt comfortable leaving the cooler of water bottles behind. That meant only four separate trips to the Jeep. Or I could call Grey and ask for help.
I ran my hands through my hair as I contemplated my options. My head hurt anticipating another argument with Grey where neither of us ended up a winner. I doubted my handsome fiancé was ready to rehash our relationship status either. But I missed him more than my desire to avoid a heated discussion.
There was still a number of people milling around the park; certainly Grey had to be around somewhere. I pulled out my cell and called him before I changed my mind. Straight to voicemail. I sighed. He either was on a call or had shut off his phone. I decided to wait a few minutes before trying again.
I grabbed a couple of water bottles from the cooler, then sat on the grass next to Missy. I patted my lap for her to join me. She snorted excitedly as she waddled over.
“Hey there, sweet girl. How are you holding up?” I scratched behind her ear. “Do you need a drink?”
I cracked open a bottle and poured water into her collapsible bowl. She eagerly slurped the cold liquid, splashing both of us in the process. I laughed as I br
ushed water droplets off my jeans.
“I guess you were thirsty.”
Determined not to dwell on Grey, I thought about Richard Eriksen. Who hated him enough that they’d shoot him? Gia was an obvious suspect. There was also Lenny. He had a grudge against both Eriksens.
Like it or not, Betty was also a likely suspect.
Speaking of my errant assistant, where the heck was she? The longer she was gone, the more worried I grew.
“I pegged you more of a Jack Russell Terrier-type,” a male voice spoke from behind me.
I looked up to see that hack TV reporter standing over me. Ok, “hack” was a strong word to describe someone whose work I’d never seen. I’d reserve further judgment until I watched one of his reports on the Internet.
Jack Russells were known for their intellect, spirited personalities, and strong will. If not trained with a firm hand, the dog would walk all over a passive owner. Since I didn’t know anything about Laguna’s new reporter, I didn’t know if he was implying I was intelligent or assertive. Both were accurate, but he didn’t know that.
After one last love pat for Missy, I grabbed my water bottle and stood. Mr. TV wasn’t as tall as Grey or Malone, but he still had at least a couple inches on me. Dressed in blue jeans and hunter green T-shirt, he should have blended in with the rest of us, but his gray blazer gave him a business edge that managed to set him apart from the average Joe.
I could see why he had a reputation as the heartthrob reporter. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, which immediately put me on alert. Malone’s earlier advice echoed in my ears.
I brushed grass clippings off my jeans. “What can I do for you?”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Callum MacAvoy; my friends call me Mac.” He extended a hand, along with a smug smile that I guessed he thought was charming and meant to disarm me.
I ignored the smile, but accepted his hand. Smooth, no calluses, firm grip. “Is that an invitation to call you Mac?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Can I call you Mel?”
I pulled my hand back. “Melinda. You’ve been busy since I saw you last.”
The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo Page 5
