Fifty Shades of Greyhound (The Pampered Pets Mystery Series)

by Sparkle Abbey

  “Shall we?” I glanced at Verdi. She fidgeted with her collar, pulled it up, patted it down. She looked as nervous as I felt.

  “Sugar, if you want, we can call Detective Malone and let him handle this.”

  She shook her head. “I just want to see if I can find Eugene and talk to him. Convince him to talk to the police. It will look better if he goes to them.”

  “Okay then.” I knew calling Malone was the better plan, but shoot, if it were my brother, I’d feel the same way. “Ready?”

  Verdi nodded and opened her door.

  We approached the front of the house, a boxy beige stucco surrounded by a wrought-iron fence, and knocked.

  No one came to the door.

  After a few minutes, we tried again. We could still see the flicker of light.

  Verdi shrugged. “Maybe if he’s playing a video game, he’s got headphones on and can’t hear us knock.”

  “Let’s go around to the back. Maybe we can see in.”

  We made our way around the house opening the iron gate. Kyle could use a good landscaping service. It looked like there’d been an attempt at cleanup at one point, but an unsuccessful one.

  There was a patio in back with a nice grill and a few lawn chairs gathered around it. Through the back windows, we could see the light more clearly. It did look like there could be someone in the house.

  “Should we knock?” Verdi asked.

  “Why not?” At this point, while I wanted to help Verdi, my motives had become a little more selfish. Sure, I wanted to find out if Kyle knew where Eugene was. But mostly, I wanted to get home and get out of the Tomb Raider outfit.

  I lifted my hand and pounded on the back door. “Hello,” I called. “Is anyone home?

  No response.

  I shrugged and tried the door, turning the knob to see if the house was locked. There was a slight pause and then an awful shrieking filled the air. You know the sound car alarms make? Like that, only ten times louder.

  Verdi and I looked at each other in shock, turned, and ran.

  We rounded the corner of the house and skidded to a halt.

  “Stop right there.”

  Three official-looking tough guys with guns drawn blocked our escape.

  “Keep your hands where we can see them,” the taller one in the middle ordered.

  I carefully raised my black leather-gloved hands in the air, taking no chances that the guys with real guns might think I was going for my plastic weapons.

  Chapter Seven

  THE MEN MARCHED us to the front of the house, cuffed us, and parked us on the steps.

  Uncomfortable, I pulled the hem of my shorts down as much as I could, considering the handcuffs, and adjusted my plastic guns so I wasn’t in danger of poking Verdi and her sword.

  The taller gray-haired guy who seemed to be in charge stood over us. “Would you like to explain yourselves?”

  I looked at Verdi in her green elf outfit and then down at my don’t-mess-with-this-chick black leather Tomb Raider garb. I wasn’t sure there was a good explanation for the way we were dressed, but I imagined the man meant more than our attire.

  “We’re looking for her brother.” I shifted on the uncomfortable concrete.

  “Does he live here?” His face was granite.

  “No,” Verdi answered.

  “Then why were you breaking into this house?” Mr. Serious looked from Verdi to me and back again.

  “We weren’t breaking in,” I answered. “I tried the door because it looked like a television was on, and we thought maybe someone really was home and hadn’t heard us knock.”

  “Is your brother missing?” He nailed Verdi with a don’t-lie-to-me look.

  “Not exactly.” Verdi looked away.

  “Either he is or he isn’t.” The man reached inside his jacket and put away his weapon. “Do you have identification?”

  “I do, but it’s in the car.” Verdi pointed to her little green Fiat parked up the street.

  He shifted his intense gaze to me. “And you?”

  There hadn’t really been any room in the skimpy shorts, and I wasn’t driving so I’d left my bag back at the house. “No, I’m sorry, not with me.”

  He turned to look at one of the other men. “Take this one to get her ID.” Then he turned back to me. “Your name?”

  “Carolina Lamont.” I answered. “And you are?” Up to this point, he hadn’t said.

  “John Milner, FBI.”

  Holy Eliot Ness!

  We were in deeper doo-doo than I’d thought. What was the FBI doing at Kyle’s house? I’d assumed these guys were undercover cops already in the neighborhood for some reason and when they’d heard the alarm thought we were burglars. Okay, there was a rather large hole in my theory that involved the fact that, as far as I knew, burglars usually didn’t wear video game character costumes. But still, FBI?

  The other FBI agent came back with Verdi and handed her driver’s license to Agent Milner.

  “Run this.” Milner handed the license back. “And also check the name Carolina Lamont.”

  “What’s he checking for?” Verdi asked.

  “Outstanding warrants, among other things,” Agent Milner answered. “Make yourselves comfortable, ladies.” He walked a short distance away, but not so far away he couldn’t hear us talk.

  Verdi and I settled in to wait. I shifted on the step and straightened my legs. I lifted one combat-booted foot and crossed my ankles. I felt ridiculous. Here I was, a grown woman, dressed up as a video game character. Parked on a front step and handcuffed. Not one of my finer moments.

  The only thing that could have completed my humiliation was if someone I knew drove by.

  It seemed like hours before the agent who’d been instructed to run our names came back. He and Milner stepped a little farther away and turned their backs to us. I imagined to discuss our fate.

  Agent Milner came back to the front step and handed Verdi’s license to her. “Young lady, it seems your brother is a person of interest in a murder investigation.” His voice was neutral but still said he was serious as a heart attack. “I assume you’re aware of that fact?”

  Verdi nodded.

  “And you.” Mr. Serious shifted his attention to me. “Seems you’ve been involved a couple of times with local law enforcement.”

  “Not in a bad way, though.” I couldn’t be held accountable for a dead client or next-door neighbor who’d been shot. And I’d helped the police, not been in trouble with them. I was sure there would be nothing as far as an official record about my involvement. What in the Sam Hill kind of database were they searching?

  Agent Milner sighed. “Okay, stand up.”

  We stood, and he uncuffed Verdi and me.

  I rubbed my wrists. The cuffs hadn’t really hurt, but had kind of chafed the skin. “Are we free to go then?”

  You know the thought I’d had earlier?

  The one about the only thing that could make the situation more embarrassing? Yeah, well, just as I thought we were free to get out of Dodge, a silver Camaro pulled up beside the curb and Detective Judd Malone got out.

  He approached the group and introduced himself to the agents. Then he turned and got a good look at Verdi and me.

  A bark of a laugh slipped out before he could catch himself.

  “Ms. Lamont, Ms. Perry.” He got the words out, but failed in his attempt to get his face back to an official cop-like expression. He tried to speak again, but couldn’t contain himself. He doubled over, his shoulders shaking. Although Agent Milner had found no humor in the situation at all, it seemed Detective Malone found it hilarious. While I’d wondered at times if the man had a sense of humor, this was not the way I wanted to find out that he did.

  “These are the women we talked to you about,” Agent Serious intoned, his eyes fixed on us like a Great Dane on guard duty. No distractions for him. I doubted the man even knew how to smile. “We can release them into your custody if you’ll vouch for them.”

  �
��What?” My head jerked up. “We don’t want to be released to him.”

  After a short conversation with the FBI fellows, Malone walked us to Verdi’s car. He’d composed himself, but every once in a while a grin twitched at his lips and an inadvertent chuckle broke loose.

  Detective Malone stood on the curb, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, while Verdi and I silently got into the Fiat. He leaned down and looked at us before closing the passenger side door. “You drive carefully,” he cautioned Verdi. “I’d hate to see you two hotshots get stopped for speeding.”

  Verdi started the car, and we drove off. As we made the turn at the corner, I could still see Malone shaking his head and grinning.

  As for Zelda and I, we headed back to Laguna Beach to retrieve our regular clothes and, I hoped and prayed, our sanity.

  IT PROBABLY SOUNDS anticlimactic after the adventures of the day, but I needed a little less drama in my life. All I wanted was an escape, so I spent the rest of the evening reading in bed. Thelma and Louise, my trusty felines, and Dogbert, my wonderful mutt, cuddled against me.

  Finally, I gave up trying to concentrate and turned off the light, but sleep didn’t come easily.

  My mind kept looking for answers. Who was Victor Lustig, and why had he been killed? What was the FBI was doing watching Eugene’s friend’s house? And, when I wasn’t trying to sort those things out, I kept torturing myself with the picture of Detective Malone’s mirth as we’d driven away.

  Chapter Eight

  THE OFFICE WAS quiet when I arrived the next morning.

  Verdi had left me a note. The day’s appointments were filled. She had contacted each of the people on the Greyhound aftermath list, and, surprisingly, most of them wanted to be seen. I wasn’t sure if they really had dog issues or if they wanted to know if I knew any details about the murder. The media had stopped reporting on the whole debacle, I supposed because there hadn’t been any sort of break in the murder case. They’d moved on to other news: gang fights, stock market reports, celebrity rehab details. Life went on.

  I picked up the files I needed for the morning. In addition to the Greyhound parents on the schedule, I had a house call nearby in the Village, with Brandi, a new client. And then a short visit in the lavish Ruby Point gated community with Davis Pinter and Huntley, his Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. It would be a full morning.

  The appointment with Brandi and her dogs took very little time. Brandi was a well-heeled Laguna resident who lived in the southern part of town where she was able to have a big yard. She answered the door and invited me in, moving easily in her wheelchair.

  Brandi had two dogs, both rescues: Katy, an eleven-year-old blue heeler whom she’d had since the dog was four months old, and Bailey, a two-year-old brindle-colored Border Collie.

  As you know, I’m a big sucker for a Border Collie. They’re really smart dogs and very teachable, often even learning words. The breed is ranked number one in several texts that rank the intelligence, of dogs and they’re typically extremely energetic and acrobatic.

  I’d had one growing up and would have ten today if I had the room. Bailey was a little spitfire and, as Brandi explained, was an all-star player in the ball-fielding department.

  Katy, the other dog, was a little more aloof and was not as quick to get to know me. She was all business and clearly wondered why I was there. If there were a canine version of Neil Simon’s Odd Couple, Katy would be Felix Unger. Though we commonly refer to them as blue-heelers or red-heelers, the breed is actually the Australian Cattle Dog. Though I worried about two in-charge herding types in one household, it was clear it worked well for Brandi and her family.

  I, much like Katy, wondered why I was there.

  Brandi, as it turned out, wanted to talk to me about Miss Katy and her reaction to storms. We don’t get a lot of rainstorms in southern California, but when they occurred, it seemed to create a lot of anxiety for Katy. It wasn’t the noise because SoCal storms aren’t the big loud gullywashers like we get at home. There’s nothing like the sudden fury and pounding rain of a Texas thunderstorm.

  I asked Brandi to describe the dog’s behavior. After hearing a few of her accounts of Katy’s pacing and running from room to room, and their unsuccessful attempts to calm her, I thought I had Katy’s problem pegged.

  It wasn’t so much the dog was feeling fear. She was simply protective of her herd, which was Brandi and the rest of her family. I recommended letting her check on everyone.

  “Don’t try to settle her down.” I patted Katy’s head as I talked, but Bailey soon nosed in as well, sliding her head under my hand. “Let her go room to room and do her thing. She’ll settle herself once she’s verified everyone is accounted for.”

  I tossed a ball and Bailey bounded after it, ready to play.

  I was so glad Brandi had called. I’d had a great time with her and her two dogs.

  Leaving my card with Brandi, I asked her to keep in touch and to let me know how Katy did with the new approach to her anxious behavior. Also, I’d had a thought: Dogbert would love her two dogs. We might just make plans to stop by for a play date.

  Next, I headed to Ruby Point where Davis Pinter, the retired newspaper tycoon, was on the docket. We’d worked together before and Huntley had very few problems. However, they were going to be traveling and Davis had some questions. He was also a great dog owner and took daily walks with Huntley. Cavaliers are super companion dogs and perfect for a retiree like Davis.

  The prize-winning newsman routinely called me for consultations. Partly, I believed, because he was bored. The excitement of the newsroom was a thing of the past, and Davis hadn’t really taken to the slower pace of retirement.

  Both clients, human and dog, were in the backyard when I arrived. Davis had set out a pitcher of lemonade on the patio table and offered me a glass. Never one to refuse a refreshment, I accepted.

  “Have a seat, Caro.” He pulled out a chair and poured drinks for us both.

  Davis’s home was one of the nicer homes in Ruby Point, but the patio was my favorite part. A flagstone path led from the house to a small oasis of green hedges and colorful flowerbeds. Like most of the homes in the gated community, he had a swimming pool in the back, but his was made from natural rocks and the water babbled across them, sounding like a mountain stream if you sat quietly.

  “Thanks, Davis.” I slid into the comfortable seat in the shade and slipped my sunglasses off. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you since the Greyhound event. You look good.”

  Older but far from elderly, Davis had salt-and-pepper hair that gave him a distinguished look, and the man was always sharply dressed. Less formal than the last time I’d seen him, but he wore still-creased tan chinos and a boldly-striped shirt that looked freshly pressed.

  “I’m doing fine. That was quite the deal. I was clear across the room, so they questioned me and sent me on my way rather quickly.” He took a sip of his lemonade and smiled down at Huntley who had joined us. “What about you, Caro? You were right near the guy, weren’t you?”

  “I was.” I explained about thinking the man had been having a panic attack, only to find he’d been stabbed.

  “Good grief.” He leaned forward to scratch Huntley’s head. “That had to be unsettling.”

  “It was a little surreal,” I admitted.

  “What’s the story?” Davis’s brow furrowed. “Have you heard anything on the case?”

  “Not a thing. Eugene Perry, one of the catering workers and the twin brother of Verdi, our receptionist at the office, is a ‘person of interest,’ at least according to Detective Malone.”

  “Why is that?”

  Though Davis was retired from the newsroom, I don’t think the curiosity that made him good at digging for a story had gone into retirement.

  “Mainly because he disappeared that night and hasn’t been heard from since.”

  “Hmm.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Doesn’t mean he’s guilty, but it doesn’t look good, does it? What
does his sister say?”

  “She says he had some trouble when he was younger. Computer hacking. Went to jail, but he’s cleaned up his act. She hasn’t heard from him or been able to locate him.”

  I didn’t mention our trip to the computer store.

  Or run-in with the FBI.

  Or the costumes.

  “Who was the guy that was stabbed?”

  “That’s the odd thing. New in town. No one seems to have known him. At least not very well or for very long. He had attended social gatherings around town.”

  “The news didn’t give his name. Said they were looking for relatives.”

  “It was Victor Lustig,” I supplied.

  “What?” Davis sat up straight. “Did you say Victor Lustig?”

  “I’m sure that’s what Diana told me. Why? Do you know the name?”

  “I sure do.” Davis chuckled. “And you should, too. That’s the name of a legendary con man. He’s the guy that sold the Eiffel Tower. Twice, in fact.”

  “No kidding?” No wonder the name had seemed slightly familiar to me. I’d been trying to remember, thinking it was someone I knew.

  “I’d say something’s not quite what it seems with our murder victim.”

  “I’d say you’re right.”

  “Makes me sorry I’m leaving town.” Davis lifted the pitcher. “Would you like some more?”

  “No, thank you.” I’d enjoyed the lemonade and the conversation but needed to get back to the reason I was there. “Let’s discuss your concerns about traveling with Huntley. Cavaliers travel very well. What, specifically, are you worried about?”

  It turned out it wasn’t the travel part that concerned Davis. He was going to stay with his daughter in Connecticut for a couple of weeks, and she had two tropical birds. Davis hadn’t stayed at her house since she’d had the birds, and he knew Cavaliers have a strong sporting instinct, so he was mostly worried about the mix of Huntley and the birds.

  While the bird flushing and hunting instinct is very strong in the breed, I explained, some Cavaliers do just fine in a home with birds. However, others do not. My suggestion was to discuss the concern with his daughter and perhaps keep the birds and dog separated or contained. If the birds were free, Huntley should be on his leash. If he was off leash, the birds should be caged. If the daughter was as responsible a pet owner as I knew Davis to be, I was sure they’d do fine.