Bird, Bath, and Beyond
Page 25
She didn’t have time to answer because the office door opened and Sergeant Joe Bostwick walked in with two uniformed cops. “You have the confession?” he said.
Mandy saw Consuelo hand him the voice recorder she’d had on her desk during the whole conversation. Bostwick took it and nodded at Consuelo. “Thanks.”
“You can’t do that!” Mandy tried to protest. “I’m just an actress trying to get work.”
I guess Bostwick didn’t see the point to handcuffs because when he nodded toward the uniformed officers, they just took Mandy’s arms and started her toward the door.
“Mandy Baron, you are under arrest for tampering with evidence and obstructing justice,” the cop to her left said. He started reciting her Miranda rights and was up to her ability to pay for an attorney by the time they walked through the office door.
“Well, you were right about that one,” Bostwick said to me. “Now if you’d listened to me about the actual shooter, you could have saved us both a whole lot of trouble. I told you not to get involved in that case.”
“That’s what I like about you, Joe,” I said. “You don’t rub it in.”
He smiled and thanked us, then checked with Barney by tapping on the cage on his way out of the office, which just annoyed Maisie. “Polly want a cracker?” he asked.
That reminded me. “Did you ever find Harve Lembeck?” I asked Bostwick.
He looked over. “Yeah, Baker found him, actually. He had decided that by giving Dray the gun he’d committed some huge crime and was hiding out in the storeroom behind a bar his cousin owns in Jersey City. When we told him we weren’t looking to send him back to jail, he relaxed so much I think he’ll sleep for a week. After he sobers up.”
“Does he know anything that’ll help with the case?” Consuelo asked.
“He knows who was coming and going from the trailer. He can identify your pal Patty as the woman in the curly wig, after we showed him a picture of her in it. Funny how he couldn’t at the memorial service, huh?”
“It’s all context, Joe,” I said. “I’m surprised Detective Baker could talk enough to get people to tell him where Harve was; I’ve never heard the man say a word.”
Bostwick stared. “Really? In the precinct you can’t ever get him to shut up. Honestly, the man talks all day long. Drives me nuts.”
I absorbed that and moved on. “Harve,” I reminded Bostwick.
“Harve still doesn’t know where the bullets came from, but I’m fairly sure an experienced operator like Patty, or whatever her name really is, probably brings her own. I’m surprised she used the prop gun, but I guess it made it easier for her because the weapon would be traced back to the production company.”
“What about the height differential? Forensics said the killer was five-eleven. Patty’s nowhere near that.”
Bostwick looked sheepish. “She stood on a box. Better angle or something.”
He said his goodbyes again and this time actually left. I slumped back in my desk chair and wondered how I could have aged twenty-eight years in the past week. I looked over at the cage with the two birds in it. “We’re going to have to find a place for Barney,” I said. “This is the second time we’ve had clients orphaned when their owners got arrested.” That was, after all, indirectly how I’d gotten Bruno.
“I think I’ll take him home, if that’s okay with you,” Consuelo said. “We don’t know who his real owners are because Patty just got him from somebody as an excuse to be on the set.”
“It’s okay with me, but we’re making this a habit. We need to establish a new rule in the office after this: no adopting clients.”
She nodded fervently. “Good rule,” she said. “By the way, I did some checking. Giant Productions went out of business two days ago after the principal owner was convicted of fraud. That’s why we never heard about Bagels.” Welcome to showbiz.
Consuelo seemed awfully cheerful considering all that had gone on, and then I got it. “What’s new with Oreo?” I asked.
“I’m going to meet with them tomorrow,” she said, grinning widely. “I think it looks good.”
* * *
The news vans were back at my front door. After all this time, it was actually sort of comforting to see them again. I figured I owed the reporters a statement, so I parked the car in the driveway and let them ambush me, answered a few questions about what it was like to be almost fricasseed in Dray Mattone’s trailer, and then beat a hasty retreat to my front door to await my inevitable immortalization on all the networks, YouTube, and other means of entertainment disguised as information.
My parents were sitting at the kitchen table when I came in, sharing a bottle of white wine. Dad, who had left directly from the Astoria lot as soon as Bostwick and Baker had released us, was grinning from ear to ear, something I had not seen since they’d arrived back from the Greek tour.
“My phone’s been ringing off the hook,” he told me as soon as the dog madness which accompanies any return to my home had subsided. I sat down after getting myself a glass to join them in their celebration of whatever this was. “A bunch of my usual bookers saw me on TV almost being roasted, and all of a sudden we’re in demand.”
It took me a second. I looked at my mother. “We?”
Mom actually blushed. “I might have been a little hasty with the whole retirement thing,” she said. “It was lucky that I didn’t see the TV until you two were already safe, but just the thought of it … Maybe I want to spend a little more time working with my husband, and then come home now and again to see my daughter. You two are precious to me.” I got the impression Mom had opened the bottle of wine—or the one I saw sticking out of my recycling bin—before Dad had gotten home.
My father reached over and hugged Mom. “All I could think about in that trailer was you and Kay,” he said. The fact that I had also been in the trailer put a weird spin on it, but hey, Dad also had a head start on the wine. They were happy and that was what I cared about.
But the dogs were not, and having been fed by my parents, they needed to be walked by me. Given their current mood and state of inebriation, Mom and Dad could probably do with some time alone in the house for a while, so this seemed an opportune moment to go meet Sam at Cool Beans. With all three leashed up and ready to go, we hit the streets of Scarborough and took off in search of adventure.
Or a cup of coffee and Sam. That sounded good.
Sure enough, after all three dogs had completed their walking tasks, we headed into the coffee shop through the door Sam had indeed left unlocked despite the CLOSED sign in the window. I know he doesn’t mind my dogs walking around inside, so I let them all off their leashes and they began exploring as soon as we got there.
Finding Sam was a trifle more difficult than usual, since he was not in the main room where business is usually done. But I could hear voices coming from the office behind the dining room (that’s what Sam calls it) and walked in to see what was up.
Sam was sitting with his feet up on the desk, and Lo Toscadero, with whom I had texted feverishly after she’d seen me on CNN, was ensconced in the swivel chair on the other side of the desk. Each of them held a coffee mug, but I had the feeling any coffee they were drinking was of the Irish variety.
“Hey, guys,” I said, figuring this was not going to be the time for Sam and me to have a deep personal conversation. “What’d I miss?”
“Not much,” Lo said. “We expected you, like, an hour ago.” She giggled. Yep, Irish coffee, okay.
“It takes time to almost get burned up and then catch someone obstructing justice,” I explained. There was no third chair in the office and I could hear the dogs rummaging around in the outer room.
Sam saw me looking around the room and stood up. “Let’s go out to the dining room,” he said. So we did.
He made a cup in my designated mug—I get my own personal mug in the shape of a dog that no one else can use at Cool Beans—and without asking added a shot of Baileys Irish Cream from a bottle he keep
s behind the counter. He knew what kind of day I’d had.
We sat at one of the tables and didn’t say anything for a while. I think Sam and Lo were wondering how to broach the subject with me, and to be fair, I would have wondered that myself if the tables were turned. We drank our coffees with the extra added attractions in them and let the combination of caffeine and alcohol do its magic.
“I saw on TV that Dead City got picked up by one of the cable networks,” Lo said. It figured. The extra publicity had finally convinced someone there was still some milk left in the old cow.
“A bunch of people are back at work.” I sighed. There was another long silence.
“So someone tried to burn you down today.” Lo has the gift of tact. She wasn’t employing it now, but she has that gift.
“Yep,” I said. I let the warmth radiate out from my stomach to everywhere else. “She sure did.”
“I’m glad she didn’t,” Sam volunteered. His soft tone indicated that if Lo had not ventured by to commiserate, his words might have had a different connotation.
“So am I,” I said.
Bruno came over to be patted and was not disappointed. That meant Eydie would follow him, since in her mind she is clearly more deserving. Steve just followed Eydie because that’s what he does. Three people, three dogs, no waiting.
“You should offer this as a service,” I told Sam. “Customers come in and a dog is immediately assigned to them for petting.”
“You know, most bird agents don’t end up hanging out with murderers,” Lo said, to the point as usual. “What do you think it says about you?”
I looked over at Sam, who was looking back at me. Another night, I guessed. I turned to face Lo again.
“Just lucky, I guess,” I said.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I know I’ll sound like a broken record (anybody remember broken records? What am I supposed to say now, a malfunctioning streaming feed?) but I just started the process of getting this book to you. Many people have helped since then, and they deserve some credit.
Thank you to David Baldeosingh Rotstein for the lovely jacket design and to all those at St. Martin’s Press who shepherded this book and this series through the pipeline. Special thanks to Marcia Markland and Nettie Finn for making it coherent.
I can’t begin to imagine how you’d ever have seen this story without the diligent work of Josh Getzler and the gang at HSG Agency, who got me into a room with Marcia to begin with and said, “Tell her your idea.” Things went on from there.
I appreciate each and every one of my readers but can’t thank you all by name. Just assume you’re thanked and that you never go unnoticed. Without readers I’m some person in a room typing.
Booksellers of all stripes, librarians, bloggers who specialize in the crime fiction area, magazines like Crimespree and Mystery Scene: Don’t ever stop what you’re doing. We authors need to reach readers, and you’re the ones who make that even vaguely possible. We all love you.
To my family, my friends, and my dog: It’s been a rough year, but we’re through it now and I can’t even imagine how I’d have managed without you (although the dog sometimes made it a tiny bit more difficult, and you know who you are, Gizmo). Thanks for keeping my eyes on the goal and never letting me wallow. Too much. You’re the best, each and every one of you.
E. J. Copperman
April 2018
Also by E. J. COPPERMAN/JEFF COHEN
Dog Dish of Doom
The Aaron Tucker Mystery Series
For Whom the Minivan Rolls
A Farewell to Legs
As Dog Is My Witness
The Comedy Tonight Mystery Series
Some Like It Hot-Buttered
It Happened One Knife
A Night at the Operation
The Haunted Guesthouse Mystery Series
Night of the Living Deed
An Uninvited Ghost
Old Haunts
Chance of a Ghost
The Thrill of the Haunt
Inspector Specter
Ghost in the Wind
Spouse on Haunted Hill
The Hostess with the Ghostess
The Asperger’s Mystery Series
The Question of the Missing Head
The Question of the Unfamiliar Husband
The Question of the Felonious Friend
The Question of the Absentee Father
The Question of the Dead Mistress
The Mysterious Detective Mystery Series
Written Off
Edited Out
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
E. J. COPPERMAN is someone you could sit down and have a beer with, if that’s your thing. Or a hot chocolate. Or a diet soda. Actually, you can have anything you want as long as you don’t care what E. J. is drinking.
E. J. is the author of a number of mystery series. The Agent to the Paws series begins with Dog Dish of Doom. Other series by this multitalented writer include the Haunted Guesthouse mysteries, Asperger’s mysteries, and Mysterious Detective mysteries. You can sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BIRD, BATH, AND BEYOND. Copyright © 2018 by E. J. Copperman. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: bird © Julymilks / Shutterstock.com; hand-lettering © Lesya Skripak / Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Copperman, E. J., 1957– author.
Title: Bird, bath, and beyond: an agent to the paws mystery / E. J. Copperman.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY: Minotaur Books, 2018. | “A Thomas Dunne Book.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2018027003 | ISBN 9781250084293 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250084309 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.O358 B57 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018027003
eISBN 9781250084309
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First Edition: October 2018
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Also by E. J. Copperman/Jeff Cohen
About the Author
Copyright