Dial C for Chihuahua

by Waverly Curtis

  “Of course I am sure. I can smell the leather. Italian, I believe.”

  “Can you tell the shoe size?”

  “I am not a shoe salesman.” He put his nose to the grass and headed towards the back of the house. “Come along, Geri,” he said.

  I followed reluctantly.

  “Over here,” called Pepe, his voice growing faint. He was digging again, this time in the back yard under the base of an ornamental cherry tree with long weeping branches, laden with fat, pink petals. As I reached his side, I heard voices coming from the back of the house.

  “All right, go on,” said a male voice. “You wanted out, so go out already.”

  “Luis,” said a woman, “Mrs. Tyler doesn’t like it when—”

  “I don’t care. It’s a dog, not a piece of Waterford crystal. Besides, she drives me crazy when she wants out.”

  “But—”

  “She always comes back. Don’t worry. There you go, girl, have some fun.”

  I scooped Pepe up and ducked behind a topiary boxwood, shaped like a giant urn. “Shhhh! ” I told him.

  A reddish-gold Pomeranian came prancing out into the yard. She was an exquisite little creature, a puffball of long, fluffy fur.

  Pepe craned forward in my arms.

  “Oh,” he sighed. “It is the bitch. She is so lovely. I am smitten!”

  “Hold still,” I said while he was squirming in my arms.

  The Pomeranian sniffed the air. I was afraid she would catch our scent and begin barking. But instead, she headed straight over to the base of the tree where Pepe had been digging and began digging herself.

  “She is going to steal our clue!” said Pepe, wriggling out of my arms, and dashing towards her.

  I took off after him. Sure enough, by the time I arrived, the Pomeranian had unearthed something. It was a soggy piece of plastic, covered with dirt. It took a minute for me to realize it was a latex glove. Possibly worn by the murderer! And buried here after the deed! The police hadn’t found it. I needed to get that clue before the dogs destroyed it.

  The little Pom had her teeth on one end of it and Pepe had his teeth on the other end. They were both growling and pulling it back and forth.

  “Give it to me,” said Pepe. “It is mine. I found it first.”

  The Pomeranian growled.

  “Stop it, both of you!” I said, perhaps a bit too loud. For the next moment, I heard a man’s voice behind me.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Chapter 16

  I turned and saw a young man in khaki pants and a white T-shirt coming toward me. He had the browned skin of someone who works in the sun and the broad shoulders and strong biceps of someone who works with his hands. Behind him was an older woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore magenta polyester pants and a matching tunic top. Both had a look of concern, especially the woman.

  I was concerned myself. The glove was a clue I couldn’t afford to lose. I knelt down and grabbed at it. We had a three-way tug-of-war until I pulled up on the glove, almost lifting both dogs off the ground. They finally released their hold. I shoved the glove into my coat pocket. Then I stood and turned to face the man and woman.

  “Oh, hello,” I said. “I’m sorry for coming onto your property. I was just passing by, and my dog saw your dog and got off his leash. It is your dog, isn’t it? This cute little Pomeranian?”

  “She isn’t ours,” said the man, approaching me. The Pomeranian was dancing around me with her dark eyes focused on my pocket. Pepe was following close behind her. “She belongs to Mrs. Tyler. We work for her.”

  “Luis, que pasa?” the woman asked, giving him a light poke in the arm. “Who is this lady?” she continued in Spanish. “What’s she doing here?”

  “No problem,” Luis told her in Spanish. “Her dog just got off the leash.”

  “I’m Geri Sullivan,” I said, introducing myself.

  “Luis Vasquez,” he told me. “And this is my mother, Rosa. I’m sorry, she doesn’t speak any English.”

  Just then, the Pomeranian jumped up, her eyes still focused on my coat pocket. She repeated the move as effortlessly as an acrobat—boing-boing-boing—like a furry bouncing ball.

  “Siren Song, down,” commanded Luis. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “It’s OK,” I said. “She probably smells the beef jerky in my pocket.” I pulled the half full packet out.

  “Hey,” Pepe complained, putting his nose right up to the plastic pack, as did the other dog. “You said we were out of beef jerky,” he accused. “You held out on me.”

  “You were eating it all,” I told him.

  “What did you say?” asked Luis.

  “Nothing,” I told him. “Your dog was working so hard for this beef jerky, I thought she should have some of it. Do you mind?”

  Luis looked at Rosa. She shook her head, but he shrugged. “She can have a treat.”

  I gave a few pieces to the Pomeranian, who wolfed it down.

  “No more for her,” Rosa told Luis. “Siren Song will get fat.”

  “She’s got too much energy to get fat,” said Luis. “She can have some more.”

  I broke off a small bit for Pepe and gave the rest to Siren Song. She gobbled it right up, but Pepe took his piece gently in his mouth, then carried it over to Siren Song and laid it down on the grass in front of her. She gave him what I can only describe as a surprised look, then scooped it up, swallowed it, and licked her lips.

  “Hey baby, que pasa?” Pepe said to her.

  “Hey baby, que pasa?” I repeated.

  Luis must have thought I was speaking to him. He rattled off a string of rapid Spanish. About all I could figure was that he thought I was fluent in Spanish, too.

  “No hablo Español,” I said in my high school Spanish. “I was talking to my dog.”

  “Your dog speaks Spanish?” Luis asked.

  “Well, actually, I think it’s more like Spanglish.” Thinking it best to change the subject, I asked Luis, “I saw the police were here yesterday. What happened?”

  “Mr. Tyler was found dead,” he said. “The police think he was murdered.”

  “That’s terrible. I take it you and your mother weren’t here when it happened?”

  “No. We had the week off. Mrs. Tyler was in L.A., and Mr. Tyler was at their cabin in Aspen.”

  “Luis!” his mother yelled. She pointed toward the dogs. “Do you see what that Chihuahua is doing?”

  “But she is spayed,” Luis told her. “They cannot do anything. They are just smelling each other.”

  And so they were. They had been circling round each other the way dogs do but eventually they had stopped, side by side, head to tail, and were sniffing each other’s butts. Pepe looked at me, his dark eyes dreamy, and said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

  “Shakespeare again,” I mused, thinking how odd it was to hear my dog quoting from Romeo and Juliet. Then I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.

  “So what happened?” I asked, deciding to play the role of a concerned neighbor. “Was it a burglary?”

  Luis shrugged. “We don’t know. Mrs. Tyler called us last night and asked us to come over. The police wanted to question us. To see if we had noticed anything out of place.”

  “And had you?”

  “I didn’t work that week since there was no need to water. Because of the rain. And my mother was supposed to come that day to open up the house for Mrs. Tyler, but then Mrs. Tyler called her and told her not to come.”

  “Why?”

  Luis looked at his mother, but she wasn’t paying attention. All of her attention was focused on Siren Song. The Pomeranian was standing up on her back legs, with her paws held in front of her, and turning in circles. She could have been a ballerina doing pirouettes. She was that graceful.

  “Wow!” I said. Pepe seemed equally impressed. He tried to get up on his hind legs and imitate her actions, but he could only stay upright for a mo
ment.

  “The dog dances,” said Luis.

  “Yes, it certainly looks like she’s dancing,” I said.

  “No, really,” he said. “Mrs. Tyler has trained her to dance. That is her hobby. She takes her dog to shows where dogs dance.”

  Siren Song backed up, still standing on her hind legs. Then she moved forward again.

  “It looks like she’s doing a cha-cha,” I said.

  “Probably she is,” Luis said. “She’s a very talented dog. She has won many prizes.”

  Rosa walked towards the dogs, clapping her hands. At first, I thought she was applauding Siren Song’s performance, but then I realized she was trying to shoo Pepe away.

  “So your mother was lucky,” I said.

  “What?”

  “If she had come that morning, she would have found the body,” I said. I didn’t mention that I had been the one to find it instead.

  “Yes, we were just talking about that,” said Luis. “It would have been a terrible shock. My mother has worked for the Tylers for twenty years. I’ve been coming along with her since I was eight. In fact, Mr. Tyler was my patrón.”

  Rosa picked up Siren Song, tucked her under her arm and headed back to the house. Pepe followed at her heels, his nose practically touching her ankles.

  “Patrón?” I asked.

  “It means godfather,” Pepe said, as he trotted by me. I picked him up as well. He struggled to get down but I told him, “Hush, I need you to translate.”

  Just then, Rosa rattled off a string of Spanish at Luis. I caught a word here and there but the gist of it was that she wanted him to get back to work and stop talking to snoopy strangers.

  “She wants him to go back to work and stop talking to snoopy strangers,” Pepe said. “Now will you put me down?”

  “No,” I said. “That dog is way out of your league. No way are you getting anywhere with her.”

  “I am insulted,” Pepe said, and he hung his little head over my arm in the most dejected position possible.

  “He definitely seems to understand English,” Luis said. His mother was already back in the house with Siren Song. Pepe let out a pathetic whimper.

  “My mother wants me to get back to work,” Luis said. He very kindly left off the phrase about talking to snoopy strangers.

  I cast about for some further topic of conversation, and my eye fell on the wheelbarrow full of mulch on the driveway behind him.

  “Oh, I see you’re mulching all of your plants,” I said. “Is this the time of the year to do that?”

  Luis shrugged. “You can do it any time of year but since it’s spring, the weeds grow rapidly. I try to keep up with them but it offends Mrs. Tyler if she sees just one. So she told me to apply the mulch.” He turned away.

  “But why today?” I asked. “What if it covered evidence needed to solve the crime?”

  “Oh, the police told us they were done. And Mrs. Tyler insisted we stay on schedule. She has her calendar laid out with things to do each day.”

  I heard the sound of car tires coming up the driveway. A dark black Town Car pulled into view—just the nose of it since the wheelbarrow blocked the drive.

  “Well, it was lovely talking to you,” I said. “Thanks for letting my dog play with yours.”

  I spun around, planning to make a quick escape along the side of the house. But I was too slow.

  “Hey!” Rebecca Tyler jumped out of the car. She was dressed in black today—a long black wool coat over black leggings and black high heels.

  “What’s going on here?” That was addressed to Luis. I put Pepe down, thinking we could make our getaway faster.

  “You! Stop!” she said. Her voice was so commanding I did as she said. So did Pepe.

  “I was just talking to this lady,” Luis said, holding out his hands in supplication. “She’s a neighbor whose dog got loose and came into our yard.”

  “That’s no neighbor!” said Rebecca. “She’s the one who murdered my husband!”

  Chapter 17

  “I most certainly did not murder your husband,” I said.

  “Luis, restrain her,” said Rebecca. “I’m calling the police.”

  Luis looked uncertain. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

  “Hold onto her,” said Rebecca, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.

  Luis looked apologetic but reached out and put his arms around my waist from behind. I struggled to get free, squirming this way and that. Pepe circled Luis, nipping at his heels and barking. I could hear Pepe muttering under his breath. “Unhand her, you brute.”

  “Do you get all your lines from Mexican soap operas?” I asked.

  “Huh?” said Luis.

  “Never mind,” I said.

  Meanwhile, Rebecca was on her cell phone. “Hello,” she said. “I need a squad car here immediately. I caught a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  “That’s totally untrue,” I said.

  I quickly realized there were some advantages to being so close to Luis. He smelled delicious: a mixture of hot sun and clean skin and spicy cologne. Plus my struggles to get free put me in contact with every muscle in his body, and I do mean, every muscle.

  Luis must have realized this too for he suddenly took a step back and collided with Pepe.

  “Hey, your dog bit me!” he said, letting go of me.

  “Ow!” said Pepe. “He kicked me in the teeth!”

  I fell to my knees to check Pepe out. He seemed to be all right. He wasn’t bleeding anywhere. I couldn’t say the same for Luis, who had a few tiny puncture wounds in the back of his ankles.

  “Now’s your chance, Geri,” Pepe said. “Make a run for it. I’ll distract them!”

  “No, Pepe,” I said, “I’m OK. I’m not in trouble here. You are!”

  “I did not bite him,” Pepe said indignantly. “I was just standing still, and he ran into my teeth.”

  Rebecca gave her address to the police, then snapped her phone shut. “They’re on their way,” she said looking straight at me.

  “Why would I be here if I murdered your husband?” I asked.

  “Everyone knows that criminals return to the scene of the crime,” she said.

  “But I couldn’t have murdered him. He was dead long before I arrived.”

  Rebecca looked confused now. “How do you know that?” she asked.

  “Didn’t the police tell you? Your husband had been dead for at least . . .” I looked at Pepe.

  “A day,” he said. “More or less.”

  “At least twenty-four hours,” I said. “The police didn’t mention that?”

  “Oh,” she said, “that explains why they kept asking me when I started calling him.” She gave a little gulp and her eyes softened. “But then why didn’t he answer the phone the day before? And why did he come home early from Aspen?” She dabbed at her eyes with a knuckle. “I thought maybe he was having an affair.”

  She narrowed her eyes and looked at me again.

  “Not with me!” I said.

  “No,” she gave me the once-over. “David wouldn’t be interested in someone like you.”

  “Hey!” I said.

  “Pay her no mind, Geri,” Pepe told me. “Tell her she is the most likely suspect. It is the spouse in 80 percent of all homicides.”

  “You’re a more likely suspect than I am, Mrs. Tyler. The police always suspect the spouse in these cases.”

  “But I would never kill David,” she wailed. “Especially not now.”

  “Why not now?” I asked.

  “He was financing my show,” she said.

  “Oh? What show is that?”

  “Dancing with Dogs,” she said, a wistful smile crossing her face as she described it to me. “It’s a reality show—rather like Dancing with the Stars, but with dogs and their owners dancing together. Siren Song, naturally, would be a star performer.”

  “No kidding?”

  “It would be such a hit. I just know it,” she said. “That’s why I was trying
to reach my husband. We’d wrapped up all the preproduction work in L.A. The producers were waiting for David to wire the money to film the pilot. But it never came. And without it, they said they would have to cancel.”

  “That gives you all the more reason to kill him,” I said. It really didn’t occur to me until later that it wasn’t a good idea to accuse a murderer of murder.

  “That shows what you know,” she said. “The estate will be tied up for months, maybe a year. My show will be canned long before that. I’ve already talked to Sherman about it and he says there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Sherman Foot?”

  “Yes, my lawyer.”

  “He’s my lawyer, too,” I said.

  “How could you get Sherman as a lawyer?” she asked. She really didn’t have a very high opinion of me. Not good enough for her husband or her lawyer. I didn’t think I looked that low-class.

  “I work for the Gerrard Agency,” I said.

  “Oh, that makes sense.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Stewart and David and Sherman were all in the same fraternity at the U Dub. Delta Alpha Gamma. They keep in touch. Old boy network and all that.”

  I figured I wouldn’t mention that I worked for Jimmy Gerrard, not Stewart Gerrard. After all, I had finally gotten her to believe that I did work for the Gerrard Agency.

  “Ask her about the dancing,” said Pepe. “I want to dance. With Siren Song.”

  “Not now, Pepe,” I said.

  “Geri, do not argue with me. The dancing is muy importante,” he said.

  “Oh, all right,” I said.

  “What?” asked Rebecca.

  “My dog wants to dance,” I said, warming to the subject. “Like Siren Song. She looks so cute when she dances. I think my dog would be a good dancer, too.” I could see this topic was having the desired effect. Rebecca relaxed and looked Pepe over thoughtfully.

  “It’s possible,” she said. “People do seem to find Chihuahuas appealing.”

  “How do you do it?” I asked, seeing that the subject had softened her up. Maybe she’d even call the police back and tell them not to come. “How do you teach a dog to dance?”