Dial C for Chihuahua

by Waverly Curtis

  “I’ll show you,” she said, shooing away Luis who was still hanging around, rubbing his ankles.

  “Come inside,” Rebecca said. “Let’s go into my dog-training lounge.”

  And that’s where we were when the police arrived.

  Chapter 18

  The training lounge was in the basement of the mansion. Its floor was completely covered with black rubber. I assume that made it easier for the dogs to get traction and also meant their falls were cushioned. One wall was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors, as in a ballet studio. There was even a little dressing area in the corner, containing a rack of tiny sparkly outfits. A big-screen TV took up most of another wall and on that screen Rebecca and Siren Song were waltzing to “The Blue Danube” in matching outfits made of blue chiffon and rhinestones.

  At the moment, the little star was acting more like a dog. She and Pepe were frolicking around the basement. She would dash at Pepe, then scamper away when he darted towards her. His tail was wagging like crazy.

  “That’s fascinating,” I said, watching the video. “But how do you teach her to do that?”

  “Here—I’ll demonstrate.” She used a remote control to turn down the volume of the music and then she snapped her fingers. In an instant, Siren Song was sitting at her feet.

  “The first command is a gentle uplifting of your palm,” Rebecca told me. “Thus,” she said, ever so lightly raising the palm of her right hand.

  The little Pomeranian stood effortlessly on her hind legs.

  “If I move my hand in a circular motion, then she’ll turn!” Rebecca demonstrated and Siren Song turned in slow pirouettes. “I can make her go faster, too. Of course, when she’s learning a new move, I reward her with treats.” She nodded at a small refrigerator standing against the wall. “She likes cheese. And turkey breast.”

  “I want to try that,” said Pepe, frisking around me.

  “You just want the treats,” I suggested.

  “Your dog seems excited,” said Rebecca. “What—”

  “I think he wants to try dancing,” I told her.

  Pepe stood on his hind legs. He wobbled a little from side to side, staggering back and forth across the room, zigzagging closer to Siren Song.

  “Look at that!” said Rebecca. “He did it without a command.”

  “He’s a very smart dog,” I said.

  “Look at me, Geri! I am dancing!” Pepe called out. He turned in circles, too.

  “Wow!” Rebecca said. “He’s a natural!”

  Pepe tottered over to Siren Song and put out one paw to touch hers.

  “Oh, look!” said Rebecca. “That’s so darling! It looks like they are dancing together.” She turned to me, all enmity forgotten. “I would love to train him for you. Perhaps he could be on the show as Siren Song’s partner.”

  “Oh, yes, Geri,” said Pepe. “I would love that.”

  Rosa appeared in the doorway and announced, “Mrs. Tyler, the police are here.”

  “Policía! ” said Pepe and scampered off toward the dressing area where he hid behind a rack of sequin-studded tutus.

  “Oh, tell them I don’t need them anymore,” Rebecca said, with a wave of her hand.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, ma’am,” said a burly uniformed cop, pushing into the room past Rosa. His blue uniform was almost hidden beneath layers of equipment, including a squawking radio and a baton. My heart sank when I recognized him. He was one of the patrol cops who had caught me with the gun in my hand the day before. “Detective Sanders wants us to bring her down to the station for questioning.”

  I started to protest, but then realized this would give me an opportunity to turn the glove over to the police. “I’ll go,” I said, “but this time I’m taking my dog.”

  “What dog?” asked the policeman.

  Oh, yes, where was he? I looked around the room for Pepe. Where had he hidden?

  I found him under the wardrobe rack of little outfits and pulled him out. He had put his head through one of Siren Song’s pink skirts and he looked ridiculous. He took one look at the policeman and shivered.

  “Why don’t you just leave him with me?” Rebecca suggested, taking in his forlorn expression. “I can try training him while you’re gone.”

  “Oh, yes, Geri, that is a good idea,” said Pepe. “I can do some investigating here while you are talking to the policía.”

  “OK.” I handed him over to Rebecca. I have to admit I was disappointed Pepe would rather stay with Rebecca and Siren Song than come along to protect me from the police.

  They put me in the same interrogation room I had been in the day before and made me wait. There was a camera mounted on the wall and a big window through which I assumed they were watching me. I tried not to do anything suspicious.

  After a while, Detective Sanders, the young black detective, came into the room. He said his partner, Detective Larson, was out.

  “Looking for doughnuts?” I suggested.

  Sanders did not laugh at my joke. Then again, most people don’t laugh at my jokes. “No,” he said curtly. “Another homicide investigation. Yours is not the only case we are working on.”

  “Do I need my lawyer?” I asked.

  “Do you?” Sanders asked. He crossed his arms and tried to look nonchalant. I thought about calling Sherman Foot and hesitated. I knew enough to realize that Foot had a conflict of interest. And I didn’t think he’d side with me if he had to choose between me and Rebecca.

  “I really came along because I wanted to give you this,” I said, pulling the dirty plastic glove out of my pocket.

  “What’s that?” Sanders frowned.

  “It’s a glove. My dog dug it up. It was buried under a tree in the Tyler backyard. I think it’s a clue. The murderer may have worn it.”

  “Well, it might be a clue . . .” said Sanders, indicating that I should drop it on the table. He poked at it with a ballpoint pen. “But it’s been contaminated. You say your dog touched it. And then you touched it. The chain of evidence has been broken.”

  “But maybe there’s DNA evidence inside the glove,” I suggested.

  He frowned. “It’s possible.”

  “If you swab the inside of the glove and isolate the DNA, you can run it through your database and identify the murderer,” I suggested. “Or at least identify the person who was last wearing the glove.” He was looking at me like I was crazy. “That’s how they do it on TV,” I said, trying to be helpful.

  “This is real life,” he said. “The state lab is backed up. Even if we could get any DNA out of the glove, we’d be lucky to get the results in a month.”

  Chapter 19

  He pulled out his folder. “Now let me ask you a few questions. When did you get the call from the Gerrard Agency?”

  “Well, I’d just picked up my new dog. My appointment was for 2 PM but I was a little bit late because I had to run by the store for some dog food—”

  “I just need the time you got the call.” His voice was weary.

  “It was 3:30. I remember that because I only had a half hour to get to Mrs. Tyler’s house.”

  He nodded. “That checks out.”

  “You have phone records?”

  “That’s how we check alibis.” He scribbled something on the page. “And you say Mrs. Tyler called you?”

  “No, I never said that.”

  He looked at me with narrowed eyes.

  “I assume she called the agency.”

  “Hmmm,” he murmured and made another note on his piece of paper.

  “Did you talk to the housekeeper, Rosa?” I suggested. “She said Mrs. Tyler called her and told her not to come in that morning.”

  Detective Sanders looked interested. “We’ll check that out,” he said, scribbling.

  “Doesn’t that seem suspicious?” I asked.

  “Lots of things seem suspicious,” he said. “For instance, what were you doing there today?”

  “I was just walking by with my dog.”


  He flipped over a few pages, then fixed me with his dark eyes. “You don’t live in that neighborhood.”

  “I was taking him to Volunteer Park.”

  “No reason to park near the Tyler house. There’s plenty of parking available at the park.”

  How could I explain that my dog wanted me to investigate? I had to think of a good story. “I thought I saw someone out the window when I found the body and I wanted to see if there was any evidence there.”

  “Interesting!” Now I had his attention. “Which window?”

  “The corner window in the living room. North side of the house, closest to the street.”

  He was nodding even more now.

  “We did get a shoe print from underneath that window. It was a woman’s shoe, with a distinct heel. Size 8. What size do you wear?”

  For once, I was grateful for my big feet. “Size 10!” I said eagerly, sticking out one foot in front of me, to demonstrate. I was wearing my black cowboy boots. I thought they looked stylish when worn with black tights and one of my favorite vintage dresses: gray cotton with little cherry pies all over it.

  “Are these the shoes you were wearing on the day you found the body?” he asked.

  I hated to admit it. “As a matter of fact, they are.”

  “We’re going to need them,” he said. “Can you take them off?”

  “What am I supposed to do for shoes?” I asked, as I struggled to yank them off. You’d think he would have offered to help but he just watched with an amused grin as I wriggled back and forth.

  “We can give you a pair of slippers,” he said. He gestured at a pile of pink rubber sandals in the corner. “Those are the sandals we issue to prisoners in the jail.”

  “No thanks,” I said, thinking how they would clash with my outfit. “Did you ever find the murder weapon?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. With your fingerprints all over it!”

  “Oh, that’s right! I’m really sorry about that. My dog warned me not to touch it.”

  Sanders fixed me with his dark eyes, then shook his head like a dog shakes off water. “It’s OK. It probably didn’t make much of a difference. The murderer had wiped it down with something like rubbing alcohol, which effectively eliminated any prints. Which tells us that even though it might have been a crime of passion, the murderer took great pains to clean up the scene after wards.”

  “Why not just take the gun away?”

  “Yes, that would be the most logical thing to do. Perhaps it was because the gun wouldn’t really lead us anywhere.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It was Mrs. Tyler’s gun. Apparently she kept it in her bedside table.”

  “Isn’t that suspicious?”

  “Well, not necessarily. Almost everyone in that household would have known that. Especially Mr. Tyler. It’s possible he got the gun because he heard a noise and then confronted a burglar.”

  “So you think it was a botched robbery?”

  “No, there’s no evidence anything was taken except a few sentimental objects that Mrs. Tyler had given Mr. Tyler.”

  “Again, doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “Not really.”

  “Did you check Mrs. Tyler’s alibi?” I asked.

  “We’re still working on that,” he said.

  “But it must be fairly simple,” I said. “Either she was on a plane from L.A. or she wasn’t.”

  “Seems like it would be simple, doesn’t it?” he observed.

  “Do you mean she wasn’t on that plane?”

  “Let’s just say we’re still confirming her alibi.”

  That made me nervous. I had left my dog with this woman.

  “Do you think she murdered her husband?”

  “We haven’t ruled out anyone.” He looked me over. “You’re still a suspect as well.”

  I sighed. “What do I have to do to prove I’m innocent?”

  “We’re going to need the clothes you were wearing that morning, too.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe no one asked you for those on Thursday. Can you bring them in?”

  “Sure.”

  I had to get back to Pepe, and I was willing to agree to almost anything to get out of there.

  “And what about your dog?”

  “What about him?”

  “Did you ever find him?”

  It was the first sign of any human compassion I had seen from him. I was almost touched. “Yes,” I said, then faltered to a stop not sure how to explain how Pepe had found his way to my door.

  “Well, we still need to process him,” he said, snapping shut his folder. “See if he has any evidence.”

  “He was out in the rain all night,” I said. “Any evidence that was on him got washed off.”

  “Nevertheless, we have to be thorough. Please bring him in when you drop off your clothes.”

  Chapter 20

  I had to wait in the lobby for a ride back to the Tyler residence. It was completely empty and quiet—a big, Y-shaped room, with a gray tiled floor and big glass windows on either side, looking out over the busy intersection of Twelfth and Pine. A female police officer in a blue uniform stood behind a glass-partitioned information counter in the middle of the room. She seemed to keep busy checking computer screens in front of her but occasionally she had to deal with people who wandered in. A black woman wearing a tin-foil hat who complained about the radio transmissions blocking her thoughts. A tattooed young man with a safety pin stuck through his eyebrow who wanted to report the theft of his skateboard. She handled them both with aplomb and courtesy.

  I spent my waiting time updating my notes in my casebook. I had learned a lot from talking to Detective Sanders, but everything he told me made me more nervous. Rebecca was the spouse of the murdered man, she thought he was having an affair, and she was trying to get her hands on a large sum of money. Plus she had asked her gardener to cover up possible evidence on her property, she had told her housekeeper not to come in that morning, and it seemed like her alibi might not be checking out. And I had left my dog in this woman’s care! Finally, one of the parking enforcement officials gave me a ride back up the hill in one of their golfcart-type vehicles.

  I felt like a fool standing on the doorstep of the Tyler residence in my stocking feet. At least, it wasn’t raining. But the bricks were cold and damp. Rosa answered the door. I couldn’t resist looking down at her shoes. They did look about size 8, but they weren’t high heels—she was wearing scuffed white sneakers. She caught me looking and frowned.

  “Nice shoes!” I said. “What size do you wear?”

  She must have thought I wanted her shoes. She just kept shaking her head and saying, “No! No!”

  “Dónde está mi perro?” I asked. “Perro? Perrito blanco? ”

  My pronunciation must have been pretty bad because it took a while before she understood. Then she motioned that I should follow her. We went through the foyer.

  The door to the living room was open, and I looked in. The sofa and table had been removed but the carpet gleamed white again with no trace of blood. I shuddered. Surely Rebecca should have closed the door to block out the memory of her husband’s corpse rather than restore the room to its icy splendor.

  As I descended the stairs to the basement, I could hear the music swelling. It was a swing song from an old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. And when I walked through the door, there was Pepe in a little tuxedo jacket trotting next to Siren Song, who was wearing a slinky black satin skirt.

  Rebecca spotted me and came rushing over. “Look at them! They are perfect for each other,” she said.

  She looked down at my stocking feet. “What happened to your shoes?” she asked.

  “The police wanted them,” I said. I looked at her feet. She was wearing fancy black sneakers. It looked like she wore a size 8.

  “What size are your feet?” I blurted out.

  “Why?”

  “Just hoping I could borrow a pair,” I said.

/>   “I don’t think we wear the same size at all,” she said. “What size do you wear?”

  “Ten.”

  “Oh, no, mine are much smaller.” She had managed to evade my question. Was that on purpose?

  Meanwhile Pepe spotted me and came running up. “Geri! Geri!” he said. I had never seen him so excited. He was practically jumping into the air to try to get into my arms. “Get me out of this jacket!”

  “OK, Pepe!” I picked him up and peeled off his jacket.

  “Thanks for training my dog,” I said to Rebecca. “I think we should be going now.”

  “Oh, but you can’t leave!” Rebecca said. I looked back at the door to see if it had been locked behind me. Rosa was standing in the shadows, a magenta wraith, watching me. Was I in trouble? Did Rebecca know I suspected her? Could I get out alive? With Pepe?

  “But I have to—” I started to babble.

  “I’m just making progress with them. They’re brilliant together,” Rebecca said. “Your dog is a major talent.”

  “Did you hear that, Geri?” Pepe asked.

  “I think I can make him a star,” Rebecca said.

  “Yes, Geri, I want to be a star,” Pepe said.

  “Well, I’m sure he would love that,” I said, tucking him under my arm, like a clutch purse. “We can talk about it later.” I backed toward the door. Siren Song was bouncing up and down like a golden ball of fluffy fur. No treats in my pocket so she must be trying to get to Pepe.

  “He’s worth a fortune,” Rebecca said.

  That stopped me. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. He could easily bring in fifty thousand dollars a year, and that’s not counting residuals every time the show is shown. Plus endorsements. He would be a great spokesdog.”

  “That would show Caprice!” said Pepe.

  “Pepe, you don’t have to prove anything.”

  “Sí, Geri, but I could earn mucho dinero for me and you! You could live a life of luxury. No more slaving away at staging and spying. Would you not enjoy that?”

  “Of course, I’d enjoy that,” I said.

  “I’ll have Sherman draw up a contract,” Rebecca said. “But there is one problem.” The edges of her lips lifted but the smile did not reach her eyes.