Dial C for Chihuahua

by Waverly Curtis

  Chapter 32

  “Geri,” Pepe said, as we drove away in the car, “I am muy worried about Siren Song. We should make haste to rescue her from the cruelty of Senora Rebecca.”

  “I agree, Pepe,” I said, “but our appointment with Mrs. Tyler is not until 1 PM, and we have another case to solve as well. Have you forgotten about Bruiser?”

  “That cabrón will never dare to show his face in Mrs. Snelson’s garden again,” said Pepe, “not after the lesson I taught him!”

  I considered pointing out that Pepe had done nothing to Bruiser personally, but then thought better of it. The Photoshop photo was his idea after all, and I thought the photo, which was tucked into my purse, would help us close the case. I still felt guilty about using deception to frame Bruiser. After all, I knew what it was like to be framed.

  Pepe had saved my bacon there, as well. “That was very clever,” I told him, “hiding the card case in the cat box. I am surprised the detectives didn’t look there.”

  “Oh,” said Pepe, “some credit is due to Albert as well. I think eating all of those peas did not agree with him.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” I said. “I’ll have to clean the cat box when we get back home.”

  Pepe was standing in the passenger seat with his front paws on the edge of the window as we drove past the convenience store where we had stopped the other day.

  “Look, Geri!” he said. “Do we not need supplies?”

  I thought about that for a minute. The place had good memories for me, as well as Pepe, so I pulled over and went in and bought some beef jerky for Pepe and a bottle of water for me. I was hoping Felix might show up in the parking lot with his dog, but I got back to the car without any encounters, canine or otherwise.

  “I have another question about last night,” I said, as we continued on our journey. Pepe was chowing down on the beef jerky. “I don’t remember how I got into my bed. The last thing I remember is being on the sofa with Felix.”

  “Do not worry, Geri!” mumbled Pepe, his mouth full. “It is true that Felix carried you to your bed—” Oh! How I was sorry I had missed that! “But then I encouraged him to leave the bedroom. Albert and I were the ones who tucked you in.”

  I didn’t bother to hide Pepe in my purse for this visit. Mrs. Snelson, who greeted us at the door with a trowel in her hand, seemed delighted to see him.

  “Here’s the little hero!” she said. “He deserves a treat! Can I give him a cookie?”

  “Well—”

  “I am ready when you are, senora,” said Pepe, heading towards the kitchen.

  “Oh, he is a smart little dog,” said Mrs. Snelson, sticking her trowel into the dirt of one of her larger potted plants. “He definitely understands the word cookie!” She hurried into the kitchen after him.

  “Naturally,” said Pepe, “what do you think I am? Even a child understands that word!” He sat looking up at the counter. The kitchen was full of plants, though not as many as the living room. There were drooping grape ivy plants hanging down the sides of the refrigerator and a sweet potato vine curling up from a jar behind the faucets.

  Mrs. Snelson bent down to scratch Pepe on the top of his head. “Now isn’t he so precious? And so good?” She was practically cooing. What had happened to change this dog hater into a dog appreciator?

  “How many can he have?” she asked, sticking her hand into a ceramic container on the counter which was designed to look like a fat bumblebee. “They’re my special shortbread cookies.” She popped one into Pepe’s mouth. He laid it down on the floor in front of him, and licked it carefully, before gobbling down every crumb.

  “Keep them coming!” he said.

  “I suppose one or two more,” I said.

  It was a lovefest in the kitchen, with Mrs. Snelson admiring the delicate way that Pepe ate and Pepe making admiring comments about her culinary skills.

  “You should ask her for the recipe, Geri,” he said. “These are muy delicioso!”

  But I was eager to get my guilty errand over with and get out of there.

  “Mrs. Snelson,” I said, “I need to follow up with you about your case. I have evidence that will—”

  “Oh! Not to worry!” said Mrs. Snelson, waving her hand at me. “That’s all taken care of.”

  “It is?”

  “Oh, yes, that beast is in jail and will be for a very long time!”

  “Jail?” said Pepe. He stopped eating his current cookie.

  “Yes, the Animal Control came and took him away. I doubt that he will ever get out.”

  Pepe looked stricken. Mrs. Snelson tried to give him another cookie but he hung his head and wouldn’t take it.

  “I guess he’s full,” she said. She popped the cookie into her own mouth. Then she remembered me. “Would you like one?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “They’re better with milk,” she said, opening her olive-green refrigerator. It was covered with magnets with garden-related themes, like a little watering can and a reproduction of an antique seed packet, the kind of gifts you would send to someone you didn’t know well who liked gardening. She poured herself a glass and gave me one as well. Even the glasses were green, which gave the milk a greenish cast. Still I had to admit the cookies were delicious.

  Mrs. Snelson poured a little milk in a saucer for Pepe, but he turned up his nose at it.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “I do not feel so good,” he said.

  Had she poisoned my dog? Maybe this lovey-dovey dog act was all a ruse!

  “What hurts?”

  “Mi corazon! ” he said. “My heart is heavy thinking of Bruiser in dog jail. I have been there myself. It is a rough and dangerous place.”

  “How did Bruiser end up at the pound?” I asked Mrs. Snelson.

  “Well, after the news story aired, there was a public outcry about such a dangerous animal being allowed to run loose in our neighborhood. Then you can be sure Animal Control took action. They were out here early this morning and carted him off.”

  “What news story?”

  “Do you mean you didn’t see it?”

  “No.”

  “It was the lead story on the eleven o’clock news!” she said.

  “Well,” I said, “I was pretty busy last night.” I thought back to the break-in at my condo, the discovery of the card case, and the comfort of Felix’s embrace.

  “Yes, it was Easter,” said Mrs. Snelson, “but that’s what made it such a good story. You know, human interest, happy ending, all that.”

  “I was on the news?” said Pepe, his ears pricking up.

  “So it was a story about—”

  “About your little dog leading those children to safety!” Mrs. Snelson motioned me to follow her into the living room. “One of my neighbors taped it so I can send a copy to my children. Here! You can watch it with me!”

  We all sat down, Mrs. Snelson and I side by side on a loveseat, flanked by two royal palms, whose fronds kept getting stuck in my curls, and Pepe between us on the green carpet. She had a wide-screen TV mounted on the wall, above a tray of succulents. She picked up a remote control and punched a few buttons.

  The logo for the news channel flashed across the screen in bright blue, and then the camera zoomed in on one our local commentators. She said, “And our top story tonight is about a little dog who saved Easter for a group of children.”

  A picture came on the screen showing Pepe clasped in the arms of the little girl in the pink dress. Her mother must have snapped the shot.

  The news anchor’s voice continued. “A group of children had gathered for an Easter egg hunt on the lawn of the Gladstone, a retirement center in Green Lake, when a vicious dog attacked.”

  The screen filled with a head shot of a woman newscaster. “And then,” she said, “out of nowhere, a little white dog appeared, like an angel, and led all the children to safety.” As she was speaking, a rather wobbly image came on the screen of Pepe leading the children tow
ards the building. Apparently one of the parents had been filming the Easter egg hunt and offered the footage to the TV station.

  The commentator spoke again. “The owner of the vicious animal was clearly unable to control her dog.” Now the footage showed me, flapping my hands at Bruiser, trying to shoo him away, while he rooted around in an abandoned Easter basket. It was a great shot, actually, as it showed the lawn littered with abandoned baskets, like an Easter egg battlefield.

  “Hey, that’s not my dog!” I said.

  “Shhh, Geri!” said Pepe. “I am trying to listen.”

  Then there was a shot of Mrs. Snelson, her white hair sticking up all over the place. She was filmed in front of her garden, holding one of her trowels like a scepter. “I’ve called Animal Control repeatedly for months complaining about this brutish beast, but they have refused to do anything about it. Now see what happens! Gardens ravaged! Innocent children in danger!”

  The commentator continued. “Animal Control was contacted and cited the owner. The dog, a pit bull mix, was taken into custody and is currently being held for observation at the Animal Shelter. Meanwhile, the parents of the children who were threatened wish to express their gratitude to the brave little dog who saved their children.”

  A man’s face filled the screen. He clasped his daughter close to his heart. “That dog was a hero!” he said. “We’re just all so glad he came along.”

  “Hey, that’s my dog!” I said.

  “That was me!” said Pepe.

  And then they went on to their second story, about a traffic accident on the freeway.

  “I am famous!” said Pepe. He got up and danced around the living room. Then he turned to me. “I want a copy of it! For my portfolio!”

  “Look at him! He’s so proud of himself,” said Mrs. Snelson, gazing on Pepe fondly. “And he should be!”

  “Do you think you can make a copy of it for me?” I asked Mrs. Snelson.

  “I’ll ask my neighbor,” she said. “He has the gift for technology. But I’m sure the TV station would give you a copy as well. After all, it was your dog who was the star. They might even want to do a follow-up story.”

  “Sí! ” said Pepe. “I will be famous! No doubt the mayor will want to present me with the key to the city!”

  “I can’t believe they would air the story without checking the facts,” I said.

  “Well, no one could find you—you departed so quickly,” said Mrs. Snelson. “I tried to tell the news people that you were a detective I had hired, but they didn’t seem to understand.”

  “Another case successfully concluded,” said Pepe.

  “I guess we’re done,” I said, with a sigh. No need to use the doctored photo. What a relief! I got up and thanked Mrs. Snelson for her hospitality.

  “Yes, I’ve already called your boss and told him how happy I am with your services,” said Mrs. Snelson. “Now that you have a reputation, I am sure you’ll get many cases from other residents here at the Gladstone.”

  “I’m surprised by that,” I said. “I would think there wouldn’t be much need for a private detective at a retirement home.”

  “You would be surprised,” said Mrs. Snelson, in a conspiratorial whisper as we approached the front door. “There is a great deal of crime here. Someone has been stealing women’s bloomers from the laundry room on the fifth floor.”

  “That does seem disturbing,” I said. “But it doesn’t exactly sound like a crime wave.”

  “Oh, but last week someone stole Mr. Maine’s boxers. He has a 45-inch waist. I don’t see how they could be of use to anyone else.”

  “I can see that you do have a problem,” I said, suppressing a smile. “I’d be happy to help you identify the perpetrator, if you decide to hire me in the future.”

  Chapter 33

  “Now that I am famous, perhaps I can have my own reality TV show,” Pepe said as we headed towards the Tyler residence. “What do you think it should be called? Pepe el Macho? America’s Most Courageous Dog?”

  “Perhaps, Pepe the Most Conceited Dog,” I said.

  “You are just annoyed, Geri, because the news people did not notice you.” Pepe said. “But do not worry. I will give you a role on my show. You can be my assistant. Perhaps we will call it The Pepe Sullivan Show.”

  “What about Sullivan and Sullivan, Private Investigators ?” I asked.

  “Oh, that is an excellent idea, Geri. As long as my Sullivan goes first.”

  “How could that—”

  “We will have to pitch that concept as well. Do you think Senora Rebecca will be able to get us a meeting with her producer?”

  “What do you know about meetings?”

  “Geri, I am a dog from Beverly Hills. I know all about how the entertainment business works. We must capitalize on our fame while our faces are fresh in the public eye.”

  “Perhaps Felix can help us, too,” I mused. “He has a background in the movie business.”

  “And we will bring in Siren Song as my romantic lead,” said Pepe, as we pulled up in front of the Tyler house.

  “What about Dancing with Dogs?” I asked. “Rebecca won’t want to lose the star of her show.”

  “Ah, but once the tabloids learn of our romance, she will appreciate the publicity. It will increase the ratings for both of our shows,” Pepe said.

  When I opened the car door, Pepe fairly leaped out of the car. He waited impatiently on Rebecca’s front porch while I hurried to catch up.

  I expected Rosa to answer the door but it was Rebecca herself. She looked as impeccable as ever in a gray linen skirt and a black chiffon blouse. But her nose was pink and so were her eyes. It was obvious she had been crying.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Pepe ran inside before she could answer.

  “No, I’m not,” said Rebecca. I don’t think she even saw Pepe run by. “Come in, please. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I stepped into the white marble foyer. Pepe was nowhere in sight.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Everything” she said. “Everything is going all to hell.”

  She led me down the hall and into an office near the rear of the house. It was obvious no decorator had been allowed to touch this room. The desk was an old corner set, designed for maximum efficiency. A gray fabric ergonomic swivel chair sat behind it. The top was crowded with several monitors and a chunky printer. Power strips and cords created a tangle of obstacles on the floor.

  Brick-and-board bookshelves lined one wall, crammed with science fiction and fantasy paperbacks. On the outside wall, between the windows, a gas fire flickered behind glass.

  Rebecca turned around and faced me. “The producers have given me until noon tomorrow to come up with the money for the pilot, and I still don’t have it!”

  “Well, isn’t that why I’m here?” I asked. “To help you sort through David’s papers?”

  “No need for that anymore.” Rebecca’s said. “Stewart is taking care of that!”

  “Stewart? As in Stewart Gerrard?”

  “Yes. He came by to offer his condolences yesterday, and when I told him about the problems I was having, he offered to help. He and Mandy took away David’s financial records and are going to look them over to see what they can find.”

  “How well do you know Stewart?” I asked.

  “Like I told you, Stewart is one of David’s oldest friends. They’ve known each other since college. And Stewart has been our financial advisor for ages.”

  “Do you know Jimmy Gerrard?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that Stewart’s little brother?” Rebecca said. “I think I met him once at a holiday party at Stewart’s house. Quite a character. But no, I’ve never had a conversation with him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So you didn’t call Jimmy G. and ask him to find your husband?”

  “Now, why would I do that?” Rebecca asked.

  “But he was missing, wasn’t he?”

  “Well, now we kn
ow why!” Rebecca said firmly.

  She picked up a framed photo that sat on the mantel and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

  “I found out why David never called me. He was having an affair!” She burst into noisy sobs and threw herself into an armchair in front of the fire.

  I went over to the photo and picked it up. It was a photograph of Rebecca and David. They seemed very happy. They were in bright ski apparel, with a snowy slope behind them. She was planting a kiss on his cheek, and he was beaming.

  “Toss that in the fire!” she said, looking up.

  “I can’t do that,” I said.

  “Well, then give it to me. I can!”

  As I approached, she snatched the photo out of my hand and threw it into the fire. It flared up in a burst of green and blue. As it crumpled into black, sticky goo, Rebecca burst into tears again.

  I sank down in the other chair, not sure what to do.

  Rosa came into the room. Today she was wearing what looked like a nurse’s uniform: pink polyester pants and tunic top, with pink sneakers. She held Pepe by the scruff of his neck with one hand. He was twisting and turning and seemed to be gasping for breath. I jumped up and rescued him, cradling him in my arms like a baby.

  “Thank you, Geri!” he choked out.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Rosa rattled off a string of Spanish in which the only words I understood were Siren Song.

  “She says I was trying to ravage Siren Song,” Pepe whispered to me, as I settled back into the chair with him on my lap. “I was only trying to rescue her. She is being held captive in a cage with steel bars.”

  “Clean up the glass, Rosa, por favor,” said Rebecca, pointing at the shards on the floor. Thank God, Pepe hadn’t run over them with his delicate pink paws. Rosa left the room.

  “Why is Rebecca crying?” he asked me.

  “She thinks her husband was planning to leave her,” I said.

  “Why does she think that?”

  That seemed like a good question. I turned to Rebecca. “I don’t understand why you think David was leaving you.”

  “Stewart said as much,” she said, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her chiffon blouse.