Trigger Yappy

by Diana Orgain

  * * *

  Yolanda lived in a small cottage next to the ocean. Her space truly exemplified her personality. It was a historic cottage that Yolanda had made bright and modern. On the street side there was a wraparound garden filled with hydrangea, alstroemeria, and poppies. The serene feeling was broken only by the sounds of seagulls and the distant barks of harbor seals.

  I followed Brad up the walkway toward her front door. Yolanda had already seen us approach and was standing in the doorway in a cream tank top, capri-style teal pajamas bottoms, and bare feet. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her face was washed clean of any makeup residue. If possible, she looked even more beautiful without her usual makeup.

  She ushered us into the living room, where the hardwood floors gleamed and the skylights revealed that not a speck of dust covered a single surface. On the marble coffee table, Yolanda had set out a tea service for Brad and me, complete with tea, scones, and fruit. She motioned for us to help ourselves, then unceremoniously plunked herself down on her brocade fainting couch and buried her face in her hands.

  “My poor little Beep-Beep!” she wailed.

  I sat on the couch next to her and rubbed her back. “There, there, honey. Don’t fret. We’re going to find him.”

  “How could anyone by so cruel. Killing Fran is one thing. She was mean. She had enemies! But Beepo? He didn’t have a mean bone in his tiny little terrier body!”

  Brad leveled a gaze a Yolanda. “Were you and Fran enemies?”

  Yolanda jolted herself upright and wiped her eyes. “What do you mean? I hardly knew her. I just wanted to buy her chicken hat business.”

  Brad looked around the immaculate cottage. “Did you say your place was ransacked?”

  Yolanda followed his gaze around the room, a confused expression on her face. “Yes.” She rose and led us down the hall into one of the bedrooms she used as her office. Along the windowsill was a marble countertop she used as a work surface. Atop the surface were several of Yolanda’s handmade animal bags: frogs, owls, and even a pig, in various stages of completion.

  Brad and I searched around the room. He turned to me with a confused expression on his face that must have mirrored mine.

  “Uh,” he said. “What exactly was ransacked?”

  Yolanda looked aghast. “The place is a mess!”

  I laughed. “Where?”

  She pointed to a box that was tucked under the countertop in the corner. The box appeared to have been upended, with various pieces of materials tossed about.

  “It looks like Beepo got into it,” I said.

  Yolanda did her best not to look insulted, but the way she stiffened I knew I’d hit a nerve. “He never goes in here!” she said. “I always close the door. He’s never in here because, you know.” She leaned toward Brad and whispered confidentially, “Because of that thing he does.”

  I tried not to laugh. I knew Beepo had a tendency to attack Yolanda’s chicken bags and mark them.

  “When I arrived home after our date, the door to my office was open and the box had been riffled through. Don’t you see, someone’s been in here trying to steal my designs!”

  “It seems to me, perhaps you left the door open,” Brad said. “Beepo took advantage of the opportunity and got in here. Could it be?”

  “Absolutely not!” Yolanda exclaimed.

  “Was your front door broken into?” Brad asked.

  “No,” Yolanda answered.

  “Could Beepo have run away?” I asked.

  Yolanda glared at us as if we were crazy. “No! He’s gone! He’s been taken. He would never run away!” Her eyes glazed over and she looked ready to burst into tears.

  I wrapped an arm around her and directed her back toward the living room. “Let’s have some tea and think about this.”

  “Anything else different from when you left last night?” Brad asked.

  “No.” Yolanda sat heavily onto the fainting couch. “That’s it. The office door open, the box overturned, and Beepo gone. Isn’t that enough?” she demanded.

  “What about your front door? Did you lock it?” he asked, as he paced through the house looking at all the windows.

  “Of course I locked my door,” Yolanda said.

  “You’re on the ground floor here, did you lock all the windows?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  He returned to stand in front of us with his hands on his hips. “Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. You left last evening to meet us at what time?”

  “Seven P.M.,” Yolanda said.

  Brad pulled out a leather notebook from his back pocket and jotted a note. “Alright. You returned to find your cottage door locked when you came home, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Yolanda said. She sat with her hands folded in her lap like an obedient schoolgirl as she answered Brad’s questions.

  “There’s no sign of forced entry,” Brad said. “Who has a key to your place?”

  “No one,” Yolanda said. “Except for my neighbor Mrs. Blumenthal, who occasionally comes to water the plants and feed Beepo.”

  Brad nodded.

  “And, of course, Mrs. Mezner,” Yolanda continued. “She has Mrs. Blumenthal’s keys and mine, you know, just in case.”

  Brad flashed me a look. “Okay.”

  “And Mrs. Murphy, too.”

  Brad tapped his pen against his notebook. “Uh-huh.”

  “And Mr. Conners. He’s so sweet. He comes over every other morning to bring me the latest news from his niece, she’s traveling in Australia and when—”

  “So you’re telling me the whole bloody neighborhood has a copy of your key.”

  Yolanda’s eyelashes blinked in rapid succession. “They’re my neighbors! They’ve had copies of my key for years. Not one of them ever came in without my permission, and I’m certain none of them dognapped Beepo!”

  Brad took a deep breath. “Okay. Is that it then?”

  Yolanda licked her lips hesitantly and flashed me a look, then mumbled half under her breath. “And the Roundup Crew.”

  “The whole crew?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Why not? They’re my friends.”

  “I don’t have a key!” I said, trying not to sound as offended as I felt.

  Yolanda put a hand on my knee. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Do you want a key?”

  “No!” Brad barked.

  Yolanda looked surprised. “Why ever not?”

  “You can’t go handing out your key to everyone in Pacific Cove and then call the police saying your place has been broken into, when clearly it hasn’t!” Brad said.

  “What do you mean?” Yolanda said. “My dog is missing. Someone stole my dog! Beepo is … gone!” All of sudden, she began to hyperventilate and Brad looked pained.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was unprofessional of me. I’ll put in a report. We’ll call the pound and see if Beepo got picked up.”

  Yolanda sniffled, but said nothing.

  I rubbed her knee. “We’ll find him, sweetie. Don’t worry.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, before I asked. “What about Geraldine?”

  “What about her?” Yolanda asked.

  I recalled the fight between Geraldine and Fran. A pit began to form in my tummy. “Does she have a key to your place?”

  Yolanda nodded.

  “I thought you and she were nemeses,” I said.

  “Well, that doesn’t mean I don’t trust her,” she said.

  Brad appeared as perplexed as I felt.

  “Would Geraldine have come while we were out to dinner last night and snatched Beepo?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Yolanda said. “Why would she do that?”

  He shrugged. “Why does anybody do anything?” he said, sitting on the couch next to me. He popped a scone into his mouth and waited for a response from us.

  Both Yolanda and I were silent.

  Someone had broken into my apartment, left a note, and taken my journal. Wa
s that the same person who’d taken Beepo?

  What did all of it have to do with Geraldine?

  It was time for answers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After Brad left, I stayed with Yolanda to brainstorm about Beepo’s whereabouts.

  “I think we should call an emergency Roundup Crew meeting,” I stated emphatically. “They can help us find Beepo, figure out who killed Fran, and prep the Wine and Bark for Vrishali’s return tomorrow.”

  Yolanda slumped on the couch. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “That’s a good idea.”

  I ignored her lackluster attitude and pulled out my phone. I hit Max, Brenda, and Abigail with a group text message.

  Beepo is missing. Yolanda in urgent need of TLC. Meet at Wine and Bark ASAP. I’ll provide coffee and doughnuts.

  I hesitated to invite Geraldine. Even though I was dying to grill her about her fight with Fran, I knew Yolanda wouldn’t want her there. I decided I’d pay Geraldine a visit later in the day.

  Yolanda eyes were fixated on Beepo’s empty doggie bed, which was parked in a corner of the living room. I poked her. “Put on some shoes, sister. We’re going scouting for your little friend.”

  Yolanda gave me a weary look. “What if we don’t find him?”

  “Don’t say that. We’re going to find him.” I sprang up and yanked on her arm. “Get up before I have to spatula you off the couch.”

  Yolanda trotted off to her bedroom and I followed. Her room was decorated in pink and creams. Her bedspread was neatly tucked. “So how did it end last night with Gottlieb?” I asked.

  Yolanda opened her mirrored closet door and selected a pair of strappy walking sandals. She sat primly on the corner of her bed and put them on. “It was great, Maggie. He is such a sweet man. After you and Brad left the restaurant, we finished dessert and then he took me to his boat for a nightcap.”

  “His boat?”

  “Yeah, he has a little schooner he keeps in the bay. We took it out for a bit. Very romantic.” Her breath caught and she sniffled. “I can’t believe I was out gallivanting while Beepo was being snatched! I’ll never forgive myself!”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be so melodramatic. He’s going to turn up!”

  Yolanda finished tying her sandals and stood. “Oh, we were wrong about the man’s work boots.”

  “What?”

  “Last night, I confessed to Gottlieb that I peeked in his file. After giving me a very stern reprimand, mind you, he told me I’d misread it.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me to insinuate something about the scolding.

  I held up a hand. “TMI.”

  She giggled. “You are such a prude. Anyway, he told me I was wrong. The shoe print was from the crime scene tech. That’s why it was in the file. To annotate that he’d stepped in the blood.”

  “So no false assumption would be made?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” Yolanda said.

  I felt foolish. Why had I ever believed we could figure this out? All we’d done was manage to get our homes burglarized and Beepo snatched.

  * * *

  Inside the Wine and Bark, a pink pastry box sat between Brenda, Abigail, Yolanda, and me. Max hustled about filling our coffee mugs.

  Abigail’s white Shih Tzu, Missy, sat at her feet, while Brenda’s Chihuahua, Pee Wee, nestled close by. Both dogs seemed curiously sad and subdued, as if they were missing Beepo, too.

  Yolanda and I had filled everyone in on the break-ins and the black van close-calls. Now, we sat munching on old-fashioned chocolate-covered donuts with a few overturned coasters and a slew of colored markers, trying to figure out whodunit.

  “Who are your top suspects?” Abigail asked. Even at this ungodly hour in the morning, Abigail’s hair was fixed in her trademark elegant French braid—and somehow she’d managed to put lipstick on herself and a rhinestone bow on Missy’s head.

  “The men are Ronnie, Hendrick, and Ellington,” I said, writing each name on a different coaster with a red marker as I said it.

  “You can forget about my cousin Ronnie,” Abigail said, picking up his coaster and tossing it across the bar like a Frisbee. “He’s as gentle as a mouse, plus he was with Rachel that night.”

  “Hendrick is my top suspect,” Yolanda chimed in. “He has beady eyes, and I think there’s something funny about the way he and Fran broke up.”

  Brenda made a face. “He doesn’t have beady eyes. He’s quite handsome.”

  Max, who had been about to refill Brenda’s coffee, prickled and reached over the table to refill my cup instead.

  Brenda laughed. “I mean handsome in a German kind of way.”

  We all chuckled.

  “Organized and prompt and stuff,” Brenda continued. She winked at Max. “Not like you, honey.”

  “I’m not prompt?” he asked.

  She stroked his arm. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

  Max smiled shyly and refilled her coffee mug.

  “I still think there’s something fishy about Hendrick,” Yolanda said circling his name with a black marker.

  Abigail asked, “Why is Ellington on the list?”

  “Because he doesn’t like dogs and Yolanda hates that.” Brenda giggled.

  Yolanda snickered. “Very funny. I didn’t put him on the list.”

  They all turned to me. I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was trying to date Fran, right? She rejected him. He’s the scorned lover, sort of.”

  Yolanda picked up the coaster and said, “It can’t be Ellington. Brad and Gottlieb told us that last night.”

  Abigail took the coaster from Yolanda and flung it across the bar, so that it landed close to the other coaster. “I supposed they’d know if the killer was a cop, huh?”

  “Why are there only men on your list?” Max asked. “What about the assistant? Cornelia.”

  “Right,” I wrote Cornelia’s name on a fresh coaster. “She sent Rachel an e-mail saying she could kill Fran for stealing her ideas.”

  Brenda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t think Cornelia did it.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “While it’s true she was upset with Fran, it doesn’t seem like she would seek legal counsel if she was going to murder her,” Brenda said. “You know, that’s like putting up a billboard sign.”

  “Yeah,” Abigail agreed. “To kill your boss seems like the kind of thing that only happens in movies.”

  I tapped the pen against the table. I wasn’t ready to take Cornelia off my suspect list. I added Darla’s name to another coaster. Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.

  “If it was her in the van, trying to run you two off the road, then I think we’ve found the killer,” Max said.

  Yolanda sprang to her feet. “Let’s head right to her house! She’s probably got Beepo there!”

  At the mention of their friend’s name, both Missy and Pee Wee began to howl.

  Abigail scooped Missy onto her lap and rubbed her ears, while Brenda patted Pee Wee’s head and said, “Hush now, boy. We’re going to find him in no time.”

  “I don’t know where Darla lives or I’d agree with you,” I said to Yolanda.

  “Geraldine might know. She was the one who invited her to start walking with us. Where is Geraldine, by the way?” Abigail asked.

  I hadn’t included Geraldine on my group text message and there was a very good reason for it. I wrote Geraldine’s name on a new coaster. Abigail frowned.

  “She’s a suspect?” Max asked.

  Just as I was about to elaborate, Missy and Pee Wee bolted for the front door. Glancing out the window of the bar, I spotted a familiar figure. Geraldine was making her way across the patio. One hand shielded her face from the sun, as she squinted through the glass. The other hand held fast to a Wine and Bark Day-Glo leash. Secured on the end of the leash was her beautiful show poodle. Next to the poodle was another familiar little fellow.

  Yolanda sprang up and rushed to the door. She flung it open, screaming, “Beepo!”


  He sniffed at her feet happily and wagged his micro tail. Missy and Pee Wee jumped on Beepo and tackled him to the floor.

  Yolanda rescued him from their affection and pressed him to her cheek. “What happened to you, Beep?”

  “I found him at the beach wandering around,” Geraldine said. “Not far from your house. Did he get loose?”

  “More like someone let him out,” Yolanda said.

  Geraldine frowned, glancing around at us, the coasters, and the pastry box. “What’s going on?”

  “Emergency meeting,” Max said.

  “Why didn’t anyone call me?” Geraldine huffed. She seated herself immediately, and grabbed a pastry. “I knew something terrible must have happened. I was passing by and I saw the lights on.”

  Brenda and Abigail both shifted uncomfortably. Max rose and ducked behind the bar to get an extra mug for Geraldine. Her gaze landed on the coaster with her name on it and she pressed her lips together in thought. Max poured her some hot coffee.

  I pushed the sugar bowl close to her, but she shook her head at the offer.

  “Why is my name on that coaster?” she asked.

  Taking a deep breath, I said. “I heard you had a fight with Fran. Can you tell us about it?”

  “A fight with Fran?” Geraldine asked. “Where did you hear that? It’s a lie. Fran and I were best friends. You know, I’ve been very upset since she passed away. In fact, this is the first morning I’ve felt well enough to venture out for a walk on the beach. I had to get out of my apartment. Queenie had to get out.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “I’m just curious what you fought about.”

  Geraldine frowned at me. “I told you, we didn’t fight.” She took a sip of coffee as if punctuating her statement.

  “Where were you on the night she died?” I asked.

  Geraldine looked as if she’d come out of her skin. “What?” She glanced around at all of us. To their credit, everyone kept still and watched her squirm. “You can’t possibly suspect me in my best friend’s murder!”

  Brenda put out a soothing hand and patted Geraldine’s shoulder. “Of course not, dear. We’re just simply trying to figure things out. Accounting for everyone’s whereabouts and whatnot.”

  Brenda’s soothing tone did little to calm Geraldine. “I had business. I have an alibi, if that’s what you’re asking.”