Trigger Yappy

by Diana Orgain

  “What?”

  “It’s probably a bad idea…”

  Max slipped past us looking for a wrench to mount the big screen TV. “Oh, uh, bad idea, don’t tell it to Maggie. She’s a sucker for those.”

  I socked his shoulder.

  Cornelia leaned in closer to me, so she wouldn’t be overheard by the two men now stuck holding the TV in place while Max faltered around the bar searching for tools.

  “Chic Chickie has rod curtains, the kind that are easy to put up and take down … we could borrow them…”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  Was it ethical to borrow drapes from a business whose owner had recently been killed?

  Well, Chic Chickie wasn’t currently open … What would it hurt? And it would give me a chance to get back into Chic Chickie and snoop around.

  “How do we get in?” I asked.

  Cornelia smiled. “I have a key.”

  Max found a wrench, and he and the two men secured the TV in place. Meanwhile, my mind raced. No one would be there and we might find something that could help with the investigation.

  How can I pass up this opportunity?

  “I think we should go for it,” I said to Max.

  Max collapsed onto the couch. “I’m not feeling so hot.”

  The men frowned, possibly thinking Max was flaking out on his end of the bargain.

  “Thank you for helping us,” I said, retreating to behind the bar. “I have some nice bottles of Merlot from Verdant Vines I’d like you to have as a token of our appreciation.”

  I handed them a bottle each. They smiled warmly and disappeared out the front door before they could be assigned any additional work.

  Max propped his feet up on the couch and closed his eyes.

  “You look a little pale, are you going to be alright?” I asked.

  Max mumbled, “Just need to rest my eyes a minute. Got a bit of a headache.”

  Cornelia and I exchanged glances. “I can drive his truck,” she said.

  Max dug out his keys and tossed them to me. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’ll take a quick nap here. Hold down the fort.”

  I patted his head. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close. “Are you sure you’re safe with her?” he whispered.

  I shrugged.

  “She could be … you know…”

  I nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

  He stood. “I’ll go with you guys—” He clasped his hands to his head. “Whoa, I feel a little dizzy.”

  I pushed him back onto the couch. “You stay here. We’ll be back in a flash. Text my cell if you need anything.”

  He sat back down reluctantly. “Okay, you do the same.”

  I think he was asleep before we even walked out the door.

  * * *

  Returning to Chic Chickie was a bit surreal for me. While the store remained the same, the air seemed charged somehow—as if Fran’s ghost was hovering around. I could smell the metallic scent that lingered in the air, and the image of Fran lying in a pool of blood still haunted me.

  The overhead bell chimed as we stepped into the shop and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Cornelia, however, didn’t seem a bit bothered by any of it as she pranced around the store, ogling the items.

  “I can’t believe she made a display of these pot holders,” Cornelia said. “Look at the colors! They aren’t even the right season. It’s way too early for olive-green and maroon. Fran was always bit tone-deaf when it came to making the displays. I would have changed this around on Saturday morning if I had been able to open the shop.”

  I watched Cornelia fingering the hen-and-rooster salt-and-pepper shakers.

  “I loved working here,” she said. “You know, the whole thing was my idea.” She shrugged. “But I didn’t have the capital to open the shop.” She paused and looked around the store, the wall of mounted colorful birds, the trinkets on every table, and then the bright yellow curtains that hung on brass rods.

  “Fran and I used to be good friends,” Cornelia continued, “but when she opened the store, she changed. Always telling me what to do, demanding this, demanding that. It was a drag.” She sighed. “If she’d been a true friend, I think she’d have let me in on half the business. I talked to a lawyer and apparently you can’t sue for that sort of thing.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I went to see Brenda and she told me that under copyright protection law I didn’t really have a case. Fran was legally able to steal my ideas and make a shop! It was her capital that built the shop. Never mind about my creative capital. Fran wanted to expand. I don’t know how far she would have gone, but I thought she was foolish for not joining forces with Yolanda. I love those little handbags, aren’t they the cutest thing?”

  Oh goodness!

  I couldn’t believe I had willingly opened myself up to hear chatter about chicken fashion!

  “So what was Fran upset about?” I asked. “Earlier you said she was calling you to get a drink.”

  “Oh, that,” Cornelia said. “She didn’t like running into Hendrick. Their relationship had ended badly. She thought he was rubbing it in her face how well the winery was doing.”

  “Is the winery doing well?” I asked.

  “Yes! His wine club membership is at all time high. The winery got featured in some kind of wine club circuit or something,” Cornelia said.

  “I think Yolanda would still like to buy the business,” I said. “I don’t know how the legal stuff works.”

  Cornelia perked up. “Would she consider going into business with me? Chicken fashion is my passion!” she singsonged.

  “I really wouldn’t know, you’d have to talk to her about it.” I glanced around the store. “But I can definitely say chicken fashion is her passion, too.”

  “I created all these designs.” She pointed to a row of mugs that were the shape of a chicken and then to a pillow that clucked when pressed.

  Instead of sharing my true feelings on the chicken empire everyone seemed so fond of, I looked up at the curtains and said, “We’re going to need a step stool.”

  Cornelia nodded. “There’s one in the back.”

  I hesitated. The back room was where Yolanda and I had come across Fran and, while I knew the crime scene team had probably cleared the area, I still felt a bit squeamish.

  Cornelia somehow read my face. “Is that where…?”

  I studied her.

  Is she pretending?

  If she was the killer, then certainly she knew where Fran had been murdered. Cornelia kept her eyes on mine as if truly waiting for an answer.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She made a dramatic show of shuddering. “Would you mind going back there then? I don’t want to go.”

  I nodded, but as I turned, I couldn’t help the feeling of being set up. I glanced over my shoulder. Would she follow me into the back room? Then what? Kill me like perhaps she had done to Fran?

  No! I was being ridiculous.

  If she was the killer, Max knew I was here with her. She wouldn’t chance something like that.

  I’ve nothing to worry about.

  Regardless, I still shivered as I pulled back the creamy canary-yellow curtain that separated the front of the store from the back.

  I was oddly aware of my shoes resounding against wide the wood-planked floors. My heart raced as I faced the narrow passageway. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air and the metallic scent of blood was more pronounced now.

  I fought the desire to look for a window to air out the place. The best thing I could do was grab the step stool and get back to the main store, the back rooms were creeping me out!

  The door to the small office was open. I scanned the room for a step stool, but didn’t see any. There were several file cabinets and I resisted the urge to rummage through them. I didn’t want Cornelia to come back here looking for me.

  I skipped past the bathroom, figuring if there was a step stool back here, it’d be in the st
orage room where we’d found Fran. I hurried to the last door on the left and peeked in. The room was still overcrowded with boxes, and I knew it was ridiculous but I half expected Fran to be there crumpled on the floor.

  Instead, a chalk outline greeted me, along with a bloodstain. The crime scene team had done a terrible job of cleaning up. The room reeked of death and misfortune. Along the far wall, a step stool hung next to a dustpan and broom. I grabbed the item as quickly as I could and hightailed it back to the main part of the store.

  Cornelia waited for me by the window. She said nothing as I raced toward her, toppling over several kitchen spoons as I brushed too close to one of the display tables. She helped me repair the display and then the two of us made fast work of taking down the curtains.

  Suddenly, I thought of Brad. Would he be angry to know I’d returned to the scene of the crime? But the curtains were already down here, right? Certainly if Cornelia had a key and she hadn’t been instructed not to use it then it seemed like we were safe.

  “What will happen to the shop now?” I asked.

  Cornelia made a sour face. “The ex gets it. Can you imagine?”

  “Hendrick?”

  “The one and only.”

  My heart beat faster.

  If Hendrick stands to inherit the business, that gives him a strong motive for murder.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After we’d pulled the curtains down, I hurried to the back to replace the step stool. This time, I barely stopped to catch my breath. I wanted to get back to the Wine and Bark so I could talk with Max about Hendrick.

  “Ready?” Cornelia asked, as I returned to the front of store. She stood with the curtains bundled in her arms. “These are getting pretty heavy.”

  “Yup,” I said, hurrying to open the front door and lead her over to Max’s pickup truck.

  She winced as she released the curtains into the bed of the pickup. “We should have brought a blanket to bundle these up.”

  I hesitated. “I saw a blanket in the storeroom.”

  We exchanged looks. I got the feeling Cornelia was as ready to leave the store as I was. After a moment, she said, “Do you mind running back in there and grabbing it? We should return the curtains when we’re done and if they’re dirty or whatever Hendrick is sure to say something.”

  I nodded. “I’ll get it.”

  Racing back into Chic Chickie, I scooted toward the storeroom and grabbed the blanket I’d seen nestled in a corner on top of one of the cardboard boxes. When I grabbed it, something clinked to the ground.

  I bent to examine the wood grain floor. A small circular green gem flashed in the light. Picking it up, I turned it over in my hand and rubbed the front and back. The gem wasn’t real. The back side was flat and dull.

  I had seen something like this before, but where? My breath caught.

  It looked like the kind of stone that might have been glued onto a dog collar. Could this have belonged to the killer? If I could match the stone to a dog collar, could I find the murderer?

  * * *

  When we returned to the Wine and Bark, I was shocked to find that the front door was unlocked, but Max wasn’t there. It wasn’t like him to leave the bar unattended.

  Where has he gone?

  Cornelia helped me hang up the curtains. I marveled at how transformed the bar had become. With a few simple items—the TV, the couch, and curtains—the Wine and Bark looked more like a place to cuddle up with a good book, than with a cocktail. Still, I knew it would please Vrishali, the editor from Doggie Day.

  I paid Cornelia out of the cash register for her help and we agreed that she would return tomorrow during Yappy Hour to help us serve.

  After she left, I quickly dialed Max’s cell phone.

  He picked up after the fourth ring. His voice sounded muffled, as if I’d woken him.

  “Hey! Where are you?” I asked.

  “I’m at the Wine and Bark,” he said.

  I looked around the room. “No. I’m at the Wine and Bark, and I’m sorry to tell you but you’re not here.”

  “I’m in the john. Been puking out my guts.”

  I rushed toward the restrooms, skidding past the row of famous dog portraits and banged on the men’s restroom door. “Let me in!”

  “It’s not locked,” he said.

  I pressed on the door and it opened to reveal a pale and drenched Max. He looked as if he dunked his entire head in the sink.

  “What can I get you?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I think I’m fine now, just had a wild bout of hurling.”

  “Let me get you over to the couch.” I grabbed his arm and guided him down the short hallway toward the bar.

  He collapsed onto the couch and said, “It’s passing now. What did I eat? The doughnuts?”

  “Did you put milk in your coffee?” I asked.

  “Nah. Take mine black.”

  “Late night, last night?” I asked.

  “Not really. Not any later than any other night really.” He smiled. “On the bright side, I feel much better now.” He looked around the bar. “It’s looks great. The only thing left to do is the floors.”

  Eyeing him, I said, “You had me worried. I thought you were going to end up in the hospital with Rachel.”

  He shook his head. “I’m better now.”

  “Are you up for driving me to go pick up the floor polisher?” I asked.

  He nodded and stood. “You didn’t crash my truck, right?”

  I poked him in the ribs on our way out. “Just because I don’t own a car doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.”

  As we rode out to pick up the floor polisher rental, I told Max about Hendrick inheriting Chic Chickie.

  “That could be motive to kill Fran,” I said.

  Max made a face. “Dude owns a vineyard. Would he really want a chicken hat place?”

  “Why not?” I asked. “If he’s a businessman. Maybe he figured out a way to combine the businesses.”

  Max raised an eyebrow at me. “The Wine and Cluck? I don’t see it.”

  I shrugged. “Well, we need to pick up the cases of wine for tomorrow from Verdant Vines. Why don’t we head up there and ask him ourselves?”

  * * *

  The drive to the vineyard with Max seemed shorter compared to the first time when Yolanda and I went there. The vineyard was quiet when we arrived, the wind turbines churning silently.

  “Pretty cool,” Max said, parking the truck next to a car-charging station.

  “Pretty green,” I said, getting out of the truck and following Max. We walked together toward the old farmhouse that held the tasting room. “It’s a very cute place,” I said. “You should bring Brenda out for wine tasting.”

  “I’d love to. Nice romantic evening out on the porch.” He smiled shyly, reminding me how new their romance was. “I think the wine is highly rated, too, but you didn’t invite me to the last tasting. So how would I know?”

  I laughed. “The wine is excellent. I’m sure Hendrick will give you a sample now, if you want.”

  We stepped into the tasting room.

  “Hendrick?” I called out. “It’s me. Maggie. We’re here to pick up the cases of wine.”

  The tasting room was eerily quietly. A chill crept up my spine. I turned to Max. He was tapping his foot and looked about as laid back as one could get.

  Maybe I was too jumpy for my own good.

  I called out again, “Hendrick?”

  “Do you think we should go look for them?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’s probably out back,” Max said.

  We walked through the tasting room and out to the back patio. We had a clear view of the vineyard. Nothing.

  This time when I glanced back at Max, he seemed a bit more tense.

  “Strange that the place is open and no one is here,” Max said.

  “Let’s get out of here, before we get in trouble. I’ll leave him a note. He can deliver the wine for tomorrow night.”

 
We went back inside and I ducked behind the small bar to grab a notepad. The bar was neatly organized with several varieties of wine lining the wall. I found a small tablet with the Verdant Vines logo on top. I grabbed a pen lying next to it and scrawled a note for Hendrick. Tearing off the top page, I placed it on the bar.

  Meanwhile, Max wandered down a corridor to the left.

  “Where are you going, Max? Let’s get out of here.”

  Max pointed at the floor. “What do you think that is?”

  On the floor were a few red drops. They made a trail down the hallway.

  My throat went dry, and I found it hard to speak. “Uh…”

  “Stay here,” Max said. He moved quickly down the hallway, but I followed him as if magnetized.

  The drops looked sinisterly close to blood. But that couldn’t be right, could it?

  Perhaps, it was … what?

  Wine!

  Perhaps dregs from a broken wineglass, or simply a small spill from a bottle?

  Max stopped in a doorway, holding up a hand to prevent me from following him further.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Hello?” Max said.

  I waited, watching Max’s body language. He was on high alert, like a panther ready to pounce.

  “Max!” I hissed.

  “Call the police,” he said.

  I rushed to his side and peeked into the room. It was a bedroom. There was a still lump on the bed, immobile. Blood trailed from the bedside to the doorway.

  I screamed and pushed past Max.

  He grabbed my hand. “No! Don’t touch anything!”

  “He may still be alive!” I said. “Maybe he needs CPR.” Propelling myself toward the bed I tore off the bedsheet. Darla lay still before me, her long blond hair matted against her head. There was some sort of wound on her chest, where the blood seemed to be the thickest, but her arms were folded over it and what caught my eye was the large diamond ring on her finger.

  I screamed again, panic edging out of my brain any sanity that remained.

  Max pulled me away. “Let’s call the police. Call them now, Maggie!”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll call Brad.”

  My legs felt wobbly and I leaned against Max, turning away from Darla. Then I saw it.