by Diana Orgain
Max ducked behind the bar, hoping to escape culpability. “It was Max’s idea,” I whined.
Yolanda stepped gingerly into the bar, running the bottom of her foot back and forth along the terra-cotta. “I think even people can slip on this if they’re not wearing the right kind of shoe.”
Yolanda herself was wearing a pair of Blahnik’s. Brenda chirped out, “I’m happy to sell sensible footwear to anyone who needs it.”
I laughed. “You don’t sell any sensible footwear.”
“I can start,” she said. “Especially if we’re going to enjoy a Mutt-tini. Speaking of which…”
“I’ll get right on it,” Max said, grabbing a bottle of Stoli from behind the bar.
“Isn’t it too early to drink?” Abigail asked.
“These are desperate times,” Brenda answered.
“Well, in that case, I’ll sample some of the latest Verdant Vines specialties,” Abigail said.
“No!” Yolanda said. “You have to finish doing my hair.”
Abigail waved a hand, dismissively. “Girl, I can still do your hair. I’m not going to go all stupid on one glass of wine.”
Max poured her a glass of the newly opened Syrah, and Abigail appreciatively batted her long eyelashes at him.
I approached Yolanda. “What do we do about the floors?”
“I think we should get some small area rugs. There’s a discount place, just a little ways out of town.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t know that I have time to get there.”
“Maybe I can fashion some little designer dog booties, with a grip surface,” Brenda offered.
“No time,” Yolanda said.
“I love that idea, though,” Abigail said. “They’d have to be bejeweled though. Otherwise, I wouldn’t dare put them on my little princess.”
Bejeweled.
That reminded me of the gem I’d found in the storeroom of Chic Chickie. I discreetly looked at Missy’s collar.
Not even close. Missy wore clear rhinestones. Lots of them, but only rhinestones. I looked over at Pee Wee’s collar. He had on a simple collar, no stones, only an identification medallion. Beepo, I knew, didn’t wear a jewel collar.
I felt a modicum of relief. At least I knew none of the dogs in my immediate circle had been in the stockroom of Chic Chickie. Then a disturbing thought hit me: Unless the dogs have multiple collars …
Chapter Twenty-two
That evening, the Wine and Bark exuded a nervous energy—a buzz, really—where it seemed that dogs and humans alike were bouncing off the walls.
Max had run out to return the floor polisher, insisting on a full refund since they hadn’t properly warned us not to use it on terra-cotta flooring. Then, he picked up some colorful area rugs and a movie-theater-style popcorn popper. The place definitely felt like someone’s living room. There was a comfort and warmth about it, but I wondered if it would wind up making patrons want to nap instead of indulge.
The Roundup Crew was sprawled on the couch waiting for the beginning of Gourmet Games. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn this was an exclusive Oscars screening. The gang waiting for the editor, Vrishali, with bated breath, but so far she had yet to make her appearance.
Finally, Gourmet Games began and Gus’s handsome face filled the large-screen TV. My heart sped up to see him, although my reaction was tempered because he looked so worried. The crowd at the Wine and Bark burst into a round of applause for him, with shouts of “Go, Gus!” and “Look at him!” and “I can’t believe it!”
Even Beepo barked furiously at the screen as he ran up to it, yapping as if he wanted to lick the screen.
Yolanda said, “Now, Beepo! Stop that. Come sit next to Mama.” She patted the seat next to her and Beepo immediately tore across the rugs and settled at her feet comfortably.
We watched the show as Gus picked the card with the quiche and made some trades with another chef. There was a beautiful blond chef that inspired a little jealousy in me, but Gus barely spoke to her.
My brain screamed at me, What right do I have to be jealous when I am dating Brad at the same time? But my heart didn’t listen, I wanted Gus all to myself.
First Gus traded with one heavyset chef: M&Ms for tofu. Then Gus negotiated with a lanky chef: some spinach in exchange for his bacon. I knew Gus was a pancetta man at heart, but it must have stung to let go of the bacon because he gave a sorrowful look into the camera as he handed it to the lanky chef. However, at this point I knew he’d anything to stay in the competition.
Gus whipped up his vegan quiche, just like he’d told me, and presented it to the judges. Everyone seemed impressed with the quiche, but in the end they put him in the crisper along with two other chefs.
The gang at the Wine and Bark, hooted and howled when Gus was banished to the crisper. Shouts of “No! That can’t be! Gus is the best!” filled the bar.
The host of Gourmet Games instructed the audience to call in and save our favorite chef. Immediately the crew in the bar whipped out their cell phones and texted the number to save Gus.
Then, through the window of the bar, I spotted a tall man with broad shoulders, in a uniform. As if I already didn’t know who it was, my guess was confirmed by his one-of-a-kind gait. Officer Brad Brooks was about to crash my Gourmet Games viewing party.
I leapt off the couch to intercept him at the front door, my heart hammering like crazy.
“Hi!” I said, overly cheerful.
He smiled warmly, glancing around the Wine and Bark. “Wow, what a transformation. What’s going on? Some kind of fancy shindig?” He looked up at the large-screen TV, which now was currently playing a commercial for a revolutionary type of plastic bag that would seal flavors into your leftovers.
“We had to change things around for the editor of Doggie Day. We’re trying to snag the cover.”
Brad looked around the room. “Which one is she?”
“She’s not here yet.”
He glanced back at the TV, just as the commercial break was over. Gus’s face filled the screen. Brad frowned.
“It’s Gus’s cooking show,” I admitted. “He’s in the crisper,” I explained the premise of the show to Brad and told him that Gus could be eliminated from the series tonight. “Everyone is dialing like crazy to vote for him.”
Brad smiled and pulled out his phone. “Let me get the guys at the station on it.”
“On what?” I asked. “Are you going to vote against him?”
“Hell no. I’m going to put out an APB. Everyone needs to vote for DelVecchio, stat.”
“You would do that for him?” I asked.
“For him? I’m doing it for me. Anything I can do to keep that guy in New York, away from you, I’m doing.”
I smiled, a tingling sensation spreading through my body.
Brad pulled the radio off his shoulder and instructed all Pacific Cove officers to dial the number to vote for Gus to stay on the show. Meanwhile, Max opened up a fresh bottle of wine and refilled glasses around the room.
In the middle of our celebration, I saw a woman in a beautifully detailed blue and purple sari approaching the Wine and Bark. “Vrishali’s here,” I said to the crew.
As Vrishali reached the front door, Yolanda sprang to her feet and greeted her.
Vrishali came in and looked around the room, a smile growing on her face.
“Come in, have a seat,” Yolanda said, motioning around the room. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Max rushed over with a glass of Malbec from Verdant Vines.
Vrishali gave him a pleased nod as she accepted the wine. “Wow! What a change. It looks nothing like the old place.”
Yolanda practically preened. “You wanted atmosphere. We took that note. You wanted something different and we accommodated your wishes.”
On the television there was a graphic display of the votes being tallied. The chef next to Gus was tall with a large potbelly. He was bald and wore a very worried expression; so far, he’d received about
twenty-six percent of the votes. On the other side of Gus was a petite brunette with a pixie cut, she smiled boldly into the camera and was tied with Gus at thirty-seven percent.
During another commercial break, Vrishali asked Max about the show. While he explained to her, Brad leaned into me.
“I thought you might want to know, Hendrick was arrested this afternoon.”
I gasped. “Really? You had enough evidence to charge him?”
“We’re working on building our case, but we found the gun in his van.”
Reality settled into my bones.
Hendrick had killed Fran and Darla. That was it then, it was settled. Suddenly the beautiful fruity wine turned to vinegar in my mouth and I put the glass the down.
Brad put a hand on my shoulder. “I wanted you to know that you’re safe.”
“Yes,” I said. “Darla must have been the one to break into my apartment.”
Brad frowned. “What makes you say that?”
I sighed. I didn’t want to tell him about the journal, so instead I said, “The note, it was a woman’s handwriting.”
He paled a bit. “What note?”
“Whoever broke into my apartment left me a note,” I confessed. “Told me to stay out of the investigation.”
He made a face. “At least they gave you good advice.” Before I could reply he said, “I’ll need the note, so I can admit it into evidence. And I wouldn’t say it was Darla. Likely, it was Hendrick. Probably trying to figure out what you knew. Darla figured out what he’d done and he killed her.”
“Why did he kill Fran?” I asked.
“A winery is an expensive thing to run. Did you know it takes about three hundred thousand dollars to put in new grape vines?”
I shook my head.
Brad shrugged. “At a minimum. Anyway, Fran left him everything.”
“Did she have much? Just the shop, right?”
“No, she owned her home and a few other real estate holdings. I think she’d just closed on another property. So overall, Hendrick stood to inherit quite a bit. Plus, he was still listed as the beneficiary on her life insurance.”
I frowned. “But if he really did it for the money, wouldn’t he have figured out a better way?”
“What do you mean?” Brad asked.
“A way to kill her where he wouldn’t get caught.”
Brad smiled sadly. “Well, just because he inherited money, doesn’t mean that he intended to kill her. It still could have been a crime of passion. He went there to see her. Ask her to take him back, she refused him and then in the heat of the moment…” Brad made a gun out of his fingers and pulled the imaginary trigger.
I shifted uncomfortably. “Has he confessed?”
“Of course not.”
I thought about that day at the bar. When Hendrick had been given me a private tasting. It seemed like so long ago. He’d been upset when Yolanda and Fran had interrupted us. He’d definitely given me the impression that he had unresolved feelings for Fran. And yet …
“Wait, he told me he was with Darla that night.”
Brad nodded. “Yes, Darla was his alibi. But now she’s dead, too.”
Suddenly the gang at the Wine and Bark cheered. I looked up at the television, dismayed that I’d completely lost my attention on the show. Gus was smiling. He’d received more than forty percent of the vote and his place on the show was secure for another week.
Brad smiled. “Well, that’s a relief,” he joked.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m still on duty. I have to head back now.” He stepped closer to me and cupped my chin in his hand. “Now that you can’t investigate anymore, you must have loads of free time on your hands.”
“Loads,” I agreed.
“Even free time for lunch tomorrow at the Charcoal Corral?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“You can stay out of trouble until then, right?”
I nodded.
He tilted my face toward his and pressed his lips against mine. A delicious shiver sent goosebumps over my arms. He pulled away smiling and winked at me as he disappeared out the front door.
I retreated behind the bar, feeling like I was on another planet. Yolanda approached the bar, putting her empty wineglass on top of the smooth marble. “Hit me with one more, sister, the night is going great. I think Vrishali is super happy with everything.” She put a hand to her mouth and whispered conspiratorially, “She’s talking feature story.”
Over near the couch, Vrishali was taking selfies with Brenda and Max. They switched positions and took more pictures, including the dogs perched on the couch.
I poured Yolanda a refill, as Vrishali approached us.
“I love the new homey feel,” Vrishali said. “I can imagine the cover image now.”
Yolanda squealed and grabbed Vrishali’s arms. “You mean we’re in? We did it!”
Vrishali held up a hand. “Oh, no, no. Not yet. And, honestly, I think I like the look of the bar better the other day.”
Yolanda flashed me a look of despair.
“Before the curtains and the couch?” I asked.
Vrishali looked around the bar. “Yes, but without the streamers and complicated décor. I think it will work best on the cover if we go with the simple look. I have to send over the photographer, of course. He’ll give me his professional opinion, see if he can get any workable shots. Can someone meet us here tomorrow around noon?”
Yolanda slapped a hand down on the bar. “Absolutely! Maggie—”
“I have a date!” I said.
Vrishali and Yolanda both turned to me as if I was crazy. After all, what was I doing? Dismissing the editor of Doggie Day in favor of a burger at the Charcoal Corral?
Yolanda glared at me. “Put him off, darling. A girl never wants to appear too eager.”
Vrishali gave a knowing look. “Yolanda is right. Men appreciate a woman who lets them chase her a bit.”
I sighed. I wasn’t into playing games, but I knew the cover of Doggie Day meant so much to Rachel. “I’ll see what I can do to reschedule,” I grumbled.
Vrishali smiled. “Oh, that’s very good. Now, after the photographer tells me if it’s doable, I’ll have to reevaluate Kitty Corner. They’re having a grand opening this weekend, and that might make a lovely cover, too. Really expand our readership, I think,” Vrishali said, seemingly thinking out loud. “If I can draw in the cat people we could grow exponentially.”
Yolanda looked worried, but before she said anything, Vrishali wiggled her fingers at us and left.
Chapter Twenty-three
That night I got home exhausted. I’d checked in with Rachel several times and her blood iron was slowly on the rise, but until the lab results confirmed she was out of the anemic condition she wouldn’t be released. So when I called to give her the skinny on the Doggie Day cover, we made plans for me to visit her the following day.
I expected to sleep better knowing that the police had Fran and Darla’s murderer in custody, but somehow sleep eluded me. Could Hendrick really have pulled the trigger? How could anyone kill someone else, especially someone who had been their lover?
Somehow it felt like there was a missing piece to the puzzle. I fretted about having to reschedule my lunch date with Brad. I hated feeling tentative about his feelings toward me. He’d been so upset with me for poking around and asking questions, that I feared I might disappoint him again. Finally, I drifted off into a fitful sleep.
I awoke to the sound of a ringing phone. It was my sister, Rachel, on the line.
“Hey, Maggie,” she said. “I’m finally feeling better. I think they’re going to discharge me today!”
It wouldn’t be the first time she told me this, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but nevertheless, I said, “I’ll call Yolanda and we’ll come pick you up.”
“Great, see you soon,” she said, hanging up.
I dialed Yolanda and gave her the news; before long she
and Beepo were in front of my apartment in her red convertible. I opened the passenger-side door and upended Beepo, who growled at me.
“Quiet now, Beep,” Yolanda said, as he scrambled into her lap. “You know the drill.”
Yolanda gunned it toward the hospital as I fiddled with the radio. “Do you know any more about the case?” I asked.
She shook her head. “After I left the Wine and Bark last night I called Gottlieb, but he was very tight-lipped about what evidence they have. Told me I shouldn’t worry my ‘pretty little head.’”
Another woman, like myself, would have been offended by that comment, but Yolanda somehow seemed to appreciate it.
When we arrived at the hospital, Rachel was already dressed and out of bed.
I rushed to hug her. “It’s so good to see you up and about.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m so grateful I’m feeling better.” She clutched my hands. “Thank you for taking care of everything while I was cooped up in here.”
“I’d do anything for you, Rachel.” And it was true. Since I could remember, my sister, albeit flaky and completely unpredictable, had always been a top priority in my life.
“I know,” Rachel said, hugging me back.
Yolanda sought out the green chair by the window and sank into it. “Me, too, you know! I’d do anything for you.”
Rachel rushed over to her. “Of course, you would, darling. Thank you so much.”
“It’s because of Yolanda that the Wine and Bark will be the feature story in Doggie Day. We might even get the cover spread.”
Rachel clapped her hands in childish delight and cheered.
Yolanda waved a hand around, dismissing the accolades. “Everyone helped. Maggie and Max did tons: the TV, the couch, the rugs. Everyone pitched in, even Cornelia helped.”
“It’s not final yet,” I cautioned. “We need to actually get the Wine and Bark back to normal.”
Rachel quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Vrishali liked the place without the couch, TV, curtains, etc.,” I explained. “She’s coming back today at noon—”
Rachel squealed. “Oh! So much to do. My head hurts thinking about it.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Let’s get out of here now. I need to get home and shower, then get ready to meet Vrishali.”
