by Ally Roberts
Not that I’d ever make enough money to buy one.
“Here,” Poppy practically screeched. “Turn here, into the lot.”
I hooked a sharp right and pulled into one of only a few vacant spots in the parking lot. I’d had no idea where a vet was located on the island, so it was probably a good idea that I’d offered to drive her. At least that’s what I told myself, since I was still more than a little miffed that I was escorting Poppy and her dog to the doctor rather than interrogating Gunther.
Poppy was out the door before I even turned off the car.
“Wait,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.
She hurried toward the entrance of Sweetwater Vet Clinic, a single-story brick building that shared space with a tax service and an eye doctor. I walked up the path leading to the door, still several feet behind Poppy, who was racing as fast as her wedge sandals would allow.
The girl behind the desk was already checking Poppy and Tiffany in when I finally caught up to them.
She gave me a quick smile. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
“Oh, I’m with them.”
Her eyebrows raised a fraction. “Oh, okay.” She tapped on the keyboard in front of her, her eyes locked on the monitor. “Dr. Maas just finished up with a patient. I can get you in with him in just a minute.”
“But she needs to be seen now,” Poppy wailed.
“She will be,” the girl said. “I’m entering it into the system now. Just sit tight. We’ll get her looked at.”
The girl demonstrated an impressive amount of both patience and professionalism, especially since Poppy was now pouting and tapping her foot loudly on the wood laminate floor.
A few seconds later, a door pushed open and an older gentleman with a receding hairline and a concerned smile approached us.
“Tiffany,” he said, greeting the dog first. He reached out and stroked her fur. “Are we not feeling good today?”
“She didn’t eat her biscuits or her scone,” Poppy told him.
If the man was surprised by the dog’s choice in diet, he didn’t let on. Instead he just nodded and pulled open the door that led back to the exam rooms. “Let’s go take a look, shall we?”
Poppy started to follow him but stopped. She spun around, as if she just remembered I was there with her.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
I hesitated before shaking my head. “I’ll just wait out here.” A frown creased her forehead and I added, “To give you privacy. Unless you think you might need moral support…”
Poppy pursed her lips, and I couldn’t tell if she was offended by my words and actions, or if she was considering whether or not she would need what I was offering.
“I’ll have Cassidy come and get you if I need you,” she said.
The girl who checked us in nodded, and I assumed she was Cassidy.
As soon as the door closed, I looked around the waiting room and found a chair to sit in. It was a nice space, with a couple of chairs and benches for pet owners to sit, and with gorgeous photographs of dogs and pets displayed on the wall. A wire rack of specialty dog food sat along the back wall, along with a small kiosk filled with dog shampoos and teeth cleaning kits, vitamins and supplements, and fancy looking nail trimmers.
“How do you know Poppy?” Cassidy asked from behind the counter.
It was an innocent enough question but one that didn’t exactly have an easy answer. How did I explain that she considered me her arch nemesis and had tried, not once but twice, to pin a crime on me? Even though we’d come to a sort of almost-truce after I solved Tony Lamotte’s murder, it wasn’t as if we’d all of a sudden become fast friends. I mean, the only reason I’d accompanied her to the vet was because she’d been in no condition to drive herself, and because I was genuinely concerned she would call an ambulance to transport her dog to the vet clinic.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to answer because the front door opened and a client walked in. She was lugging a pink carrier with a very loud, very angry Himalayan cat locked inside.
“Pebbles,” Cassidy said with a smile. I was going to assume that was the cat’s name and not the woman’s. “Are you here for your annual exam?”
“And she’s not too happy about it,” the woman said.
I debated whether I should grab one of the magazines on the side table next to me so I could use that as a way to avoid further conversation with Cassidy. But then I remembered something. Something else I could do.
I reached for my phone instead and opened up my web browser.
Because I was thinking about what I saw before I made the decision to leave the coffee shop.
Gunther.
On a website.
Leaving what looked to be a bad review for The Perfect Catch.
I pulled up Holler, the site Gunther had been on, and was surprised to see that it wasn’t just a restaurant review site but that it included all kinds of retail and service establishments, too. I typed in the name of Jonah’s restaurant and the PC logo immediately came up, along with its star rating and a list of reviews.
The first thing I noticed was that there were less than a dozen reviews. Considering how popular it was, this didn’t make a lot of sense. But then I remembered.
The locals knew that Jonah wanted to keep things slow. Steady. He didn’t want to be too busy. The lack of reviews was probably a sign that Sweetwater residents were doing their best to honor Jonah’s wishes. If they didn’t recommend the restaurant to tourists in in-person conversations, there was no way they were going to write reviews for the whole world to see.
The restaurant had a solid 4 star rating out of a possible 5.
But the last two reviews had been one-star ratings.
I glanced at the one at the top of the list. It had posted less than an hour ago, from a user by the name of Gun Eats.
Gunther.
My blood began to boil as I read through the scathing review. It was two paragraphs long, thorough in its critique. Every possible thing was addressed: service, ambience, décor, pricing, but the primary focus was the quality of the food. According to Gun Eats, the food was abysmal, the worst seafood they’d ever had. Not surprisingly, Gun Eats suggested people check out Shawnty’s instead.
I scrolled to the next review, also a one-star. This was from a user named Not Rude Just Honest, and it read almost verbatim to what the previous one had said.
Raw anger bubbled up inside of me. Was Gunther creating multiple accounts so he could leave numerous bad reviews for Jonah’s restaurant? Was this the level he’d decided to sink to?
I clicked on the Gun Eats name, which led me to his profile page. There was one other review, for a local caterer that specialized in seafood. It was also a one-star review, and from the looks of the company information listed on the site, it was no longer in business.
I opened a new browser window on my search engine and typed in the name of the catering company, Sweetwater Seafood. The company’s web site was closed down, with just a generic statement thanking customers for their business. But their Facebook page was still up.
And the post at the top of the page was one involving Gunther Lawrence. The post, from about six months ago, had nearly a hundred comments and I scrolled through them, trying to distill the information I was reading. What it appeared to boil down to was Gunther leaving a nasty comment about their food, the owner responding respectfully, and Gunther continuing his verbal assault. But a few words caught my eye. In one of Gunther’s many comments, he remarked, “Look, I’m not being rude. Just honest.”
Not Rude Just Honest.
I went back to Holler and clicked on that user name. A whole list of reviews came up, all of them one-star, but not a single one was another restaurant. Instead, there were reviews for a brewery in a nearby town, a bookstore, a massage therapist. Every single one of them criticized the product and/or services.
I frowned as I read through them. Did Gunther really spend his time leaving negative reviews for all
of these businesses? What could he possibly gain from it?
The more reviews I read, the more doubts began to creep in. Why would he invest so much time in trash talking other businesses, especially businesses that didn’t affect his own bottom line? I didn’t know.
But I did know one thing.
Gunther, on the account that I was convinced did belong to him, had been involved in a dispute with another seafood company a few months back, and had done his best to try to damage their name brand and reputation. I had no idea if the public dispute had ultimately led to the closure of Sweetwater Seafood, but I didn’t think it had helped in the public relations department.
I sucked in a breath and then slowly expelled it.
I was pretty sure I knew something else.
Gunther Lawrence was trying to take Jonah down, too.
He said he’d just stolen recipes, but the negative review felt like a deliberate attempt to sabotage Jonah’s restaurant.
And if he was willing to go to those lengths, would he be willing to steal money from Jonah, too? Especially if it would put him out of business?
My bet was yes.
TWENTY EIGHT
“You sure you don’t want me to drive you back to the coffee shop?”
Poppy and Tiffany appeared back in the waiting room just as I’d gone back to the Facebook page of Sweetwater Catering to re-read the comment thread. Dr. Maas had found nothing wrong with Poppy’s dog, who had promptly gobbled up the treats he offered her and had jumped from the exam table to the counter two feet away in an attempt to gobble up more.
I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket. “No, I’m good,” I said.
Poppy had Tiffany tucked under one arm. The little dog had definitely perked up and was eyeing me with friendly curiosity. I preferred big dogs but she was definitely a cutie.
“Are you sure?” Poppy asked. “You didn’t even get to order anything.”
I stared blankly at her. “What?”
“At the coffee shop.” She frowned. “You didn’t order anything.”
“Oh. It’s fine. I…the craving has passed,” I said lamely.
I wasn’t about to tell her the real reason I’d shown up there, and that ordering a cup of coffee had been the furthest thing from my mind when I ran into her outside the café.
Besides, I was pretty sure Gunther was long gone by now so returning to Just Java would probably be a waste of time. At this point, my best bet would most likely be to go to Shawnty’s.
But then I remembered something.
I had dogs to take care of.
Dogs that needed a walk.
Dogs that were probably tearing apart my house at that very minute…or, at the very least, considering it.
Poppy stroked Tiffany’s fur, her long nails disappearing into the silky white strands. “Well, if you’re sure…”
I was. “All I need is a lift home.”
She frowned. “But I’m not going that direction. I’m going to the palace.” Her expression brightened. “Oh! You could call one of those ride share services. We have them on the island now!”
I couldn’t believe she was telling me that my house—which had to be less than a mile away from the vet’s office—was too far out of her way.
She must have noticed, because her brow furrowed and her lips formed into a pout. “Fine.” She sighed. “But we need to go now.”
It wasn’t as if I had a reason to stick around the vet’s office.
I got to my feet and handed back her keys. “Let’s go.”
Less than five minutes later, Poppy dropped me in front of my house. I’d sat in the backseat—Tiffany rode shotgun—and tried not to obsess over all the details of Jonah’s case that were swirling through my mind.
“Thanks for the ride,” I told Poppy as I got out of her car.
She nodded.
And offered not a word of thanks for driving her to the vet when she’s been on the verge of hysterics.
I really shouldn’t have expected anything else. I mean, this was Poppy, after all.
She pulled away from the curb before I even turned toward my house.
Again, this felt like par for the course where Poppy was concerned.
I hurried to the front door, yanking my keys out of my pocket as I climbed the front porch steps. There was no whining or crying as I fiddled with the key, and no four-legged canines barreling toward the door to greet me when I finally pushed it open.
I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried by the dogs’ lack of response to me being home.
“Trixie?” I called. “Duke?”
Silence.
I dropped the keys on the side table near the door and poked my head into the living room. It was empty.
A knot formed in my stomach. “Trixie?” I called again, a little louder this time.
The sound of nails clicking on the wood floor brought a welcome rush of relief. I hurried toward the steps just in time to see Trixie lazily descend the stairs, a very sleepy Duke trailing behind her.
I ruffled her head as soon as she reached the landing.
“Glad to see I hurried home to get the two of you outside,” I told her.
She yawned in response.
“Come on,” I said. I grabbed both of their leashes and hooked them up. “Let’s get you outside.”
I took both dogs out into the backyard, to the only grassy area there was. After they both relieved themselves, they looked expectantly at me, their tails wagging, their eyes bright.
They were both awake and ready for action.
I sighed. At this rate, I was never going to solve Jonah’s case. And I was never going to see any money.
I gave Trixie a long, skeptical look. “What are the chances you could wait a bit for a walk?”
She splayed her front paws and barked sharply.
“Exactly what I thought,” I muttered. She wasn’t going to settle for anything less than a good, long walk. Duke, too. He was whining and whimpering, spurred on by Trixie’s behavior.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
There was no reason I couldn’t go to the marina with the dogs in tow, I reasoned. I could tie them up outside of Shawnty’s while I talked to Gunther. Or maybe I could somehow persuade him to meet me outside. And maybe, I thought, my imagination spinning out of control, both dogs would use their canine sense to sniff out whether or not he was the bad guy, the real culprit. Maybe they would get all growly and Gunther would take one look at their snarling faces and instantly confess everything he knew.
I rolled my eyes. Yeah, like that was going to happen. It wouldn’t, but at least I knew I could leave them outside while I went into the restaurant. Duke would stay put, because he was a well-behaved dog. Trixie? She would do whatever Duke did. Hopefully.
We walked toward the marina and both dogs pulled hard on their leashes, anxious to get me to move faster. But it was hot and humid, and I was already wilting two blocks in. I instantly regretted not grabbing a bottle of water before we left; I think the dogs were thinking that, too, considering their tongues were hanging halfway to the pavement.
Ten minutes later, we were approaching the marina. Our pace had slowed considerably, as both dogs looked to be even hotter than I was. I almost felt bad for them. Almost. After all, they could have stayed at home, locked in the cool air-conditioning of my grandma’s house.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and readjusted the leashes in my hand. The ropes were wet to the touch, either from my palms perspiring or from the air thick with moisture. More than anything, I wanted to turn back around, go home, and stand under an ice-cold shower.
But that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Besides, I’d already made the walk. Now I needed to talk to Gunther and see what he knew. Or rather, if he knew anything more.
I glanced down the length of shops leading to Shawnty’s, knowing full well that I just needed to walk down there and find him. Find him and ask him questions—about his connection to Carmen,
about what he was doing on that review site. About whether or not he had any knowledge about who was responsible for taking Jonah’s money.
Knowing what I needed to do and actually doing it were two entirely separate things.
“You can do it,” I mumbled, my half-hearted and pathetic attempt at a pep talk.
Trixie cocked her head and gave me a look that said even she knew how ambivalent I sounded.
I looked toward the street and away from the judgmental look my dog was giving me, directly toward Carmen Diggs’s apartment building.
It was my turn to cock my head.
Because someone was leaving Carmen’s apartment.
Rudy Sanders.
He hopped off the last step and immediately stepped to the curb, looking as though he intended to cross directly toward the marina. And me.
It wasn’t hard to tell when he noticed my presence. Because as soon as his eyes landed on me, he froze, I watched as his face turned a startling shade of red. I waited for him to cross the street, making it clear perfectly clear that I was doing so.
He looked both ways—probably hoping for a line of cars that would make it impossible for him to cross—but the road was empty. With slow, almost painful steps, he headed in my direction.
His eyes were locked on the dogs, both of whom perked up considerably as he approached.
“Hi,” Rudy said, offering a half-hearted wave and making sure he kept his distance from Trixie and Duke.
I smiled. “What are you up to?”
He swallowed a couple of times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Uh, I’m grabbing some lunch.” He nodded toward The Perfect Catch.
I glanced back at Carmen’s apartment before returning my attention to him.
He cleared his throat. “I should get going. I’m getting my food to go so I can take it back to the office.”
