The Girl With The Dachshund Tattoo Part 20

She turned her battered eyes toward Hagan and attempted to look sympathetic. It wasn't that difficult, what with all the bruises around her eyes. "You know how much we need to run this race." Her face may look broken, but her voice was steely and threatening.

Did he? Was she referring to her possible financial problems?

"That's not the whole story," Lenny growled.

"Gia, I saw you sneak behind the tents," I chimed in. Good grief, if Hagan didn't make a decision soon, there would be another brawl. Only this time Gia would not come out the victor. Lenny would pummel her into dust with one swing.

"You were spying on me?" she screeched. If she'd had something to throw at me, she would have.

"Not at all. I was minding my own business when I saw you and Zippy slink behind the Feline and Me tent. After your brawl with Fallon Keller, I noticed the same water bottle Zippy had dug out of your bag. I grabbed it. I unscrewed the cap and recognized the smell-an energy drink."

"You busy body," she hissed. "Why can't you stay out of my business?"

"Is this true?" Hagan finally spoke. "Did you give Zippy an energy drink?"

She threw her shoulder back in defiance. "I don't have to answer that."

He nodded, his face tight. "You're right. You don't. Mrs. Eriksen, I regret to inform you that Zippy has been disqualified for suspicion of unsportsmanlike conduct."

"Yes!" Lenny punched the air. "Let's get this race started."

"You can't do that. I-Zippy has to race. You agreed," Gia yelled. She charged after Hagan and grabbed the back of his shirt. "If you exclude us, you'll regret it."

"No, Mrs. Eriksen. Don't threaten me. Or you'll regret it." His face hardened like granite, but his smile was pure satisfaction. "Do I need to call security?"

Gia let go of his shirt as if it had suddenly caught fire. She stepped back, but she didn't stop glaring at him. "You'll be sorry," she promised.

"I don't think so."

MacAvoy's warning about Hagan Stone roared through my head.

"Can we run this race before another fight ensues or someone else drops dead?" Betty asked.

"I'm not particularly fond of your phrasing, madam, but yes, we can start the first heat. Racers to the gate." Hagan waved his hand in the air commanding that we all follow.

My heart was already racing. It had been years since I'd been in a bar fight, but if I needed to, I could hold my own. Unlike my cousin and Betty, I'd learned to defend myself through real-life situations and not in a cla.s.sroom. For a couple of minutes I'd thought that's where the confrontation between Gia, Hagan, and Lenny had been headed.

Who'd have thought an innocent wiener race would incite such hotheaded compet.i.tion?

THE DARK CLOUD drifted onward, allowing a sliver of sunlight to shine dimly on us. Hagan called security and had Gia and her dog escorted off the field. Lenny watched with a pleased smile plastered across his face. I was surprised he hadn't broken out in applause or his version of a happy dance.

Hagan grabbed the microphone and called for all the racers to report to the starting line. The race would begin in five minutes.

Betty and I joined Darby on the sideline.

"What was going on over there?" she asked. "I stayed back and took a lot of pictures. The whole scene looked intense."

"Gia and Zippy got kicked out for cheating," Betty explained.

"Technically for unsportsmanlike conduct," I added.

Darby whistled. "She didn't take that well."

Betty stretched up on her toes to peer at Darby's viewfinder camera. "You got some good shots there." Betty nodded, impressed. "I bet you could sell those to a celebrity tabloid and make some fast cash."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, in all seriousness. Once Betty turned her attention to the track, Darby and I exchanged an amused look over Betty's head.

The three of us watched Lenny hand Pickles to the gate attendee in lane two. Luis and Barney were a.s.signed gate five. The other contestants quickly took their places. After a murder, a fistfight, and the smack-down Hagan had just handed Gia, a wiener race felt, well, a little anticlimactic. Does that make me a bad person?

"I still have a chance to win big. Especially now that Zippy's been disqualified for doping." Betty patted her purse. "If I win big I'm buying an outfit off that shopping channel."

"Grey said to leave the money," I muttered.

She hugged her purse up against her tiny body. "No way."

This wasn't the time to convince her otherwise. Darby paced along the sideline snapping pictures.

"Darby, have you seen Stephanie? Shouldn't she be here?" I had a hunch there was more to the girl with the dachshund tattoo than her dogumentary.

"I haven't seen her." She lowered her camera, tucking a lock of blond hair behind ear. She surveyed the area quickly. "It's odd that she hasn't been around. Especially if she really is a filmmaker."

"Stop jabbering over there," Betty jeered good-naturedly. "The race is about to start. Darby, we can watch at the finish line, right?" Betty rubbed her hands together greedily. Okay, it was possible that was a show of excitement. But I was sticking with greed.

"Sure. Stay back and don't interfere. Remember, no matter what happens, you can't touch the dogs."

"You got it, sweet cheeks." Betty swung her handbag up on her shoulder and led the way.

Luis, Lenny, and the rest of the owners moved to the finish line. Each pulled their racer's favorite item out of a pocket or bag. Luis dug the chicken strips wrapped in tinfoil out of his f.a.n.n.y pack. Lenny unearthed a squeaky toy monkey from somewhere. A couple other owners had b.a.l.l.s. The owner in lane three had a box of Bowser treats.

"Last call," Hagan's voice carried over the loud speakers.

The excitement for the race filled the air as the crowd cheered for their favorite doxie. Cries of well-wishes and encouragement blasted toward the field. I couldn't help but feel excited too.

The starting gate looked like a row of cubbyholes, open on the back side to place the racer inside. The front side was covered with a clear plastic door so the racer could see the owner at the finish line but not leave the block until given the signal. Once the starting gun fired, the designated volunteer at each end of the gate would pull the handle and the plastic door would lift up, releasing all the dogs at once.

"Racers are present," Hagan announced into the microphone, his energetic voice pumping up the crowd.

The cheers grew louder. Betty jumped up and down, alternating between squeals of excitement and ear-piercing whistles. Darby and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce our racers for the first heat in the heavyweight event. In lane one, we have Chloe from Long Beach. In lane two, is Pickles from Yreka. Lane three, is Dutch from Irvine. Lane four, is Maverick from Newport. And in lane five, our very own Barney from Laguna Beach."

We whooped and hollered as Barney's name was announced.

"Wouldn't it be awesome if Barney won?" Darby lifted her camera and snapped pictures, prepared to watch the race through her camera lens.

"That'd be great," Betty agreed halfheartedly. She wasn't as genuinely supportive as Darby. I knew she was thinking about her wager and possible windfall.

"On your marks," Hagan yelled into the mic.

"Get set." He raised the starting gun, and pointed it in the air.

My heart raced as I waited for him to pull the trigger.

BANG!.

The clear plastic door lifted. Pickles, Maverick, and Barney shot out immediately. Their long wiggly bodies ate up the gra.s.s as they raced toward the finish line. Pickles was in the lead, his mouth open as he charged forward. He was focused on the toy monkey Lenny held in front of him. With Zippy out of the way, Pickles could experience his first win.

Poor Dutch stood at the starting gate, sniffing the gra.s.s where the other dogs had been seconds earlier. I giggled when he lifted his leg and marked his spot. Chloe got a late start, but she came on fast, gaining on the three leaders.

"Chloe is making a comeback," I shouted, bouncing on my toes, energized. "She's gonna catch up to the others."

"Run, Pickles. I got a hundred bucks on you," Betty shouted at the top of her lungs.

Darby swung around with a shocked look on her sweet face. "What?"

"Pictures, Darb," I said. "I'll explain later."

Suddenly, Chloe was within a nose of Pickles. Maverick and Barney started to run out of gas. It was down to Chloe and Pickles.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, "Go, Chloe. Come on girl, you can do it."

All of a sudden, Chloe bit Pickles on the behind. My breath caught. The crowd gasped.

Pickles whipped around and ran in the opposite direction. Chloe chased him, nipping his rear as they ran.

"No, no, no," Lenny screamed. The veins in his face pulsed with each "no" he uttered. "Come back, Pickles. Come!"

"Get the chicken, Barney. Get the chicken," Darby yelled. She lowered her camera for a second, then raised it again. I could hear the quick burst of the shutter as she snapped picture after picture.

Barney and Maverick raced in unison to the finish line nose to nose. I clenched my hands into tight fists. I caught myself holding my breath. I forced myself to breathe.

Luis yelled encouraging words, waving the chicken strip so hard it broke in half, sending a chunk flying across the finish line. Barney raced to the chicken then skidded to a stop. He dropped his head and ate the snack. Maverick raced past him, crossing the finish line first. The crowd roared in celebration.

"Oh, no!" Darby and I cried in unison.

I was heartbroken for Luis. They'd almost won. He'd been so close.

"The winner of the first heat is Maverick. Second place, Laguna's own Barney," Hagan announced once Barney crossed the line.

We continued to wait on the other three. Lenny swore at Pickles and Chloe, who were both out of bounds chasing each other in some kind of doggie dating ritual. And remember poor Dutch? Well, he slowly made his way toward his owner.

Luis lifted Barney and held him high. "Great job," he shouted. "Great job!"

He carried him toward us. We continued to hoot and holler our excitement like a bunch of Texans at a three-legged race during a family reunion.

"That was awesome." I rubbed Barney's head. "I bet you'll get to run in the finals."

Luis beamed. "I think so too."

"Come by the boutique tomorrow. I'll have something extra special for Barney."

"Yeah, well don't shake your chicken so hard next time. You still have the big race to run. And if you drop a piece, do it on the other side of the finish line," Betty grumbled.

"Don't be rude," I chastised. It wasn't Luis's fault she bet on the wrong dog.

"No, she's right. I was so happy, I forgot what we were doing." Luis smiled broadly, unperturbed by the unsolicited advice. "I'll pay more attention next time."

"You were fine." Darby gave him a quick hug. "I'm so proud of both of you. I got some great photos too. I'll show them to you later. I'll print copies for you."

"Thanks, Darby. Hey, here comes that TV reporter. Do you think he wants to interview me?"

"Absolutely," I said. If not, I'd make sure he did.

We expected to see MacAvoy and his cameraman, Ryan, ready to interview the winners. But he was alone. And running. His perfectly coiffed hair windblown, his face pasty white.

"Where's Detective Malone?" he asked out of breath.

"I haven't seen him since Gia and Fallon's fight. Why? What's wrong?" A shaken MacAvoy wasn't normal. His blazer was off, and there was blood on his hand. My heart jolted, not from excitement-from dread.

He caught his breath, then shoved his b.l.o.o.d.y hand through his hair. "I found the filmmaker. She's dead."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

I KNOW THIS SOUNDS awful, but I was relieved I wasn't the one to find the dead body. Let's get real here. How many dead bodies can a girl stumble over before she becomes a suspect? That's a rhetorical question. No answer needed.

Darby rummaged around the bottom of her messenger bag and found a clean tissue for MacAvoy to clean the blood off his hand. I slipped my cell from my pocket and pulled up Malone's number, then handed the phone to MacAvoy. He quickly explained why he was using my phone before he updated Malone. He returned my cell with a shaky hand.

"Thank you for your help." His voice wavered. He cleared his throat. "He wants me to meet him at the chili truck."

The same chili truck I'd visited earlier this afternoon. The same chili truck where Betty had placed a bet. The same chili truck Grey had insisted Betty and I stay away from.

Coincidence? I didn't think so either.

MacAvoy split without another word. He never did explain why there was blood on his hand.

"He's really upset," Darby noted, her voice heavy with concern.

I agreed. I hadn't pegged him for the emotional type. MacAvoy had barely held eye contact with us. Even after he'd talked to Malone, the reporter's tanned faced had looked an unhealthy white.

I felt badly leaving Luis to celebrate his almost-win alone, but the dead girl had Betty's gun. That took precedence over any party. Darby, Betty, and I hustled to the to the crime scene. I formed a suspect list in my head for the new murder as we power-walked toward the food area.

Gia was obviously the prime suspect. She'd threatened Stephanie for questioning her about the doping, and the filmmaker had recorded Gia's tirade.