The Girl With The Dachshund Tattoo Part 9

Just blocks from the shop, I pulled over and parked in front of the Koffee Klatch. I was in desperate need of a chai latte.

The Koffee Klatch's funky decor, large comfy couches, and free Internet, made it a local favorite. It didn't hurt that the owner and employees loved dogs. The line was short for a Sunday morning. Sven, a lanky twenty-something who looked like he stepped off the pages of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, towered over the customers from behind the gla.s.s counter. Three years ago, he'd left his family's Danish vineyard in Santa Ynez Valley for our laid-back beach town. From all appearances, he seemed to like it here.

Before I could utter a word, Sven asked if I wanted my usual Sunday order of a chai latte and a blueberry m.u.f.fin. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly a last-minute decision to stop.

I nodded. "Please. To go."

"Sure thing," he said with wink and a nod. While he rang up my order, I stuffed a couple of ones into the tip jar.

"Is it true you were at the race yesterday? And you found the dead guy?" He didn't sound excited, but he was certainly curious. News traveled fast in Laguna. Especially gossipy bad news.

"I did." I paid for my food and stepped to the side, hoping that would be the end of the questions. I wasn't about to get off that easily.

"What happened?" He dropped a blueberry m.u.f.fin inside a small white bag and handed it to me.

I eyed the other two people waiting to place their order. Neither one was shy about hiding interest in my answer. I groaned silently. Malone liked to keep his information out of the public eye if possible. In the past, I'd followed his lead. There was no reason to stop now.

"Honestly, I'm waiting to hear just like everyone else."

Sven wiped off the espresso machine's steam wand with a wet cloth. "Do the police have any leads?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to anyone since I gave my initial statement."

Two quick bursts of steam shot from the wand. "I met the wife. You just missed her."

"Gia was here?"

He nodded. "She doesn't appear to be too upset about her husband's murder."

"Why's that?"

His lips moved, but I couldn't hear a word. The noise of the espresso machine heating the milk drowned out most of his answer. The second the machine stopped, his raised voice shot through the cafe. "She acted like she didn't have a care in the world. Other than her dog winning today's race."

I wished I could have heard the first part of what he'd said. Didn't anyone tell Gia that the spouse is the first suspect? The best course of action for her would be to fly under the radar and not draw attention to herself. Was she really that obtuse? Or could it be that she believed she'd get away with killing her husband?

Sven finished preparing my chai, snapped on the lid, then slid it across the counter. "Are you going out there today?"

"I have a few things to take care of at the shop first. What about you?"

"I'm here all day. Would you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

He pulled a twenty from his pants pocket. "Would you make a bet for me? Put this on Pickles." He shoved the money into my hand.

What the heck was he talking about? "You're putting money on Pickles?"

He motioned for me to follow him toward the back of the cafe. I grabbed my drink and followed.

"After meeting Gia, I'm rooting for the underdog," he said.

"Well, you obviously haven't met Lenny, have you?" I said wryly. "Seriously, I don't know anything about betting."

Sven shoved his hands in his ap.r.o.n pockets. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know all about the underground gambling. I heard from a friend that the bagman will be behind the chili tent."

"Bagman?"

"You know. Rodney. The money runner."

"Since I'm the one with your money, doesn't that make me the bagman?"

Sven laughed. "I guess it does. You're much better looking than Rodney, by the way."

I looked at the twenty in my hand. "I really don't know about the gambling."

His blue eyes widened as he ran his hands through his spiky, blond hair. "Look, I don't want to get into trouble. How about you forget we had this chat? Keep the cash." He moved to push past me, but I blocked his path.

"Whoa, there. I didn't say anything about trouble."

The front door opened. We both turned to see who'd walked inside. Well, surprise, surprise. If it wasn't Mr. TV himself. I had a lot to say to him, but not here. There was no sense stirring up more gossip than was already brewing around town.

MacAvoy wore the same grey blazer as he had yesterday, but today he had on black jeans and a black T-shirt. Interesting. He dressed like Malone now? They say imitation is the best form of flattery.

Mr. TV's gaze bounced between Sven and me. By the curious look on his face, I thought he'd join us, but instead, he strode straight to the counter and waited in line. But that didn't stop him from watching us like a neighborhood busybody.

I turned my back to the nosy reporter and spoke quietly. "Is there betting at every race?"

Sven shrugged. "Sure. Like I said, it's not a big deal." He inched away from me, eager to escape my questions and return to his customers.

He didn't strike me as a typical wiener race fan. As far as I knew, he didn't even have a dog. "How'd you learn about it?"

"Friends. Online."

Translation: his gambling buddies. "Who's Rodney? Is he a local?"

"He's from the valley. He's watched too many gangster movies, but he wouldn't harm a fly."

Against my better judgment, I said, "I'll find a way to get your bet placed." I was curious about the gambling, and there was no better way to nose around than by placing a bet.

"I've got customers." Without another word, he rushed back to his station, apologizing to everyone in line for the long wait.

I shifted my drink and bakery bag to the same hand so I could shove the twenty in my jeans pocket.

Don't you hate it when everyone knows more than you? Granted, Sven wasn't everyone, but he certainly knew about a covert activity I didn't know existed in my own community.

Did it have anything to do with Richard's death? At first blush I wouldn't think so, but there's only a handful of reasons people kill-love, hate, revenge . . . and greed. I was looking forward to meeting Rodney.

I sipped my chai as I walked past MacAvoy. I felt his determined stare fixated on my back. It was farfetched to believe he'd followed me to the Koffee Klatch. But I knew this wasn't the last time today our paths would cross.

In fact, I was counting on it.

I WAS IN THE MIDDLE of ordering paw-wear when the front door of Bow Wow Boutique opened. I looked up from my computer screen to see a woman in a black, belted, silk dress stroll inside. Valerie Andrews. Ugh. Betty's daughter stomped in my direction.

"Hey there, Valerie." I tried my best to be chipper.

"h.e.l.lo, Melinda." She narrowed her stormy eyes on my face as she dropped her three-thousand-dollar purse on the counter with a thud. "I need your help. My mother has lost her mind."

There were many times when I felt as if my mother had lost her mind, but I knew better than to make that announcement to someone outside of our immediate family. "What seems to be the problem?" I hedged, unsure what Betty had shared with her daughter about the recent events.

"I'm sure you know about the dead body Mother found yesterday."

I cleared my throat. Actually, I had found the body. Not that it mattered. Although it was obvious, Valerie wasn't used to being corrected.

"This is a problem," she continued without waiting for a response. "I can't have my mother traipsing around town talking about dead bodies and claiming that she's a murder suspect." She fiddled with the long delicate gold chain hanging around her neck. "I'm on numerous boards of prominent organizations. Her actions could have irreparable repercussions. Not to mention how her behavior is affecting my reputation within the community. I've tried to talk some sense into her, but she refuses to take my feelings into consideration."

I hadn't had much interaction with Valerie, but after each experience I've learned I liked her less and less. What kind of person puts their reputation above their mother's welfare? Not someone I'd choose to spend a large quant.i.ty of time with, that's for sure.

"Aren't you worried about Betty?" I asked.

She looked genuinely surprised for a moment. Shocking, because I'd always a.s.sumed she was a Botox disciple.

"It's true? Mother really is a suspect?"

Obviously Betty hadn't mentioned she'd threatened the dead guy with a handgun. "The police talk to everyone. It would help if Betty would tell them exactly where she was when Richard was killed. And even better if we could find her gun."

Her face paled. She pressed her blinged-out hand against her chest. Every finger sported a large colored gem. Valerie didn't follow the "less is more" rule.

"I thought she was exaggerating. You know how she is. Why wouldn't she tell the police where she-" Her eyes narrowed. "Did you say gun? What gun?"

"The one your husband gave her?" I meant to word that as a statement, but the confused look on her face caused me to end on a questioning note.

"Duane did not give her a gun."

I locked my computer. Ordering would wait. "Are you positive? He doesn't own a 9mm Berretta Nano?"

Her bejeweled hand gripped the leather strap of her purse until her knuckles turned white. "Yes, he owns that model. But it's locked away in his safe. In his study."

I had a strong suspicion Betty had been involved in a few things her daughter wasn't aware of. "Um, I don't believe it's there anymore. I've recently seen that gun. Betty was pointing it at Richard shortly before he was found dead. He'd been shot."

Valerie blinked rapidly, her face suddenly colorless. "My mother's a murderer," she wailed. "I'll never be asked to chair the children's charity committee for the women's club. Oh. My. G.o.d. She'll die in jail. What will I tell my sister?"

I scooted around the counter and guided her to my office at the back of the store where she could sit before she collapsed and knocked over a display of dog treats.

"Betty isn't going to jail," I stated. "Not if I can help it. She didn't kill anyone."

"But you just said she shot him."

Holy c.r.a.p. This woman could not talk to the police. She was too easily confused. "No. I did not. Pointing and shooting are completely different. Where's Betty? She was supposed to come in to work an hour ago."

"She said she had some errands to run this morning. You don't suppose she's hiding evidence?"

She hopped up from the chair and started to pace. "Melinda, you have to help me. My mother doesn't listen to reason. She does what she pleases, regardless of my wishes. She's been very sneaky lately. Comes and goes at all hours of the day. She won't let me inside her cottage." Valerie skidded to a stop and grabbed my arms, squeezing them tightly. "Last night, I thought I'd heard her making some strange cat-like sounds. She insists I'm hearing things. She told me to make an appointment with an audiologist. She has to be hiding something. Help me find out what."

The only thing less appealing than helping Valerie was shopping with my mother. I shook off her hands. "Have you asked her what she's hiding?"

"Of course. She tells me to mind my own business."

That sounded like good advice. "I'm not sure what you want me to do about it."

"Talk to her. She likes you. Although, G.o.d knows why." She eyed me up and down, a.s.sessing my worth. Her scrutiny hardly stood up against my mother's disapproving eye.

I wasn't looking for a dog fight, but Valerie had to know she held some responsibility for the way Betty acted.

"I have talked to her. I adore your mother. The best thing you could do is to show her she still matters. Stop bossing her around. Stop undermining her worth. You'll find she may actually take your advice." So sue me, I lied. I didn't believe for one second Betty would do anything her daughter told her to.

Valerie turned gla.s.sy-eyed. "At least promise you'll look out for her. She has always had a tendency to run into trouble, which has escalated since she's met you."

I was about to explain Betty didn't need my help to find trouble, when the bell for the front door chimed.

"Excuse me, I have a customer." Valerie stared at me, blank-faced. I turned her around and ushered her into the shop. "I'm not leaving you alone in my office. Let's go."

"But you didn't promise," she whined.

I was finished making promises.

"h.e.l.lo," I called out. "Welcome to Bow Wow Boutique."

Much to my surprise, Gia and Zippy, each wearing designer jogging suits, stood inside in the shop. Gia didn't look happy. I'm sure her emotional state had nothing to do with the fact that she'd pulled her hair back into the severest bun I'd ever seen. I was certain her hair would rip right off her scalp at any moment.

"Hi, Gia. I'm surprised to see you here." I couldn't stop staring at the way the sides of her face were yanked back into a poor man's facelift. It looked painful, yet at the same time impressively effective.

"In all the chaos yesterday, Zippy's favorite blue ball has gone missing. He can't win today without it." She rattled off the brand name.

"I have a few left. It's very popular item. Let me grab you one. Feel free to look around," I called out over my shoulder.

"I'm in a hurry. Richard may be . . . gone, but that doesn't mean Zippy can't keep to his schedule."

What type of schedule could he have? Eat, sleep, do his business, play. Rinse and repeat. Wasn't that the universal dog schedule?

"I'll be right back." I made my way toward the front of the store and grabbed one of the many blue treat b.a.l.l.s in a woven sea-gra.s.s basket. Valerie followed right on my heels.

"Melinda, I'm not leaving until you promise," she hissed.

I lowered my voice. "That is the recently widowed Mrs. Eriksen. At this moment, she has no idea who you are. If you leave right now, you won't have to kiss her b.u.t.t apologizing for you-know-who's behavior yesterday. I'd think you've already done enough of that. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Valerie stiffened, then pasted on a smile I'd seen on a thousand other faces-a disingenuous airbrushed smile that only fooled the person giving it.

"I understand." She nodded briskly.