Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice (16 page)

Jimmy G had just settled onto a stool at the bar where he had met Jillian the night before when his phone started ringing. It was Geri.

“What’s shakin’, doll?” Jimmy G asked. “Whole lot of shakin’ going on around here, that’s for sure. Give your boss some good news.”

“I don’t think it is good news,” Geri said. “We gave the trust document to the judge, like you said, and he shredded it!” He heard her little rat-dog barking in the background, probably adding his two cents.

Jimmy G thought about that for a while. It was not what he expected.

“Why would he do a thing like that?” he asked, more to himself than Geri.

But she had a quick answer: “Maybe he’s trying to destroy all the copies of the trust document. What would happen then?”

Jimmy G snorted. “Does Jimmy G look like a lawyer?”

“No,” she said, in a snappy voice, “and now all the lawyers are dead.”

“Then it’s a good time to not be one,” Jimmy G pointed out, pretty proud of himself for coming up with that quip.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Geri said. “We’re supposed to be helping the dogs, and if the trust disappears, so do their home and their income.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, doll. Jimmy G is just doing as he’s told.”

“But who is paying us now that Boswell is dead? And did you hear that Boswell was skimming funds? Should we investigate that?”

Darn, she was insistent. How was Jimmy G going to get her off his back? “Look, doll,” he said. “You did a great job so far. Take the weekend off. We’ll regroup on Monday and figure out what to do next.” That would give him plenty of time to hang out with Jillian at the lavender festival, then head back to Seattle.

She didn’t sound happy, but she hung up the phone. Satisfied he had done his job and done it superbly, Jimmy G ordered a farmer’s breakfast with a Bloody Mary. The place was packed, but luckily there was room at the counter, where he was sandwiched between a couple from Seattle and an elderly woman who rattled on about all the things to do at the lavender festival: hayrides, art shows, concerts.

Jimmy G could barely think, but he knew there was something bothering him. He just couldn’t figure out what it was as she yapped in his ear, like Geri’s little yappy dog. Was it that he had double-crossed his own operatives and thrown the evidence they had so assiduously collected into the arms of the other side? Nah, he decided that didn’t really bother him. A client is a client, and a client is the one who pays you. The judge was their client now. Boswell was dead.

Then what was it? It wasn’t until he was out in the parking lot, lighting up a cigar, that he realized it. He reached in his pocket for his lighter and came up with the camera. That naked photo! What was Jillian going to do with it? Was she one of those dames who posted photos on the Internet? Would Jimmy G’s naked bod be exposed for all to see? It made him nervous. She had no right to take a photo of Jimmy G without his permission.

He pulled the camera out of his pocket and fumbled with the buttons. He finally figured out which one turned the camera on, and after some more poking around, during which he took several photos of the asphalt surface of the parking lot, he found the back button.

The first photo that came up was of Jimmy G sprawled on the sheets.

“Not bad!” he thought, checking himself out. No wonder Jillian wanted a photo of him. Sort of a trophy, he assumed. Let her relive those glorious moments when he wasn’t around. Well, he could get into that. As long as she didn’t post it on the Internet.

He scrolled back through several photos of himself, admiring the artistic angles she had used, which made everything look bigger.

Then he was looking at a photo of another man, a fair-haired guy, with a smooth, bare chest. The guy had a huge smile on his face. He was shown only from the waist up, but Jimmy G had a pretty good idea that he was naked from the waist down. Unable to stop himself, he clicked back, and sure enough, the camera angle widened, and he took in the whole scene. The man was tall and well-endowed. He was standing, nude, in some kind of exam room, with a stainless-steel table in the middle and glass-fronted steel cabinets in the background. A little farther back in the sequence of shots, the man was sprawled on the table.

Jimmy G stopped there. He didn’t want to see any more. This dame that he thought was in love with Jimmy G, or at least hot for his body, was just some kind of heartless femme fatale who used men and then discarded them. No way was he going to spend the weekend with her or visit her at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm. No way was he going to give her the camera back.

Jimmy G was going to go straight to the casino, halfway between Sequim and Port Townsend, and drown his sorrows.

“Pepe,” I said, when I got back in the car, “Jimmy G said we should take the weekend off.”

Pepe shook his little head, then his whole body. “We are Sullivan and Sullivan. We never give up when we are on a case.”

“Yes, but what case?” I asked. “Are we protecting the dogs? Collecting statements to be used in the lawsuit?”

“Finding the murderer of Mr. Boswell,” said Pepe.

“Yes, what about that?”

“I have been thinking about that,” he said, “when I am not thinking about Phoebe.”

“Not Siren Song?” I was teasing him.

He ignored me. “There was a witness to Boswell’s murder.”

“Well, we know that,” I said. “The judge said there was someone in the house with Boswell that night. But how do we figure out who that was?”

“There was indeed someone in Boswell’s house that night, someone who saw the whole crime go down,” said Pepe in his most portentous true crime-show-narrator voice. “Someone who watched from the shadows as his beloved companion died an agonizing death. Someone who was unable to help because of the tragic fact that he was a cat.”

“The cat!” I said. “That’s brilliant! Of course, the cat was there.”

But then I looked at Pepe. “But we can’t talk to a cat. At least, I can’t. Can you?”

“Not most cats,” he said, “but I have established a sort of simple pidgin language I use with your cat. Perhaps Albert could interview the cat of Boswell and then communicate what he has learned to me.”

“You are going to invite Albert to be on our detective team?” I asked, incredulous. Pepe and Albert were always competing, like two siblings, for a higher ranking in my affections.

“Of course not,” said Pepe quickly. “We would be simply requesting his services as a translator. One time only. Very minor position.”

“We would need to find the cat first,” I said.

“Yes,” said Pepe. “He is no doubt in one of those horrid animal prisons.”

“The animal shelter,” I murmured. “Probably in Port Townsend, which is good, since then we can talk to Kevin.”

 

 

Traffic was light leaving Sequim since everyone was going the other way. In fact, the cars were lined up bumper to bumper, starting at the Indian casino. I was glad I already had a room for the night in Port Townsend, though sad that I wouldn’t be sharing it with Felix. I would have to try to call him again as soon as I got to Port Townsend.

By now, I was getting angry instead of sad. How dare he assume that I would cheat on him with someone like Hugh? Of course, I was perfectly willing to let Hugh think I was interested in order to get some information for our case, but that was an entirely different matter. Or was it?

I suddenly turned and looked at the sleeping Chihuahua on the passenger seat. Was he courting Phoebe just to get information? Or was he truly in love, as he claimed? For a talking Chihuahua, Pepe was not as easy to read as you would think.

My first stop was at the Port Townsend animal shelter. Sure enough, Boswell’s cat had been taken there by the police, and no one had come to pick him up. Pepe wasn’t allowed inside the facility, but he insisted on coming along, so I concealed him in my purse.

Once inside the cat room, he poked his little head out and looked around. The small room was lined with crates from floor to ceiling, and almost every one had a feline occupant. Big cats, little cats, black cats, calico cats, ginger cats, tabby cats, fluffy cats, skinny cat, fat cats. Pepe started shivering and disappeared into the depths of the purse.

I finally found the huge Maine coon in the corner of the room. He had turned his back to me, and all I could see was his fluffy tail, but the card identified him by name. Apparently his name was Precious Boswell.

“Precious!” I said, putting my fingers up to the bars of the cage. The magnificent animal lifted his head, turned around, looked at me with golden eyes, and then settled his head back on his paws, facing the back of the cage. I was not the person he wanted to see. His whole posture reeked of despair.

“Poor thing!” I said. “He must be in mourning for Boswell.” I thought I saw the cat’s ears twitch at the mention of his master’s name.

“But, Pepe,” I said, “do you really think we can talk to this cat?”

Pepe mumbled something I couldn’t hear, but it sounded like he thought we should try. And I agreed. Just seeing this animal, so sunk in dejection, made me realize that we had to do something. His label said he was not available for adoption.

I went out to talk to the woman at the front desk. “What’s the story with . . . um, Precious Boswell?” I asked.

“Oh, such a sad story,” she said. “His owner died, and we have to hold the cat until the heir comes to pick him up.”

“Oh, so they found Boswell’s family?” I asked.

“I don’t know if the gentleman is a member of his family,” she said, looking down at some papers on her desk. “The name we have on file is Lionel Talent.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “Isn’t he the owner of the Floral Fantasy B&B?”

“You know him?” she asked.

“We must rescue this poor prisoner,” insisted Pepe.

“Yes, he’s the owner of a bed-and-breakfast just down the road.”

“Well, that’s good news,” she said. “Let him know we are happy to turn the cat over to him if he brings proof of identity. The sooner you get the cat out of here, the better. Cats just do not do well under these conditions.”

“I wonder why Boswell left the cat to Lionel,” Pepe asked, as we headed out to the car.

“Well, we can ask him,” I said. “We’re headed there right now.”

 

 

When we arrived at the Floral Fantasy B&B, Kevin and Lionel were busy at the front desk checking in an older couple. Pepe sniffed the air, trying to identify what we might have missed since we had left too early for breakfast.

“Overripe cantaloupe and salmon quiche,” he declared. “You did much better at the waffle place, Geri!”

“But Albert would have loved it here,” I said as we headed down the hall to the Rose Room. Albert, for some weird reason, loves cantaloupe. I was beginning to worry about my own cat. Although I knew Albert had plenty to eat—I always leave his bowl full of dry food, which he rarely deigns to devour—he had been alone for almost a day now. And although he pretends not to care if I am around, I know he does like company, if only to boss me around. “Maybe I can get Felix to go over and check on him.”

“An excellent idea,” said Pepe, as we entered the Rose Room. He began sniffing around the edges of the wall. “I wish they would not use a vacuum cleaner. It muddles up the scents.”

I dialed Felix’s number again, and to my surprise, he answered the phone. I was so startled, I didn’t know what to say.

“Geri?” he asked. “Is that you, Geri?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said when I found my voice.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said. “I made assumptions.”

“I was questioning a suspect,” I said.

There was a long pause. “Why don’t you explain to me how his licking your hand was part of your investigation?” he finally said.

“He thought it was a date,” I said.

“It certainly looked like a date,” he said. “The two of you alone in the restaurant. The candles. The table overlooking the harbor.”

“That was part of my strategy,” I said, though it was actually Hugh’s strategy.

“Someone was in here,” Pepe said.

“Of course someone was in here,” I said. “Someone made the bed and brought us new towels.”

“Are you talking to your dog?” Felix asked.

“He’s talking to me,” I said.

There was another long pause. “Did your strategy work?” Felix asked at last.

“Not really,” I confessed. “And if it made you unhappy, it wasn’t worth it. I was so looking forward to spending a nice relaxing weekend with you at the B&B. I have a lovely queen-size bed and a claw-foot bathtub big enough for two!”

“Geri, please!” said Pepe. “A bath is bad enough. To share it with another would be twice as horrible.”

But what sounded so unattractive to Pepe sounded appealing to Felix. “I like the idea,” he said. “But don’t you still have to work?”

“My boss gave me the weekend off,” I said. “And you know how rare that is!”

Felix hesitated for a moment. “OK,” he said at last.

“OK?” I could hardly believe it.

“Do not forget the cat!” Pepe commanded.

“But there is one favor,” I added.

“What is it?”

“Well, we’re sort of worried about Albert. Do you think you could stop by my house and check on him?” I had just given Felix a key to my house the previous week so he could take Pepe to the groomer to have his nails trimmed while I was working.

“Sure. Do you need anything else from your house?”

“We need the cat!” said Pepe.

“Do you think you could bring Albert here?”

“Bring your cat? In the car?” Felix sounded puzzled.

“You can put him in his carrying case,” I said. “It’s on the top shelf in the hall closet.”

“But why do you want Albert?” Felix asked.

I looked at Pepe. No way I could tell him we needed the cat to question a suspect. Even though Felix had reluctantly agreed that maybe I thought my dog talked to me, he would never believe that my dog could talk to a cat.

“Pepe’s lonely,” I said. “He misses Albert.”