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Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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Chapter 19
He pulled out his folder. “Now let me ask you a few questions. When did you get the call from the Gerrard Agency?”
“Well, I'd just picked up my new dog. My appointment was for 2
PM
but I was a little bit late because I had to run by the store for some dog food—”
“I just need the time you got the call.” His voice was weary.
“It was 3:30. I remember that because I only had a half hour to get to Mrs. Tyler's house.”
He nodded. “That checks out.”
“You have phone records?”
“That's how we check alibis.” He scribbled something on the page. “And you say Mrs. Tyler called you?”
“No, I never said that.”
He looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“I assume she called the agency.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured and made another note on his piece of paper.
“Did you talk to the housekeeper, Rosa?” I suggested. “She said Mrs. Tyler called her and told her not to come in that morning.”
Detective Sanders looked interested. “We'll check that out,” he said, scribbling.
“Doesn't that seem suspicious?” I asked.
“Lots of things seem suspicious,” he said. “For instance, what were you doing there today?”
“I was just walking by with my dog.”
He flipped over a few pages, then fixed me with his dark eyes. “You don't live in that neighborhood.”
“I was taking him to Volunteer Park.”
“No reason to park near the Tyler house. There's plenty of parking available at the park.”
How could I explain that my dog wanted me to investigate? I had to think of a good story. “I thought I saw someone out the window when I found the body and I wanted to see if there was any evidence there.”
“Interesting!” Now I had his attention. “Which window?”
“The corner window in the living room. North side of the house, closest to the street.”
He was nodding even more now.
“We did get a shoe print from underneath that window. It was a woman's shoe, with a distinct heel. Size 8. What size do you wear?”
For once, I was grateful for my big feet. “Size 10!” I said eagerly, sticking out one foot in front of me, to demonstrate. I was wearing my black cowboy boots. I thought they looked stylish when worn with black tights and one of my favorite vintage dresses: gray cotton with little cherry pies all over it.
“Are these the shoes you were wearing on the day you found the body?” he asked.
I hated to admit it. “As a matter of fact, they are.”
“We're going to need them,” he said. “Can you take them off?”
“What am I supposed to do for shoes?” I asked, as I struggled to yank them off. You'd think he would have offered to help but he just watched with an amused grin as I wriggled back and forth.
“We can give you a pair of slippers,” he said. He gestured at a pile of pink rubber sandals in the corner. “Those are the sandals we issue to prisoners in the jail.”
“No thanks,” I said, thinking how they would clash with my outfit. “Did you ever find the murder weapon?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did. With your fingerprints all over it!”
“Oh, that's right! I'm really sorry about that. My dog warned me not to touch it.”
Sanders fixed me with his dark eyes, then shook his head like a dog shakes off water. “It's OK. It probably didn't make much of a difference. The murderer had wiped it down with something like rubbing alcohol, which effectively eliminated any prints. Which tells us that even though it might have been a crime of passion, the murderer took great pains to clean up the scene after wards.”
“Why not just take the gun away?”
“Yes, that would be the most logical thing to do. Perhaps it was because the gun wouldn't really lead us anywhere.”
“Why is that?”
“It was Mrs. Tyler's gun. Apparently she kept it in her bedside table.”
“Isn't that suspicious?”
“Well, not necessarily. Almost everyone in that household would have known that. Especially Mr. Tyler. It's possible he got the gun because he heard a noise and then confronted a burglar.”
“So you think it was a botched robbery?”
“No, there's no evidence anything was taken except a few sentimental objects that Mrs. Tyler had given Mr. Tyler.”
“Again, doesn't that tell you something?”
“Not really.”
“Did you check Mrs. Tyler's alibi?” I asked.
“We're still working on that,” he said.
“But it must be fairly simple,” I said. “Either she was on a plane from L.A. or she wasn't.”
“Seems like it would be simple, doesn't it?” he observed.
“Do you mean she wasn't on that plane?”
“Let's just say we're still confirming her alibi.”
That made me nervous. I had left my dog with this woman.
“Do you think she murdered her husband?”
“We haven't ruled out anyone.” He looked me over. “You're still a suspect as well.”
I sighed. “What do I have to do to prove I'm innocent?”
“We're going to need the clothes you were wearing that morning, too.” He shook his head. “I can't believe no one asked you for those on Thursday. Can you bring them in?”
“Sure.”
I had to get back to Pepe, and I was willing to agree to almost anything to get out of there.
“And what about your dog?”
“What about him?”
“Did you ever find him?”
It was the first sign of any human compassion I had seen from him. I was almost touched. “Yes,” I said, then faltered to a stop not sure how to explain how Pepe had found his way to my door.
“Well, we still need to process him,” he said, snapping shut his folder. “See if he has any evidence.”
“He was out in the rain all night,” I said. “Any evidence that was on him got washed off.”
“Nevertheless, we have to be thorough. Please bring him in when you drop off your clothes.”
Chapter 20
I had to wait in the lobby for a ride back to the Tyler residence. It was completely empty and quiet—a big, Y-shaped room, with a gray tiled floor and big glass windows on either side, looking out over the busy intersection of Twelfth and Pine. A female police officer in a blue uniform stood behind a glass-partitioned information counter in the middle of the room. She seemed to keep busy checking computer screens in front of her but occasionally she had to deal with people who wandered in. A black woman wearing a tin-foil hat who complained about the radio transmissions blocking her thoughts. A tattooed young man with a safety pin stuck through his eyebrow who wanted to report the theft of his skateboard. She handled them both with aplomb and courtesy.
I spent my waiting time updating my notes in my casebook. I had learned a lot from talking to Detective Sanders, but everything he told me made me more nervous. Rebecca was the spouse of the murdered man, she thought he was having an affair, and she was trying to get her hands on a large sum of money. Plus she had asked her gardener to cover up possible evidence on her property, she had told her housekeeper not to come in that morning, and it seemed like her alibi might not be checking out. And I had left my dog in this woman's care! Finally, one of the parking enforcement officials gave me a ride back up the hill in one of their golfcart-type vehicles.
I felt like a fool standing on the doorstep of the Tyler residence in my stocking feet. At least, it wasn't raining. But the bricks were cold and damp. Rosa answered the door. I couldn't resist looking down at her shoes. They did look about size 8, but they weren't high heels—she was wearing scuffed white sneakers. She caught me looking and frowned.
“Nice shoes!” I said. “What size do you wear?”
She must have thought I wanted her shoes. She just kept shaking her head and saying, “No! No!”
“
Dónde está mi perro
?” I asked. “
Perro? Perrito blanco?
”
My pronunciation must have been pretty bad because it took a while before she understood. Then she motioned that I should follow her. We went through the foyer.
The door to the living room was open, and I looked in. The sofa and table had been removed but the carpet gleamed white again with no trace of blood. I shuddered. Surely Rebecca should have closed the door to block out the memory of her husband's corpse rather than restore the room to its icy splendor.
As I descended the stairs to the basement, I could hear the music swelling. It was a swing song from an old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie. And when I walked through the door, there was Pepe in a little tuxedo jacket trotting next to Siren Song, who was wearing a slinky black satin skirt.
Rebecca spotted me and came rushing over. “Look at them! They are perfect for each other,” she said.
She looked down at my stocking feet. “What happened to your shoes?” she asked.
“The police wanted them,” I said. I looked at her feet. She was wearing fancy black sneakers. It looked like she wore a size 8.
“What size are your feet?” I blurted out.
“Why?”
“Just hoping I could borrow a pair,” I said.
“I don't think we wear the same size at all,” she said. “What size do you wear?”
“Ten.”
“Oh, no, mine are much smaller.” She had managed to evade my question. Was that on purpose?
Meanwhile Pepe spotted me and came running up. “Geri! Geri!” he said. I had never seen him so excited. He was practically jumping into the air to try to get into my arms. “Get me out of this jacket!”
“OK, Pepe!” I picked him up and peeled off his jacket.
“Thanks for training my dog,” I said to Rebecca. “I think we should be going now.”
“Oh, but you can't leave!” Rebecca said. I looked back at the door to see if it had been locked behind me. Rosa was standing in the shadows, a magenta wraith, watching me. Was I in trouble? Did Rebecca know I suspected her? Could I get out alive? With Pepe?
“But I have to—” I started to babble.
“I'm just making progress with them. They're brilliant together,” Rebecca said. “Your dog is a major talent.”
“Did you hear that, Geri?” Pepe asked.
“I think I can make him a star,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, Geri, I want to be a star,” Pepe said.
“Well, I'm sure he would love that,” I said, tucking him under my arm, like a clutch purse. “We can talk about it later.” I backed toward the door. Siren Song was bouncing up and down like a golden ball of fluffy fur. No treats in my pocket so she must be trying to get to Pepe.
“He's worth a fortune,” Rebecca said.
That stopped me. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. He could easily bring in fifty thousand dollars a year, and that's not counting residuals every time the show is shown. Plus endorsements. He would be a great spokesdog.”
“That would show Caprice!” said Pepe.
“Pepe, you don't have to prove anything.”
“
Sí
, Geri, but I could earn
mucho dinero
for me and you! You could live a life of luxury. No more slaving away at staging and spying. Would you not enjoy that?”
“Of course, I'd enjoy that,” I said.
“I'll have Sherman draw up a contract,” Rebecca said. “But there is one problem.” The edges of her lips lifted but the smile did not reach her eyes.
“What's that?” I asked, still backing towards the door.
“Well, you would need to dance with him,” she said. “That's the whole premise of the show—owners dance with their dogs.”
“I thought you didn't have the money to do the show,” I said.
“I'm not giving up,” she said firmly. “I'll figure out a way to get some of it down to the producers. I just hope they give me the time I need.”
I couldn't help but think this woman was the sort of ruthless person who would kill her husband. It seemed she wouldn't let anything get in her way when she wanted something. And now she wanted Pepe.
“So, will you do it?” she asked. “We can start training on Monday.”
“I have a job,” I said. I didn't want to tell her what was really bothering me, which is that I can't dance. Not at all. No rhythm. “I'm working as a private investigator now. Remember?”
Rebecca thought about that.
“Even better,” she said. “I can train you and your dog, and you can help me sort through David's papers and track down the funds I need.”
Pepe piped in. “Geri, if we are here in the house, we can do some investigating of our own. Then you can clear your name. And mine.”
“I'll pay you an hourly rate. Whatever you get for your detective work,” Rebecca said. “It might take a while since David has a lot of papers. And then we'll come up with a list of people you can interview. It will be better if you do the interviews than me. Makes me look suspicious.”
“Yes, it does,” I said.
“Say yes, we want to do it,” said Pepe.
“I don't know,” I said to Rebecca. “I just don't get your attitude. I mean your husband was murdered, and all you're thinking about is the money for your show.”
Rebecca looked offended. “Well, I'm sorry I'm not grieving the way you think I should.” She crossed her hands over her chest. “Do you have any idea what it's like to have people telling you how you should behave at a time like this?”
“Well, yes I do,” I said. “My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” said Rebecca. Her blue eyes filled with sympathy. “That must have been dreadful.”
“
Pobrecita
,” said Pepe. He stuck out his long pink tongue and licked my cheek.
“I do understand that everyone grieves in their own way,” I said. Everyone kept encouraging me to cry after my parents died, but I didn't shed a tear for over a year.
“I need to stay busy,” said Rebecca, clenching and unclenching her hands. “I just can't afford to think about what happened to David. Not for one moment.” Her voice caught, then she went on. “I have to be proactive. David encouraged me to pursue this passion of mine, and I can't help but think he wouldn't want me to give it up, despite the circumstances. You might say I'm doing it for him.” She shook tension out of her hands with an impatient gesture. “Will you help me?”
“Geri, this will be good for us,” said Pepe. “It will make our reputation.”
“Please,” said Rebecca.
“OK,” I said. “Yes, I'll help you.” But I wasn't planning to dance.
“Great! Be here at 1
PM
on Monday.”

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