Dial C for Chihuahua (20 page)

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Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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Chapter 35
“I'm curious,” I said, as we left Nordstrom and headed towards Jimmy G.'s office. “Why do you react so badly to the scent of Caprice? Is it because it reminds you of your former owner?”
“We dogs do not use the word
owner
,” Pepe said with disdain.
“What word do you use?” I asked curious.
“It depends on the dog,” he said. “Some say human. I think that is too cold. Some say provider. That has merit. I prefer companion.”
“OK, I can see that.” I nodded my head. “My question remains . . .”
“It is not that it reminds me of Caprice,” he said. “We
perros
do not like perfume.”
“Really?” I thought of all the times I had carefully spritzed on my favorite scent while getting dressed.
“You did not know that?”
“I do now.”
“
Bueno
,” he told me. “If, however, they make a bacon perfume, I might change my mind.”
“Hey, doll!” said Jimmy G. when we walked into his office. He had his feet up on his desk, as usual. He was wearing two-toned brown-and-white oxfords with green-and-blue argyle socks. His sports coat was the colors of a Creamsicle, orange and white, and his shirt was brown with a white collar.
He took his feet off the desk as we came in, creating an avalanche. Empty bags, betting forms, newspapers, and unopened envelopes slid over the edge in a waterfall of paper. Some landed in a brown puddle on the floor. An empty Styrofoam cup lay beside it, the obvious source of the spill. One of his goldfish was floating sideways at the top of the murky tank.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the chair against the wall, which had a few stains of dubious provenance on the fabric. “Jimmy G. was just having a bite to eat.” He held up a clear, triangular plastic container filled with some kind of sandwich. “It says it's tuna, but it looks more like deviled ham.”
A piece of wilted lettuce fell out and onto his desk as he offered the sandwich to me. He left it where it lay.
“I do not eat vending machine sandwiches,” said Pepe. “I learned a bitter lesson at a bus station in Tijuana.”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Suit yourself.” He took a large bite out of it. “It is tuna,” he said, chewing thoughtfully. “So what brings you to visit Jimmy G.?”
“Money,” I said.
“Just what I like. A pretty dame who wants to drop some Ben Franklins on me.”
“No, I need some,” I said. “I wrapped up the Snelson case, and you said you'd pay me. Two hundred in cash. The day the case was solved.”
Jimmy G. took another bite of his sandwich.
“Yeah, that old broad called,” he mumbled. “Was mighty pleased. Crazy old bat.”
“So did she pay you?”
“No, I told her you'd send her an invoice,” Jimmy G pushed around the papers on his desk.
“Why me?”
“You're my gal Friday, aren't you?”
“I am not your gal Friday!” I snapped. “And even if I was, how would I create an invoice anyway?” I might have to do it myself if I wanted to get paid. “I don't see a computer.”
Jimmy G. laughed, a short bark of a laugh. “Jimmy G. doesn't need a computer! Got a typewriter right over there!” He pointed to the corner where I saw an old Royal on a rolling metal table.
“This is ridiculous,” I said. “You can't run a business this way. Don't you take credit card payments? Where do you keep your receipts? How do you keep track of your accounts receivable?”
“Whoa!” Jimmy G. appeared to stagger back. “You're getting much too technical. Jimmy G. doesn't do mathematics.”
“Evidently not arithmetic, either,” said Pepe.
“Stewart is the numbers man. The only numbers Jimmy G. knows are the odds on the ponies at Emerald Downs.”
“So Stewart takes care of your finances?”
Jimmy G. nodded. “Stewart pays the rent. Stewart pays the utilities. Stewart comes by and drops off some cash every now and then for operating expenses. At the moment”—Jimmy G's brown eyes got sad—“Jimmy G. is frankly low on funds.”
“But I need the money now!” I insisted.
“Well, then why don't you head on over to Stewart's office and ask him for it. Jimmy G. will give him a call and tell him you're coming. Though come to think of it, Stewart might be a little upset when he sees you.”
“Why would that be?”
“Well, he called Jimmy G. and told Jimmy G. to fire you.”
“What? That doesn't make any sense. He asked me to fill out employment forms and told me he'd pay for my training!”
“Stewart is like that. Probably decided he couldn't afford it.”
“This is ridiculous!” I said. “I'm going to go talk to him myself.”
Chapter 36
No one responded when I rang the doorbell at Stewart's castle. I rang it again and again.
“Geri, let us reconnoiter,” Pepe suggested. He darted off, running around the left side of the house. I followed him down a narrow path of stepping stones. It meandered around the carefully shaped juniper hedges, passed beneath banks of mullioned windows, and ended at the stone terrace outside Stewart's office. Gray clouds were rolling in from the south, carried by a brisk wind.
The windows of Stewart's office were finished with some sort of anti-glare product that made it impossible to see inside. So I continued around to the other side of the house and peered in the window of Mandy's office. She was there, at her desk, feeding papers into a shredder. A cardboard box full of shredded paper stood on the floor beside her and there was a stack of folders on her desk. I tapped on the window and she jumped.
Then she waved me over to the rear door, which was located between her office and Stewart's office. She was wearing what I thought of as a sexy secretary outfit—a crisp white linen blouse, a short black skirt, and black high heels. A gold pen was stuck into her dark hair, which had been pulled back into a chignon.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I rang the front door bell,” I said. “No one answered.”
“We're busy,” she said.
“Look, I just came to drop off those papers you wanted,” I said. I had the completed employment forms in my bag.
She glared at Pepe who was standing by my feet.
“Well, you can't bring that animal in here!” she said. “You know, Stewart is terribly allergic.”
She glanced at the door to Stewart's office. It was closed, but it was clear she felt his presence anyway.
“Fine,” I said. “He can stay out here.”
I looked at Pepe. “Stay close to the house,” I said. “I don't want a hawk carrying you off.”
“I have been in that situation before,” Pepe said. “I was able to escape by telling the bird a story that so distracted her—”
“Just get under the furniture,” I said. I didn't have time to listen to another of his fantastic stories.
I pointed at the two striped lounge chairs that were on the terrace, each facing the spectacular view of the lake. Reluctantly, slowly, Pepe did as I requested, inching along until he was hunched beneath one of the chairs. I could see his dark eyes glowering out at me. He was not a happy dog.
I followed Mandy into her office. She waved me to a chair and looked over the papers I handed her. “I need to see your passport or else your driver's license and some other form of identification, like a Social Security card,” she said. “The federal government requires me to make sure you are a U.S. citizen.”
“Look, I just need to know what's going on,” I said. “Jimmy G. told me that Stewart wants to fire me. So why are you bothering with the paper work?”
Mandy pursed up her lips and pointed a finger at her head, waving it in circles. “Jimmy G. is loco. Haven't you figured that out by now?”
“So, Stewart didn't tell him to fire me?”
“Of course not.” Mandy studied my resume. “You're an interior decorator?” I didn't like the tone of incredulity in her voice but I ignored it.
“Yes,” I said, “though mainly I specialize in staging.”
“I might have some work for you,” Mandy said.
“Really? Are you selling a house?”
“No. But Stewart wants to redo this place. He wants something more modern that will appeal to our international clients.” She set the resume down on her desk. “I'd love to get your opinion.”
This was amazing. Perhaps I should consider Pepe my good-luck charm. I had been offered three jobs in the five days since had I adopted him. Of course, I hadn't yet been paid for most of them.
“Do you think Stewart will be able to pay me?” I asked. “Jimmy G. sent me over here because he said he's short on cash.”
“I don't see why not,” said Mandy. “We can give you a deposit or a retainer, or whatever you call it in your line of work.”
“Great!” I said. “How do you want to proceed?”
“Let's start with Stewart's office.”
“Won't that disturb Stewart?'
“Oh, he's not here. He's meeting with a new investor.” She led me across the wide hallway and threw open the door.
As I looked around, I noticed the top of Stewart's massive oak desk was completely bare. It certainly didn't look like he was analyzing David Tyler's financial records.
“Did he finish up the work he was doing for Rebecca?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mandy said. “It only took him a few hours.”
“Really? I thought David Tyler had a lot of investments.”
“Stewart is really good at what he does,” Mandy said. She put her hands on her hips. “What do you think? Get rid of the books?”
“Yes,” I said. “We can certainly make this room look lighter and brighter. Take out the Persian rug—it looks like there's a nice hardwood floor underneath. And bring in a few pieces of more modern furniture, perhaps some white leather chairs, a desk with a glass top, something with some sleek lines.”
“I like it!” Mandy clapped her hands. “Let's go upstairs.”
“Did Stewart find the money Rebecca needed for her show?” I asked as we headed up the stairs.
“Oh, yes, he found the money all right,” Mandy said. “But he told her it was in an offshore account and he can't touch it. He doesn't want her to invest in that stupid show. It's going to be a disaster.”
“That sounds unethical to me.”
“Stewart is just trying to be loyal to his friend. That's what David would have wanted.”
We stood at the threshold of the great room. The house was as silent as the tomb. No sounds from outside penetrated those thick walls. The light was fading from the sky and the great room was full of shadows.
“But what about what Rebecca wants?”
“Who cares?”
“You don't seem very sympathetic!” I said.
“I can't stand that woman!”
“You know Rebecca?”
“Yes, I used to work for her! She was a total bitch!”
“What? You worked for Jimmy G. You work for Stewart. And you used to work for Rebecca?”
“Well, yes,” said Mandy. She seemed annoyed. “I don't know why you're so interested in my work history.”
“It just seems odd,” I said.
“Not really. I mean, they all know each other.” She moved into the middle of the room. “What do you think we should do with this room?”
“Well, you need to make this room feel friendly and open. Get rid of all the sofas—”
“Oh, that won't be a problem” said Mandy. “They're all leased anyway.”
“Is Stewart still going to use this room for talking to clients?”
“Yes, but he doesn't need to do the lectures anymore to groups. He's going for bigger fish now, and he only needs one or two people at the levels he's reaching. So if he's hanging out in this space with clients, it will be more social—drinks, conversation, maybe some catered appetizers being passed.”
“Well, we can create different furniture groupings so there are places for people to sit and talk, and also room to mix and mingle. I can bring some fabric swatches and some pictures clipped out of magazines for you to show to Stewart. I think the biggest issue will be the vertical space.” I looked up at the dark heavy beams looming over our heads and the shadows above them. “Maybe some big light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. I know a designer who makes custom light fixtures out of white paper. They look very Japanese.”
“Stewart does have a few Japanese clients,” said Mandy. She sighed and went over to the window. I joined her and we stood there for a few minutes, looking out over the waters of the lake. We could see the glowing red taillights of the cars flowing across the Floating Bridge on their way to Bellevue.
“What did you do for Rebecca?' I asked.
“I was her dog dancer,” Mandy said. “Until she fired me because she thought her husband was getting interested in me. She has a problem with jealousy.”
“You knew David Tyler, too?”
“Of course.” Her voice was soft.
“And
was
he interested in you?”
She turned to me, her dark eyes flashing. “You've got to be kidding! David was like a father to me. He was a kind man. He took an interest in my future. He paid for my college education.”
“So this must have been hard on you.”
“You have no idea!” she said, and I thought I could see tears in her eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“It's OK. I've gotten used to it.”
“Who do you think murdered him?”
“Probably a botched robbery,” Mandy said. “I think David was alone in the house, and he heard a sound. He went to get Rebecca's gun—she kept one in her bedroom—and then went downstairs to investigate.” Her voice was gathering passion as she sketched out this scenario. “He must have confronted the robber, they struggled over the gun—David was such a geek, he wouldn't have known what to do with a gun—and then the gun went off.”
“If it was a robbery, then why was nothing taken?”
“I imagine the robber ran off horrified at the realization he had killed someone!”
And suddenly she was sobbing. I put my arms around her. She wasn't the easiest person to hug. She was stiff and tense and wouldn't accept the comfort I offered. I finally settled for patting her on the back as she bent over, almost double, gasping out tiny little sobs. It was quite pathetic.
I heard shouting and wild barking from down below.
“Oh my God!” I said. “Pepe! I forgot all about him.”
I raced down the stairs and flung the rear door open. Mandy was close behind me.
Out on the terrace, Stewart was turning around in circles, trying to bash Pepe with his briefcase. Pepe was snarling and growling and making forays at Stewart's ankles. Stewart kicked out at him but missed. Pepe was too fast. He darted behind Stewart's back and made a lunge for his Achilles tendon. Stewart went down, almost falling on Pepe.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. I wasn't sure if I was yelling at Stewart or Pepe.
“Get this beast away from me!” Stewart screamed.
I grabbed Pepe up and held him close. “That's our boss,” I whispered to him. “Why are you attacking him?”
“He smells bad,” said Pepe.
Mandy went by, rushing to Stewart's assistance. She held out her hand and hauled him to his feet. Stewart sneezed.
“Did you still want to talk about the decorating?” I asked as they went by.
“Can't you see this isn't a good time!” she snapped.
Stewart sneezed again and then howled in pain as the sneeze apparently triggered a back spasm. He clutched at Mandy and they continued on their lurching way to the door.
“I'll bring by some sketches and an estimate,” I said.
“Yes, why don't you do that?” It was hard to tell from her clipped tones if she was trying to encourage me or being sarcastic.
Stewart limped his way into the office, while she supported him by the shoulders.
“What about the money that Jimmy G. promised me?” I called out.
There was no response to that. Just the
snick
as the door shut behind them.
Pepe kept sneezing and shivering. “The stink!” he said.
“What stink?”
“Look!” said Pepe. “There under the lounger.” He gave another mighty sneeze.
I looked and saw a gold object glittering in the sun. I pulled it out and held it up. It was a gold pen, engraved with the initials DPT.
“And it is covered with the scent of Caprice!” Pepe said. “Caprice and the scent of murder!”

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