Dial C for Chihuahua (22 page)

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Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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Chapter 39
Rebecca was in the dining room, dining alone on pizza that was still in its cardboard box. It was an incongruous sight—the long, linen-draped table, the sparkling chandelier overhead, the sideboard glistening with crystal. And the woman hunched over a slice of pizza. She was wearing a purple velour track suit, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked years younger without makeup.
“Yum, pizza!” said Pepe. “I hope it is pepperoni.”
A bottle of champagne stood on the table in a silver bucket and Rebecca held a champagne flute in her hand.
“Geri!” She called out when she saw me. “Good news!” She lifted up her glass, and I saw the bubbles dancing in it.
“Stewart just called. I'll have the money I need for
Dancing with Dogs
by noon tomorrow.”
That was the last thing I expected to hear.
“Where is Siren Song?” asked Pepe. “Can I have some pizza?”
“That's not what Mandy told me,” I said. “I was just at his office, and Mandy said the money was invested in offshore accounts.”
“Oh, what does Mandy know! Did you talk to Stewart?”
“No, he wasn't there.”
“Well, he just called, I mean
just
. Twenty minutes max. Said he needed my bank account information so he could transfer the money into it.”
“And you gave it to him?” I was horrified. Probably he was going to clean out whatever money she had in there.
“Sure! Pour yourself a glass! Want some pizza?” She waved her glass wildly in the air. I got the idea she had polished off a few glasses already.
“Yes, pizza!” said Pepe.
“I guess I will take a slice,” I said.
“The plates are over there!” Rebecca waved her hand at a credenza against the outside wall, between the two windows, which were draped in white satin, edged with crystal beads.
I came back with a gold-rimmed plate and set it down at the place to Rebecca's right. She handed me a slice of pizza. It was dripping with grease and there were big gobs of sausage and rounds of pepperoni all over it.
“I can't eat this!” I said, dropping it on my plate
“What?”
“I'll eat it!” said Pepe.
“Hold on,” I said to him. “Go find Siren Song!”
“Siren Song is in her crate in the kitchen,” Rebecca said. “Why do you want her?”
“Pepe wants to play with her.”
“Sure. Go let her out of her crate!”
I got up and went into the kitchen. I took my plate with me, hoping to have a chance to tip it into a trash can or set it on the floor for Pepe to eat. The kitchen was about the size of a small high school gymnasium. Everything was black and glass and silver—stainless steel appliances, black granite counters, and glass-fronted cabinets.
Rosa was in there, stooping down to put dishes into the dishwasher. She looked around, startled.
“Mrs. Tyler told me I could let Siren Song out,” I said.
Rosa did not seem to understand me.
“Siren Song!” I said again. Rosa's eyes darted to the corner of the room, where I saw a large metal cage.
Pepe was already there, pressing his nose against the bars. His little tail was standing straight up and ticking back and forth as regularly as a metronome. As I approached, I saw that Siren Song was facing him and her fluffy tail was swishing in perfect rhythm. It was nice to know that he prioritized love over food.
“No, no, no!” said Rosa, advancing on me as I fumbled for the latch on Siren Song's cage.
“I have permission,” I said. “
¡Permiso!
”
“No, no, no!” she said.
Pepe broke away from his lovefest with Siren Song to growl at Rosa. Her eyes got big and she backed up. She hurried off into the dining room, probably to tell on us.
Siren Song, once released, tore around the kitchen in big circles, sliding on the marble floor. Pepe followed at her heels, occasionally skidding into her. I set my plate of pizza on the floor and watched both dogs tear into it. It was fun to watch but I needed to get back to Rebecca.
By the time I returned to the dining room, Rebecca had given Rosa a champagne flute and poured her a glass. “Drink! Drink!” she said, pantomiming what she wanted Rosa to do.
Rosa took a cautious sip.
Rebecca handed me another empty flute and poured in a hefty swig of champagne, sloshing a bit onto the table and the pizza.
“We drink to
Dancing with Dogs!
”
I took a sip. The bubbles immediately went to my head. Champagne always does. And this was excellent champagne. It was smooth and supple and full of flavors—toast and nuts and cream.
Rebecca clinked her glass against mine and then against Rosa's. Rosa took another tiny sip and wrinkled her face. She didn't seem to like champagne. I was quite happy with it until I remembered my errand.
“I think this celebration is premature,” I said.
“You are bringing me down,” said Rebecca. “And that's not the right attitude to have when drinking champagne.”
“I really don't like it that you gave Stewart your bank account information. He could use it to rip you off.”
“Why would he do that? He's got plenty of money of his own.”
“That's not what I heard. I just was visiting a friend, well, actually, my ex-husband, and he said that Stewart is running a scam, something called a Ponzi scheme.”
The dogs came running into the room and circled the table, Siren Song in the lead, Pepe right on her tail.
“So?” said Rebecca. “That doesn't change the fact that David gave him our money to invest and now he's giving it back to me!” She swayed a little in her chair and clinked our glasses again. “Drink! Drink!”
Rosa did as she was told.
I took another sip and sighed. Delicious! Or, as Pepe would say,
Delicioso!
It was hard to keep focused but my task was to give Rebecca the unpleasant facts.
“That's the nature of a Ponzi scheme. Stewart uses the money from later investors to pay off the early investors.”
“And there you go! We were early investors. David has had his money invested with Stewart for over twenty years, and it's more than tripled in value.”
“And don't you think that's strange in this economy?”
“Stewart is good at what he does.”
There was no way to get through to this woman. I took another sip of the champagne.
“Show her the pen, Geri!” said Pepe, skidding to a halt by my chair.
“Good idea!” I grabbed my purse and took out the gold pen. I laid it down on the tablecloth in front of her. That got her attention.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it at Stewart's.”
“Stewart had it?”
“Either him or Mandy.”
“I knew it!” Rebecca stood up, flinging her arms out and knocking over the champagne bottle. It went flying and almost hit the two dogs. “That little bitch! She's the one!”
“What? Who? Mandy?”
“No, no, no!” said Rosa. She set her glass down with a thump. Was she upset because of the spilled champagne? Or because of the dogs who were now lapping it up?
“I don't care if she's your daughter! She's just a little gold digger! She's been after David for years.”
“What?” I was confused.
“No,” said Rosa firmly. “
¡Manuela es una muchacha buena!
”
“Manuela? Who's that?”
“Her daughter!” said Rebecca, flailing her arms at Rosa. “Get out! I'm tired of looking at you. All this time, you've been plotting to replace me with her!”
“Mandy is Manuela?”
“Yes,” hissed Rebecca. “We took the whole family in when they needed a place to live. We put the kids through private schools. Mandy was always batting her eyes at David. He thought it was cute. He kept buying her little presents. I told him to knock it off. He said it was totally innocent.”
Rosa unleashed a string of Spanish, which ended in “
loco
.”
“What is she saying, Pepe?” I asked.
“She has a most impressive vocabulary,” said Pepe, his eyes going wide. “Many swear words I have not heard since hanging out with sailors in the bars of Tijuana.”
“I don't need the swear words,” I said. “Just the gist of it.”
“She says her daughter is a good girl. That she thought of David as her father. And that Rebecca is an arrogant, self-centered, controlling bitch.”
“I can sort of see that,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Pepe, “why humans use that term as one of denigration, when a bitch is one of the most beautiful things on earth.” He looked fondly at Siren Song who was tottering around, in small, unsteady circles. She apparently had imbibed a bit too much of the champagne.
Rosa stomped out of the room, throwing a few more choice epithets in her wake.
Rebecca sank back in her chair.
“This explains everything!” she said, with a hysterical tone in her voice. “Mandy was the other woman! David was going to run off with her while I was in L.A.! No wonder he encouraged me to go down there and work on the show. He knew it would leave the coast clear for them to make their getaway!”
“So if they were running away together, why did he end up dead?”
“I don't know. Maybe he changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe she killed him in a fit of rage when he told her he couldn't go through with it. All I know is I'm going to kill that little bitch!”
“Do not fear, Siren Song,” said Pepe, going over to her. She had sunk down on the floor and put her head on her paws. “She does not mean you!”
Chapter 40
It felt strange to leave my house without Pepe. And he made it even harder, dashing at the door as soon as he realized I was leaving, worrying at my ankles and saying, “Do not leave me! I want to go with you! Take me along!” It was heartbreaking to see how attached he was to me.
I realized with a shock that we had hardly ever spent any time apart during the five days since I first adopted him. And what a ride we had been on during those five days! Should I blame Pepe for all the drama in my life? Then I would also have to blame him for the handsome man beside me. If it hadn't been for Pepe, I would never have met Felix.
Felix had proposed going out to dinner, “just the two of us,” as away of compensating for the stress of our first date, and I eagerly agreed. I needed a break from worrying about murders and Ponzi schemes, abused dogs and bad dogs and talking dogs.
The restaurant Felix suggested was a little romantic bistro just a few blocks from my house. Despite its proximity, I had never eaten there. It seemed like a place meant for lovers, not the sort of place you would feel comfortable dining alone.
The interior was dark, a warren of little tables. The hostess led us to a table for two, close to the front of the restaurant. A flickering candle on the table cast a dramatic light on Felix's face, highlighting his prominent nose and strong jaw. I worried about what it would do to my face but Felix looked over and said, “Wow, you look beautiful in candlelight,” so I guess it was good.
I could see out to the rain-soaked street and the cars splashing by, but inside it was warm and cozy. There was a constant murmur of conversation from the other diners but they seemed far away, in the dark corners of the place. It felt like Felix and I were tucked inside a secret cave that had opened up just for us.
We studied the menus, chatting about our favorite foods, before ordering. I asked for a glass of Prosecco, continuing the celebration that had been so abruptly cut short at Rebecca's house. When we left, she was on the phone with the police, trying to convince them to pick up Mandy for questioning. I had already told Felix as we walked to the restaurant about the latest developments.
“What did you decide to do with the card case?” Felix asked as the waitress, a tall woman with a long braid, arrived with our appetizers—mussels for me and calamari for Felix.
“Oh, didn't I tell you?” I asked. “The police showed up at my door right after you left. They seemed to know right where to look. They headed straight for the refrigerator.”
“What did you do?”
“Well, probably the wrong thing,” I confessed. I took a bite of the mussels. They were delicious, lightly tossed with tomatoes, harissa, vermouth, and leeks.
“Why do you say that?”
“I know I should have handed it over to them but I was so afraid they would just cart me off to jail. So I gave it to Pepe.”
“You gave it to Pepe?”
“Yes. He hid it for me. The police searched the house but they didn't find it.”
“Where did he hide it?”
“In the cat litter.”
“That makes sense,” Felix said. “Chihuahuas like to burrow.”
“You seem to know a lot about them.”
“I worked on the set of
Beverly Hills Chihuahua
. That was quite an experience. During the scene set in the Mayan pyramids, we were working with over one hundred Chihuahuas. It was a lot like herding cats.”
“Oh, I loved that movie!” I said. “I think that was what influenced me to adopt a Chihuahua. That and the news stories about how many were being abandoned in L.A. It must have been a treat to work with so many of them.”
“Do you know they are in the bottom ten dog breeds in terms of trainability?” Felix asked.
“You're kidding me, right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “You don't have to worry much,” he said. “Your little dog seems bright and eager to please.”
“Why do you suppose they are so hard to train?” I asked.
“If you look at the breeds that are easy to train, like German shepherds and border collies and Australian sheepdogs, you realize they are all working dogs. They've spent centuries working alongside humans, being trained to do very specific tasks. But Chihuahuas? Not so much.”
“What are they good for?” I wondered.
“There are a few theories about Chihuahuas,” Felix said. “Including the theory that they were raised for food by the ancient Incas.”
“Yes, I've heard that one.” I made a face as the waiter chose that moment to bring our entrees—a vegetarian pasta dish for me, a New York steak for him.
“Another theory is that they were temple dogs.”
“Oh, that's better,” I said, taking a bite of my pasta. It was perfectly cooked, just a little bit chewy, and complemented by the tang of the fresh spinach and the bite of peppercorns.
Felix cut into his steak. Pink liquid oozed out. I had to look away. “Not really,” Felix said. His teeth seemed to gleam wolfishly in the candlelight. “Temple dogs were sacrificed during the rituals.”
“Oh, Pepe won't like that either!” I said. “Is that it? Killed for food? Or killed for the gods?”
“Well, there is another theory,” Felix said. “Probably like many small dogs, they were raised to be companion animals for the nobility. And so they don't really need to be trained. They're used to being doted on.”
I had to laugh. “That describes Pepe. He does think he's in charge. Of me. And everything!”
Just then my cell phone rang.
“Oh, I forgot to turn it off.” I poked around in my purse. As I went to push the buttons that would make it go to silent, I realized that the call originated on my home phone. That was strange. How could someone be calling from my home phone?
“I'm sorry,” I said to Felix. “I need to get this call.” Even though I think it's the height of rudeness to answer a cell phone while on a date, I just couldn't resist. I got up and walked away, flipping the phone open as I went.
“Hello? Hello?” I said, as I walked towards the back of the restaurant looking for the restrooms. I found a little hallway, sealed off from the restaurant by a long, heavy, red velvet curtain. It was dark back there and quiet. Still I couldn't hear anyone on the other end. Was someone in my house? Taunting me by calling my cell phone? I felt a thrill of terror. What if they had harmed Pepe?
“Hello!” I said again.

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