Dial C for Chihuahua (4 page)

Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua

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Chapter 6

Pulling on my bathrobe, I looked around for a weapon. The only thing I could find that seemed useful was a bottle of hair spray from the bathroom counter. I grabbed a nail file, too, just in case. Then I slipped through the door and whisked around the corner, hoping to surprise whoever was in the living room.

I was the one who was surprised. The living room was empty, except for Pepe. He was sitting on the chocolate brown sofa, directly in front of the TV, which was turned on to the Spanish channel.

He looked up at me and said, “Do you think Conchita will ever find true love with Hector?”

I was so relieved that I almost dropped the hair spray. Pepe had somehow switched on the TV and was watching a soap opera.

“You scared me to death,” I told him.

“
Shhhhh!
” he said, turning back to the TV. “This is a juicy part. I do not want to miss it.”

I was about to ask how he managed to get the TV going, when I noticed the remote control on the carpet. He must have knocked it off the end table and manipulated it with his paws.

On the screen, a lovely woman wearing a tight red satin dress was pressing herself against a dangerous-looking dude with a mullet and a leather jacket.

“
Oooo,
” said Pepe, looking up at me again. “I told you it was going to be good. Sit down, Geri, watch the show with me. They are playing two episodes back to back.”

“I need some coffee,” I told him.

“
Bueno,
” he said. “Make your coffee and come back. I will fill you in on what has happened so far.
Paraiso perdido
is not to be missed.”

I'd been wrong: today
was
starting out as crazy as yesterday. But I was too tired to worry about it. I made some coffee, extra strong, and then sat down to watch the Spanish soaps with Pepe.

“You just missed the end of part
uno,
” he told me. “While the commercial is on, I will catch you up. Here is what happened. The beautiful Conchita was upset because handsome Hector did not invite her to the big dance as she expected, so she fell into the arms of Armando, the dangerous hombre with the mullet, to get back at Hector. At the end, Conchita was slow dancing with Armando, but secretly yearning for Hector, who was deep in the arms of Consuela, while he secretly yearned for Conchita. You follow?”

“Yes, I get it.”

“OK. Get ready, it is coming on again.” He hopped into my lap and made himself snug and cozy in the folds of my bathrobe, settling down with his ears perked forward. “Part
dos
is the finale. It promises to be
muy dramÃ¡tico.
”

The finale was
muy
dramatic. Hector asked Conchita to dance with him, but Armando objected. They got into a fight, and luckily Hector prevailed. But not Conchita. A ricocheting gunshot struck her down, and she died in Hector's arms, with one last, lingering kiss.

Pepe gave a deep sigh. “Of course, she is not really dead,” he said.

“She looks pretty dead to me,” I said, as the camera panned in on her pale face, and Hector's hand, as he gently drew her eyelids down over her staring eyes.

“No, the show cannot go on without Conchita. Believe me, next season it will be revealed that she was rushed to the hospital and saved by the handsome new gringo doctor. Meanwhile, Hector, believing she is dead, will kill Armando and go to jail.” He jumped off my lap and went into the kitchen, sniffing his empty food dish.

I opened the refrigerator door to get the Alpo.

“Speaking of jail,” said Pepe, “how did you escape? I heard the police say they were going to take you there. Are you a fugitive now? That would be
muy dramatico!
”

“No, I'm not a fugitive,” I said. “And how do you know what the police were saying?”

Pepe sat down and gave me a chiding look with his big brown eyes. “Geri,” he said, “are we not partners? I stayed near the scene of the crime so I could investigate.”

“OK,” I said, as I spooned the Alpo into the bowl. “What did you find out?”

“I found out there was a bitch in the car,” Pepe said.

I was so startled I almost dropped the spoon. “Pepe, I know Mrs. Tyler wasn't a very nice woman but that's not an appropriate word to use.”

“No, not the woman,” he said impatiently. “A she-dog. A bitch. Is that not the right term?”

“Oh, yes,” I said.

“Do you not think that is unusual?” Pepe asked. “Why take her dog along if she was going away for a week? And how did she know her husband was missing, if she was gone?”

“Good questions,” I said, putting the dish of Alpo on the floor in front of him.

“You know, Geri,” said Pepe, looking up at me, “I prefer bacon for breakfast.”

“You can prefer anything you want,” I said. “But I'm a vegetarian. No bacon in this house.”

“I suppose I should be glad you don't try to make me a vegetarian,” Pepe grumbled. He took a few licks, then walked away. “Caprice tried that.”

“Caprice?”

“
SÃ
, Caprice Kennedy.”

“The famous actress?”

“
SÃ,
” Pepe sat down by the refrigerator and chewed on his hind leg.

“You know Caprice?”

“I lived with her for a year.”

“Wow! That must have been awesome,” I said. Caprice was one of my favorites among the young L.A. actresses. She had blond hair and big brown eyes and a talent for comedy. She was always playing a goofball or a ditz.

“
SÃ,
” said Pepe. “She took me everywhere with her. I had my own chef and chauffeur and a maid to . . .” His voice trailed off.

“To what?”

His voice was more subdued. “Dress me. She liked to dress me up in little outfits. You would never do that to me, would you, Geri?”

What could I say? I was so tempted. But I had to respect his wishes. “Of course not, Pepe.”

“It is not dignified for a dog to be dressed up like a doll. Or a cat.” He said that just as Albert strolled into the kitchen looking for his own breakfast. Despite his earlier rejection of the Alpo, Pepe now went over to stand in front of it. Albert just made an expressive sniff and walked on by.

“What happened to Caprice?” I asked. “Why don't you still live with her?”

“I don't want to talk about that,” Pepe said. He sounded like his little heart was going to break.

“OK, we won't talk about it,” I said, although I was dying to know the inside scoop on Caprice Kennedy's life. Did she really date Justin Timberlake? Was it true she had been in rehab five times? “Did you see anything else while you were investigating?”

“Oh, yes,” said Pepe, perking up a little. “I sniffed around the perimeter of the house. There was a horrible smell underneath a bush along the side of the house. Do you think it came from the murderer?”

“I don't know Pepe. I suppose the murderer could have been lurking in the back yard, waiting for Mr. Tyler to come home.”

“Well, it was an awful smell, something like a cat box.” Pepe glanced at Albert who had jumped up onto the cushions of the breakfast nook and was preening himself. “I would recognize it anywhere. Can we go back and look at the crime scene? I will show you what I discovered. And maybe we can talk to that bitchâI mean, female dog.”

Chapter 7

“Are you not ready?” asked Pepe, coming into the bedroom where I was sitting at my makeup table. I have one of those old-fashioned makeup tables, with a circular mirror and two drawers on either side. It fits perfectly in my bedroom, which I've decorated in a thirties theme, complete with a pink chenille bedspread on my bed and ruffled, dotted swiss curtains.

“I'm just doing my lipstick,” I told him. “We'll go in a minute. Don't be so impatient.”

“So you keep saying.” He cocked his head to the side and studied me. “May I offer a suggestion, Geri?”

“Sure.”

“I think that color is wrong for you.”

“What color?”

“Your lipstick.”

I glanced in the mirror. It was a slightly darker red than I normally used, but I thought it looked just fine.

“How would you know?” I told him. “Dogs are color-blind.”

“Not so,” he responded. “We see many colors.”

“OK,” I said. “Prove it. What color is my lipstick?”

“Black.”

“
Black?
” I had to laugh. “It's
red
, Pepe.
Red
.”

“Oh,
sÃ,
” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “It is hard for me to tell the difference between those two colors.”

I went to my closet to find a coat to go with the plaid dress I was wearing. I chose one of my favorite Value Village findsâan A-shaped red cloth coatâand pulled it on. Pepe watched me, his head cocked.

“The silhouette is all wrong! The A-shape does not flatter you.”

“You're as bad as Jeff!” I said, annoyed. I studied myself in the circular mirror. It looked fine to me.

“Who is this Jeff?” he asked. “Is he another animal you have concealed from me?”

“Jeff's my ex-husband,” I said. “He was always telling me what I should and shouldn't wear. That's why I got rid of him.”

Pepe trembled. “So you would throw me out for offering constructive criticism?” he asked in a small voice. “As you did with this Jeff?”

“Oh, Pepe, don't worry!” I said. “I didn't really throw Jeff out.” My voice quivered a little, too. “He actually broke up with me!”

“
PobrecÃta!
” said Pepe. “You have been abandoned, but I have adopted you. You will never be alone again. I will never desert you, no matter how you dress.”

“That's very sweet, Pepe,” I said bending down to kiss him right between his ears. I left a little lipstick smudge. “
Gracias
.”

“
Da nada,
” he replied. “And I will do my best not to offer any unsolicited advice on fashion. Even though I was well known in Beverly Hills as a fashionista.”

“A fashionista? You?” I had to laugh again.

“I know all the shops on Rodeo Drive,” he said with dignity. “Caprice took me with her whenever she went shopping. All the designers knew me. They catered to me. They knew I could make or break them.”

“How was that?”

“I was the one who made the decisions. They would hold up two choices and I would point with my paw. I chose the dress Caprice wore on the red carpet at the Oscars!”

“Wow!” I said, remembering that dress, a frothy white concoction that made her look like she was emerging half naked from sea foam. “Fashionista, bullfighter, drug dog, search-and-rescue dogâis there anything you
haven't
been in your short life?”

“Well,” he said, “I have not yet been an astronaut.”

“Well, if you don't get out of here, I'll launch you into outer space right now.” I made as if to kick him with my foot.

“The boots are wrong, too!” he said, as he scooted out the door.

Perhaps he was right. My bright red cowboy boots might be too whimsical for a confrontation with Jimmy Gerrard. I had placed a call to him right after breakfast and told him I needed to meet him in his office, first thing this morning. He agreed to meet me at ten. I decided to change into my black leather boots and my gray wool coat. A little more subdued than my usual look but Pepe approved when I emerged from the bedroom.

“
Me gusta
very much,” he said.

Pepe made a beeline for the front door, where he danced on his hind legs and scratched at it. As I unlocked the door, Pepe turned around to glare at Albert, who was sitting on top of the sofa. “You'll get yours,
gato,
” Pepe said, then barked twice for emphasis.

Albert was unfazed. His only response was to lift one of his huge forepaws, spread it wide, extending his long sharp claws, and calmly clean between his toes.

It was raining fairly hard when we got to the car. Hard enough, in fact, that it made the day seem colder than it actually was. I cursed a little under my breath as I fumbled in my purse for the car keys.

“Don't be peeing on my tire again,” I told Pepe.

“
Â¡Madre de dios!”
he said, dripping and shivering beside me on the parking strip. “That is the last thing on my mind. It is too wet to add to it.”

He settled into the passenger seat and shook himself off, spraying me and the upholstery and dashboard in the process.

“Good grief,” I said, brushing at the water he got all over me. “Why couldn't you do that outside?”

“Because it is wet outside.”

Well, duh, I thought. Unable to argue with his logic, I started the car.