Dial C for Chihuahua (7 page)

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Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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“That's very generous,” I said.
“You have to spend money to earn money. That's what I always say.” Stewart held the door open for me. I tried to squeeze by without getting my purse too close to him. Nonetheless I saw his nose begin to wrinkle. “I can tell you're going to be a valuable employee.” He gave me a wink, and then the door slammed behind me. A few moments later I heard him sneeze.
“He's hiring you?” Mandy sounded both shocked and horrified. She had her own desk in a cubbyhole of a room across the hallway from Stewart. Her view was not as stunning as his. She looked out on a bank of tall juniper hedges that made the room seem dark and cold.
I had obviously interrupted her in the middle of a phone call. She was holding the receiver to her ear.
“Not exactly,” I said.
“Then what did he mean by that?” she asked. I could hear a tinny voice jabbering on the phone.
“I don't know.” It was puzzling.
“I think he recognizes your talent, Geri!” Pepe said. I beamed. It's really nice to have your dog believe in you. Or, wait a minute, was that sarcasm?
“Look, I can't talk right now!” Mandy said into the phone. “Call me back in ten minutes.” She slammed down the receiver. Her desk was bare except for the telephone and a gold pen. Either she was an efficient secretary or she didn't have much work to do. There was not a scrap of paper in evidence anywhere.
“He said you could give me some personnel forms,” I said.
“That can't be!” she said with a frown. “We're not hiring anyone. He would have told me if we were.”
“I'll be working for the Gerrard Detective Agency,” I said.
“Oh!” She sounded relieved. The tension left her shoulders. “Good luck with that!”
She got up and rooted around in a tall metal file cabinet in the corner and then handed me a sheaf of papers. “You can fill them out and mail them back to me. Or drop them by.”
“Stewart said you could enroll me in a training program through the UW,” I said.
“Oh, really!” She sounded amused. “Like you will last long enough to make that worthwhile.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Jimmy G. goes through employees like”—she paused, looking for a good metaphor—“like he goes through money at the racetrack. If it wasn't for Stewart bailing him out constantly, he'd be on the streets. I don't think he's ever closed a case. And the longest anyone ever worked for him was—let me think—two and a half weeks.”
I tried not to look dismayed. “How do you know that?” I asked.
“It was me,” she said with a shrug. “Luckily after Stewart saw how well I was taking care of Jimmy, he decided he wanted me to work for him.”
“So you were his girl Friday?”
“Oh, that's what he calls all his female employees,” she said. “But he'll soon have you answering phones and typing up reports and taking out his trash.”
“He's already sent me out on two cases!' I said proudly.
“Luring unfaithful husbands into compromising positions so Jimmy can take photos of them?” Mandy asked.
“No!” I frowned. Though frankly, I couldn't really brag about being asked to take photos of a dog in a compromising position. “Is that what you did for him?”
“Yes, that's Jimmy's specialty. Infidelity. Mostly wives who think their husbands are cheating. He would use the photos either to blackmail the husband or collect his fee from the wife, depending on which party had the most money.”
“Very clever,” said Pepe. “I would not have thought him capable of such a scheme.”
“Oh,” I said, “that sounds unethical to me.”
“Totally,” Mandy said. “That's why I was so glad Stewart hired me. He pays me twice as much and the work here is so much more uplifting. We're helping people live their dreams, not capitalizing on their misery.”
Chapter 10
“Where are we going?” Pepe asked, as I pulled onto the freeway heading north. The rain had started again, and I turned on my windshield wipers.
“I figured we'd check out this Mrs. Snelson,” I said.
Pepe protested. “You promised we would go back to the Tyler residence.” He sounded wistful.
“I know,” I said. “We'll swing by there later. I'm worried the police might still be on the scene collecting evidence, and I don't want to run into them again.”
“Me neither,” said Pepe with a shudder.
“Why is that, Pepe?” I asked.
“Geri, I bit one of them,” he said. “They do not like me. Besides, they consider me evidence.”
“That's right. I forgot,” I said. “I suppose I should just head over to the police station and turn you in.”
“What?” he yelled.
“Calm down,” I told him. “That was a joke. I would never hand you over to the police.”
“Bad joke,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Not funny.”
“Sorry, I couldn't resist.”
“Absolutely, definitely, decidedly not funny,” he muttered, lying down on the front seat. He was shivering slightly. Poor guy. I had no idea he'd take my idea of a joke so seriously.
 
 
I pulled off the freeway at the Green Lake exit. The road swerved under the freeway and then along a curved street with a broad, grassy median. Pepe sat up and looked around.
“Are we there yet?” he asked.
“Almost,” I said. “We're a few blocks away.”
“What is your plan, Geri?”
“My plan?”
“
Sí,
we must plan our operation. Are we going to question the suspect? Are we going to ambush this bad dog?”
“I think I need to get a little more information before I can decide on a plan,” I said. “Though thanks for the suggestions.” I was being sarcastic but he didn't seem to notice.
“We need to stop and get some supplies,” Pepe said.
“Supplies?”
“
Sí.
It is
muy importante
to have food and drink in your car when on a stakeout.”
“Why is that?”
“Geri, I am surprised at you. It is because stakeouts can be long—very long, sometimes. One must eat after all.”
“You're right,” I said. I pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store.
“You've got to stay in the car,” I told Pepe. “Dogs aren't allowed in grocery stores.”
“An unenlightened society,” mumbled Pepe. “In France, dogs can go everywhere. The bistro. The patisserie. The butcher shop.” His dark little eyes seemed to glaze over with pleasure.
“How would you know that?” I asked. “TV again?”
“No, I have been to France,” said Pepe. “I even
parler le Français. Et tu?
”
“Huh?” I could tell he was speaking French but had no idea what he said.
“
Quel dommage
,” he said. “We should go some day. I will show you all the best places.”
“Sure, Pepe.” I rolled down the window a little so he could get some air.
“Now stay low. I don't want someone stealing you.”
“Get doughnuts,” said Pepe. “The cops are always eating doughnuts. Also I would like some beef jerky. I love beef jerky. And some water. Not carbonated. I do not like fizzy water.”
“Anything else?”
“That will do.”
It took a little while before I gathered all the supplies Pepe had requested. I was standing in line to pay when I heard a commotion in the parking lot. Shouts. A spate of fierce, baritone barking. The screech of metal. And underneath that hubbub, some high-pitched frantic yapping.
“What's going on?” the checker asked a customer who was walking in, shaking his head.
“Dog fight in the parking lot,” he said.
I threw my money at the cashier, grabbed my plastic bag, and flew out the door. A crowd was gathered around my car. When it parted I saw a young man in jeans and a black leather jacket holding the collar of a huge, gray Great Dane, who was lunging and jumping, trying to get at my car, where Pepe was pressed against the window barking like a maniac.
“Hey, what's going on?” I asked, shouldering my way through the crowd. “That's my dog.”
“Oh, gee, I'm sorry,” the guy said. He twisted around, trying to control his frenzied beast. “Sarge doesn't usually behave like this. I don't know what got into him.”
I knew. I could hear Pepe shouting insults at the big dog. “
Cabrón!
You miserable excuse for a dog! Hiding behind your human! Come and get me! I can take you on!”
“Shut up!” I said to him. He continued his taunts. I was afraid to open the door, worried he'd jump out and tackle the monstrous beast.
“I'm sorry,” the young man said. “We were just walking by and your dog started barking. Sarge went crazy. I've never seen him act like this.”
“He wouldn't be doing that if you weren't acting like an idiot!” I said to Pepe.
The guy must have thought I was talking to him.
“Hey, I'm sorry,” he said. “I just wasn't prepared for him to go off on me. He's actually a very shy dog. Let me give you my contact information. I think you're going to need some work on your car.”
I could see the scratch marks where the Great Dane's claws had scraped off some of the paint. But they were nothing compared to the dings and rust spots on the body of my green Toyota. My car even had moss growing on the rubber around the windows.
“Really, it's not a big deal,” I said. I stood with my back to the window so Pepe couldn't see the big dog. This seemed to calm them both down somewhat. Sarge stopped lunging and went and stood meekly behind his master.
“I'm Felix,” he said, holding out a hand. His grasp was firm but warm. He had the same lean and muscled physique as his dog. And he looked a bit like the romantic hero on
Paraiso perdido
, with his high cheekbones, caramel-colored skin, and dark, wavy hair.
He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Here's my number.” It read F
ELIX
N
AVARRO
, D
OG
T
RAINER
AND
A
NIMAL
C
OMMUNICATION
S
PECIALIST
.
“You speak to dogs?” I asked. Had I found someone else who could hear what Pepe was saying? I could fall for him as hard as Conchita fell when the stray bullet struck her down. “Can you tell me what my dog is saying right now?”
Felix smiled. He had a great smile that lit up his whole face, which had been somber until that moment. “He's telling Sarge to stay away from his car.”
Fair enough. He left out the swear words, but I think he got the message.
I dug around in my purse and pulled out one of my cards. It read G
ERI
S
ULLIVAN
, I
NTERIOR
D
ESIGN AND
H
OME
S
TAGING
. Which reminded me I needed to get some new cards. Maybe, just to flatter Pepe, I would get a few that read S
ULLIVAN AND
S
ULLIVAN
, P
RIVATE
D
ETECTIVES
.
“Here, you can call me,” I said. “But I'm not worried about the damage. Really. It was all my dog's fault.”
“He's a cute little fellow,” said Felix. “I like Chihuahuas. They've got personality.”
“Yes, he does have personality,” I said, opening the door a crack. I threw in the plastic bag. Pepe flew to it and sniffed everything. That allowed me to squeeze myself in, as gracefully as I could with Felix watching me.
“I'll call you,” he said.
“Good! I'll look forward to hearing from you.” I gave him what I hoped was a bright smile and turned the car on. Pepe was tearing into the beef jerky and paid no attention to me whatsoever. It wasn't until we were parked outside the retirement home that I got his attention again.
“Why did you do that?” I asked.
“What?” he said. “I am only fortifying myself for the job ahead.”
“No, not that. Yell at that big dog. He was twenty times your size.”
“Geri,” Pepe said solemnly, “it is my duty to protect you, and that means I must protect your property as well. That dog walked too close to your car. I had to warn him of the consequences. I simply did my duty.”
“Pepe, it's not your job to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
“So you say,” he said. He went back to the beef jerky.

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