Dial C for Chihuahua (9 page)

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Authors: Waverly Curtis

BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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She knew I wasn't dating anybody. It was another way for her to nag me about my lack of romantic prospects.
“Sure, I'll do that!” I said and slammed the door in her face.
Chapter 13
My phone started ringing as I got on the highway headed west towards Seattle, but I ignored it. I had enough on my hands what with Pepe who was chattering away about what we should have for dinner and my angry thoughts about my sister's announcement. How dare she invite Jeff to Easter dinner without asking me?
I tried to think of the bright side, which is what my counselor would suggest. And that was the only bright side I could imagine: I would have plenty to talk about at my next appointment. Which triggered a new problem. What was I going to tell her about Pepe? If I told her my Chihuahua talked, she'd probably suggest voluntary commitment.
Suddenly Pepe went silent. I glanced over at Pepe and saw he was on his hind legs staring out the window.
“What is it, Pepe?” I asked.
“Geri,” he said, turning towards me, his little dark eyes shining, “this place is
muy bonita
. Now I see why you live here!”
I looked out the window and saw what he was seeing. We were in the middle of the bridge, which appears to float on the waters of Lake Washington. On one side of the highway, the water was choppy, the top of the waves flecked with foam. On the sheltered side, the lake's surface was a shimmering pool of silver. Meanwhile the setting sun was breaking through the heavy gray clouds in the west, piercing the landscape with shafts of golden light. Ahead of us were the dark hills and twinkling lights of Seattle.
I sighed. Now I knew why I had adopted this dog. He was going to make my life better.
“It is
muy bonita,
Pepe,” I said. “And so are you.”
“
Suave
,” he said.
“
Suave?
”
“
Sí,
I am
muy suave
.”
 
 
We cruised by the Tyler residence on our way home but there were still police cars in the drive and crime-scene tape on the porch, so we didn't stop. Instead, I headed over to my best friend's shop, only a few blocks from where I live. I needed a hug and some sympathy. Plus I was overdue on my promise to introduce Brad to my dog.
Brad was one of the people who encouraged me to adopt a pet (my counselor was the other). He thought adopting a dog would encourage me to get out more. Plus I think he was hoping to be a surrogate dog owner. He imagined a dog frisking around the shop while we worked.
Brad and I met in the interior design program at Bellevue Community College. We were the oddballs in our class. Most of the career opportunities were in the field of office design or as sales reps for furniture companies, and so that's what our teachers emphasized. But both Brad and I wanted to design living spaces, and we both had very distinctive tastes, as evidenced by the décor of Brad's shop.
He rents a little storefront at the edge of Eastlake, by the approach to the University Bridge, one of our many drawbridges in Seattle, and just under the high I-5 Freeway Bridge. Cars thunder by practically overhead (the freeway is double-decker here, thanks to the Express Lanes). The store is in an old one-story wooden building, the shape of a shoebox, and just as wide as the front window and door.
In the front of his shop, Brad displays his wares—black lacquered Chinese chairs; a dark-green on pale-green striped Victorian sofa, dotted with needle-worked pillows; a larger-than-life parrot sculpture; a brass hookah; a tall blue and white Chinese vase.
The front of the shop is small and shallow, but the back room is a dim cavern. It functions as both a work room and a storage room, lit by flickering fluorescent lights. Rolls of upholstery fabric lean against the walls. Scattered here and there are chairs, sofas, and end tables in various stages of restoration. Most of them are mine—I have a weakness for rescuing the scarred chests of drawers and ratty chairs that people leave out on the sidewalk. Brad generously allows me to store them while I work on them. He also lends me a lot of the furniture and accessories I need when staging homes for sale. Not that I had done any of that lately.
Brad and I both love fantasy in design. But whereas I tend towards Americana from the thirties through the fifties, Brad prefers the British style of the nineteenth century. Brad and his partner live in an old Victorian mansion on Queen Anne Hill. It's full of antiques—feather fans, gold-tasseled red velvet curtains, gilded chairs covered in toile, porcelain figurines of birds. Brad's partner, Jay, has a thing for birds. He owns a bad-tempered Quaker gray parrot that always tries to bite me when I get near it. That's why Brad can't have a dog.
Brad's personal style is similarly rococo. Today he was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket over a pair of loose-fitting black canvas pants.
“Geri!” he said, when I came walking in the front door. I had stuffed Pepe back in my purse. I wanted to surprise him. “Darling, I've been trying to call you for days! What's going on? Are you avoiding me?”
“Of course not, sweetie,” I said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, our usual greeting. “I've just been busy. I've got great news!”
Brad put down the pillow he was holding. “You got a dog!”
“Better than that!” I said.
I could hear Pepe inside my purse. “Nothing could be better than that.”
“You didn't get a dog?”
“How could that be good news?” Pepe asked.
“I did get the dog,” I said. “Here is he!” I opened the flap of my purse.
Pepe stuck his head out and looked around. I think he was a little confused by the sight of the stuffed bobcat mounted on a tree branch that protruded from the wall. Brad loves taxidermy animals. He has a whole collection of them including a group of dancing hamsters. He keeps them in the back because they freak out most people. Like this one was freaking out Pepe.
Pepe growled. For a dog so small and a sound so tiny, it still managed to make the hairs curl up on the back of my neck.
“Oh, it's so cute! It sounds so ferocious!” said Brad, lifting Pepe out of my bag and looking him over. “He is so precious! What have you named him?”
“Actually, he named himself. His name is Pepe!”
Brad frowned. “Isn't that a bit too obvious, Geri?”
“I suppose
you
have a better idea,” Pepe said.
“You should call him Angelo! Then you could dress him up in wings and a halo.”
“No way, José!” Pepe said.
“He doesn't really like to be dressed up,” I told Brad.
Brad looked hurt. “But all those designs we sketched . . .” One rainy afternoon we had amused ourselves by drawing pictures of dogs in disco togs and pirate costumes.
“He seems to have strong opinions of his own,” I said. “We can talk about it later.” I didn't really want to discuss this subject in front of Pepe.
“Once he sees what we have envisioned, he will come around,” said Brad, setting Pepe down on the floor. Pepe sniffed around the legs of the sofa and behind the oil paintings stacked against the wall.
“No marking your territory in here!” I told him.
Brad looked concerned. “I hope he understands English!”
“Actually he speaks Spanish,” I said.
“Oh, well, then tell him not to pee in Spanish,” Brad said.
“I don't really know how to say that in Spanish,” I said. “It hasn't come up before.”
“Well, he's adorable,” Brad said. “I'm so glad you brought him over to show me. I was just closing the shop and heading home so your timing is impeccable. Jay has some big event at the Seattle Art Museum he's catering tonight, and he wants me to do the table designs.”
I was disappointed. Brad and I usually hang out together after work. Often we go to a nearby restaurant for cocktails and dinner. Since Jay runs a catering business, he is usually gone until late in the evening and Brad is often on his own, like me. I wanted to complain to him about Cheryl's cruel invitation and also tell him about my new job.
“You didn't even hear my biggest news!” I said.
“What is it, if not me?” asked Pepe, emerging from behind the Victorian sofa.
Brad raised his eyebrows.
“I got a job! I'm working as a private investigator.”
Brad's eyebrows fell. “Darling, that just doesn't sound like you!”
“Actually I'm well suited to the job,” I said. I laid out all the talking points I had rehearsed for my interview. “When I worked at the sewage treatment plant, I learned how to do research and write reports. That will come in handy for writing up my cases! And, you know, we learned a lot about interviewing and working with clients in the interior design program. Plus as a stager, I'm used to reading all the clues in an environment.”
“If you say so,” said Brad. He sounded dubious.
“And my boss is the most eccentric character! You'll have to meet him. He totally thinks he's living in the fifties. Or maybe the forties. He calls me ‘doll!' Can you believe it?”
“I'll call you doll, if it pleases you so much,” said Brad. “I just don't know about this, Geri. It sounds like it could be dangerous.”
“It is
muy
dangerous,” said Pepe, “but luckily she has me as a partner.”
“You're so right!” I said. “On my first assignment, Pepe and I actually found a dead body.”
“No!” said Brad, falling back in feigned horror, rattling all the crystal in the china hutch.
“Seriously! We got sent on an assignment—”
“You think of your dog as your partner?”
“I am her partner!”
“He
is
my partner!”
“I thought I was your partner!”
“No, I am,” said Pepe.
“You're my business partner,” I said. I could see that even though Brad was joking, he was a little jealous at being left out of my new life. “And Pepe is my detecting partner. Anyway, we went to interview a woman whose husband was missing and found him dead on the living room carpet. In the middle of the most god-awful white on white decorating scheme you've ever seen!”
“Melissa did that home,” Brad said. Melissa was one of the other students in the interior design program and our nemesis. We hated her work, which managed to be both opulent and trite.
“Oh, that explains it,” I said. “But how do you know that?”
“It was David Tyler. Right?”
“Yes.”
“It was all over the news last night. Microsoft millionaire slain in his home! Did you know that Jay did a party for them last Christmas?” Brad didn't wait for me to answer but just kept on going. “Jay couldn't stand the wife. Said she was a total bitch. Jay said they'd probably find out it was suicide. The poor guy no doubt killed himself because it was the only way he could get away from her nagging.”
Chapter 14
When we got home, Pepe went straight to his food dish. But he cleared out of the kitchen fast when Albert came wandering in looking for his own dinner. Pepe headed for the living room and in a few minutes, I heard the click of the TV.
After pouring myself a glass of Chardonnay, I drifted into the living room to see what he was watching. He was channel surfing, clicking through all the channels.
“There is nothing on TV on Friday night,” he complained.
“Just don't watch anything On Demand,” I told him. “I'm not going to pay for it.”
I checked my home phone, hoping for a message from my sister, apologizing for inviting Jeff without telling me. But she hadn't called. I did have two messages.
One was from Sherman Foot. He sounded annoyed. He wanted to know why I hadn't called him.
“It's urgent that I speak to you, Miss Sullivan,” he said. “Contact me as soon as you receive this message.”
I didn't think Foot would answer his phone on a Friday night but I tried the number anyway. I got voice mail and left a message.
The second call was from Felix. He said he had enjoyed meeting me and my dog, although he was sorry about the circumstances, and he hoped I would call him. I thought about it. He had a nice rich baritone voice, and it sounded soothing. I imagined that calm, confident tone really worked on dogs, but the last thing I needed was an attractive man in my life.
As I was considering this, the phone in my hand rang, shaking me out of my reverie. My caller ID said the caller was F. Navarro. Well, if he was going to be persistent, I might as well end it quickly.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is this Geri Sullivan?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Don't you have caller ID?” he asked.
“Oh!” How did he know that? I have to admit, I'm not a very good liar. It might be a problem in my new career. I imagined there were plenty of circumstances when lying would be a great way to get information. “Yes, I do,” I said.
“So you know it's me, Felix,” he said.
“Yes, otherwise I wouldn't have answered.” I wasn't sure if I should have said that. But he laughed.
“Well, I'm glad you did,” he said.
“Oh really? Why?”
“I felt terrible all day because of what happened. I want to make it up to you. Can you get an estimate and let me know how much it will cost to fix your car?”
“Felix,” I said, “it would cost a lot to fix my car. Didn't you notice the moss growing on the rubber?”
“Well, yes, I did,” he said. “I thought it was rather charming.”
He must be kidding. Guys never thought my neglect of my car was charming.
“Really, the car is a hand-me-down from my sister, and I'm trying to drive it into the ground. I don't plan to have any work done on it.”
“How about if I pay for the cost of the repairs, even if you don't intend to do them?”
“I couldn't accept any money from you under those circumstances,” I said.
“Well, it doesn't seem right,” he said. “Can I make it up to you in some other way? Dinner? Or a free training session for your dog?”
“Pepe could certainly use some training,” I said.
Pepe said “Hey! I heard that!”
I noticed the way Felix had slipped in the dinner invitation. Was he asking me out? It had been so long since I had been asked out, I wasn't really sure.
“Can I think about it and call you back?” I asked.
“Sure, I'll be looking forward to that,” he said. He repeated his number and then said good-bye. I stood there looking at the phone.
“Who was that?” Pepe wanted to know. “The guy with the rude dog?”
“Yes, it was,” I said.
“He is trying to get closer to you by using me,” Pepe said. “That is a clever strategy. I have used it myself to good effect.”
“I'd actually like to see him train you,” I said to Pepe.
“What would you like to see me do?” Pepe asked. “I can already jump through a ring of fire.” He looked around the living room. “But you do not appear to have one nearby.”
“When did you learn to jump through a ring of fire?” I asked.
“When I performed in the circus,” Pepe said, with great dignity. “A Mexican circus. The very best kind.”
I needed to go to Pete's Market to get ingredients for dinner. I was hoping Pepe would insist on going along, but he had gotten really involved in an old episode of
Law and Order
. He told me he wanted to pick up some pointers on interrogation techniques.
“Do not forget we are out of bacon,” he said, as I headed out the door.
 
 
It was still raining, and I got soaked, though the market is only a few blocks from my home. I picked up ingredients for nachos, thinking Pepe might enjoy it, but he just turned up his nose.
“Beans give me gas,” he said.
Luckily I'd also purchased some fancy dog food that looked like stew. Pepe seemed to approve of this. He danced around as I was spooning it onto a saucer and polished it off within a minute.
I'd picked up some books from the library between Brad's shop and home, so I opened up
The Idiot's Guide to Being a Private Investigator
while I was eating. It was very informative. I learned that careful note-taking was the most imperative task so I got a blank notebook out of my desk drawer and labeled it
C
ASEBOOK
N
UMBER
1.
I started recording all that had happened since I first went to meet Rebecca Tyler. While I was writing, a commercial came on and Pepe strolled over to see what I was doing.
“Geri, how long have you been a PI?” he asked.
“Not long,” I said.
“That's obvious,” Pepe said. “What did you do before?”
“I was a stager.”
“Is that like an actress?”
“No, a stager decorates houses that are for sale to help attract customers.”
“So you create a false appearance to produce a positive impression,” said Pepe thoughtfully.
“I guess you could say that. But I don't really think of it that way.”
“How do you think of it?” Pepe asked.
“I think of it as bringing out the inherent personality of the place so people will see its possibilities.”
Pepe seemed perturbed. “I do not see how that will be of benefit in our current case.”
“I suppose I might notice something that seems out of place that other people might not notice.”
“Did you notice anything at the Tyler residence that was out of place?”
“Come to think of it, yes! I did think it was odd that David Tyler was in the living room. It didn't seem like the sort of room where someone would be sitting and relaxing. I would expect him to be in his office or bedroom or even the kitchen.”
“Yes, but what if he surprised an intruder?” Pepe asked.
I nodded. “A possibility. But why would an intruder stand in the middle of the room? One would expect he would be looking for something to steal. There was nothing of value nearby.”
“Unless something was taken that we do not know about!”
“Very nice, Pepe. I'll put that in the casebook as one of the questions we should try to answer to-morrow.”

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