The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo (11 page)

Yeah, I didn’t believe her for a second. She didn’t have bloodshot eyes, and she wasn’t slurring her words, but there was something about her body language that suggested she was lying. That and the fact that she had completely overreacted to my question.

“Why does Lenny Santucci hate you? You said that at one time he was your number-one fan? What really changed that?”

She stiffened. “I told you. He’s a jealous loser.”

I tapped her credit card on the Formica counter. “Nope. He hates you and he hated Richard. That’s more than jealousy.”

She eyed the card, biting her bottom lip. “Lenny tried to pass Pickles off as an offspring of Chip.”

“Chip?”

Her eye-roll was so dramatic her lashes actually stuck together momentarily. For a second, I thought I might have to peel them apart for her. “Chip Ahoy. He’s the ultimate champion. He retired from racing five years ago. Lenny claimed Pickle carried Chip’s bloodline. Richard knew he was lying and threatened to discredit him.”

Now that was a motive to hate someone. “Is Lenny from around here?”

“Up north. Redding or someplace boring like that.”

“Did you see him around the time Richard was shot?”

She sighed. I was clearly wasting her time with all my questions. “I had more important things on my mind when I was looking for Richard than noticing if Lenny was following me around like a sick puppy. Are you going to ring me up?”

“Sure thing.” I slid her credit card through the reader, expecting an approval.

Denied.

Holy moly. I looked up and plastered a fake smile on my face. “The machine’s been acting funny lately. Let me try this again.”

“Wait. Try this one.” Gia handed me a different piece of plastic. She looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

I rubbed the magnetic strip on my jeans before sliding the card through the machine.

Not only was it denied, but I was also instructed to call the bank.

Hells bells.

Chapter Twelve

GIA AND I STARED at the silver plastic card in my hand. This could play out one of two ways. I call the bank and receive a verbal approval after Gia answers a couple of simple questions. Or I call the bank and the charge is denied. And possibly be asked to confiscate the card. Judging by the way Gia worriedly nibbled on her bottom lip, verbal approval was the unlikely outcome.

She caught my eyes dead-on. Her fake lashes were as thick as Grandma Tillie’s fur coat and looked equally as heavy. I knew what she wanted me to do. The tension was broken by a ringing cell phone.

“That’s me.” I grabbed the phone and answered without looking to see who was calling.

“Hello.” I didn’t exactly turn my back on Gia, but I tried to give her some privacy. If she decided to put some, or all, of the merchandise back, I wasn’t going to draw attention to it.

“Hi,” Grey’s deep voice filled my ear.

My pulse quickened. “Hi. I, um, didn’t realize it was you.” I tucked my hair behind my ear.

He chuckled. “Removed me from your contact list already?”

An easy smile spread across my mouth. He was back. “I thought about it. Are you at the gallery?”

“For a while. I thought you might want to grab lunch. Unless you’re at the race.”

I stole a glance at Gia. She was digging through her purse, apparently not ready to walk away from her mountain of dog paraphernalia.

“Not yet. I’m finishing up at the shop. Then I’d planned on heading over. Hagan asked me to come back and set up the boutique booth again. Are you coming to the dog park?”

Silence on the other end. Had he hung up? Or was he trying to come up with a decent excuse as to why he didn’t want to come to the race? Most importantly, when had I started to sound so pathetic?

“Hagan asked you personally?” he finally asked.

“Yes, he was very sweet.”

“What time does the race start?”

I could hear faint voices in the background. “Two. Is there someone there you need to take care of?”

“No. He’s just looking. Did you find Betty’s gun?”

I turned my back on Gia, fingers crossed she didn’t grab her stash and run, but I didn’t want her to overhear my conversation. “Not yet. I thought if I got there early, I could look for the filmmaker.”

“How about dinner in Newport tonight?”

I nodded, eager to spend some time with Grey. “That sounds great.” I studied my engagement ring. “And then we can talk. Right? That’s what this is all leading up to?”

“Yes. We’ll talk,” he promised.

I closed my eyes and released a long pent-up breath. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight. 401 Chop Oceanside?”

“That’s where I proposed. The second time.” I felt his smile as strongly as if he stood across from me. “Plus they have the best lamb chops.”

We ended the call, agreeing he’d pick me up at eight. I shoved my cell inside my back pocket feeling very generous. Grey was ready to forgive and move on, and so was I.

“Gia. Here.” I held out her credit card.

It took her a second to accept it, but when she did her claw-like fingers wrapped around the plastic card like a lifeline. She stuffed it in her purse before I could change my mind.

“Why?” she asked.

“Weird stuff happens all the time. Technology can be finicky. What works today may not work tomorrow.” I pulled the toy she’d originally come to the store to find from the bottom of the pile. “This is a good-luck gift from me and my bulldog, Missy, to you and Zippy. It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. We all want a fair race, right?”

She looked pained. I immediately felt bad that she’d taken my comment as a dig about the doping rumors. I dropped the ball on the counter.

She bent down, picked up Zippy’s leash off the carpet, and snapped it back on his collar. “I heard you say you were looking for the filmmaker.”

I nodded slowly, steeling myself for a possible tirade. “Have you seen her?”

“We were at the dog park earlier this morning, me and Zippy, working out. She was talking to that veterinarian.”

“What did you think of Dr. Darling?”

“He was exactly as you described.”

I’d accept that as an admission that I was right. “Did you talk to her? The gir—the filmmaker?”

Gia frowned, channeling her inner desperate housewife. “You could say that. She has a lot of nerve. She begged for an interview with Zippy and me, since he was the favorite. Of course, everyone knows he’s the obvious winner. So, I agreed to meet. You know, doing my part to advertise the event. But that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about.”

I cringed, pretty sure where this was headed. To be honest, it would be difficult to brush over Richard’s death. Talk about real-life drama.

“I’m sure if you explained—”

Gia’s eyes sharpened under her tarantula lashes. “She accused me and Richard of doping Zippy. Can you believe it? My husband was just murdered and she wants to talk about why I won’t willingly submit Zippy to a urine test. She shoved her camera right in my face and kept asking me over and over why it was so important to harm my dog in order to win a race. The nerve. I shoved her back and told her what she could do with her camera. I really hate that woman.”

I cleared my throat. I was pretty darn certain Gia was about to regret her actions. “Was she recording when you attacked her?”

She stilled. “Oh, hell. I have to get that tape.”

Gia frantically scooped up Zippy and cradled him in her arms. At the last minute, she grabbed the treat ball. Without a word, she scurried out the door and disappeared down the street.

It looked like the girl with the dachshund tattoo, aka Stephanie, had some things a couple of us wanted back. I wondered which of us would find her first.

Chapter Thirteen

BETTY NEVER SHOWED.

My calls continued to go directly to voicemail, while I continued to be concerned. Valerie’s unexpected visit confirmed Betty had at least checked in with her daughter. I’d waited for as long as possible for my flighty assistant. I hung a sign on the front door informing customers they could find us at the Dachshund Dash, then closed up the boutique for the rest of the day.

Although the sun had burned off some of the morning fog, it remained slightly overcast with a chill gripping the air. I quickly swung by my place to let Missy out. She sniffed a few trees and a handful of bushes before she finally relieved herself.

“Do you want to go for a ride, girl?”

She peered up at me with squinty eyes, then trotted back toward the house, leaving me standing by the Jeep in the driveway. Apparently, she was passing. I couldn’t blame her. Her stubby legs had carried her stocky body a long way yesterday.

We walked back inside the house, Missy headed to the kitchen. She sniffed her food dish; finding it rather lackluster, she lapped up some water instead.

“Alrighty, girlfriend. I’ll be back later.” I grabbed my Gap hoodie and black Moschino backpack from the couch.

At the last minute, I decided to print the photo of Fallon Keller that Darby had emailed me last night. I planted a quick kiss on Missy’s head and reminded her to guard Grandma Tillie’s brooch while I was out. Caro had to be aware by now that the heirloom was in my possession. She wanted the brooch as much as I did. In the past, we’d proven neither of us was above a little breaking-and-entering to get what we wanted.

I pointed the Jeep toward the dog park. Traffic was light for a Sunday afternoon, which was unusual. Maybe the possibility of rain had kept people home. I pulled into the parking lot and was lucky enough to find space to park near the entrance.

I noticed Lenny’s car was no longer parked along the street. I wondered if he was off searching for a shower or a decent meal. Noting the size of his muscles, he didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d happily eat fast food three meals a day and be content.

The park was quiet, basking in the calm before the energetic crowd trampled the lawn for the second day in a row. I carried the totes across the damp grass to my booth, greeting my fellow vendors along the way. I also kept an eye open for Betty.

I shoved the unpacked totes under the table, next to the cooler I’d left behind last night, with the intention of setting up later. My first priority was to find the girl with the dachshund tattoo and locate Betty’s gun. I slid my backpack over my shoulder then slipped my hands in my jean pockets. My fingers brushed against the money Sven had given me earlier in the morning. I also needed to find where to place the bet for Sven.

I wandered toward the food area. Food trucks and canopy tents coexisted in an area not much larger than the parking lot. The aroma of BBQ, along with ethnic and typical fair food filled the air. My stomach growled in appreciation. The trucks came in all sizes and colors, some newer than others, while a handful looked like they had been pulled straight out of the junkyard and abandoned at the park.

Sven had made it sound as if the betting was a known fact. But I had a strong feeling that wasn’t the case. The Red Hot Chili truck was easy to find. The words “Chill at the Chili House” were stenciled in green on the side. The huge serving window was locked down, so I knocked loudly on the side of the truck.

“Hello,” I called out.

“Rodney isn’t here,” Lenny spoke from behind me.

I turned around. So he
was
here. I wondered where he’d parked his car today. He looked much better than the last time I’d seen him. His body-hugging T-shirt and khaki shorts, although stained and slightly wrinkled, didn’t smell like he’d pulled them out of a dirty clothes hamper or, in his case, off the floorboard of his car.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked.

Pickles lay at Lenny’s feet looking rather subdued. Or bored. He was a dog so it was hard to tell what he might be feeling.

“You here for the chili?” Lenny slurped his coffee out of a to-go cup.

“Sure.”

He watched me with bloodshot eyes over the rim of his cup. “Rodney’s making change.”

I wasn’t sure if that was gambling slang for something nefarious or if he was literally making change. “Okay. Thanks, I’ll check back later.” I pivoted on my heel and started to walk back to the vendor booths.

“If you don’t get back before the race, he can’t help you.”

“Good to know.”

“You’ve never bet on a race before have you?” he called out.

I stopped mid-step. Clearly he had something to say. Curious by nature, I couldn’t help but turn back around and close the distance between us. “Is it that obvious?”

An amused smile hung on his normally angry mouth. “Yeah. You working with the cops?”

Lordy, don’t let Malone hear him say that. He’d think I was sticking my nose in places he’d specifically told me to stay out of. I admit, sometimes I didn’t always follow directions well, but this wasn’t one of those times. “Regarding Richard?”

“In any way.” Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Was he sick? It certainly wasn’t hot enough for him to be sweating. I’d wager he had a hangover. “Nope, I’m here as a favor for a friend.”

“Where’s your dog?”

“She was exhausted from all the back-and-forth yesterday. She chose her bed over another day being shown up by wiener dogs.”

He finished the last of his drink then tossed his empty container in a yellow trash can. “Damn straight. Who you bettin’ on?”

Ah. His interest in my wager was purely personal. I pointed at the long wire-haired guy resting in the grass. “I was told to bet on Pickles. To win.”

Lenny rubbed the back of his head, his expression grave. “Good. Good. This is our time. It’s now or never.”

His comment struck me as odd. “Why do you say that?”

“Look at him. It kills him to race and never win. He can only take defeat for so long. Eventually he’ll give up.”

“That’s tough. I’m sorry.” Gia had taunted Lenny that his dog was a depressed loser. From Lenny’s comments, it seemed she was right.

Pickles did look down in the dumps. Did dogs take antidepressants? Did they see dog therapists . . . like Caro? If we were talking, I’d ask her. But we’re not, so I made a different type of suggestion.