The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo (15 page)

“What’s going on? You’re dressed like a bum. There are scratch marks on your neck. You never called me last night to let me know you made it home. And you were supposed to be at the shop hours ago.”

She raised her hand to cover the scrapes. “It’s really none of your business.”

You know what? I was tired of people telling me what was my business and what wasn’t.

“Wrong. It became my business when your daughter showed up at the boutique, begging me to keep
you
out of trouble.”

Betty snorted her disgust. “That child only thinks about herself. It’s none of her business either. I’m a grown woman. I don’t have to answer to anyone.”

“No, you don’t. Have you looked in the mirror today? You’re a disaster. For goodness’ sakes, did you really think I wouldn’t notice you’re wearing polyester pants?”

She cast a sideways glance toward Grey who was being unusually quiet.

“I-I fell. This morning,” she admitted, never looking me in the eye.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t convinced that’s all there was to it. But Betty had her own ideas, and she didn’t like to be told what to do. I understood that about her. There wasn’t much more I could do, except dispense some tough love.

“Alright. Then as your boss, I expect you to be at work when you’re scheduled and dressed in your Betty clothes. Do you get what I’m telling you?”

She nodded. “I hear ya, Cookie. No more playing hooky. Ha. I made a rhyme.” Once she was finished laughing at her pun, she shoved her hands on her hips and tsked. “You may be the boss, but you stink at displaying our products. No wonder we don’t have any customers.”

She hooked her straw handbag on the crook of her arm and stomped toward the haphazardly-hung dog leashes.

“I was a little pressed for time.” Great. Suddenly, I was on the defensive.

“Humph.”

As she passed Grey, a dollar bill fell from her purse.

“Hey, you’re dropping money.” I picked it up.

She snatched the bill then shoved into her purse, once again avoiding eye contact. I couldn’t help but notice there was more cash inside her handbag. A lot more.

My eyes narrowed. “Betty, is your purse stuffed with dollar bills?”

She hugged her handbag to her chest. “I don’t loan money to friends or family.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Please tell me you haven’t been hanging out at the drag queen bar again.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea. I have plenty of tip money.” She swiveled her hips. “I may have to leave early today. I love that Cher gal.” She danced as she hummed a Cher tune.

Wait. Were those chili stains on her t-shirt? That would explain why she smelled like hamburger. Then it hit me. Oh. My. Gosh. I shook my head in denial, but I knew it was true. “Betty, have you been betting on the wiener races?”

She froze. Blinked a couple of times, then lowered her handbag to her side. “How do you know about that?”

I couldn’t look at Grey, especially after I heard his groan of dismay.

“You have been gambling,” he stated flatly.

She shrugged. “There’s no need to fuss. Just a half dollar here or there. I had to get in on the action.” She patted her purse. “I’m on a roll too. Today’s race is going to be big.
Big
. Guaranteed a huge payout. Odds are in favor of Pickles.”

A half dollar? What did that even mean? Was that more gambling slang, or had she really only bet fifty cents? Maybe Sven should have asked Betty to place his bet. She obviously was more informed than I was on terminology.

“No more, Betty.” Grey’s tone brooked no argument. Neither did the stern look on his face.

She winked at him, undaunted by his commanding authority. “No problem. I’ve already placed my wagers for the day. Pickles to win.” Betty traipsed to the display of leashes and collars. “Make yourself useful handsome. Hold out your arms.”

Grey frowned. “Only if you promise, no more gambling.”

“You have my word.” Betty crossed her heart.

I don’t know about Grey, but I didn’t believe her for a second. His frowned deepened, but he did as she asked. Betty draped the merchandise over his arms, quickly sorting by size first, then color.

“I thought you didn’t like Lenny?” I asked, as Betty made quick work of reorganizing my rush display job.

“Just because he’s a loser, doesn’t mean his dog can’t win.”

Confession time. If Sven wanted to place a bet, legal or not, that was his choice. But Betty was a different story. I felt protective of her, both physically and financially.

“Grey, do you think we can get her money back?”

She looked up from hanging the last handful of leashes. “Why would I want to get my money back? Do you have an aversion to money? Maybe you should talk to someone about that.”

“I have plenty of money. Don’t you worry about me.”

No longer Betty’s personal hanger, Grey rubbed the back of his neck. “The best thing you could do is forget about it. Don’t go back.”

“If I win, I’m getting my money,” Betty promised, full of attitude.

“Leave it alone. Underground gambling is an illegal business.”

“I bet on the ponies every summer. That’s not illegal,” she argued.

He sighed, frustrated. “That’s different.”

Betty sniffed. “I don’t see how.”

“Well, it is.”

Betty stared at his unbending face. “Now you tell me. Is that why Rodney, the bagman, keeps hiding from the judges?”

Grey rubbed his face. “Stay away from the chili truck.”

“Listen handsome, if I win, I’m collecting my money.”

“No. You are to stay away.” His eyes lit on Betty’s face, imploring her to do as he said.

Grey was agitated. I had a nagging feeling he was holding back vital information. “What aren’t you telling us?”

“I’m telling you, these are serious criminals. Stay away from them.” His voice was tight, irritation written all over his face.

I could feel myself getting cranky. I’d already told Betty to stop betting. He’d already told her to stop betting. Why was he picking this hill to die on? Surely there were more important arguments to win.

I met his eyes and held them. I wanted his complete attention. “Look around. This is a wiener race. Rodney isn’t going to break Betty’s knee caps because she won twenty bucks. How would you know they’re dangerous criminals?”

“You don’t want me to answer.” He glanced at Betty who was taking in our discussion wide-eyed.

“No, I do.” I motioned for us to move aside so we could talk in private. He shook his head no. I felt like he was purposely pushing my buttons. Picking a fight.

“How do you know the people behind the gambling ring are hardened criminals?” I repeated my question, refusing to back down, all the while knowing I was being just as unreasonable as Grey. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

He shrugged. “I’m speculating.”

No, he wasn’t. That answer was for Betty’s benefit. His shrug was stiff and unnatural. He knew something, and he was keeping it to himself. I thought we’d moved past this a year ago when he promised to share more. I wasn’t expecting specifics. But how hard was it for him to pull me aside to tell me he was working a case? That’s all I wanted.

I suddenly wondered if he was here to keep an eye on me, and not because he actually wanted to spend time with me.

“Why are you here?”

We stared at each other. My chest rose and fell with each breath as I waited for an answer. Hoping he’d tell me the truth, and at the same time worried he’d evade or deflect my very direct question.

“To bring you lunch.” His flat eyes caught me off guard.

He’d closed himself off. I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t. I caught my breath on the huge lump in my throat.

Grey broke eye contact and turned toward Betty who watched us intently. “Did you talk to the filmmaker?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. She was sniffing around the food trucks this morning. I lost my phone, so I found that charming Hagan Stone. He promised to call the police for me.”

His cheek muscle twitched. “Hagan called the police for you?”

She nodded. “He said he’d take care of it.”

Grey’s cell rang. He frowned at the name of the caller. “I’ll be back.” He looked at Betty. “Behave.”

To me he said nothing. Which was good. I’m not sure I could have held my tongue. We watched him walk toward the same group of trees where I’d gone to take his call yesterday.

Once he was out of earshot, Betty asked, “Why is he mad? Did you do something?”

I gave her a half shrug, unwilling to put my suspicion into spoken words. Besides, this was between me and Grey. “I thought I knew. But now . . . I’m not sure. Let’s stop talking about Grey. How much did you really put on Pickles?”

She rubbed her hands together. “One hundred.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. There was nothing I could say. She was a grown woman. Who was making poor decisions. “Seriously, no more gambling.”

“I said I got it. Hey, where’s Missy?”

“I left her home. She’s worn out from yesterday.”

“Do you kennel her when she’s home alone?”

“Not anymore. She’s too lazy to rummage around in stuff she shouldn’t.”

“But you used to kennel her?”

“Sure,” I replied, puzzled at why Betty was asking so many questions. “Some dogs actually like their kennel. It’s comforting. But you have to do it right. You have to train them. You can’t make the kennel a place of punishment. Why all the sudden interest in dog care?”

“Can’t a body be curious?”

Nah, this was more than curiosity, but for the life of me, I had no idea what it could be. She was probably plotting her next crazy marketing idea.

“So what were you two doing before I arrived?” Betty puckered her lips and made kissing sounds.

She couldn’t have been further from the truth. “We were talking about Gia. She and Zippy were hiding behind the cat tent. She was acting very secretive as she poured something from her purple water bottle into Zippy’s special bowl.”

“What?”

I shook my head. My earlier excitement returned at the possibility of catching Gia cheating. “I’m not sure. It’s possible she’s doping Zippy like Lenny said. Grey and I were brainstorming a way to get the water bottle so we could take it to Daniel.”

“I never liked her. What’s the plan?”

“But what about our merchandise?” Now I sounded like my sales-crazed assistant. Seriously, why did I even bother setting up the booth if we weren’t going to be there?

Betty looked torn. “How ‘bout we give ourselves fifteen minutes? If we don’t find her, we come back and make some money.”

I looked over at the grove of trees. Grey was gone. My heart hurt knowing he didn’t seem to find it necessary to include me on his comings and goings.

My biggest reason to stay put had simply vanished.

I grabbed Betty’s arm, not willing to let her disappear too. “Fifteen minutes. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eighteen

GIA WAS GONE.

It wasn’t surprising. She couldn’t hide behind the tent forever. I was self-aware enough to admit I was jumping to conclusions about her juicing Zippy. For all I knew, it really was her vitamin water like she’d claimed. But my gut told me Gia had a secret, just like everyone else.

“Thirty minutes until the first heat in the heavyweight race. All competitors report to the waiting area.” Hagan’s distorted voice thundered over the PA system.

“Do you want to keep looking for Gia?” Betty stopped under a eucalyptus tree off the pathway to pull up her socks.

“What’s with the rainbow-colored socks?”

She looked up. “I don’t judge your boots.”

“Point taken. Yes, I want to keep looking for Gia.”

She stood and rested a hand on her narrow hip. With a mischievous smile she said, “Let’s look for Stephanie too.”

I know what you’re thinking. We’d promised to let the police handle it. But the police were a no-show at this point, and Betty’s gun was still missing. “If we find her, we call Malone directly.”

“Let’s grab a corn dog, first. I haven’t eaten lunch.” Betty patted her stomach.

What could I say? I had been in that exact position thirty minutes earlier. We circled back toward the food area.

“No chili truck,” I insisted. “And I’ll pay. The last thing we need is for you to start a riot showing off a purse full of money.”

Betty grinned. “I won’t turn down free food.”

Just one more thing we had in common. The more time I spent with Betty, the more convinced I was that she was what I’d be like in fifty years.

I’d hoped we’d stumble upon either Grey or Darby at some point, but we hadn’t laid eyes on either of them. I kept watch for the enigmatic filmmaker since this was where Betty had last seen her.

The gray clouds had disappeared, and the sun warmed my back as we followed the well-worn pathway toward the food area. I recognized a number of clients, which wasn’t unusual at an event like this. I enjoyed seeing their smiling faces. Betty and I were a few yards from the food area when loud shrieks and excited barking resonated throughout the park.

We looked at each other. With a nod, we agreed to check out what was going on. We followed the wave of people rushing toward the arguing voices.

“Hey, there’s Luis.” Betty waved in his direction.

He held his doxie, Barney, in his arms, their attention locked on whatever was occurring inside the human circle. Suddenly, a recognizable female screech rose above the whispers of the crowd.

“Gia,” Betty and I exclaimed in unison.

We elbowed our way in between Luis and a ginger-haired man who hid his wind-battered face behind a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses.

“I love a good fight,” the man said. The sides of his mouth curved upward, deepening his tanned wrinkles.

If crowd size was an indication, he wasn’t the only one eager to witness a good scuffle.

“Luis, what’s going on?” I asked.

He smiled sheepishly, finally noticing Betty and me. “Some lady picked a fight with Mrs. Eriksen.”

The “lady” was Fallon Keller. They faced off, surrounded by a ring of drama-thirsty onlookers waiting for one of the women to throw the first punch. I had a flashback to middle school playground fights. This would not end well.