The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo (6 page)

“Surprise,” I sang out. I bent down and hugged Missy’s stocky body, hiding my unease at Grey’s unexpected appearance. After a few kisses on her head, I rubbed her behind the ears. She happily licked my face. With a quick shake, she showered me with bulldog drool. I wiped the back of my hand on my jeans.

“Thanks for taking care of her.” I stood and accepted the leash from Darby.

“Anytime. Sooo . . . we’re not talking about Grey right now?”

I shook my head. “No. I, uh . . . I stumbled over another dead body.”

Darby and I had discovered Laguna’s celebrated plastic surgeon Dr. O’Doggle, who’d been strangled and left for dead, outside my boutique not too long ago.

Darby gasped. “What? Who?”

“Ricky-Dicky,” Betty spat out. She pulled a dog biscuit from her handbag and slipped it to Missy who eagerly chomped the treat.

“What happened?”

“When I was looking for Betty, I found him instead. He’s been shot.”

“Was Zippy with him?”

“No. Hopefully Malone’s crew is looking for him.”

“Did you find Betty’s gun?” Darby whispered.

Betty waved her hands in front of our faces. “Hello. I’m standing right here.”

“Sorry,” Darby said, sheepishly.

“Not yet. Did you find the filmmaker?”

Darby shook her head. “Do you think they’ll postpone the last few races?”

“If they do, Lenny Santucci will blow a gasket. There’s nothing more frustrating than being mentally ready for a competition and then the contest being postponed. He probably thinks Pickles is guaranteed the win if Zippy doesn’t race.”

“Lenny’s intense,” Darby mused.

“Here comes dreamboat.” Betty made kissing noises.

Grey approached us with a confident swagger that had been missing minutes earlier. I smiled. He must have received good news. He’d ditched his suit jacket and had rolled up his sleeves.

“Welcome back.” Darby’s gaze swung between Grey and me, obviously unsure of what to make of his unexpected appearance. “I thought you were out of town.”

“The seller changed his mind.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged it off. “That happens. I’m going to take a look around. Betty, describe the woman who has your gun.”

“She’s a mess,” she said without missing a beat. “A walking fashion disaster.”

This coming from the woman whose purple eyebrows looked like smeared grape jelly.

Grey smiled. And this time his smile reached his eyes. “Let’s start with the basics. How tall is she?”

“Tall. Like Cookie.”

“Okay, that’s good. So, about five-eleven. What color are her eyes? What about her hair?”

Betty tapped her top lip with her finger. “Well, she’s got ratty black hair. Short, like a boy—or one of them punk rockers. I think she’s got brown eyes. No, green. Definitely black. Black eyes.”

Betty would make a horrible eyewitness.

“Grey, she has a dachshund tattoo on the back of her neck.”

“And she’s got that movie camera,” Betty piped up. “Don’t forget about that. We were going to be in her dogumentary.”

“A what?” he asked me.

“A dogumentary. The film is about wiener racing, so . . . ,” I trailed off with a shrug.

He rubbed his chin. “I see. Well, the camera she can ditch. The tattoo is a little harder to get rid of.” He pointed at Darby’s camera. “What about you? You’ve had that all day?”

She held the camera toward him. “Do you want to borrow it?”

“No, I want a copy of the memory stick before Malone confiscates it.”

“Do you think he’d do that?” She pulled the camera back, resting it against her chest.

“I would,” he said.

I shot Grey a confused look. I wasn’t sure why he was being so helpful. I wasn’t complaining, mind you. Just confused. Normally, he was the first one to let the police do their job while demanding I stay as far from the action as possible.

“Can we make a copy?” I asked.

“We won’t. But no one will think twice if Darby’s downloaded her photos throughout the day as a precaution.”

“I have online storage. I’ve already uploaded them, just in case.”

Grey smiled. “Perfect. I’ll be back.” And without a goodbye kiss, hug, or a slap on the back, he was off.

“Is he really going to look for the girl with the dachshund tattoo?” Darby looked as confused as I felt.

“I guess so. No offense, but I’m really tired of calling her ‘the girl with the dachshund tattoo’.”

“What do you want to call her?” Darby tucked her camera in her messenger bag.

“Stephanie,” Betty stated.

What? “Where did that come from?”

She shrugged. “She reminds me of my youngest daughter’s college roommate. The poor girl looked like she slept in a garbage can. She dropped out of school and managed to get herself into a girl band.”

“Was she any good?” Darby asked.

“Horrible. Stephanie got booted from the group eventually. Right after that, the band made it pretty big. Even got a couple records on the radio.”

Man, she knew how to drag out a story. “What was the name of the band?”

“I don’t remember. I think it was the Bye-Byes.”

Darby and I stared at each other. Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Chapter Six

MALONE HAD BEEN gone for over thirty minutes. Darby and I sat cross-legged on the lawn and watched the police. Missy stretched out next to me, her head in my lap. The longer Malone kept Betty waiting, the harder she stomped the grass as she paced, smashing the thick green blades into a blanketed pathway between a eucalyptus tree and me.

“If he doesn’t hurry up and get back here, I might have to turn him down for dinner.”

“He’ll come back when he can.” I stroked Missy’s head.

Betty continued to mutter as she paced. Finally, we noticed Malone heading in our direction. He wasn’t alone. Darby immediately stood and announced she needed to talk to the event director, Hagan Stone, and split. Wise move on her part.

Malone introduced Officer Shughart to Betty.

“I have to go with her?” Betty pointed to the grim-faced female officer with the sleek ponytail, whose eyes were a little too close together to be considered beautiful.

“Yes.” If at all possible, Malone looked more stoic than usual. Or maybe, Betty had just worn him down. She had that effect on some people.

Betty slung her purse strap over her arm and huffed. “No offense, cupcake, but I was kinda hoping Officer Hottie would be the one to frisk me.”

“No one is frisking anyone.” The edge to Malone’s voice indicated he didn’t find Betty’s antics amusing. “Officer Shughart is going to ask you a few more questions. That’s it. Go.”

She gave Shughart the once-over. “You got a pet?” she asked, as they walked toward a group of police cars in the parking lot.

“Betty doesn’t mean to be difficult,” I started to explain.

Malone shot me an exasperated look. “Yes, she does.”

I tried again. “She’s lived a long life and doesn’t want to be overlooked. Can you blame her?”

Without bothering to acknowledge my defense of Betty, he walked away toward the vendor booths, cutting a path through a flock of Zippy worshipers. “I’ve been able to corroborate that the filmmaker exists,” he said, over his shoulder.

I grabbed Missy, and we ran to catch up. “That’s good, right?”

“Unfortunately, no one knows her name.”

“Did you find her? Does she still have Betty’s handgun?”

“We’re looking for her.”

His monotone answer made me a little nervous. “You can’t seriously believe Betty did this?”

“What I believe is immaterial. My job is to ask questions and follow the evidence.”

“No offense, but let’s think back to the last time you told me that. You arrested Darby. And she was
innocent
.”

“She was guilty of keeping secrets. That’s what got her into trouble.”

I opened my mouth to rebut, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable argument. He spoke the truth. And judging from Betty’s recent disappearing act, she was taking a page out of Darby’s playbook.

“When are you going to fill in your cousin on your boyfriend’s real job?”

I stumbled. Certainly, he didn’t know about Grey’s undercover work. “What do you mean?” I hedged.

Malone stopped and faced me. “I have connections. You didn’t think I’d turn a blind eye when I found out evidence that
I
had turned over to the FBI had been returned to someone other than the person I took it from? That someone being the girlfriend—”

“Fiancée.”

“Fiancée, of a well-respected FBI agent.”

I swallowed my unease. A couple months back, in a rather unusual turn of events, a dying man had torn Grandma Tillie’s brooch right off Caro’s beautiful Jenny Packman gown in the middle of a fundraiser. Turned out he’d been murdered, which was why Malone had taken the pin from Caro as evidence. Somehow, the Feds had gotten involved, and once they had taken over the case, they’d taken custody of the brooch too.

“What did you tell Caro?”

“I haven’t said anything. And I won’t. But you know your cousin better than I do. She won’t give up until she gets her brooch back.”

“
My
brooch, detective.”

The vintage pin was a family heirloom that had belonged to our Grandma Tillie. She’d left it to her “favorite granddaughter.” Caro mistakenly believed that meant her. I knew Grandma Tillie meant me. Over the years, Caro and I have been . . . how should I put it? Repossessing the pin from each other.

To outsiders, the ugly, multi-jeweled basket of fruit wasn’t worth the effort Caro and I exerted. Maybe if we were on speaking terms we could come to some type of joint-custody agreement. But we weren’t speaking. That was a whole other story.

The hard planes of Malone’s face and set jaw didn’t convey an ounce of understanding for my situation.

“That’s for the two of you to figure out,” he said. “I didn’t peg your boyfriend, fiancé, as someone who’d get involved in whatever it is you and Caro have going on.”

I bristled in annoyance. “He’s not. I called Grey’s partner for help. Grey didn’t have a clue I had the brooch until after it was all over.”

Malone raised a brow. “Wow.”

I shoved my hand in my pocket and walked toward the Bow Wow Boutique booth. Missy snorted her displeasure at the fast pace. I took a deep breath and slowed down. I sensed Malone had followed.

“Not my finest moment. Grey’s not exactly over my little stunt.” Or the fact that he’d found out from his partner, and not from me, that I’d managed to retrieve the brooch. “We’ll work it out. We always do.” Let’s be honest, I was reassuring myself, not the detective by my side.

Malone declined to comment. A smart man. We walked in silence until we reached my booth. I got the feeling there was more he wanted to say. After the bombshell he’d dropped on me, I couldn’t imagine what it could be.

He took a deep breath and said, “Against my better judgment, I want you to keep an eye on Betty.”

Okay, you can imagine my shock. For the past year, all I’d heard was, “Butt out. Keep your nose out of my investigation, or I’ll toss you in jail.” This was unchartered territory. I was so stunned, I barely heard what he said next.

“Let me make it clear, I’m not giving you license to conduct your own investigation. You’re to keep Betty out of police business. That’s all. Got it?”

I bit back the relieved smile that tickled the corners of my mouth and nodded once. If he wanted me to keep Betty out from underfoot, he had to believe she wasn’t involved in Richard’s death. “I understand.”

He pinned me with his intense dark eyes. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. I swear. You know, I never intend to get involved. It just sort of happens.”

“Make sure it doesn’t ‘happen’ this time.” He looked unimpressed.

“Understood.” I changed the subject before he changed his mind about my babysitting Betty. “Do you know if Zippy’s been found?”

“One of my men discovered him hiding under a food truck. He seems fine, but I’ve asked Dr. Darling to check him over to make sure.”

“That’s good news. We’ve been worried. Betty’s taken a liking to the guy; she’ll be relieved to know he’s safe.”

“Keep her away from him. If she gets in my way, I’ll throw you both in jail.”

I watched Malone stalk off toward the racing area with a smile on my face. Some things will never change.

SHORTLY AFTER MALONE left, Hagan Stone announced over the PA system that the remaining heavyweight heats, and championship race, would resume tomorrow at two o’clock. It couldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that after a two-hour delay the race would be rescheduled. A dead body would dampen any party.

With the competition over for the day, I decided to pack up and return to the boutique. If Betty were with me, she’d throw a fit about deserting the booth when there were still potential customers within reach of the cash register. My smiled faded. Where was Betty? How many questions could Officer Shughart have?

I was wrapping the doggie IDs, when a cold shadow fell over me. “There you are. What have you been doing?”

“Where’s the crazy bat who killed Richard?” Gia Eriksen demanded. Her voice squeaked like an ill-tempered Chihuahua.

I looked up and cringed. Egad. She looked like she’d crawled out from the wreckage of nasty breakup. Death did not become her.

Gia wasn’t exactly who I’d expected to see next to me. “I’m sorry for your loss. But we don’t know who killed your husband.”

“Where is she? That old woman in the ugly pajamas.” She peered around me. Did she think I was hiding Betty in my back pocket?

I didn’t appreciate her attitude or comment about Betty. My mama had taught me to be polite, even when the other person was off her rocker, but
this
woman could make me forget all about my upbringing.

I narrowed my eyes. “Is there something I can do for you, Gia? Would you like to make a purchase?”

She shoved her hands on her curvy hips. “I want my dog. Where’s Zippy? He competes tomorrow.”

It struck me a little suspicious that she suddenly seemed more concerned about her dog than her recently deceased husband.

“Why in the world would I have your dog?”