Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice (6 page)

Jimmy G proceeded slowly up the flagstone walk that led to Boswell’s front door. He still wasn’t sure what was going on, and who he was working for, and what he was looking for. So how the hell was he supposed to question the guy?

Boswell’s house sat high on a hill above Port Townsend. It was three stories tall and had a turret with a conical roof like a witch’s hat. The front door was one of those old-fashioned oak jobs with an oval, etched-glass window. Seemed to be original, as old as the house. And the doorbell sure was—mounted on the door itself, it was a small, square box, made of dark metal, with a twister-type gizmo that you wound up like a watch. So Jimmy G did just that. When he let it go, the thing set off a loud mechanical bell that rang half a dozen times or so.

No one answered, which was fine by Jimmy G. He could report to his mysterious new boss that Boswell was not home and be done with it. He turned to go, but just then the door opened. Standing on the other side was a short, balding man with a round red face.

“Mr. Boswell, I presume,” said Jimmy G.

Boswell frowned. “Yes, and you are?”

Jimmy G had a momentary flash of brilliance. “Jimmy G of the Gerrard Agency,” he said, holding out his hand. “Here to check on my operatives.”

Boswell shook his hand, but stared oddly at his chest for a moment.

Must be the tie, Jimmy G thought. He was wearing his favorite—extrawide, a combination of bright red, green, blue, and orange swirls so loud it could be heard over the cries of the crowd when a long shot came in at the racetrack. It was always a good icebreaker.

Finally meeting his gaze again, Boswell said, “Your operatives are at Carpenter Manor, talking to the caretaker and her niece.”

“Ah, good,” said Jimmy G. “Better to talk about them when they’re not here. Jimmy G is conducting an evaluation, you know, assessing their performance.” Boswell was still frowning. “Mind if Jimmy G comes in?”

“I guess,” said Boswell. “But we must be quick. I’m rather busy.”

“This will only take a minute,” said Jimmy G.

“Well, come into my study.” Boswell led Jimmy G down a hallway that was crowded with furniture and through a door at the end of the hall.

“Forgive the mess,” he said, waving his hand at a desk that was heaped with papers. A very large and tall violet-colored cat with a fluffy, fanlike tail sat on the corner of the desk and directed a baleful look at Jimmy G. “I’ve just realized there are some irregularities in the trust document.”

Jimmy G wondered if this was the document the judge wanted him to steal—or obtain, as the judge would have phrased it.

“Perhaps Jimmy G can help,” he said, reaching out his hand for the paper.

The cat snarled, and Jimmy G drew back his hand quickly.

Boswell frowned. “Are you a lawyer, sir?”

“A private dick has to know a little about a lot of things.”

Boswell did not hand over the paper. Instead, he waved Jimmy G to a seat in a wing-back chair and took a seat himself in a similar chair behind the desk. Only Boswell’s chair swiveled. “You wanted to ask me about your employees.”

“Ah, yes, what have they done so far?”

Boswell’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you should know, shouldn’t you?”

“Of course, but Jimmy G is trying to verify if they are making a full report,” said Jimmy G. When he saw that Boswell still hesitated, he added, “Customer satisfaction is the most important thing at the Gerrard Agency.”

Boswell sighed. “We actually have not had much of a chance to talk. They were the ones who discovered the body of my colleague, Bickerstaff, in my office.” He narrowed his eyes and peered at Jimmy G. “You do know about that, right?”

“Of course,” said Jimmy G, nodding.

“I sent them off to talk to the vet who treated the dogs, while I spoke to the police.”

“What did they ask you?” Jimmy G wanted to know.

“The police? Or your operatives?”

“The police.”

“Routine questions. Where was I? At what times? What was my relationship to Bickerstaff like? Did I kill him?”

“Did you?”

“I say!” said Boswell, standing up abruptly. The cat stood up. too, with back arched and tail bristling. “That is outrageous, sir! I had nothing to do with Bickerstaff’s unfortunate death. I hired your agency to find out if someone is trying to harm the dogs. And unless your questions are relevant to that purpose, I refuse to answer them.”

“Hey! Just making sure,” said Jimmy G. “Would not want to involve the Gerrard Agency in anything unsavory.” He had to get his hands on that piece of paper. How to do so?

“This conversation is over,” said Boswell, coming out from behind the desk.

Jimmy G had a brilliant idea. It did involve some personal risk. He reached for the cat, thinking he would be able pick it up and drop it on the desk, creating a distraction. “Nice cat!” he said.

The cat did not appreciate the compliment. It reared up and swiped at him, managing to leave claw marks down the back of his hand. At the same time, it lost its footing on the slippery papers and went sliding over the edge of the desk. He heard the cat hit the floor with a thud. On its feet, he presumed. After all, they say cats always land on their feet.

“Oh, good heavens!” said Boswell, dropping to his knees beside the cat. “Did that awful man hurt you, Precious?” As he bent over the cat, checking the animal for injuries, Jimmy G scooped up the papers on the top of the pile and stuffed them into his jacket.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, strolling out the door. When he stopped at the threshold to look back, Boswell was cradling the cat in his arms. He did not seem to have noticed Jimmy G’s theft. He was kissing the cat on the top of its head. And Jimmy G could hear the cat purring, from yards away.

I awoke to the realization that something was wrong. Very wrong. It took me a moment to figure out where I was: the guest bedroom at Carpenter Manor. The door to the hall was open. The breeze had turned chilly. The rising sun was painting the sky a pale pink in the distance.

Then I realized what was wrong. Pepe was gone.

Almost simultaneously, I heard a screech. Ouch! A muffled curse. Then a thud.

That woke up the dogs in the locked bedroom down the hall. They started barking furiously and scratching at the door.

Where was Pepe? I slipped out of bed and pulled on the bathrobe Yolanda had loaned me. I thought the sounds had come from downstairs, but I couldn’t be sure. I tiptoed down the stairs, moving as fast as I dared in the darkness. I could hear doors opening upstairs. Must be Yolanda and Clara coming to see what was happening.

There was no sign of Pepe in the living room or the dining room, but as I pushed into the kitchen, I saw that the back door was open wide. And I saw a dark figure outlined against the pink sky—a tall figure dressed all in black with a mask over its face and my little white dog tucked into its arm.

“Let go of my dog!” I shouted, not really sure how I was going to enforce that command.

The figure turned and looked at me with soulless, glittering eyes. And at the same time, Pepe wrestled his head free and chomped down on the arm that confined him.

“Ow!” The intruder dropped Pepe on the ground and took off running. Pepe landed with an undignified grunt, but scrambled to his feet and took off after the intruder, who dashed through the garden and vaulted the fence that separated Carpenter Manor from the adjoining lavender farm. Within seconds there was no sign of the dark figure, which blended into the shadows created by the clutter of outbuildings and farm machinery.

Pepe danced up and down at the base of the fence, furious!

“Geri, pick me up and put me over there!” he said.

“I don’t want you getting hurt!” I said.

“
No problema!
” he said, panting with fury. “It is that miscreant who will be feeling my wrath.”

At that moment, the four cocker spaniels came pouring out into the yard, followed by Yolanda, shivering in a cotton nightgown, and Clara, in a fluffy pink bathrobe.

I tried to explain what had happened, with constant interruptions from Pepe.

“I heard Pepe barking,” I said. “That woke me up.”

“I heard the sound of footsteps downstairs,” Pepe said. “That woke me up. Naturally I went to investigate.”

“Naturally I got up to see what was going on,” I said.

“As soon as I saw the villain, clothed all in black, I rushed at him, telling him to halt!”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“We heard the dogs barking,” said Yolanda, thinking I was speaking to her.

“He kicked me!” said Pepe indignantly.

“The intruder kicked my dog!” I declared.

“But I was not going to let violence stop me!” said Pepe. “I knew my duty was to protect the dogs.” He looked at me. “And you, of course.”

“Thanks!”

“So I rushed at him again, threatening him with bodily harm. That was when he snatched me up and headed for the door.”

“Perhaps he mistook you for one of the dogs?” I suggested.

“Only a fool would mistake a Chihuahua for a cocker spaniel!” said Pepe.

“Do we know what he wanted?” asked Clara. “Do we know it was a man? Do we know anything?”

“Hush! I have not yet finished my tale,” said Pepe, who was inclined to go on whenever anything cast him in a flattering light. The cocker spaniels had gathered around him as children do around a librarian during story hour.

“I sank my fangs into his arm and he let go.” He paused for effect. “Then he ran off, and Geri prevented me from pursuing him, fearing for her own safety and wishing to keep me by her side.”

We looked at the door but couldn’t see any signs of forced entry. Pepe told us he had first seen the intruder in the hall between the office and the kitchen. Yolanda looked around but could find no sign that anything had been disturbed. I have to admit that I don’t know how she would have known. The whole office looked like it had been trashed, with file cabinets so full they didn’t shut and papers in drifts on the floor as well as the desk.

But Yolanda claimed it always looked that way. “No one has been in here since Lucille died,” she said. “She called this her headquarters. She was in here every day: making lists, making phone calls. But when she got sick, it became just a general storage room.”

Yolanda called the police, and Clara made a pot of coffee. Caroline arrived and fixed us breakfast (bacon and scrambled eggs) while we waited for the police. Yolanda was very distressed. She kept muttering to herself in Spanish. Pepe said she was raining down curses on anyone who would be so evil as to threaten innocent dogs.

The police arrived just as the dogs were finishing their own breakfast: a medley of kale, rice, and lamb. Pepe took one look at the police and jumped up into my lap. Pepe has a thing about the police. I think he confuses them with animal control. He did his time in several shelters before I adopted him. He was shivering as only an agitated Chihuahua can shiver.

“Kind of timid, isn’t he?” asked the cop with sergeant’s stripes on his sleeve.

“Timid-shmimid!” exclaimed Pepe. “I learned all about your bribe-taking, donut-eating ways south of the border!”

“I don’t think they eat donuts south of the border,” I said. “Maybe churros.”

“Donuts?” said the sergeant’s partner, a young man with a freckled face and flaming red hair in a buzz cut.

“No donuts,” said Caroline, bringing the coffeepot over to the table. “But I do have coffee.”

“Thanks,” said the sergeant. “I’ll take a cup.” While Yolanda poured him a cup, using one of the pretty flowered china teacups, he went on: “Dispatch radioed that you had an intruder in the house, Yolanda. That correct?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Anybody hurt?” asked the young cop.

“No, but someone is trying to kill the dogs,” Yolanda said.

“Didn’t your dogs set up a ruckus?” the sergeant asked Yolanda. “Start barking when he broke in, or go after the guy when he ran out?”

“They were locked up in their room,” she said. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she said, “We lock them in at night. For their own protection.”

“I went after him!” said Pepe.

“My dog was the one who chased him off!” I said.

“Really?” The sergeant looked surprised.

“I may be small, but I am fearless,” declared Pepe.

“So did you get a look at this intruder?”

“Yes, he was dressed all in black and wearing a black ski mask,” I said.

“Any other distinguishing characteristics?”

“Tell him the
hombre
smelled strongly of lavender,” Pepe told me.

“So does everything around here,” I said. “That’s a big help.”

“What’s a big help?” the sergeant asked me.

“The guy smelled very strongly of lavender,” I told him.

“Well, that’s a big help,” he said. “So do half the people around here this time of year.”

The young cop chuckled.

“You getting all this down?” the sergeant asked him.

“Yeah, Sarge, I think so.” He read from the small notebook in his hands. “The guy was dressed all in black and smelled like lavender.”

The sergeant shook his head slowly side to side. “Yeah,” he told his partner. “That’s about what we’ve got to work with.”

“And the dog bite!” said Pepe.

“Yes, and my dog bit him,” I said.

The sergeant sighed. “Yes, we can put out a BOLO to the local ERs to watch out for a guy who’s been bitten by a Chihuahua.”

“Do you think that will work?” I asked, excited. It was just like a crime show on TV.

The sergeant sighed. “No! Seems unlikely that a Chihuahua could inflict any serious harm.”

“
Caramba!
” said Pepe. “That is libelous.”

“Anyway,” said the sergeant, “I think we’ve got what we need. Thanks for the coffee, Yolanda. If you think of anything else that might help, don’t hesitate to call us.”

We all followed them to the front door, where the sergeant turned to me. “Crime is rare in Sequim,” he said. “And this kind of crime is particularly rare. Most likely it was a neighborhood kid out on a dare.”

“Do they usually dress in all black and wear ski masks?” I asked, indignant.

“Well, you know the idea of being a ninja and sneaking into houses—it appeals to some kids.” The cop seemed blasé. “Anyway, let’s keep this quiet. We wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong impression about crime in Sequim. Especially since we’re expecting so many visitors to our fair town over the next few days.”

I watched them depart with a frown. “I think they’re blowing me off,” I said.

“I know,” said Yolanda. “No one really takes the threat to the dogs seriously. That’s why I’m so glad that Boswell hired you.”

Speaking of Boswell, it was time for us to pick up the trust document from his office and head back to Seattle to make a report to Jimmy G.