Chapter 19
Once again, Pepe and I were being questioned about the death of a lawyer, this time in an interrogation room in the police station in Port Townsend.
“So how do you explain that?” The policewoman leaned over the table. She had introduced herself as Michelle Howard. She was a black woman in her midthirties with a broad face and high cheekbones.
“He called my boss to hire us,” I said. I didn’t think I had anything to hide.
“He heard about our success in many cases involving dogs,” said Pepe.
“That’s why we’re here, working for him.”
“Not any longer,” she said.
“Well, that’s a good point.” Did we still have a client? I wasn’t sure. I would have to check with Jimmy G.
“Your boss says he didn’t talk to Mr. Boswell. That you did.”
“That’s absurd,” I said.
“Someone is lying.”
“Tell them to check the phone records,” Pepe suggested. He watches a lot of crime TV shows and knows how the police work.
“Well, I’m sure you can check phone records,” I said.
“We did,” she said. Her eyebrows went up.
“Then you know the call was made to the Gerrard Agency,” I pointed out. “I never answer the phone there.”
“But Mr. Gerrard said,” she looked down at her notes, “that you are his secretary. Actually the term he used was girl Friday.”
“Well, yes, I am, or at least he thinks I am, but I didn’t take the initial call. I was at my house, reading a novel and sitting in the sun when he called me and told me to come down to the office because we had a case.” It seemed so long ago since that carefree morning.
“And what was the case?”
“Confidential,
amiga!
” said Pepe.
“I’m not sure I can talk about that,” I said. I really didn’t know what the rules were about client privilege.
“You don’t
think
you can talk about that? Or you
refuse
to talk about that?” she asked.
“If you let me call my boss, I’ll check with him,” I said.
Jimmy G answered after five rings. “What’s up, doll?”
“I’m at the police station. They want information about the case. Do we still have one?”
“Of course we do!” His voice sounded thin and far away. “In fact, it means we have more work.”
“So what do I tell them?”
“Nothing. We aren’t obligated to share any of our information with them. We keep it close to our vests. You know that. Very hush-hush.” And he hung up.
“Thanks a lot, Jimmy G,” I said, looking at my phone.
“You know, Geri, that the police can hear every word you are saying,” Pepe said.
“Just as long as they can’t hear you, I’m good,” I said, looking down at him.
Michelle never came back. Instead a middle-aged man in a tweed coat entered the room. He introduced himself as Rick Moore, head homicide detective. He had a bushy moustache, perhaps to compensate for the shiny bald patch on the top of his head.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked. I guess he was going to be the good cop.
“Yes,” I said. “With cream, please.”
“I would like some bacon,” said Pepe.
“You just had breakfast,” I told him.
Rick looked confused. “Are you telling me or asking me?”
“Actually I was talking to my dog,” I said.
“You do a lot of that,” he said, as he left the room.
“I told you they were listening to us,” Pepe said.
“I guess they can’t hear you,” I said.
“
Muy bien!
” he said. “So listen very carefully. We give nothing away. We extract the information we need!”
“
Sí, amigo!
” I said, just as Rick returned, bearing a paper cup that he set down on the table in front of me. The coffee was watery, and flecks of instant creamer were still swirling around on the top. The detective sat down himself and opened up a folder.
“We’ve been wanting to talk to you, Miss . . .” He looked at the papers in the folder. “Miss Sullivan.”
“Here I am!” I said trying to be cheerful.
“Tell us again about how you came to be in the home of Mr. Boswell.”
I repeated the story I had told the responding officers, the story Pepe and I had cooked up while we waited for them on the front porch. I had come for an appointment, he didn’t answer the door, we went around back and noticed the door was ajar, we entered and found the body.
“And you didn’t notice anything unusual?”
“Besides the fact that he was dead?”
“About the room?”
I wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at.
“It looked messy,” I said cautiously.
“As if someone were searching for something,” Rick prompted.
“Yes, like that.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Search for anything?”
“We know better,” said Pepe.
“We know better,” I repeated.
“Interesting,” said Pepe. “Perhaps the villain who invaded Carpenter Manor had first killed Mr. Boswell but did not find what he sought there.”
“How well did you know Mr. Boswell?” the detective asked.
“Not well. We just met him yesterday.” I said. “Briefly.”
“Look,” he said, “we know from Boswell himself that you were hired to help him with the Carpenter case. We know he believes someone tried to poison the dogs.”
“And someone tried to attack them last night!” I said. “Maybe the same person who killed Boswell.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” said the detective. “Tell me more about that!”
“Tell him about how I marked the miscreant!” said Pepe.
“My dog attacked the intruder. He will have a dog bite on his wrist.”
“That little guy?” said Detective Moore, with a sneer.
“I am a fierce warrior!” said Pepe.
“He can be pretty scary when he wants to be,” I said. To prove the point, Pepe lifted his lip and delivered a tiny growl.
Detective Moore laughed.
“We reported the attack to the Sequim police,” I said, wanting to make it clear that I was willing to cooperate. “I can give you the name of the officer.” I found the card and handed it to Mr. Moore.
“All this fuss over a bunch of mangy mutts,” Moore said, shaking his head as he returned the card to me. “And now we’re looking at two homicides.”
“The dogs are neither mangy nor mutts,” Pepe pointed out.
“My suggestion to you, Miss . . .”—he looked at his papers again—“Miss Sullivan, would be to return to Seattle and tell your employer”—he looked at his papers again—“this Mr. Gerrard, that the police advised you to stay out of this. It’s a murder investigation, and we don’t need any private eyes wandering around interfering with our investigation or tampering with witnesses.”
“I will certainly consider that advice,” I said.
“We certainly will not quit!” said Pepe indignantly. “What do you think we are? Cats?”
Chapter 20
We did go back to Seattle. I had an appointment with my counselor, and I thought it might help me sort out all the different theories and thoughts that were whirling through my mind. Plus I would finally get a chance to catch up with Felix. I had called him as soon as we left the police station, and he said he would meet me at my house after his meeting with his last client. I promised him a good dinner and some other things I won’t share with you.
My counselor, Suzanna, leases space in a two-story building on the shores of Lake Union, almost directly across from my condo in Eastlake, if you could fly directly across the waters of the lake. Or row across. There is a dock right below the building, and I sometimes like to sit down there and watch the water lapping against the pilings when I have time. But not today. I was already five minutes late.
“What are we doing here?” Pepe asked, waking up. He had been asleep ever since we got off the ferry.
“I’ve got a counseling appointment,” I said.
“You know I am a therapy dog,” said Pepe, jumping out of the car when I opened the door.
“So you say,” I replied, heading across the parking lot.
“I will listen to your troubles and comfort you,” Pepe said, trotting to keep up with me.
“That’s true,” I said, giving him a sideways look. “You always make me feel better when you listen to me.” The problem is he almost never listens to me. He’s the opposite of Suzanna, who is a good listener.
Suzanna’s office is on the second floor. There’s a small waiting room with a bottled water dispenser and copies of lifestyle magazines. But I didn’t have to wait. The door to the room was open, and Suzanna was sitting at the desk, making notes, probably about her last client. The décor is designed to soothe: dark gray walls, dim lighting, a lit candle perfuming the air with a vanilla scent.
Suzanna waved me to a seat on the corduroy sofa, while she took a seat in the armchair near the bookshelf. Suzanna has been my counselor since my divorce. And although she doesn’t believe my dog talks, I still count on her to let me know if I am going too far off the deep end.
“So, Geri, tell me what’s going on?” she asked, looking at me with her piercing dark eyes. Her bright red hair glowed like a flame. She was wearing amethyst earrings and a light-gray tunic over velvety leggings.
I told her everything, although Pepe kept interrupting me and embellishing the story as we went along. I told her about finding the body of Bickerstaff, about meeting the vet (I left out my attraction to him, though Pepe insisted I should explain I was in heat), about our visit to Carpenter Manor, about Pepe scaring off the intruder (Pepe wanted me to emphasize his heroic actions), and about finding Boswell’s body in his study. I left out the part about our breaking and entering, but I did tell her about Pepe being frightened by the cat, just to tease him a little since he was being so bossy. He looked disgusted and crawled under the forest-green afghan to take a nap. He loves burrowing under blankets.
“Geri, that sounds like a lot,” Suzanna said.
“I know,” I said. I realized I was shaking. “I didn’t expect it to be so dangerous.”
“Are you reconsidering taking this job?” Suzanna asked. She had never said anything outright, but I got the idea she thought being a private detective was not good for me.
“Yes,” I said.
Pepe poked his head out from under the blanket.
“No way, Jose,” he said.
“I just don’t think I can put myself, or my dog, in danger anymore. I mean, what’s the point? We hardly make any money.”
“And what about your boss?” Suzanna asked.
“He’s no help,” said Pepe.
I had to agree. “He’s no help,” I said. “While we’re running around and doing all the work, he’s at the racetrack.”
Suzanna shook her head. “What do you plan to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I could quit.” I felt a huge relief as I said that. I could go home, make dinner, have a glass of wine, and retire early with Felix. The police would investigate the murders. That was their job. No need for us to get involved. We had already provided them with everything we knew.
“What about the dogs?” asked Pepe. “They need us.”
“But if the trustee is dead—”
“Then we must find out who is the new trustee,” insisted Pepe. He leaped up and ran to the door.
“We don’t have a copy of the trust document,” I said.
Suzanna looked perturbed. “Are you talking to your dog?”
“Yes,” I said. “He wants us to continue to investigate.”
“So there is a part of you that believes you should keep on investigating.” Suzanna tends to think that Pepe represents my alter ego, an aspect of my character that is more daring, more confident than my usual personality.
“No, it’s Pepe who wants to keep on investigating,” I said. “I would be happy to give up.”
“That is not true, Geri!” said Pepe, looking at me with dismay. “You would not leave any dogs to suffer.”
“Why should they suffer?” I asked. “They’ve got plenty of money.”
“Money does not necessarily make people happy,” said Pepe.
That was true. I thought about how lonely Boswell seemed, even though he had a fancy house full of stuff. And Yolanda, who despite her millions lived in a plain little room and took orders from a bunch of spoiled dogs.
“Who?” That was Suzanna.
“The dogs,” I said. “They inherited a fortune. Several million dollars.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“You know, it does seem excessive,” I said. “Four dogs can’t possibly need millions of dollars to keep them happy. Dogs are happy . . .” I looked at Pepe.
“Oh no, you are not!” he said. “You are not going to say that just being around people makes dogs happy!”
“They’ve done experiments,” I told him. “Dogs evolved differently from wolves because they care for us. When given a choice between food and taking care of us, wolves choose food, but dogs choose people.”
“Most dogs,” said Pepe. “I myself prefer a nice juicy steak.”
“You know that’s not true,” I said.
“OK. A crisp piece of bacon,” he conceded.
Suzanna smiled. “Your dog does not agree with you,” she said.
I brightened up. “You can hear him?”
She shook her head impatiently. “Geri, you know he doesn’t talk. Maybe you are exceptionally good at intuiting what he wants, but he can’t talk. Dogs don’t talk.”
I stared at her. If I couldn’t convince my counselor, then who could I convince? And if I was crazy because I thought my dog talked, then maybe Mrs. Carpenter was crazy, too.
“I guess we do have to go back,” I said to Pepe.
“Yes, so I can woo the beautiful Phoebe,” said Pepe. “But first we must stop for bacon. Now that you have mentioned it, I must have some.”
“I didn’t mention it,” I said, then stopped. No point in arguing with a dog.
Suzanna looked worried. “I don’t like the idea of you going back into such a dangerous situation,” she said.
“It’s not dangerous for us,” I said. “No one is trying to poison us. Just the dogs.”
“And the lawyers,” pointed out Pepe.
“Can you call your boss and ask him to go with you?” Suzanna asked.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll try that,” I said.
“Geri, we do not need his help!” said Pepe.
I glanced at the clock. The session was almost over. “Well, thanks,” I said, getting up. “I feel a lot better.”
Suzanna got up, too. She took my hands in hers and fixed me with concern in her eyes. “Geri, I am worried about you. I would feel much better about this if you would keep in touch with me. Can you call me once a day and just leave a message on my answering machine? I’ll check it regularly. If something comes up and you need to talk, I’ll try to be available, but I’m going away for the weekend with my girlfriends, so it might take me a little while to get back to you.”
“Oh, really, where are you going?” I asked.
“To Sequim for the lavender festival,” she said. “One of my girlfriends has a vacation home in Discovery Bay, so we go every year. We love it. Good food, music, and lavender ice cream!” She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s so peaceful.”
“Well, that’s where the dogs live,” I said. “Right next to a lavender farm. Maybe we’ll see you there.”
Suzanna laughed. “Geri, thousands of people attend the lavender festival. We’re not likely to run into each other. But do call if you need me.”