Read Dial C for Chihuahua Online

Authors: Waverly Curtis

Dial C for Chihuahua (18 page)

Chapter 31
Felix was pretty gracious about the lack of bacon. A lot more gracious than Pepe who complained all through breakfast, even though I sneaked him several bites of the spicy hash browns that Felix served up along with some perfectly scrambled eggs, topped with cheddar cheese.
Felix gave me another one of those long dreamy kisses before heading off for an appointment at a client's house. He offered to take the card case away for me but I had decided to return it to Rebecca and see how she reacted. Almost as soon as he left, there was a sharp knock at the front door.
“Open up, police!” said a loud voice.
“What am I going to do?” I asked Pepe, glancing at the coffee table where I had left the card case. It was gone.
“Do not worry, Geri,” said Pepe. “I have taken care of it. Go answer the door.”
“Open up or we'll break the door down!” said the voice at the door.
“I'm coming!” I said, moving towards the front door. I was still in my bathrobe and fluffy bunny slippers.
I opened the door to find a cop with his gun drawn on my right and another on the left side of my door. Out in the street, blue lights blinked on the top of several cop cars. I could see a little knot of onlookers gathered on the sidewalk across the street.
“Can I help you?” I asked in my most mild-mannered voice.
An older man in a suit strolled out from behind the officers. I recognized Detective Larson, the older of the two homicide detectives who had questioned me the day I found David Tyler's body. He tapped the uniform cop on the shoulder and said, “Put the guns away.”
“Good morning, Miss Sullivan,” said Detective Larson. “May I come in?”
I decided to avoid the question. “What's this about?” I asked.
“We got a tip that we will find evidence linking you to the murder here.”
“A tip? From who?”
“I'm not at liberty to say.”
“That's ridiculous,” I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible though I was shaking. “I had nothing to do with David Tyler's death.”
“Then a search would clear your name,” he said in a mild tone.
“I don't think I have to let you in,” I said, trying to remember what Felix had said the night before. “Do you have a search warrant?”
“As a matter of fact, we do.” He pulled some papers out of his pocket.
“Ask to look at it!” said Pepe, who had come up behind me.
“Can I see it?”
“Certainly,” he said. I tried to read the pages but my hands were shaking so much, the words blurred. What to do?
“Let them in, Geri,” said Pepe. “You have nothing to hide.”
“You're welcome to come in and search,” I said, stepping aside. In a few moments, several officers swarmed into my little house. Detective Larson went straight to the refrigerator. In fact, he went straight to the freezer. He took every item out, setting each thing on the counter, and looked puzzled when the freezer compartment was empty and he had found nothing.
Another officer had pulled out the trash from under the sink and was going through it.
“A bag of frozen peas in here,” he said to the lead detective.
“Why is that?” Detective Larson asked me.
“Why is what?”
“Why the frozen peas in your trash?”
“Because you opened up the freezer compartment, and they fell out and rolled all over the floor!” Pepe prompted.
“Yes,” I said. “Because they fell out of the freezer compartment and rolled all over the floor. I didn't want to eat them after that.”
“Why were you looking in the freezer compartment?” the detective asked.
“Why do you think?” I said, beginning to get annoyed. “I was looking for something to cook for dinner.”
“We'd like to search your entire house,” the young cop said.
“Go ahead,” I said.
And so the search began. They poked through all my drawers, emptied all the wastebaskets, turned over all the cushions on the sofa. Pepe suggested I distract myself by watching old episodes of
Paraiso perdido
but it was hard to concentrate on the travails of Conchita and Hector when at any moment, the police could turn up the gold card case and I would be hauled away in handcuffs.
They noticed the scuff marks around the door and asked me about that. I told them there had been a break-in but I hadn't reported it because nothing appeared to be missing. That, at least, was true.
After about two hours, the police left. I watched out the front window until all the cars were gone. They had tried to put everything back where they found it but I knew I had a lot of work to do before I would feel comfortable in my space again.
“Where is it?” I asked Pepe, after they were gone.
“I hid it!” he said proudly.
“Where?” I wanted to know.
Pepe looked a little bit embarrassed.
“A place they would never look,” he said.
“Yes, where is that place?” I asked.
“It is in your bathroom,” he said.
“Let's see!” I said. Pepe trotted into my bedroom and then into the small adjoining bathroom. There wasn't much room for anything. I had managed to squeeze Albert's cat box in between the toilet and the cupboard under the sink.
“Under the rug?” I asked, pulling up the shaggy pink carpet.
Pepe shook his head.
“Not in the cupboard! You couldn't open it!” I said, pulling it open anyway to look. My hair dryer spilled out. I stuffed it back in.
“No, I can't open that,” said Pepe.
“In the bathtub?” I peered in there. Nothing, except some water stains around the drain.
“Not the toilet!” I said. “That could ruin the plumbing.”
“Do you consider me a dog of no brain?” Pepe asked. “The one place no one but that evil cat would ever go.”
“No, Pepe!” I said. “You didn't!”
“
Sí!
” he declared, and he seemed very proud of himself. “I hid the gold case in the litter box.”
Chapter 32
“Geri,” Pepe said, as we drove away in the car, “I am
muy
worried about Siren Song. We should make haste to rescue her from the cruelty of Senora Rebecca.”
“I agree, Pepe,” I said, “but our appointment with Mrs. Tyler is not until 1
PM
, and we have another case to solve as well. Have you forgotten about Bruiser?”
“That
cabrón
will never dare to show his face in Mrs. Snelson's garden again,” said Pepe, “not after the lesson I taught him!”
I considered pointing out that Pepe had done nothing to Bruiser personally, but then thought better of it. The Photoshop photo was his idea after all, and I thought the photo, which was tucked into my purse, would help us close the case. I still felt guilty about using deception to frame Bruiser. After all, I knew what it was like to be framed.
Pepe had saved my bacon there, as well. “That was very clever,” I told him, “hiding the card case in the cat box. I am surprised the detectives didn't look there.”
“Oh,” said Pepe, “some credit is due to Albert as well. I think eating all of those peas did not agree with him.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” I said. “I'll have to clean the cat box when we get back home.”
Pepe was standing in the passenger seat with his front paws on the edge of the window as we drove past the convenience store where we had stopped the other day.
“Look, Geri!” he said. “Do we not need supplies?”
I thought about that for a minute. The place had good memories for me, as well as Pepe, so I pulled over and went in and bought some beef jerky for Pepe and a bottle of water for me. I was hoping Felix might show up in the parking lot with his dog, but I got back to the car without any encounters, canine or otherwise.
“I have another question about last night,” I said, as we continued on our journey. Pepe was chowing down on the beef jerky. “I don't remember how I got into my bed. The last thing I remember is being on the sofa with Felix.”
“Do not worry, Geri!” mumbled Pepe, his mouth full. “It is true that Felix carried you to your bed—” Oh! How I was sorry I had missed that! “But then I encouraged him to leave the bedroom. Albert and I were the ones who tucked you in.”
I didn't bother to hide Pepe in my purse for this visit. Mrs. Snelson, who greeted us at the door with a trowel in her hand, seemed delighted to see him.
“Here's the little hero!” she said. “He deserves a treat! Can I give him a cookie?”
“Well—”
“I am ready when you are, senora,” said Pepe, heading towards the kitchen.
“Oh, he is a smart little dog,” said Mrs. Snelson, sticking her trowel into the dirt of one of her larger potted plants. “He definitely understands the word
cookie
!” She hurried into the kitchen after him.
“Naturally,” said Pepe, “what do you think I am? Even a child understands that word!” He sat looking up at the counter. The kitchen was full of plants, though not as many as the living room. There were drooping grape ivy plants hanging down the sides of the refrigerator and a sweet potato vine curling up from a jar behind the faucets.
Mrs. Snelson bent down to scratch Pepe on the top of his head. “Now isn't he so precious? And so good?” She was practically cooing. What had happened to change this dog hater into a dog appreciator?
“How many can he have?” she asked, sticking her hand into a ceramic container on the counter which was designed to look like a fat bumblebee. “They're my special shortbread cookies.” She popped one into Pepe's mouth. He laid it down on the floor in front of him, and licked it carefully, before gobbling down every crumb.
“Keep them coming!” he said.
“I suppose one or two more,” I said.
It was a lovefest in the kitchen, with Mrs. Snelson admiring the delicate way that Pepe ate and Pepe making admiring comments about her culinary skills.
“You should ask her for the recipe, Geri,” he said. “These are
muy delicioso
!”
But I was eager to get my guilty errand over with and get out of there.
“Mrs. Snelson,” I said, “I need to follow up with you about your case. I have evidence that will—”
“Oh! Not to worry!” said Mrs. Snelson, waving her hand at me. “That's all taken care of.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yes, that beast is in jail and will be for a very long time!”
“Jail?” said Pepe. He stopped eating his current cookie.
“Yes, the Animal Control came and took him away. I doubt that he will ever get out.”
Pepe looked stricken. Mrs. Snelson tried to give him another cookie but he hung his head and wouldn't take it.
“I guess he's full,” she said. She popped the cookie into her own mouth. Then she remembered me. “Would you like one?”
“Sure,” I said.
“They're better with milk,” she said, opening her olive-green refrigerator. It was covered with magnets with garden-related themes, like a little watering can and a reproduction of an antique seed packet, the kind of gifts you would send to someone you didn't know well who liked gardening. She poured herself a glass and gave me one as well. Even the glasses were green, which gave the milk a greenish cast. Still I had to admit the cookies were delicious.
Mrs. Snelson poured a little milk in a saucer for Pepe, but he turned up his nose at it.
“What's wrong with you?” I asked.
“I do not feel so good,” he said.
Had she poisoned my dog? Maybe this lovey-dovey dog act was all a ruse!
“What hurts?”
“
Mi corazon!
” he said. “My heart is heavy thinking of Bruiser in dog jail. I have been there myself. It is a rough and dangerous place.”
“How did Bruiser end up at the pound?” I asked Mrs. Snelson.
“Well, after the news story aired, there was a public outcry about such a dangerous animal being allowed to run loose in our neighborhood. Then you can be sure Animal Control took action. They were out here early this morning and carted him off.”
“What news story?”
“Do you mean you didn't see it?”
“No.”
“It was the lead story on the eleven o'clock news!” she said.
“Well,” I said, “I was pretty busy last night.” I thought back to the break-in at my condo, the discovery of the card case, and the comfort of Felix's embrace.
“Yes, it was Easter,” said Mrs. Snelson, “but that's what made it such a good story. You know, human interest, happy ending, all that.”
“I was on the news?” said Pepe, his ears pricking up.
“So it was a story about—”
“About your little dog leading those children to safety!” Mrs. Snelson motioned me to follow her into the living room. “One of my neighbors taped it so I can send a copy to my children. Here! You can watch it with me!”
We all sat down, Mrs. Snelson and I side by side on a loveseat, flanked by two royal palms, whose fronds kept getting stuck in my curls, and Pepe between us on the green carpet. She had a wide-screen TV mounted on the wall, above a tray of succulents. She picked up a remote control and punched a few buttons.
The logo for the news channel flashed across the screen in bright blue, and then the camera zoomed in on one our local commentators. She said, “And our top story tonight is about a little dog who saved Easter for a group of children.”
A picture came on the screen showing Pepe clasped in the arms of the little girl in the pink dress. Her mother must have snapped the shot.
The news anchor's voice continued. “A group of children had gathered for an Easter egg hunt on the lawn of the Gladstone, a retirement center in Green Lake, when a vicious dog attacked.”
The screen filled with a head shot of a woman newscaster. “And then,” she said, “out of nowhere, a little white dog appeared, like an angel, and led all the children to safety.” As she was speaking, a rather wobbly image came on the screen of Pepe leading the children towards the building. Apparently one of the parents had been filming the Easter egg hunt and offered the footage to the TV station.
The commentator spoke again. “The owner of the vicious animal was clearly unable to control her dog.” Now the footage showed me, flapping my hands at Bruiser, trying to shoo him away, while he rooted around in an abandoned Easter basket. It was a great shot, actually, as it showed the lawn littered with abandoned baskets, like an Easter egg battlefield.
“Hey, that's not
my
dog!” I said.
“
Shhh,
Geri!” said Pepe. “I am trying to listen.”
Then there was a shot of Mrs. Snelson, her white hair sticking up all over the place. She was filmed in front of her garden, holding one of her trowels like a scepter. “I've called Animal Control repeatedly for months complaining about this brutish beast, but they have refused to do anything about it. Now see what happens! Gardens ravaged! Innocent children in danger!”
The commentator continued. “Animal Control was contacted and cited the owner. The dog, a pit bull mix, was taken into custody and is currently being held for observation at the Animal Shelter. Meanwhile, the parents of the children who were threatened wish to express their gratitude to the brave little dog who saved their children.”
A man's face filled the screen. He clasped his daughter close to his heart. “That dog was a hero!” he said. “We're just all so glad he came along.”
“Hey, that's my dog!” I said.
“That was me!” said Pepe.
And then they went on to their second story, about a traffic accident on the freeway.
“I am famous!” said Pepe. He got up and danced around the living room. Then he turned to me. “I want a copy of it! For my portfolio!”
“Look at him! He's so proud of himself,” said Mrs. Snelson, gazing on Pepe fondly. “And he should be!”
“Do you think you can make a copy of it for me?” I asked Mrs. Snelson.
“I'll ask my neighbor,” she said. “He has the gift for technology. But I'm sure the TV station would give you a copy as well. After all, it was your dog who was the star. They might even want to do a follow-up story.”
“
Sí!
” said Pepe. “I will be famous! No doubt the mayor will want to present me with the key to the city!”
“I can't believe they would air the story without checking the facts,” I said.
“Well, no one could find you—you departed so quickly,” said Mrs. Snelson. “I tried to tell the news people that you were a detective I had hired, but they didn't seem to understand.”
“Another case successfully concluded,” said Pepe.
“I guess we're done,” I said, with a sigh. No need to use the doctored photo. What a relief! I got up and thanked Mrs. Snelson for her hospitality.
“Yes, I've already called your boss and told him how happy I am with your services,” said Mrs. Snelson. “Now that you have a reputation, I am sure you'll get many cases from other residents here at the Gladstone.”
“I'm surprised by that,” I said. “I would think there wouldn't be much need for a private detective at a retirement home.”
“You would be surprised,” said Mrs. Snelson, in a conspiratorial whisper as we approached the front door. “There is a great deal of crime here. Someone has been stealing women's bloomers from the laundry room on the fifth floor.”
“That does seem disturbing,” I said. “But it doesn't exactly sound like a crime wave.”
“Oh, but last week someone stole Mr. Maine's boxers. He has a 45-inch waist. I don't see how they could be of use to anyone else.”

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