Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice (12 page)

As soon as Jimmy G left the ferry, he realized he was being followed. A guy on a motorcycle pulled out right behind him and kept behind him as he drove through Port Townsend. The bad thing about a motorcycle is that you can’t get a good look at the person under all that black leather and the shiny helmet and dark sunglasses. The good thing is that a motorcycle is fairly obvious. Jimmy G made a few evasive maneuvers driving through town and lost the tail easily. Pretty soon he was motoring along on the highway to Sequim, wondering what was next.

He had called his operatives while waiting for the ferry, and Geri told him that they had found some chocolate-chip cookies but not the trust document. It bugged him a little that they thought their job was still to protect the dogs when he knew the real job was to prove Mrs. Carpenter was crazy. Maybe that’s what he should focus on. Maybe that would get the judge off his back. And where better to do such research than in a bar: Jimmy G’s natural ecosystem.

The main street of Sequim was lined with restaurants, bars, and little boutique shops that sold all sorts of lavender gimcracks: pillows and wreaths, painted pots and plastic key chains. One block off the main road, he spotted a line of booths being constructed out of canvas and piping, apparently part of the lavender festival.

Jimmy G found a bar that looked like his sort of place. No windows in the front. Dark inside, with the bar lit mostly by neon lights. Some booths in the back that were mostly empty. But the black-leather stools at the bar were well populated. Jimmy G found a place he could perch between an old man with a wrinkled, hang-dog face and an even older woman who had dyed black hair and bright-red lipstick smeared across her lips.

He ordered his usual shot of bourbon and waited until he had fortified himself with it before he turned to the man on his left.

“Jimmy G is new in town,” he said to the guy.

All the response he got was a grunt.

“Doing some research on a woman who used to live here,” he said.

Again a grunt.

“Name of Lucille Carpenter,” he said.

No response to that.

“Know her?” he asked in desperation.

The old woman took pity on him. “You asking about that snooty bitch who left all her money to her dogs?” she asked.

Jimmy G nodded, turning away from the taciturn old man.

“Folks here think she was crazy,” the old woman confided. “Say, are you buying?”

“Sure!” Jimmy G signaled the bartender and asked for a second shot of bourbon and another drink for his new friend.

“So tell me more,” he said.

“That’s about it,” said the old woman, happily sipping at her Manhattan.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, with a cackle. “She left all her money to a pack of dogs.”

And that was it. The bartender kept him supplied with drinks. The silent old man on his left got up and ambled out. And the old woman babbled on about anything and everything except Lucille Carpenter. She gossiped about all the bad feeling in town between the newer growers and the older farms. She complained vociferously about the rude tourists and the terrible traffic. Jimmy G was getting nowhere fast.

“No one who lives here goes into downtown during the festival,” she said. “That’s why I’m here tonight. Got to get my drinking in while the drinking is good. Next thing you know, all the tourists will be showing up here.”

As if to prove her point, the door opened and a young woman walked in. She was younger by about two decades than most of the people in the bar. To Jimmy G’s surprise, it was Jillian. She bellied up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.

“Can Jimmy G buy that for you?” Jimmy G asked.

She gave him a startled look. He could see that her hands were shaking.

“Who’s this Jimmy G?” she asked.

“Right here,” he said, pointing at himself.

She looked startled.

“Sure,” she said. Her voice was shaky. “I really need one.”

She took the gin and tonic when it was poured and went over to a booth in the corner. Jimmy G gave her a moment, while he ordered a second gin and tonic.

Then he sauntered over and set it down in front of her, sliding into the booth at the same time.

“Want to talk about what’s bothering you?” he asked.

To my surprise, Hugh was still at work when Pepe and I arrived at the vet clinic, shortly after 7:00
PM
. So was his assistant, Bonnie. And once again the waiting room was completely empty.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” asked Hugh when Bonnie ushered me and Pepe into his office.

“Well, it’s not such a pleasure for us,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Hugh. “I hoped I had made a better impression on you.”

“It’s not you,” I said, blushing. “It’s just that we found some evidence, or something we think might be evidence.”

Hugh smiled. “Before we talk about that, let’s discuss something more pleasant. Since you’re still in town, I’d like to repeat my offer of dinner.”

I felt my heart flutter a little. “Well, I’m actually staying in Port Townsend tonight,” I said. “At the Floral Fantasy B&B.”

“Even better,” he said. He looked at Bonnie. “Call and make a reservation for 10:00
PM
at the chef’s table at Chez Pierre in Port Townsend.” When she left the room he said, “The chef is a personal friend of mine. He’ll put together a fabulous feast for the two of us.”

“I don’t know if I should . . .” I murmured.

“It will be my treat,” Hugh insisted. Then he asked, “So what’s this about evidence?”

“I think I may have found the source of the cookies,” I said. I rummaged around in my purse for the plastic bag. “Did you keep any of them?”

“What cookies?”

“The ones that someone tried to feed to the Carpenter cocker spaniels,” I said, finally getting my finger on the plastic bag. “If you did, we can test these to see if they have the same composition. So do you still have them?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He pushed a button on his desk, and Bonnie came back into the room.

“I made the reservation you wanted,” she said in a pouty voice.

“Thanks,” said Hugh. “Now the question is what happened to the cookies?”

“I saw some cookies in a plastic bag in one of the exam rooms,” she said. “But they’re not there now. Maybe they got thrown out by the cleaning crew.”

I was frustrated. “So you never had them tested?”

“What for?” Hugh asked.

“For poison. Someone is poisoning lawyers. So maybe they tried to poison the dogs as well.”

“It is cyanide, for sure,” said Pepe.

“What lawyers?”

“Boswell is dead.”

“Really, Boswell?” Hugh looked dismayed at first. “When did this happen?”

“Last night,” I said.

“So, who’s the new trustee?” Hugh asked. He seemed brighter.

“What a good question!” said Pepe.

I thought it was rather odd, myself. Surely Hugh should be asking how Boswell died. But I responded to his question. “No one has a copy of the trust document. Do you, by any chance?”

“I should have one right here,” said Hugh, springing up and going over to a lateral file cabinet along the wall. He pulled the drawer open and pawed through the hanging files. He stopped. He gasped.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The trust folder is empty!” said Hugh. He plucked the gray-green folder out of the hanging file cabinet and threw it on the desk. I could read the tab, which said “Carpenter Trust.” He turned to Bonnie. “That must have been what they were after!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Someone broke in last night and set off the alarm. By the time the police got here there was no one on the premises. They called me and I came to check.”

“They called me first,” said Bonnie.

“It’s true,” said Hugh. “They couldn’t reach me at first. I had my cell switched off.” He gave a little laugh. “Can’t work all the time.” He turned to Bonnie. “I’m glad you didn’t respond. It might have been dangerous.”

Pepe’s little nose began twitching. He started sniffing around the edges of the furniture.

“I looked around and didn’t see anything missing,” Hugh continued. “I thought maybe it was someone looking for drugs who got scared off by the alarm.”

“I knew I smelled a familiar smell,” said Pepe. “It is just so hard to concentrate when the room is full of other delightful smells, like the scent of a bitch in heat, and the pee of a Rottweiler, and the stench of a frightened cat.”

“Forget all that!” I said.

Hugh looked hurt. “Not you,” I said.

“What is it you smell?” I asked Pepe.

“It is the smell of the intruder, the one I bit!”

“Can he identify the perpetrator?” asked Hugh with a short laugh.

“Probably,” I said, although I doubted that Pepe could produce evidence the police could use. “He should be sporting a Chihuahua bite,” I said.

Hugh and Bonnie looked at each other.

“My dog thinks it’s the same person who broke into Carpenter Manor last night. He bit the intruder.”

“What was he looking for at Carpenter Manor?”

“Well, at the time we assumed someone wanted to hurt the dogs.” I saw the horrified look on Hugh’s face and hurried to add. “They were safe. They were all locked up in their room.”

“Oh, that’s great!” said Hugh with a sigh of relief.

“Now I wonder if they were looking for a copy of the trust document.”

Hugh looked thoughtful. “Yolanda should have one,” he said. “All of the interested parties got copies.”

“I wonder if the intruder took it?” I said. “I guess we should head over to Carpenter Manor and ask. Now that Boswell is dead, we need to find out who will take over as trustee.”

“Great! I’ll look forward to hearing what you find out over dinner,” said Hugh.

As we headed toward Carpenter Manor, Pepe insisted we first stop at Lost Lakes Lavender Farm.

“So you can flirt with Phoebe?” I teased. “What about Siren Song?”

“You should not talk about ears at the donkey’s house,” said Pepe. “What would Felix have to say about your date with the vet?”

“It’s not a date,” I said. “He’s merely showing someone who’s new in town some of the customs associated with the lavender festival.”

“Right, and I just want to question Phoebe about what she saw or smelled in the light of the intrusion,” Pepe said.

“That’s a good idea!” I said, ignoring his sarcasm. “But will she talk to you?”

I was thinking she wouldn’t say anything that would reflect badly on Colleen, but Pepe saw things differently.

“She’s a highly intelligent being, one who I sense has hidden depths,” Pepe said. “She is not like those ditzy cocker spaniels.”

“Well, I like your idea,” I said, especially since it sounded like Kevin was going to call his sister for advice. We had speculated on the nature of the mysterious document on our way to the vet’s. Could it be a copy of the elusive trust document?

But all of our plans changed the moment we got in sight of Carpenter Manor and saw the driveway was full of police cars, their lights flashing.

“Oh, no!” I said. “Are we too late?”

Pepe hopped up, putting his paws on the rim of the window and peering out.

“Do you think someone got to the dogs?” he asked. “If so, we have failed in our duties.”

Just then we saw them roll a gurney out the front door and into the back of an aide car There was a human form belted onto the gurney .

“Oh, no! What if it’s Yolanda! Or Clara,” I said. “Poisoned, like the lawyers!”

The attendants slammed the doors and hopped into the cab, and the aide car pulled out of the driveway, its red lights flashing, and raced off toward town.

I pulled my car over onto the edge of the highway, narrowly avoiding tumbling into a ditch, and Pepe and I raced up the driveway. A policeman barred my further progress by holding his arm across my path as Pepe bombed on up the slate path and into the house.

Luckily the policeman was one of the two who had come to the house on the previous day.

“What is it?” I asked. “What happened?”

“Someone got shot,” he said.

“Yolanda? Clara?”

He shook his head. “They’re fine. Just a bit shook up.”

“Then who? Caroline, the cook?”

He shook his head. “A guy named Jay who worked over there—” He pointed at the farm property, where I saw several people gathered in groups, talking. I thought I recognized Colleen, with a blue bandanna over her hair and Phoebe at her side. There were also a lot more structures set up: a broad tent over a stage at one end of the lawn in front of the farmhouse and a line of booths along the edge of the lavender fields.

“Can I go in? I asked. “You know who I am, and you know I’m here to protect the dogs.”

“That’s who they were shooting at. Jay just got in the way.”

I couldn’t help but feel guilty. What were we doing, rummaging around for a trust document when we were supposed to be protecting the dogs?

Yolanda appeared in the doorway, talking to the sergeant. She motioned me over, and he nodded to the officer, who released me. I hurried up the path toward Yolanda.

“Are you OK?” I asked, but I saw as I got near that she wasn’t. She was shaking, and her face was almost gray. “It was horrible,” she said. “Horrible.”

“Tell me what happened,” I said, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward a sofa in the living room. To my surprise, Clara was in even worse shape. She was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, sobbing.

“It’s all my fault,” she kept saying over and over again. “It’s all my fault.” The dogs milled around her.

“Who is this Jay, and why is he usurping my role?” Pepe asked.

“Who is Jay?” I asked.

Yolanda looked at Clara. “He’s a migrant farmworker. He works on the farm next door.”

Clara glared at Yolanda. “He’s not a migrant farmworker. He’s got a degree in agriculture. He’s doing an internship to learn as much as he can before buying his own farm.”

Yolanda said, “He’s a peasant.”

Clara said, “He’s a WOOF.”

“Woof!” said Pepe.

“Woof?” I repeated.

“He’s part of a network called Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms,” said Clara. “He’s learning more about how to be a farmer by working for Colleen.”

Yolanda rolled her eyes. “He’s a loser. How is that any better than a farmworker?”

“What do you want from me?” Clara cried. “You tell me I’m too good for him. Yet you want to keep me here taking care of a pack of spoiled dogs. Don’t you think that’s a waste of my life?”

“Do you think it’s a waste of mine?” Yolanda asked.

Clara looked defiant. “I do! You’ve been taking care of other people all your life. Now you take care of dogs. You should be taking care of yourself.”

Yolanda shook her head. “By the terms of the trust, that is impossible. Mrs. C left me an allowance and a place to live for as long as I care for the dogs. Without that, I would have no place to live, no money to buy food.”

“Speaking of the trust,” I said, finding a way to break into this heated conversation. “Do you have a copy of the trust document?”

“I thought you were getting a copy from Barry,” Yolanda said.

“That’s what I thought, too,” I said. “But it didn’t work out that way.”

Yolanda looked at Clara and Clara looked at Yolanda.

“Haven’t the police called you?” I asked.

“No, I called them,” Yolanda was clearly confused.

Darn, what was I supposed to do? Weren’t the police supposed to notify people in the case of a death?

“What is going on?” Yolanda asked wildly. “Is Barry OK?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said.

She jumped up. “Is he sick? Is he hurt? I should go to him!”

“No, it’s too late for that,” I said. “He died! Last night.”