Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice (15 page)

I went to bed crying, and I was still crying in the morning while I was driving toward Sequim. Felix had refused to answer any of my calls, either last night or in the morning after Jimmy G woke me up.

Pepe didn’t help. He kept telling me “I told you so.” But then I didn’t really expect him to be very sympathetic. He’s not a big fan of Felix and he definitely doesn’t think too much of the vet.

“He has got only two stars on Yelp, Geri,” he told me. “That is pathetic. People complain about his high prices and say he recommends procedures their pets do not need, like gum surgery.”

“Isn’t that what he’s doing to Henry on Monday?” I asked.

“
Sí,
and according to the PetVet site, it is not recommended for senior dogs. Not without a series of lab tests.”

“We’ll have to check into that after I meet with the judge,” I promised my pooch.

Traffic was already heavy as we headed toward Sequim and was projected to get heavier as the weekend went along. Luckily, because Jimmy G had called so early, I had a head start, and so although I hit a few bad patches, where the traffic was stop and go, I managed to pull into a spot in front of the lavender festival office just five minutes after the time we were supposed to meet the judge.

Downtown Sequim is only about five blocks long, with many little shops, all small, one-story buildings with no coherent architectural theme. But they have one thing in common: lavender. There were posters for the lavender festival in every window. Lavender paint on the doors and window frames. Lavender planted in barrels outside the front doors. Lavender flags waving in the breeze.

The building that served as the festival headquarters was at the edge of town in an anonymous-looking cinder-block building that might have once been an auto repair shop. It was set back on a concrete pad that provided plenty of room for parking. The receptionist tried to turn me away at first, insisting that I wanted to be at the fairgrounds, but when I finally got across the name Julian Valentine, she changed her tune. She led us through a warren of cluttered desks to a back office where a man in a superbly tailored black suit was arguing with a woman seated at a desk. A nameplate on her desk read IVY MALONE, FESTIVAL DIRECTOR.

“Sorry to disturb you,” the receptionist said, “but these two say they have an appointment with Judge Valentine.”

The woman frowned and the man turned around. He wore a white shirt and a blue-and-red striped tie. The woman wore her gray hair in a pageboy and black-rimmed eyeglasses that made her look like a librarian. She did not seem pleased to see Pepe. “We provide a dog-care area at the fairgrounds,” she said. “We don’t allow dogs on the buses or at the farms.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

“As if I would ever deign to use public transportation,” said Pepe.

“Let’s adjourn to a more private setting,” said the judge, putting his hand over my elbow and steering me into a temporary cubicle, constructed of movable beige walls. It contained a large metal desk, a few chairs, and some cardboard boxes.

I was glad to finally get a look at the fourth of Lucille Carpenter’s children. Judge Valentine was in his midforties. He had dark brown hair, which he wore in a helmet. His lips were large and fleshy, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His eyes were a startling greenish-blue.

According to Jillian, he was the one who had hired Bickerstaff to break the trust. And according to Colleen, he was trying to bribe her into helping him build a case. But I didn’t know much more than that about him.

“Geri Sullivan, of the Gerrard Agency,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Yes, I’ve talked to your boss,” he said. “Peculiar fellow.”

“You have?” I was confused by that.

The judge hesitated a moment, then said, “Of course, who do you think recommended you to Boswell?”

“Why would you recommend any agency to Boswell?” I asked. “I thought you were trying to break the trust?”

“Well, yes,” Julian cleared his throat, “but, you know . . . No reason to be hostile about it.”

“Ask him how he learned of us,” Pepe suggested.

“How did you hear about us?” I asked.

“Well, I believe you are the only detective who works with a dog for a partner,” he said, laughing at Pepe. He pulled out a chair and waved me to a seat at a small wooden table. He sat on the edge of the desk, looming over us.

“He is taking up the posture of a bad cop,” said Pepe. “Take the initiative.”

“Colleen said you were trying to coerce her into supporting your side,” I said. Although, come to think of it, why wouldn’t Colleen be on his side?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julian replied.

“Something about the brochures and the tour,” I said.

“A silly mistake with the printer, I believe,” Julian said in a mild voice. “It’s so like Colleen to blame it on me. I had nothing to do with it.”

“What is Colleen’s position on the trust?” I asked.

Juilian shrugged. “She would benefit if it was declared invalid. She’d have enough money to buy the farm, instead of having to lease the property and make payments to Boswell, who was just putting the money into his own pocket.”

“You do know that Boswell is dead.”

“Yes, that was very unfortunate,” Julian said in a mild voice.

“Ask him how he heard of it!” Pepe asked.

“How did you learn of it?” I asked.

Julian smiled. “I have good friends on the Port Townsend police force.”

“So you think Boswell was not handling the money properly?”

“A motive for murder!” said Pepe.

“It was one of the things we would find out if he was forced to provide a financial accounting for the trial,” Julian said. “Instead, we’ll have to hire a forensic accountant to go in and try to track the money.”

“Suddenly Mr. Boswell is the
maleante
in the story,” said Pepe.

“It certainly increases the number of suspects,” I said, thinking of Yolanda, Clara, and Hugh, all of whom Boswell was defrauding, not to mention the children of Lucille Carpenter.

“I have it on good authority,” said Julian, “that the police are narrowing in on a suspect. Someone was in the house with Boswell that night. As soon as they find that person, they’ll be able to make an arrest.”

“Funny, you didn’t smell anyone in Boswell’s home,” I said to Pepe.

“What do you mean?” asked the judge.

“Good point,” said Pepe. He went over and began sniffing at the cuffs of Julian’s pants. Julian kicked out at Pepe, who ducked the blow.

“Aha!” said Pepe. “I begin to think I might train you yet, Geri. I do catch a whiff of Cohiba cigars, the same scent present in Boswell’s office.”

“Do you smoke Cohiba cigars?” I asked.

Julian shook his head. “Why would I do that? It could potentially damage my reputation. Those are illegal!” He stood up and held out his hand. “Now, I understand your boss told me you have a copy of the trust document.”

“Yes,” I said, digging it out of my purse. “It seems like everyone is looking for a copy of it. I don’t understand why you want it.”

Julian practically yanked it out of my hands. “It should be obvious. We just want to verify that the copy is identical to the one we already have.” He flipped through the pages quickly.

“And is it?” I asked, as he got to the end.

“No, we need to verify the validity of these witnesses,” he said, examining the final pages.

“Surely, if you have a copy already you know who the witnesses are—” I started to say.

“Yes, we do,” he said, “and, just as I suspected, the names are different. This document is clearly fraudulent. Boswell was trying to pull a fast one. Where did you get this?”

“From Yolanda.”

“As I thought. She is part of the conspiracy!” He put his hands on the top of the pages and, with one powerful motion, ripped them in half.

“Hey!” I said, getting up. “You can’t do that. I need that!”

“What for?” asked the judge, turning the papers sideways and ripping them again. “It’s invalid.”

Pepe growled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be the one making that decision,” I said, trying to grab at the pages. “Wouldn’t it be useful to prove there was a conspiracy?”

The judge actually hesitated at that. Then he blinked and said, “We already have enough evidence of that.” And then he turned his back to me and fed the pages into a shredder that was partially concealed behind the boxes. I heard it grind away, and as I pushed forward, I saw the last few scraps of paper waving above the metal teeth before they were pulled into the machine.

“Thank you, Miss Sullivan, for your assistance,” the judge said, turning around to face me. He had a big smile on his face. “It was indeed a pleasure to meet you.” And then he strolled out the door.

Pepe and I were sitting on the floor beside the shredder trying to reassemble the pieces of the trust document when we heard a big commotion. We went out into the big room and found Colleen Carpenter arguing with Ivy.

“Have you talked to the bus drivers and notified them to stop at my farm?” Colleen was asking.

“But Julian said—”

“I don’t care what Julian said—”

“He said you weren’t ready this year. That it would be an embarrassment if we transported people to your farm—”

“I told you already. That’s an outright lie. I’m totally prepared for the festival.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Ivy. “We can’t afford to tarnish the reputation of the lavender festival.”

“Colleen is absolutely right,” I said, stepping forward. “We were just at the farm yesterday. They’ve got booths, a stage, a sign . . .”

Ivy frowned. “Well, I guess we can do it—”

“I brought you a whole box of new brochures,” Colleen was saying. “I paid for them myself. They show my farm on the bus tour.”

Ivy turned to the receptionist and told her to get somebody named Sam to take Colleen’s new brochures to the various spots around town where the literature on the festival had been distributed. She then replaced the festival brochures in the rack by the reception desk with a bunch of Colleen’s new ones.

“There,” Ivy told Colleen. “And I’ll notify the bus drivers personally. Satisfied?”

“For now,” said Colleen. “In future, though, you talk to
me
about anything regarding my farm, not Julian. He doesn’t speak for me.”

She headed for the door. Pepe and I followed her.

“Why would your brother do that to you?” I asked Colleen as we exited the building.

“
Stepbrother
,” she said pointedly. “Julian’s
Mr. High and Mighty.
He thinks just because he’s a judge, he can be the judge of
all
things.”

“Humans argue too much,” said Pepe. “In the
perro
world, it is simple: one dog establishes dominance, the rest are then submissive, and all is well.”

“Like you, huh?” I asked him. “You’re always trying to be the alpha male.”

“Of course,” he told me. “
Pepe el Macho
is submissive to no
perro.
”

Just as Pepe said that, we saw that Colleen had brought Phoebe with her. The lovely white-and-black dog was on a long leash, tied to a newspaper stand directly in front of the building.

Pepe was overjoyed to see her and rushed up to Phoebe saying, “
Mi amor!”

Phoebe responded by lunging at Pepe and giving a couple of loud, deep, menacing barks.

Pepe immediately rolled over on his back, showing his little white belly.

“So much for not being submissive,” I told him.

Colleen thought I was talking to her. “Yes, you really have to be assertive if you want to succeed,” she said.

“It is only an act,” Pepe said, still on his back, gazing up at Phoebe. “And I must say, the view is
muy bueno
from this angle.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” Colleen said. “Can I buy you a coffee? Or breakfast? I didn’t get a chance to eat this morning, I was so busy.”

“Sure,” I said, realizing that I was in the same situation. Colleen suggested a café just a block away called Wanda’s Waffles.

“What about the dogs?” I asked.

“I think they’re fine,” said Colleen. “But you should probably tie your dog up with Phoebe while we’re inside. Sequim has a leash law.”

Poor Pepe, I thought, as I took his leash out of my purse. He hates leashes, just detests them. But as I hooked it to his collar, he didn’t struggle or protest.

“I do not mind being tied up with Phoebe,” he told me. “When it comes to
amor,
there are no bonds except love itself.”

I had to chuckle. It was obvious that he was head over heels in love. (Or maybe I should say he was
heels
over
head
in love.)

“I’ll bring you some bacon,” I called to him as we walked next door to the restaurant. He didn’t even respond, just kept his attention on Phoebe. It was the very first time my dog had ever ignored the promise of bacon.

We got seated quickly, even though Wanda’s was pretty full. It wasn’t terribly large, maybe twenty tables or so, all covered with blue-and-white-checked tablecloths, with assorted syrups displayed in small lazy Susans at the side of each table. The wonderful vanilla scent of waffles filled the air. The diners around us were eating everything from Belgian waffles heaped with whipped cream and strawberries, to sturdier waffles covered with berries and nuts and butter.

It was hard to choose, but I finally ordered the special of the day: a lavender waffle with lavender butter. Plus a side of crisp bacon for Pepe. Colleen ordered a raspberry waffle.

Savoring my cup of hot tea, I said, “I’m happy you got that business with your brochures straightened out. That could have been—”

“A disaster,” she said, finishing the sentence for me. “I would’ve been ruined.”

“Just from being left out of the festival brochure?”

“The festival gives me over half my annual revenue. Same for most of the lavender farms around here. None of us could afford to lose that income, least of all me.”

“Well, I don’t want to bring up a sore subject again,” I said, very much wanting to bring it up, “but if that’s the case, I really can’t understand why Julian would try to sink you.”

“Julian’s determined to break the trust,” she said, with a sigh. “I think he would do anything to get his hands on his mother’s money. He wanted me to provide him with a statement saying my stepmother was crazy. He figured I’d be the most compelling witness since I lived right next to her all those years, when neither of her real kids came to visit. But I just couldn’t do it.”

The waitress showed up with our waffles, and Colleen paused a moment to pour some syrup over hers. But before she took a bite, she went on, “My stepmother was a lot of things. She was eccentric. She was narcissistic. She was manipulative. But she was not crazy. And I told Julian that.”

“So he retaliated against you? That’s cold.”

“Cold describes Julian to a T,” she said, pressing her fork into her waffle and taking a big bite.

Luckily the waffles were not cold. For a while, we ate in silence. The subtle flavor of the lavender was just right with the vanilla-flavored waffle, and the lavender butter added a nice touch. Colleen finished first, mopping up the last bits of raspberry juice on her plate with the last few bites of waffle.

Then I said, “I just gave Julian a copy of the trust document and he tore it up. He said it wasn’t valid. Do you know anything about that?”

Colleen shook her head. “But Kevin might. He thought Boswell was up to something. He tried to tell me he was skimming money from the trust, but I didn’t want to listen.” She leaned across. “I think Julian got to Kevin. He was going to testify on his behalf.”

“So Kevin has a completely different picture of your stepmother than you do?”

Colleen’s eyes were sad. “She wasn’t nice to either of us. But it was harder for Kevin. He was younger than me when our mother died and he was a Mama’s boy. The idea that anyone could take her place—it was unthinkable to him. He resented our dad for marrying Lucille, and he tried to make her life miserable. No wonder she sent us both to boarding schools.”

“Yikes!” I said. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes, we were separated at a time when we really needed to be together. Kevin had it worse. He went to an all-boy’s school where he was bullied, I think. I hated my boarding school, but I was there for only two years before I was out and came back to Sequim. My dad had moved in with Lucille in the new house she built, and I asked if I could stay at the farmhouse and learn to run the farm.”

She took a last sip of her coffee. “Speaking of that, I’ve got to go! So much to do there. I hope you’ll drop by later!”

As she stood up, I stuffed the last of my waffle into my mouth, quickly wrapped Pepe’s bacon in a napkin, and said, “I’ll take care of the bill.” But she wouldn’t let me. She insisted that I had done her a big favor by standing up for her.

Outside, the dogs were still tied to the newspaper box, but Pepe was now on his feet. It seemed that he was on better terms with Phoebe.

I knelt down and gave Pepe a piece of his bacon. He took the long rasher in his little mouth, then turned and gave it to Phoebe, laying it gently in front of her. Phoebe snarfed it right up.

“Was it good for you?” Pepe asked her. “I know it will be good for me.”

Colleen untied Phoebe and took the lead in her hand. “Thanks for being on my side,” said Colleen, giving me an unexpected hug, then walking off with Phoebe.

“My bacon,
por favor,
” said Pepe.

“Here.” I set it down in front of him.

“Ah,” he said, munching on it ecstatically. “Bacon and Phoebe, what else can Heaven hold?”

“Did Phoebe tell you anything?”

He glanced up at me, his big brown eyes sparkling. “She said she wanted to see me again. Is that not
grande? Aye yi-yi!
”

“Anything else, Romeo? Something that might help us, maybe?”

“She said that Colleen called her brother yesterday, and they had a big fight. Something to do with Boswell and the trust.”

“That’s all?”

“Is that not enough?” he said. He went back to his bacon with gusto.

“You’re supposed to be helping me investigate,” I said. “While you were mooning over Phoebe, I was interviewing Colleen. I learned a lot, but I still don’t know why the judge tore up the trust document. Maybe Jimmy G will know what’s up. He’s the one who told me to take it to him.”