Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice

“This series is hilarious! The antics of Geri and her talking dog make the reader laugh out loud. An interesting cast of characters, an enjoyable read.”

 

“Pepe and Geri make a great crime-solving team. Guaranteed: lots of smiles.”

 

 

“Light as a feather and a whole lot of fun.”

 

“Hop on board the TV-studio tour bus for this light cozy.”

 

“Hollywood is the stage for this enjoyable caper starring amateur P.I. Geri Sullivan and her talking Chihuahua/partner, Pepe. The characters are comical, especially Pepe, who will have you laughing out loud. A great read.”

 

“An adult mystery with young adult appeal . . . The second in Curtis’s fun new series featuring Geri and Pepe is tailor-made for anyone who can’t get enough dog mysteries and those readers who never miss an episode of
Dancing with the Stars
.”

 

 

“Three woofs and a big bow-wow for
Dial C for Chihuahua
. Pepe is one cool sleuth—just don’t call him a dog! I really loved the book.”

—Leslie Meier
, author of the Lucy Stone mysteries

 

“Readers will sit up and beg for more.”

—Sushi the Shih Tzu
, canine star of the Trash ’n’ Treasures mysteries by Barbara Allan

 

“Writing duo Curtis has created a humorous but deadly serious mystery. Pepe is a delight and more intelligent than most humans in the book. An ex-husband and current love interest keep Geri’s life hopping. Crafty plotting will keep you engrossed until the end and have you eagerly awaiting the next book.”

 

“Every dog has its day and there’ll be plenty of days for Geri Sullivan and Pepe in this fun twist on the typical PI partnership.”

—Simon Wood
, author of
Did Not Finish

 

“Waverly Curtis has created a delightful cast of human and canine characters in
Dial C for Chihuahua
. Pepe never loses his essential dogginess, even as he amazes gutsy Geri Sullivan, his partner in crime detection, with his past exploits and keen nose for detail. I look forward to Pepe’s next adventure!”

—Bernadette Pajer
, author of the Professor Bradshaw Mysteries

 

“Move over, Scooby-Doo, there’s a new dog in town!
Dial C for Chihuahua
is a fun and breezy read, with polished writing and charming characters, both human and canine. If you like a little Chihuahua with your mystery, former purse-dog Pepe is a perfect fit!”

—Jennie Bentley
, author of the Do-It-Yourself Home Renovation mysteries

Also by Waverly Curtis

 

 

 

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http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

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Table of Contents

It was a sunny day in July—the kind of beautiful summer day that makes living in rain-soaked Seattle worthwhile. My Chihuahua, Pepe, was lying on the top of the sofa, sprawled in a sunbeam that lit up his short white fur. He’s like a cat, the way he likes to perch in the sun—which doesn’t go over well with my actual cat, Albert, who used to be able to soak up sunshine anyplace he chose. Instead, Albert now has to share his domain. They were getting along for the moment, anyway, and I’d taken a seat on the front porch with a glass of iced tea and the latest Sparkle Abbey mystery. Then the phone rang.

I jumped up and went back inside, hoping it was Felix, the handsome dog trainer I was dating. We were supposed to get together for dinner, though sometimes he had cancellations in his busy schedule. But when I looked at the caller ID on my phone, I saw the name Gerrard Agency.

“Hi, Jimmy G,” I said. Pepe perked up. Jimmy G is our boss; he owns the private detective agency that Pepe and I work for.

“Hey, doll, Jimmy G needs you at the office. Toot sweet!” Jimmy G added. He always talks about himself in the third person.

“What for?” I asked. I was reluctant to give up on my plan for a lazy afternoon. I had signed on with Jimmy G thinking he was going to train me to be a PI. It turned out to be a little bit more involved than just getting hired. Private eyes in Washington State need to complete a training course and take a test. I was registered for an upcoming class at the University of Washington. Meanwhile, Jimmy G called me his girl Friday and kept me busy picking up his dry cleaning and fetching coffee.

“Jimmy G cannot explicate over the horn,” he said. “Shake a leg!” And he hung up.

“Do we have a case, Geri?” Pepe asked, standing at my feet and looking up at me.

Yes, my Chihuahua talks. It was a shock to me when he began speaking, a couple of hours after I adopted him from a Seattle shelter, but I’ve gotten used to it. Unfortunately, no one else can hear him.

“Sounds like it,” I said. “The boss wants us to meet him at the office.”

“
Vamonos!
” he said. Then he glanced over at Albert the Cat, who’d already jumped up on the sofa and taken Pepe’s former spot in the sun. “Enjoy it while you can,
gato,
” he told Albert. “If you are still in my place when I return, we will have words.”

 

 

Jimmy G’s office is in an old brick building on the edge of downtown Seattle, near the Greyhound bus station. The building is always deserted even in the middle of the day. Pepe and I strolled down the long hallway, past the frosted-glass windows of offices where the lights were always out. Jimmy G’s office is at the end of the hallway.

When I knocked, I heard Jimmy G talking to someone, but when he opened the door, the office was empty.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked, looking around. The place was a mess, as usual. Candy-bar wrappers, crumpled cellophane from cigars, and wadded-up pieces of paper covered the desk and floor. The latest goldfish was floating belly up in the swamp Jimmy G called an aquarium. The air reeked of cigar smoke and tuna salad.

“Client. On the phone,” said Jimmy G. He glanced at the old black rotary phone sitting on a corner of his desk. He seemed uncharacteristically jumpy. He actually cleared a place on the small black-leather sofa beside his desk so I could sit down.

“I have seen better dumps at the dump,” said Pepe. (The rips in this couch, a thrift-store find, had been “fixed” by our boss with Xs of silver duct tape.) I was longing to do a makeover—before I became a PI, I was a stager, making houses for sale look appealing to prospective buyers—but Jimmy G said he liked his office the way it was.

Jimmy G took a seat behind his desk. He has a rugged face, with a nose that looks like it might once have been broken, and big brown eyes that bulge out more than Pepe’s. He was dressed, as usual, like a 1940s private eye, but he’d outdone himself this morning. He had on a blue-and-white-striped shirt with red suspenders. A brown fedora clung to the back of his head. His pencil-thin moustache finished off his retro look with perfection.

Pepe headed for the overflowing wastebasket and began rooting around.

“So, I suppose,” said the boss, “you’re probably wondering why Jimmy G wanted you in the office this morning.”

“Yes,” I said.

“The thought has crossed our minds,” said Pepe, looking up from his scrounging.

“Jimmy G has a case for you!” Those were the words I had been waiting to hear ever since I started working for Jimmy G, private dick, as he likes to call himself. (Sometimes Pepe and I call him a public dick, but only to each other.) “You and your rat-dog.” He looked at Pepe, who was sniffing something he had found in a corner.

“Yum!” I heard Pepe say.

“Don’t eat anything you find down there,” I warned him. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Funny you should say that,” Jimmy G said. “That’s the case. Someone tried to poison some dogs. They had to be rushed to the vet.”

“Oh, my God! That’s terrible!” I said. “Who would do such a thing?”

“
Sí!
” said Pepe, coming over to me, quivering with indignation. “A poisoner of
perros!
Lower than a
cucaracha!
Such a person would have to possess a heart of ice-cold stone!” Pepe is given to overly melodramatic statements, possibly derived from the Spanish telenovelas he loves to watch.

Jimmy G spoke up. “Whoever did it obviously wants the old lady’s money.”

“Tell him to start at the beginning,” said Pepe, who has a keen sense of propriety. “What old lady?”

“An old lady hired us?” I asked Jimmy G.

“No. Our client is Barrett Boswell. He’s the trustee of the old lady’s estate,” said Jimmy G. “The old lady died and left her entire fortune to her dogs. The house. The money. Everything. We’re talking a whole pile of moola. Millions.”

“The senora was someone who truly appreciates and rewards the loyalty of her canine friends,” observed Pepe. “Too bad she is no longer around. I think she would enjoy my company.”

“So is Boswell meeting us here?” I asked.

“No, you’ve got an appointment with him at
his
office,” said Jimmy G. “Three-thirty this afternoon. He’s up in Port Townsend. You better get a move on, doll.”

“What about you?” I asked Jimmy G. Technically, I wasn’t a private investigator yet.

“Jimmy G has another case,” he said in a hurry. Jimmy G always has another case, yet he’s always in the office.

“Do not worry, Geri,” said Pepe. “We are seasoned detectives. We can handle this on our own.” It is true we had managed to solve two murder cases, but more by getting in the way of the murderer than through our detecting skills.