Yappy Hour (29 page)

There was a brief silence, and then I heard Brooks's baritone voice: “Uh, I'll check.”

Before Yolanda could close the door, Beepo shot through like a bullet. He immediately found the pink bag I'd stashed under the sink and barked his little Yorkie head off.

“Hush, Beepo!” Yolanda said, ignoring the bag.

Beepo pulled open the bag with his teeth, exposing the chicken face, which returned his glare.

Suddenly Yolanda took interest. “Oh! What's that?” She looked at me. “Why's your chicken purse inside a plastic bag? Is that to protect it from…” She stopped talking abruptly and looked at me. The moment stretched between us, and when I said nothing, Yolanda's expression changed, as if she now understood my intention. She pressed her lips together and waited for my reply.

I sighed. “It turns out they can match a dog's urine to a particular dog through a DNA analysis, just like human blood or hair—”

Beepo chewed on the chicken's rubber wing and growled.

Another rap came to the door, and Brooks called out, “Abigail's not here, yet. How's Maggie doing? Can I talk to her?”

Yolanda's face flushed red and she flung open the door, seeming to not care anymore about protecting Officer Brooks's opinion of my disheveled appearance. “She's right here! The traitor!”

Brooks glanced from Yolanda, to me, to Beepo and the chicken purse, quickly assessing the situation. “Oh, all right, let's all calm down.”

Brooks was out of uniform, wearing a black tux for the event. The dark suit set off his blond hair and looked so handsome and smart that my legs quivered in response.

“I'm here! Did you need me?” a voice singsonged from down the corridor, and suddenly Abigail appeared behind Officer Brooks's shoulder, looking into the foyer of the ladies restroom. She wore a flouncy black dress that swayed when she walked. Missy, her white Shih Tzu, was fluffy to perfection, the bow on the top of her head black. “Rumor has it Maggie needs a touch-up.”

Missy leapt out of her hands and tramped over to Beepo and the chicken bag.

I snatched it away from them. “No, no. This is my evidence!” I thrust it at Brooks. “Here, see if it matches.”

Suddenly Brenda appeared in the door. She was dressed to the nines in a black floor-length strapless number, complete with a slit up the side. She held Pee Wee in her arms; he was dressed in a black doggie-tux. Pressing past Abigail and Brooks, she said, “What's going on? Maggie, are you okay? What evidence?”

I turned to Yolanda, but before I said anything, I gave her my best stare-down. Soon, it seemed all eyes were on her, and the hush in the foyer was deafening.

“All right! All right!” Yolanda screamed. “I admit it. Beepo peed on Dan's shoes when we got here and found him dead. He couldn't stand him. I didn't know what was going on. It was dark and I hadn't even had a chance to put the lights on. You know that, Maggie. The bar was dark when you got here, right? I only put down the box of flyers and saw a lump on the floor. Beepo knew much faster than me that it was Dan.” She scooped him into her arms and stroked his triangle ears. “Didn't you, boy? You knew it was Dan and you got your revenge for all the times he was mean to you.” She looked at Brooks, Brenda, and Abigail. “But I didn't kill Dan, that's ridiculous.”

“Of course, you didn't!” Abigail clucked defensively.

“It's absurd,” Brenda chimed in.

Pee Wee and Missy barked in agreement.

Brooks looked as if he had indigestion.

“But we're going to be sued!” I screamed over the cacophony of animal and human protestation.

Another voice, so familiar it made my heart soar, repeated, “Sued?”

My long-lost sister suddenly poked her head into the restroom foyer. “Who's suing us?” Rachel asked.

The group erupted into cries of “Rachel!” and “Have you heard about Dan?” and “Good to see you!” Missy and Beepo lunged at her feet, yipping and yapping with their tails shaking their entire bodies. The piercing voices echoed and bounced off the tile walls. I thought that, between the noise and the claustrophobia I was fighting, I was finished.

I grabbed the sink for support and demanded, “Where have you been?”

“It's a good thing you're here. Your sister's just accused Yolanda of being a murderer!” Abigail said.

“And Beepo, too, really,” Yolanda said.

“Well, yes,” Abigail agreed. “There's that, too!”

“What?” Rachel said.

A collective hush came from the group. Although the silence was welcome, the angry looks on their faces were enough to scare me into glancing around the restroom foyer, praying for an escape.

Brooks must have realized that I was about to succumb to a claustrophobia attack, because he said, “Let's give her some air. We can settle this outside.”

As he ushered the group out of the restroom, relief flooded me, and I let out a huge exhalation.

Brooks waited for the gang to leave, then stayed back a moment with me. “Are you all right? I was afraid for a moment they were going to lynch you.”

I laughed. “Me too.”

He grabbed my elbow and looked into my eyes. “It wouldn't prove she killed him, you know. Even if there's a match. There're just too many possibilities of how it could have happened, like exactly the way she said. They came in after the fact and the dog—”

“I know. I'm sorry.” I hung my head onto his chest and leaned against him “I'm just so desperate for a solution. And I'm afraid of losing the bar … my great-uncle's property … everything.”

He stroked my hair. “Oh, Maggie, what am I going to do with you?” His breath caressed my ear.

Pulling away from his chest, I looked into his blue eyes and said nothing.

“I told you I'll get to the bottom of it,” he whispered. “You have to let me do my job. Do you think you can do that?”

I nodded, even though I was entirely unconvinced. The way my stomach fluttered when he was around, I would have agreed with anything he said.

He opened the door and held it for me, waiting for me to walk out of the restroom in front of him, but I didn't have the heart. I wanted to hide for the rest of the night. He wrapped an arm around my waist and gently ushered me out to the corridor with a reassuring smile.

There was a general hubbub coming from the main room, and I suddenly realized that with Rachel back, I might not have to work behind the bar, but I would certainly have to face Yolanda.

Brooks held the pink plastic bag in one hand, but held out his free arm for me. “Come on, honey.”

Honey? He'd called me honey?

“I won't let 'em bite,” he joked.

I took his hand and let him guide me along the corridor. After all, I needed to get to my sister and wring her neck. When we entered the main room, it seemed transformed in the short time I'd been having my breakdown.

Yolanda had resumed her flirting with Mr. Roman Nose and giggled at something he said. When she spotted me, she deliberately turned her back. Brooks's cell phone vibrated, and he checked the display.

“It's my sergeant,” he said. “I have to take this. Will you excuse me a minute?”

I nodded and watched him leave the bar to take the phone call on the patio. There was a big black Labrador, lounging, that bounded toward him as soon as he exited the bar. Ah, that must be Sizzle.

Inside the bar, Rachel was having a powwow with Brenda and Max, and I beelined over to her.

“Where the hell have you been? Do you care to explain yourself?” I demanded.

She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Oh Maggie! I can't believe all the awful things that have happened this week. Two people dead! I'm so sorry I didn't call you!”

“No, you're not! You told Grunkly you were afraid to call me. Do you know he had an accident and someone broke into your apartment and we're going to lose our shirts over this ridiculous doggie bar?”

“Whoa!” Rachel held up her hand at me. “You don't have to go that far.”

“We are going to lose our shirts,” I insisted. “Unless we can prove—”

“I meant the part about my bar being ridiculous,” Rachel interrupted.

“This is stupid. You know what? You can figure it all out. I've got a job and I'm on my way to Mazatlán. In fact, I think I'll go home and pack right now.” I flung open the front door in time for Melanie, the hostess from DelVecchio's, to appear in front of me with a tray of fragrant pizzettas.

Gus was right behind her with another tray. The aroma of garlic and olive oil assaulted me and made my empty tummy howl.

Gus smiled broadly when he saw me. “Hi, Maggie, what do you think? Voilà! Dog bowl pizzettas. Would you like to try the pesto or tomato?”

“What do you mean, you're going to Mazatlán?” Rachel demanded.

“Mazatlán?” Gus asked.

“You can't leave me now!” Rachel said. Her eyes glassed over and she looked ready to burst into tears.

“Leave? You can't leave,” Gus said.

“What?” Brenda said, leaning in. “Where are you going? You can't leave.”

A man with long hair and a scraggly beard appeared at Rachel's side. “What's the matter, babe?”

Ah, he had to be the infamous Chuck.

The door flung open and a swarm of patrons began to descend. Melanie started serving the pizzettas around, and I realized I'd probably be needed to tend the bar. In a huff, I spun on my heel and took refuge behind the bar, mixing salty dogs and mutt-tinis.

Gus glanced nervously at me, and I felt I owed him an explanation. I mouthed to him, “We'll talk later.”

He winked at me. “Sure thing. Glad your sister is back,” he said.

And I realized, so was I. She was a pain in the neck, but she was my sister, and if anything had happened to her, like I'd feared all week, I would have been devastated. Together we could figure things out.

She sauntered up to the bar with Chuck in tow. “I didn't get a chance to properly introduce you,” Rachel said. “Maggie, this is my fiancé, Chuck. Chuck, my sister, Maggie.”

Fiancé? So she hadn't had the nerve to elope after all.

What had gone wrong?

I came out from behind the bar and hugged Chuck, then my sister. She clung to me. “I'm so happy to see you, you have no idea. You can't leave…”

“Did you have a bad week, too?” I asked.

“The worst,” she whispered. “I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted to go on the cruise and get hitched, but then Chuck talked me into Vegas. When we got there all he did was work and gamble. He ignored me the whole time. I was bored to tears.”

I stifled a laugh. “We were anything but bored here in Pacific Cove.”

“I told him I needed more time,” Rachel whispered. “But I don't think we're going to last.”

Chuck struck up a conversation with Max. “Looks like I might have found an angel investor in Vegas.”

Max perked up as he mixed a pitcher of muttgaritas.

Rachel came back behind the bar with us and began to mix cocktails like a pro. I brought her up to speed on the murders and the impending lawsuit as Brenda made her way toward us.

“So, I think I have relatively good news,” she said. “I was able to reach your building insurance broker and I think I have grounds to argue that even though your payment is late, you're still in the grace period, and if you pay the insurance premium within the next fifteen days—”

“The check's in the mail,” I said.

Rachel blew a long rush of air out and thumped me on the back. “My sister, the accountant! We can count on her!” Then she glanced nervously around the room. “Now, if only we can figure out who among us killed Dan and Oscar.”

 

Chapter Thirty-two

Melanie's brother, the magician, took the stage. He began by doing some simple card tricks. The patrons inside quieted down and watched him as they sipped their greyhounds.

Meanwhile, outside, a crowd was forming on the patio: Mrs. Clemens, several of the ladies that I recognized from the Roundup Crew, and several other people that I didn't recognize. Inside the bar, Yolanda separated herself from Mr. Roman Nose and sprang over to me.

“Geraldine is here!” she hissed.

Max looked up from his bar prep work. “Don't worry, I'll protect you,” he said, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

Yolanda squeezed my arm. “You don't understand. The woman is pure evil! We can't have her in here. I'm sure she didn't buy a ticket to the fund-raiser, because I wouldn't have sold it to her for all the tea in China! Can you go and block her from coming in here?”

I found myself ridiculously happy that Yolanda was speaking to me again. Even though it had only been a few minutes since I'd accused her of murder, it seemed like the Geraldine feud was worse. “Are we monitoring the door?” I asked.

“Yes!” Yolanda shrieked. “She's not allowed in here!”

The bar door flung open, and before they could stream inside, I leapt toward them. “Tickets, tickets, everyone, I need to see the tickets.”

As much as I hated playing enforcer, I was guilt-ridden over suspecting Yolanda and Beepo and wanted a chance to make it up to them.

Mrs. Clemens patted my arm. “My dear! Certainly I don't need a ticket. I'm the entertainment.”

Evie overheard this, to which she loudly hollered, “No, I'm the entertainment. You're a sideshow. Like in a circus. People gawk at you.”

Mrs. Clemens raised a perfect pencil-thin eyebrow at me. “Oh dear!”

“Don't mind her,” I said. “Come on in, Mrs. Clemens.”

Mrs. Clemens looked flustered. “I have to set up outside. I only came in for a glass of wine.”

“Sure, sure. Of course.” I hailed a finger at Max, who smiled and took Mrs. Clemens's arm.

Abigail approached Mrs. Clemens. “Can I help you set up?”