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Authors: Waverly Curtis

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BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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Chapter 17
“I most certainly did not murder your husband,” I said.
“Luis, restrain her,” said Rebecca. “I'm calling the police.”
Luis looked uncertain. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“Hold onto her,” said Rebecca, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.
Luis looked apologetic but reached out and put his arms around my waist from behind. I struggled to get free, squirming this way and that. Pepe circled Luis, nipping at his heels and barking. I could hear Pepe muttering under his breath. “Unhand her, you brute.”
“Do you get all your lines from Mexican soap operas?” I asked.
“Huh?” said Luis.
“Never mind,” I said.
Meanwhile, Rebecca was on her cell phone. “Hello,” she said. “I need a squad car here immediately. I caught a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“That's totally untrue,” I said.
I quickly realized there were some advantages to being so close to Luis. He smelled delicious: a mixture of hot sun and clean skin and spicy cologne. Plus my struggles to get free put me in contact with every muscle in his body, and I do mean, every muscle.
Luis must have realized this too for he suddenly took a step back and collided with Pepe.
“Hey, your dog bit me!” he said, letting go of me.
“Ow!” said Pepe. “He kicked me in the teeth!”
I fell to my knees to check Pepe out. He seemed to be all right. He wasn't bleeding anywhere. I couldn't say the same for Luis, who had a few tiny puncture wounds in the back of his ankles.
“Now's your chance, Geri,” Pepe said. “Make a run for it. I'll distract them!”
“No, Pepe,” I said, “I'm OK. I'm not in trouble here. You are!”
“I did not bite him,” Pepe said indignantly. “I was just standing still, and he ran into my teeth.”
Rebecca gave her address to the police, then snapped her phone shut. “They're on their way,” she said looking straight at me.
“Why would I be here if I murdered your husband?” I asked.
“Everyone knows that criminals return to the scene of the crime,” she said.
“But I couldn't have murdered him. He was dead long before I arrived.”
Rebecca looked confused now. “How do you know that?” she asked.
“Didn't the police tell you? Your husband had been dead for at least . . .” I looked at Pepe.
“A day,” he said. “More or less.”
“At least twenty-four hours,” I said. “The police didn't mention that?”
“Oh,” she said, “that explains why they kept asking me when I started calling him.” She gave a little gulp and her eyes softened. “But then why didn't he answer the phone the day before? And why did he come home early from Aspen?” She dabbed at her eyes with a knuckle. “I thought maybe he was having an affair.”
She narrowed her eyes and looked at me again.
“Not with me!” I said.
“No,” she gave me the once-over. “David wouldn't be interested in someone like you.”
“Hey!” I said.
“Pay her no mind, Geri,” Pepe told me. “Tell her
she is
the most likely suspect. It is the spouse in 80 percent of all homicides.”
“You're a more likely suspect than I am, Mrs. Tyler. The police always suspect the spouse in these cases.”
“But I would never kill David,” she wailed. “Especially not now.”
“Why not now?” I asked.
“He was financing my show,” she said.
“Oh? What show is that?”
“
Dancing with Dogs
,” she said, a wistful smile crossing her face as she described it to me. “It's a reality show—rather like
Dancing with the Stars
, but with dogs and their owners dancing together. Siren Song, naturally, would be a star performer.”
“No kidding?”
“It would be such a hit. I just know it,” she said. “That's why I was trying to reach my husband. We'd wrapped up all the preproduction work in L.A. The producers were waiting for David to wire the money to film the pilot. But it never came. And without it, they said they would have to cancel.”
“That gives you all the more reason to kill him,” I said. It really didn't occur to me until later that it wasn't a good idea to accuse a murderer of murder.
“That shows what you know,” she said. “The estate will be tied up for months, maybe a year. My show will be canned long before that. I've already talked to Sherman about it and he says there's nothing I can do.”
“Sherman Foot?”
“Yes, my lawyer.”
“He's my lawyer, too,” I said.
“How could you get Sherman as a lawyer?” she asked. She really didn't have a very high opinion of me. Not good enough for her husband or her lawyer. I didn't think I looked
that
low-class.
“I work for the Gerrard Agency,” I said.
“Oh, that makes sense.”
“Really? Why?”
“Stewart and David and Sherman were all in the same fraternity at the U Dub. Delta Alpha Gamma. They keep in touch. Old boy network and all that.”
I figured I wouldn't mention that I worked for Jimmy Gerrard, not Stewart Gerrard. After all, I had finally gotten her to believe that I did work for the Gerrard Agency.
“Ask her about the dancing,” said Pepe. “I want to dance. With Siren Song.”
“Not now, Pepe,” I said.
“Geri, do not argue with me. The dancing is
muy importante
,” he said.
“Oh, all right,” I said.
“What?” asked Rebecca.
“My dog wants to dance,” I said, warming to the subject. “Like Siren Song. She looks so cute when she dances. I think my dog would be a good dancer, too.” I could see this topic was having the desired effect. Rebecca relaxed and looked Pepe over thoughtfully.
“It's possible,” she said. “People do seem to find Chihuahuas appealing.”
“How do you do it?” I asked, seeing that the subject had softened her up. Maybe she'd even call the police back and tell them not to come. “How do you teach a dog to dance?”
“I'll show you,” she said, shooing away Luis who was still hanging around, rubbing his ankles.
“Come inside,” Rebecca said. “Let's go into my dog-training lounge.”
And that's where we were when the police arrived.
Chapter 18
The training lounge was in the basement of the mansion. Its floor was completely covered with black rubber. I assume that made it easier for the dogs to get traction and also meant their falls were cushioned. One wall was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors, as in a ballet studio. There was even a little dressing area in the corner, containing a rack of tiny sparkly outfits. A big-screen TV took up most of another wall and on that screen Rebecca and Siren Song were waltzing to “The Blue Danube” in matching outfits made of blue chiffon and rhinestones.
At the moment, the little star was acting more like a dog. She and Pepe were frolicking around the basement. She would dash at Pepe, then scamper away when he darted towards her. His tail was wagging like crazy.
“That's fascinating,” I said, watching the video. “But how do you teach her to do that?”
“Here—I'll demonstrate.” She used a remote control to turn down the volume of the music and then she snapped her fingers. In an instant, Siren Song was sitting at her feet.
“The first command is a gentle uplifting of your palm,” Rebecca told me. “Thus,” she said, ever so lightly raising the palm of her right hand.
The little Pomeranian stood effortlessly on her hind legs.
“If I move my hand in a circular motion, then she'll turn!” Rebecca demonstrated and Siren Song turned in slow pirouettes. “I can make her go faster, too. Of course, when she's learning a new move, I reward her with treats.” She nodded at a small refrigerator standing against the wall. “She likes cheese. And turkey breast.”
“I want to try that,” said Pepe, frisking around me.
“You just want the treats,” I suggested.
“Your dog seems excited,” said Rebecca. “What—”
“I think he wants to try dancing,” I told her.
Pepe stood on his hind legs. He wobbled a little from side to side, staggering back and forth across the room, zigzagging closer to Siren Song.
“Look at that!” said Rebecca. “He did it without a command.”
“He's a very smart dog,” I said.
“Look at me, Geri! I am dancing!” Pepe called out. He turned in circles, too.
“Wow!” Rebecca said. “He's a natural!”
Pepe tottered over to Siren Song and put out one paw to touch hers.
“Oh, look!” said Rebecca. “That's so darling! It looks like they are dancing together.” She turned to me, all enmity forgotten. “I would love to train him for you. Perhaps he could be on the show as Siren Song's partner.”
“Oh, yes, Geri,” said Pepe. “I would love that.”
Rosa appeared in the doorway and announced, “Mrs. Tyler, the police are here.”
“
Policía!
” said Pepe and scampered off toward the dressing area where he hid behind a rack of sequin-studded tutus.
“Oh, tell them I don't need them anymore,” Rebecca said, with a wave of her hand.
“I'm afraid that won't be possible, ma'am,” said a burly uniformed cop, pushing into the room past Rosa. His blue uniform was almost hidden beneath layers of equipment, including a squawking radio and a baton. My heart sank when I recognized him. He was one of the patrol cops who had caught me with the gun in my hand the day before. “Detective Sanders wants us to bring her down to the station for questioning.”
I started to protest, but then realized this would give me an opportunity to turn the glove over to the police. “I'll go,” I said, “but this time I'm taking my dog.”
“What dog?” asked the policeman.
Oh, yes, where was he? I looked around the room for Pepe. Where had he hidden?
I found him under the wardrobe rack of little outfits and pulled him out. He had put his head through one of Siren Song's pink skirts and he looked ridiculous. He took one look at the policeman and shivered.
“Why don't you just leave him with me?” Rebecca suggested, taking in his forlorn expression. “I can try training him while you're gone.”
“Oh, yes, Geri, that is a good idea,” said Pepe. “I can do some investigating here while you are talking to the
policía
.”
“OK.” I handed him over to Rebecca. I have to admit I was disappointed Pepe would rather stay with Rebecca and Siren Song than come along to protect me from the police.
 
 
They put me in the same interrogation room I had been in the day before and made me wait. There was a camera mounted on the wall and a big window through which I assumed they were watching me. I tried not to do anything suspicious.
After a while, Detective Sanders, the young black detective, came into the room. He said his partner, Detective Larson, was out.
“Looking for doughnuts?” I suggested.
Sanders did not laugh at my joke. Then again, most people don't laugh at my jokes. “No,” he said curtly. “Another homicide investigation. Yours is not the only case we are working on.”
“Do I need my lawyer?” I asked.
“Do you?” Sanders asked. He crossed his arms and tried to look nonchalant. I thought about calling Sherman Foot and hesitated. I knew enough to realize that Foot had a conflict of interest. And I didn't think he'd side with me if he had to choose between me and Rebecca.
“I really came along because I wanted to give you this,” I said, pulling the dirty plastic glove out of my pocket.
“What's that?” Sanders frowned.
“It's a glove. My dog dug it up. It was buried under a tree in the Tyler backyard. I think it's a clue. The murderer may have worn it.”
“Well, it might be a clue . . .” said Sanders, indicating that I should drop it on the table. He poked at it with a ballpoint pen. “But it's been contaminated. You say your dog touched it. And then you touched it. The chain of evidence has been broken.”
“But maybe there's DNA evidence
inside
the glove,” I suggested.
He frowned. “It's possible.”
“If you swab the inside of the glove and isolate the DNA, you can run it through your database and identify the murderer,” I suggested. “Or at least identify the person who was last wearing the glove.” He was looking at me like I was crazy. “That's how they do it on TV,” I said, trying to be helpful.
“This is real life,” he said. “The state lab is backed up. Even if we could get any DNA out of the glove, we'd be lucky to get the results in a month.”
BOOK: Dial C for Chihuahua
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