Yappy Hour (11 page)

She was sipping a coffee drink from a paper cup. She motioned to the cup holders and said, “I got a latte for you for the road.”

“Thank you,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. Beepo barked madly at being upended.

“Hush, Beepo!” Yolanda scowled.

He stopped barking and scampered onto my lap.

“Uh … I don't think…”

Yolanda put the convertible in reverse and gunned it out of my apartment house driveway.

Wait!

Was I expected to ride the entire two hours with the dog in my lap?

Beepo dug his little talons into my leg and stuck his tongue out, wagging as the wind ruffled his fur.

Oh, whatever. I suppose it was going to be a choose-your-battles type of day. Now I was glad that I'd worn simple jeans.

“Should I take 101 or the Coast?” Yolanda asked.

“Either way, just head south for about an hour, then we'll head inland.”

“I'll take the coast,” she said. “Beepo loves looking at the ocean.”

Really? How did she know?

“So, you've never been to Stag's Leap?” I asked.

“No,” Yolanda said. “But Rachel's talked about it so many times, I feel like I have. High windows overlooking the lake, stone fireplace, huge canopy bed.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me, which made me wonder just what type of encounters Rachel had had up at the lake house in recent history.

“I have to warn you, I have no idea what kind of condition it'll be in. My uncle's not the best housekeeper as is, and no one that I know of has been out there in ages. Has Rachel been up there recently, do you know?”

Yolanda shrugged a shoulder, then waved her hand around as if to dismiss the question. “Don't worry. I'm up for an adventure.”

I studied her for a moment: her nose, straight and narrow; sunglasses perched covering her catlike eyes; more blond curly hair escaping the scarf and waving in the wind. “Not such a dramatic adventure as that other night, I hope.”

She clasped a hand over her heart. “Goodness, no. That was truly awful. Poor Dan. I can't think the police would dare think Rachel has anything to do with it, though.”

I took a deep breath. I certainly hoped that was the case.

“So who's this Geraldine and what's so bad about her dog winning best in show?”

Beepo howled as if possessed.

“Geraldine is a long story. But suffice it to say, thank you for getting me out of that one. I know you really didn't want to hang out with me today.”

Guilt flashed through me, but before I could respond she grabbed her smartphone out of the middle console and handed it to me. “Here, see if you can find any good road trip tunes.”

I scrolled through the music selection on the phone as best I could with Beepo jockeying for position on my lap.

“Just hit play when you find something you like; I have the stereo hooked up through Bluetooth.”

I found some Diana Ross and hit
PLAY
. The music magically filled the car and Beepo howled alongside the tunes.

Yolanda began to warble and croon alongside them. I sipped my latte and prayed for no traffic on the expressway. The faster I got out of the car, the better.

After a while, we arrived at our exit. We left the freeway for a single-lane highway that meandered through the mountains. Being here brought back childhood memories of when my parents were still alive.

“You're quiet,” Yolanda said.

“Lotta ghosts in these parts.”

Yolanda sighed. “Well, I envy you that. Having the memories. I don't have any fond memories of my childhood. It was always one ratty trailer park or another.”

“You grew up in a trailer park?”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Why does that surprise you?”

“Because you're so refined and delicate.”

She laughed. “Refined? Oh my momma would split a stitch hearing that. But thank you. I do my best to leave the past right where it is, thank you very much.”

Beepo must have sensed her discomfort because he hopped from my lap to hers. She stroked his triangle ears as she drove, the large aviator gloves covering almost his entire head. She slowed the car as we approached a fork in the road.

“Go left here,” I said. “It's a little farther.”

We took the left turn onto a dirt road. The road was so rugged with grooves and dips that I feared we'd get stuck. Just what exactly would I do if I was stuck out in the middle of nowhere with Yolanda and Beepo?

I glanced nervously at my mobile to make sure I had cell phone coverage.

“Are you checking messages?” Yolanda asked. “Any news from Rach?”

I suddenly felt guilty that while I was planning my escape from Yolanda, she was thinking about my harebrained sister.

“Unfortunately, no messages,” I said.

“We need a Jeep to get through this muck,” Yolanda said. “I bet that sexy Officer Brooks drives a Jeep in his downtime, whatdya think? Or is he a F-150 kind of guy?” She glanced at me and I felt my cheeks grow hot.

She laughed. “Are you blushing?”

“No!” I said too quickly.

“He's a tall drink of water, ain't he?”

My throat went dry as I considered that Yolanda and I might be in competition for the same man.

“He's seems nice,” I said nonchalantly. “Are you interested in him?”

“Interested in him?” Yolanda hooted. “Good heavens no! Besides, don't you have a date with him today?”

How did she know?

She giggled at my surprise. “Anyway, don't worry about it. I have my sights set on a bigger prize.”

“Really?”

She sighed, and even though I couldn't see her eyes, I imagined she got a dreamy look in them from her tone. “I think Officer Gottlieb is the cat's meow.”

Beepo snarled and jumped back into my lap.

Yolanda laughed. “I didn't mean anything by that, honey.”

“Gottlieb, eh?” I asked.

She nodded. “I go right for the top. The man in charge. And he's bald. Isn't that so sexy?”

I laughed, and when she glared at me, I sat up straighter. For no reason other than to prove she could trust me with her crushes.

Yolanda was interested in Sergeant Gottlieb, eh?

I had a hard time imagining the two of them as a couple. From the limited impression I'd gotten from Gottlieb, he was a serious man. And Yolanda seemed so flighty.…

Could getting on the sergeant's good side influence an investigation? I suddenly questioned Yolanda's motivation. What kind of statement had she given him about finding Dan?

My fingers traced Beepo's paw; he yanked it out from under me and jumped to the backseat.

I worked my lip, wondered about the best way to broach the subject. Finally, I decided to just come right out and ask. “Yolanda, how did you get into The Wine and Bark on Friday?”

“What do you mean? I came in through the back.”

“Was it unlocked? Or do you have a key?”

“Oh no. I don't have a key. I've been bugging Rachel for one for ages. I want to rent the storage space from her. I have a bag business. I design high-end purses and my business is growing so much I need a streetfront space. Window display, the works. I have some at Designer Duds … have you seen my handbags?”

“No, I don't think so.” The only bag I remembered seeing was a ridiculous bright yellow and orange purse in the shape of a chicken.

“Well, Evie rents the side I'd like for storage,” Yolanda continued. “I've been trying to convince her to switch to the other side, but that's where Rachel stores the bar stuff … inventory and things like that. Evie is totally stubborn and unreasonable. Anyway, the back door was unlocked on Friday. I didn't think anything of it, because it was almost time for Yappy Hour. I just figured Rachel had got there early to set up, like she always does.”

We took a few more turns; the foliage became thick and deep, the scent of pines overwhelming.

Yolanda took a big sniff. “Smell that, Beepo honey? That's what I call gen-u-ine woody smell.” She glanced at me. “Those fragrant candles just aren't the same!”

There was a clearing up ahead, where the road plateaued into a view of the lake. “Pull over up here and we can see the valley,” I said.

Yolanda pulled to the side of the road, and we got out and stretched our legs. In the spring and winter the valley boasted green rolling hills, in the summer and fall we got treated to a view of the golden hills of California. My shoulders relaxed a notch to breathe in the fresh clean air and take in the view of the undulating landscape.

I fidgeted and paced back and forth along the side of the road. “It's only a few minutes' ride down the hill now,” I said.

Yolanda studied me a moment. “Are you nervous about something?”

I shrugged. “I guess I'm nervous about finding Rachel and nervous about not finding her at the same time. Abigail told me she eloped.”

“What?” Yolanda shrieked. “No way. She would have said something to me.”

I laughed. Yolanda seemed more offended about being left out of the gossip than shocked about the fact that my sister might elope. “Abigail said Rachel was on a honeymoon cruise. I didn't believe it myself, but I'm afraid that could be the case.”

Yolanda nodded sagely. “Okay, back in the car. The only way to beat fear is to outrun it.”

*   *   *

Shockingly, the cabin at Stag's Leap looked the same as I remembered it. Yes, the porch was sagging and the paint job was severely faded and chipped, but the beautiful exposed wooden logs that supported the structure were sound and the high glass windows still afforded the best view of the lake around.

No vehicle was parked in front; however, around the perimeter of the cabin, things looked freshly disturbed, as if someone had been here recently. My heart soared. Maybe Rachel was hiding out here after all.

We climbed out of the convertible, and Beepo scampered to the front door, his nose gyrating a million miles an hour. After sussing out the territory, he barked at the door as if announcing us.

“Hush now, Beepo!” Yolanda scowled. She turned to me. “If I'd known there was a lake, I would have brought my bikini.”

I smiled. “Hopefully, we're not staying long. Just long enough to drag Rachel out of here by her hair.”

Yolanda scoffed at me. “Jeez. Glad you're not my sister.”

“Don't be mad at me. You can be mad at Rachel for putting us through finding Dan on Friday night.”

“Well, it wasn't her fault, was it?”

I shrugged. It wasn't Rachel's fault we'd come across Dan murdered, that was true, but I still blamed her for disappearing and leaving me to deal with the mess.

Rapping sharply on the door, I said, “Well, if she's got a good explanation, I'm willing to listen.”

Yolanda clicked over to the window in her high-heel sandals. She perched her sunglasses on top of her head and cupped her hands around her eyes, then peered inside.

“Hello?” I called out.

“No lights on,” she said.

I tried the handle on the door and it cracked open. Beepo shot through the opening like a cannonball.

“Wait!” I yelled at him.

Yolanda laughed. “Oh, that's what dogs do!”

The interior of the cabin had a strange vibe. The old couch was still there, but it seemed like newer throw pillows had been added, and the place reeked of bacon grease and cigarette smoke.

“Seems like someone's been here recently, right?” I asked Yolanda.

She nodded. She was looking at the stone fireplace. She took a few steps toward it and grabbed a fire poker from the tools next to the hearth. The poker was so heavy she had to use two hands to steady it as she jabbed at the fire pit. It was littered with cigarette butts.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. It looked like something was smoldering. But I was wrong. No telling how long these ashes have been here.”

The cabin had two bedrooms that adjoined.

“Let's check the bedrooms for clues,” she said.

“Or the fridge,” I said.

She nodded at me and pointed toward the direction of the kitchen. I headed there while she walked in the opposite direction to one of the bedrooms.

The thought of Yolanda gripping the fire poker swirled in my head: her dainty hands with the pristine manicured fingernails. Was she really strong enough to kill a man? It seemed absurd. But if not her, then who was the murderer?

The refrigerator was empty except for a stick of butter and a jar of olives.

I was sure those hadn't been left behind by Grunkly all those years ago. Rachel must have been up here sometime in the past few years. Either that, or we had squatters.

Opening one of the overhead cabinets, I found a bottle of vodka, Stoli. It had to be Rachel's. She probably came up here every once in a while with friends or maybe a boyfriend … maybe even Dan.…

The smell of cigarettes and the butts in the fire reminded me of Grunkly, but the smell wouldn't have lingered all that time, and Rachel didn't smoke.

Had Dan?

A piercing scream echoed throughout the cabin. I dropped the bottle onto the tile floor and it shattered at my feet. Vodka and glass covered the floor.

“Shoot!” I yelled as I stepped over the mess and raced toward the bedroom. “Yolanda! Are you all right? What it is?”

She was standing in the doorway of the second bedroom, her hand clamped over her mouth. She whipped around toward me. “Don't come in here!”

“What?” I froze.

Oh God, not another dead body.…

My throat went dry, and suddenly it felt like the temperature in the cabin was over a hundred degrees. “Why not?” I pressed. “What's in there?”

Yolanda chewed on her lower lip. “I think if you don't see it, then you can't say anything to the police. Especially, you know, you won't slip on your date with Officer Brooks.” She thrust her arms out and blocked the entrance to the bedroom.