Yappy Hour (19 page)

Officer Ellington jumped to Gus and pushed him against the wall, frisking him.

“Is that necessary?” I demanded.

“We have a homicide on our hands, lady,” he spat at me. “Are you a registered gun owner, DelVecchio?”

Brooks stepped up to me and said, “Come with me, Maggie. I'll see that you get to the cruiser all right.”

“I'm not leaving him here,” I said.

“I'm not asking you to leave him,” Brooks said. “He'll be right behind you.”

I turned to see the other officer getting in Gus's face and yelling, “Answer the question! You a registered gun owner or not?”

“Yes,” Gus said. “Of course I am. I own a restaurant. Lots of cash trades hands.”

Oh God, if the gun matched … I couldn't even think it.

Ellington finished frisking Gus, then together we all headed in silence to the police cruiser.

*   *   *

At the station, Officer Ellington escorted me to a small stark room. In the middle of the room was a table with a box of tissues, a couple of notepads, and a small recorder. There was also a dark mirror on the wall, which I absently wondered about. Was it a two-way mirror? Was someone watching on the other side? Perhaps Brooks? Or Sergeant Gottlieb?

I sat in a hard orange plastic chair and Ellington sat across from me. He hooked a microphone into the recorder and said, “I tend to forget things, so I'm going to record it so I don't mess up.”

Hmmm. Felt sort of like he was playing dumb. I had a nervous energy zinging through my body. I hadn't inquired about an attorney, but now felt the need to ask. “Do
I
need a lawyer, Officer Ellington?”

Not that I had one. Who would I call? Brenda was an attorney, albeit not criminal law. Could she help me out in a pinch?

The door to the room opened and Sergeant Gottlieb entered, scowling. Apparently he wouldn't be observing me from behind the two-way glass. Gottlieb and Ellington exchanged looks, then Ellington leaned forward and said all our names, the date, and the time into the microphone. When he finished he looked at me. “Ms. Patterson, can you tell us exactly what happened this evening, beginning from when you arrived at the bar, then when you called 9-1-1, and up to when Officer Brooks and I arrived on the scene?”

I took a big inhale, ready to launch into my story, but instead the mixture of dread and nausea that'd been building inside me dissolved into tears and I found myself sobbing.

*   *   *

“My client has told you all she needs to tell you at this time,” Brenda insisted, ushering me out of the small interrogation room.

I gripped Brenda's arm as if my life depended on it. She walked me through the police station, past the deserted front desk and out to the street.

“Brenda, you're a lifesaver,” I said, wrapping my arms around her neck and squeezing.

“I don't know how I did it. It's a good thing I remembered enough from law school—”

“Now you have to go get Gus,” I said.

She bit her lip and screwed up her face. “Oh Maggie, don't you think we should let him work it out?”

“No, go get him,” I said, pushing her toward the police station door.

I stood at the doors, looking out at the industrial parking lot of police black-and-whites. It was so dark out that only the immediate area was illuminated by the streetlamps. Brenda followed my gaze out into the parking lot, her small blue Honda parked nearby. She looked at it longingly.

“But, what if … you know,” she said. “Poor Dan and Oscar—”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Brenda, come on. Everyone has a right to get help and all that stuff, I mean, Hippocratic Oath and all.”

“That's for doctors.”

“Right to counsel, or whatever it is! Don't get technical on me.” I sighed. “It's been a long night.”

“He does have a right to counsel. That doesn't mean it has to be me!”

“Please, Brenda.”

“I have a large shipment of Ivanka Trump's pumps coming in the morning, beautiful blend of suede and snake—”

“I'll never serve you another greyhound if you don't—”

“Don't say it.” She turned on a heel. “Get in the car. I'll go get your boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” I called after her.

I'd have to try to explain that to Brooks later.

*   *   *

Unfortunately, Brenda hadn't been able to get Gus out of the police station. The police were detaining him until further notice. My suspicion was that Gus would likely have to produce his registered gun and/or a criminal attorney.

I tossed and turned all night dreaming about poor Oscar, Dan, and Rachel. In my dreams, Rachel was chasing me down a long dock toward a cruise ship. She had butcher knife in her hand, screaming at me to give her a chance to cook some halibut, only the fish that jumped around me out of the ocean reeked like garbage. The ship's foghorn blasted through the fog, until I realized the noise wasn't in my dream at all, but rather a loud pounding on my front door.

Leaping out of bed, I slipped into a robe and dashed down the hall, hoping like hell it was my sister.

I pulled open the door to find Yolanda and Beepo. “Guess what!” she trilled. “My exhibitor application got accepted for Accessories The Show
.
”

Yolanda sauntered into my apartment with Beepo scratching along behind her. Her arms were full of gear, which she dumped on my couch. She was dressed in a mauve top, complete with ruffles, and a skintight black leather skirt.

“What? What show? What are you doing?” I rubbed at my eyes, willing my brain to click in.

“The Show—Las Vegas!” She said it like I was an idiot. She pulled out a doggie bed from the duffel bag on the couch, then marched over to a corner of my living room and set it on the floor. “Here or in the bedroom?” she asked.

“I don't know what that is, Yolanda, but I—”

Yolanda stared at me, mouth agape. “It's the world's largest and longest-running all-accessory trade event!” she said.

“Oh, uh … congratulations. But I got sort of an emergency on my hands—”

“I can't believe you've never heard of it. It's where you go to see all the latest accessories from up-and-coming designers. From fashion jewelry to eyewear to footwear to hair ornaments and, of course, the latest in bags. Everything in bags! I'm telling you, evening, briefcases, daywear, and chickens! My chicken and frog bags are the latest,
hottest,
hot item! I'm talking red hot!” She grabbed my hands and spun me around.
“Uber fantastique!”

“Yeah—”

“The thing is, I have to go to down there and check out the space. It's very last-minute and I need to be back Friday for Yappy Hour and the Tails and Tiaras fund-raiser, so I'm not going to take Beepo.” She pulled out a tattered multicolored blanket from her duffel and handed it to me. “I need you to watch him while I'm gone—”

“What? No. Yolanda. I got my own problems right now—”

“Maggie! You have to. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“You'll have other opportunities.”

She balled up her fist and stomped her foot like a peevish child. Beepo began to bark repeatedly at my feet.

“Hush,” I said, pointing a finger at him. He growled at me, then barked louder, finishing with an elongated growl. I ignored the dog and said, “Yolanda, last night Gus and I found one of the DelVecchio waiters dead. Oscar Ruiz. Do you know him? He worked the same shift as Yappy Hour on the patio.”

Yolanda face was curiously blank.

“Anyway…” I shoved the doggie blanket back into her duffel. “We found him dead behind the shared Dumpster last night. Shot in the back. Officer Brooks brought us in for questioning. He released me, but not Gus. I have to figure out what happened—”

Yolanda began to pad around my kitchen, Beepo circling her legs. “Don't you have any coffee?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I guess I forgot to pick some up.”

Her hand fluttered over her heart and the look on her face said I'd just committed a mortal sin. Without saying a word, she rummaged in her bag again, pulling out the doggie bed and tossing it onto my couch. Next she yanked out her phone and clicked on the screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Making a note to bring you some coffee.”

“I'm telling you about finding Oscar dead behind the Dumpster and all you care about is coffee?”

She looked offended. “Of course I care about Oscar. I care so much that I know I can't listen properly until I've had more caffeine.”

I picked up the doggie bed and shoved it back into her duffel bag, exasperated.

“At least we know they got the guy responsible,” Yolanda shrieked. “I can't wait to talk to Sergeant—”

“What do you mean? The guy responsible! Gus didn't kill Oscar or Dan.”

“You don't know that! He had plenty of reason to kill Dan. Those two always fought like cats and dogs!”

Beepo let out a howl and jumped into the duffel bag.

Yolanda scooped him out of the duffel and returned the bed to the corner of my living room. Beepo followed her and nosed his way into the bed. She crooned at him.

I retreated to my kitchen and dug out some tea bags. “I have black tea. That's got caffeine, right?”

Yolanda made a face but said, “Fine.”

Putting on the kettle to boil, I asked, “What did Gus and Dan fight about?”

Yolanda sat on my kitchen stool and looked out the sliding glass patio doors to the ocean, as if the answer to my question was rolling out there under the powerful dark caps of the Pacific. She sighed. “Dan dated a lot of girls, you know. A playboy. I've never seen Gus on a date, not once. A guy that good looking…” She shrugged. “He's gotta be gay.”

My heart lurched into my throat. “He isn't gay!” I shrieked.

She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow at me. “R-e-a-lly?” she asked slowly, stretching out the word. “And you know this … how? I thought you were dating Officer Brooks.”

My face turned hot, and when the teakettle began to steam and screech, it felt like a kindred spirit. “Never mind about that. Brooks and I aren't
dating
. We went on a date.
One
date. But even if you think Gus is gay, which he's
not
, I don't see what that has to with—”

“What makes you so sure?” Beepo jumped onto Yolanda's lap. She narrowed her eyes at me, and Beepo's ears quirked toward me.

“What?” I asked.

“What makes you so sure Gus DelVecchio isn't gay?”

I pulled out my favorite mugs; they were white with the face of an owl lacquered on the front. I'd always considered them good luck. Hadn't someone once told me owls were lucky? Well, at the very least they were wise, and I felt the need for wisdom at the moment. I popped in small bags of black tea and then poured the boiling water in. I handed a steaming mug to Yolanda.

Yolanda studied the owl. “These are great, by the way. Would you like a matching purse?”

I covered my face and laughed a hearty, big, stress-relieving laugh. “No! Who wants an owl purse?”

“Who, who,” Yolanda hooted.

We both began to laugh uncontrollably while Beepo growled.

“He doesn't like my animal purses,” Yolanda confessed.

“Really? He's jealous?” I looked at Beepo, who returned my stare with his own watery eyes. I suddenly felt a tug of affection for him.

“Jealous? Do you think that's what it is?” Yolanda stroked his head, and he turned his attention to her. She looked back at me and whispered, “Anytime he sees one of my bags, he pees on it. That's why I can't carry one around myself.”

“Why are we whispering?” I whispered back to her.

Her eyes moved suggestively toward Beepo, and she continued on in a dramatic whisper. “I don't want to hurt his feelings.”

Beepo barked at us.

“See?” Yolanda said. “He knows what we're saying!”

“Well, if he knows, then what difference does whispering make? He's got the best hearing out of all of us.”

Beepo lost interest in our conversation and scratched his way over to his bed. He tucked himself in and looked out over the Pacific.

Yolanda and I sipped our tea in silence.

After a moment, I said, “Okay, tell me about Gus and Dan.”

“They fought about everything. Gus wanted Dan to put an end to Yappy Hour, said the dogs were killing his business.”

An unsettling feeling churned my stomach.

Was Gus the force behind the letter to Rachel citing ABC and health violations
?

Yolanda twirled her hair as she sipped her tea. “Dan told me that he was trying to sell his piece of the business.”

“He did? He wanted to sell his half of DelVecchio's?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Said he was tired of constantly fighting with Gus. They used to be such good friends, and then they went into business together and it sort of killed the friendship. Especially when the business started to fail. They weren't even able to make the payments to the Meat and Greet. Restaurants are so tough … low margins…”

“Who knew about Dan wanting to sell out?”

Yolanda shrugged. “I don't know. Probably everybody. This a small town.”

Dread began to build inside me, a question forming that I didn't want to ask. Yolanda's eyes were on mine, almost warning me off. Then, as if I were watching a gruesome accident on the side of the road, one that's so hard to turn away from, I faced the question between us.

“Who did Dan want to sell to?”

Yolanda cringed and shook her head.

The dread inside me grew to the point that my heart felt compressed in the process. I fingered the owl on my mug … not so lucky today … and its hooting echoed in my ears, the question of the day: who, who?