Yappy Hour (2 page)

“He's requesting a filet, so I think we can safely say he's on the road to recovery.”

The woman took a tray of meat from behind the counter and placed a few cuts onto butcher paper. “I know he likes the marbled ones. How many filets?”

“Two,” I said.

I hadn't officially been invited to dinner, but I suspected Grunkly would want me to stay. Besides, I didn't have any other plans except to hover over my phone waiting for a call from the cruise line. It'd be good to get my mind off it for a while.

The woman wrapped up the meat and placed it into a pink plastic bag. I paid and headed out into the bright sunlight, a cool ocean breeze sweeping over my face. Thankfully the heat of the day was finally relenting a bit.

My phone buzzed.

Soleado!

I pulled my phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. It was a text from Rachel.

Maggie, I'm going out of town unexpectedly. I know it's short notice, but can you tend to The Wine and Bark until I get back? Yappy hour is at 5pm. You have a key, don't you? If not, ask Dan, the manager at DelVecchio's. xoxox

How strange. This wasn't like Rachel at all.

She was going out of town? Where?

Why hadn't she said anything about it to me earlier? While I had no problem helping out my sister, I hesitated over dealing with the dogs, as they never seemed particularly friendly to me.

I checked my watch; it was almost four thirty now. I fumbled with my phone and dialed her number. I did have a key for the bar on me, but something in my gut began to buzz with worry.

Her voice mail clicked on.

I left a quick message, “Hey Rach, what's going on? I'm on my way to the bar now. Hope you're okay. Call me.” I made my way across the cobblestone walkway toward The Wine and Bark. I dialed Grunkly next. He picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, Grunkly, I got a message from Rachel. She needs me to cover for her at the bar.”

“Oh, uh huh.”

It was his distracted voice. “Grunkly, are you watching a race?”

“No, it's ten minutes to post,” he said.

That explained it.

“Have you seen Benny?” he asked.

I laughed. “Well, I didn't run into him at the Meat and Greet.”

“Uh huh,” Grunkly said.

“I got your steak, though.”

“Great,” he said.

“But I have to go to The Wine and Bark—”

“No problem, honey. I'll have a can of Dinty Moore stew.”

“All right. Should I save the steaks for tomorrow?”

“That'd be really nice,” Grunkly said with such a flat tone that I knew he wasn't listening to a word I said.

Nevertheless, I insisted on asking, “Do you know where Rachel is?”

“Oh, Magpie, I got a call beeping in. I have to get it. It could be Benny.”

Before I could say anything else, Grunkly hung up on me.

I sighed as I stood in front of the antique wooden door of The Wine and Bark. It was painted blue and orange and had “happy vibe” practically pulsing right through it. I had to give Rachel credit, she'd built the place from the ground up with limited funds and now the business was thriving.

I laced the pink plastic bag around my wrist, then dug for the key in my pocket. When I shoved the key into the lock, the first thing that struck me was that I hadn't needed the key after all. The door wasn't even locked.

Now that really isn't like Rachel.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I pushed open the door and stepped into the darkened bar. My eyes adjusted slowly, the outline of the great L-shaped mahogany bar coming into view, then a few tables with stools perched on top to facilitate mopping the floors, and then near the back of the bar, right in front of the small corridor that led to
HIS
and
HERS
, the silhouette of a woman standing over a body slumped on the floor.

Rachel, what have you got me into?

 

Chapter Two

Every neuron in my brain fired off at once, urging me to turn tail immediately and run out the front door. But the neurons didn't seem to connect to any of my limbs, because I remained frozen like a statue, hoping the woman wouldn't notice me.

She was slim, wearing a short skirt and stilettos. And, of course, she spotted me immediately. A small dog appeared from behind her and began to bark, running toward me, its tiny nails scratching along the terra-cotta floor.

The woman let out a shriek and waved her arms around in a panic. “Rachel! Oh my God, oh my God, Rachel. It's Dan! I think he's dead!” She stepped over the body and came rushing at me in the dark. She grabbed my hands, the pink Meat and Greet bag swinging between us.

“Thank God, you're here,” she said. Then suddenly, she shrieked even louder and released my hands as if stung. “You're not Rachel!”

“I'm Maggie. Her sister.”

It was a common mistake. Rachel and I had the same athletic build, were the same height, and had the same heart-shaped face. Physically we were very similar, but the resemblance ended there.

“Oh! Oh.” The woman shook her head trying to make sense of what I'd just said, but it seemed too great a task, because she started shrieking again in hysterics. “It's Dan Walters. He's dead. I'm sure of it. I think he's dead.”

Dan? The manager at DelVecchio's?

Something tickled at the back of my brain.

Rachel and Dan had had a fling last summer and she had been complaining about him recently.

“I came early to meet Rachel. About the fund-raiser,” the woman said, reaching for my hand again and pulling me toward the man slumped on the floor. “It's awful. Come see.”

“Let's call the police,” I said.

The woman watched me, but didn't seem to register what I'd said. “I came in through the back door. I brought the box of flyers.” She pointed to a box near the body. “Then I saw him.”

I flipped on the bar lights, and suddenly the man on the floor came into full color—at least the dark-red blood that had pooled around his head did. He was large, had probably been very tall. He was wearing a suit and had dark hair that was now matted against his forehead.

The woman and I both recoiled. She began to shriek again. “Oh my God! Oh my God.”

I echoed her chorus, and pretty soon the both of us were in a state of panic. I pressed my hands into my forehead, took a deep breath, then chanted to myself, “Calm down, calm down, calm down.”

The woman noticed I'd stopped shrieking and nodded to the rhythm of my chanting. “Yes, let's calm down,” she said.

My mind reeled. What had happened? A freak accident or a burglary gone wrong? Or something else entirely?

“Is there anyone else in here?” I asked.

The woman's eyes grew wide. “Anyone else? I didn't think … you mean…” She stared toward the corridor where the restrooms were. “The killer could still be here?” she asked in a dramatic stage whisper.

I stared at her, suddenly nervously aware that she'd been standing over Dan when I'd arrived.

Indeed. I could be looking at the killer.

A humming sound filled the room, causing us both to jump, and the dog, a Yorkshire terrier, to bark.

It was the refrigerator coolant system kicking on.

Something warm and wet hit my ankle. I gasped at the sensation and looked down. The small dog barked excitedly at me.

“Ewwww!” I yelped.

The woman laughed nervously and bent to scoop him up. “Beepo! Naughty, naughty.” She turned to me. “I'm so sorry. Beepo's never done anything like that before in his life!”

Beepo eyed me with his big, brown, watery eyes, in that way that dogs have that made me feel like he could read my mind. He'd known that for a split second I'd suspected his owner of something heinous.

The woman pressed the small dog to her chest. “We must call the police,” she said, continuing on with her theatrical whisper.

I figured if no one had rushed out of the restrooms at us, then we were probably alone with the body. I moved around to the back of the bar and released the Meat and Greet bag onto the floor. I grabbed the phone and punched in 9-1-1, then snatched a bar towel and wiped my ankle.

The 9-1-1 operator answered. “What is the nature of your emergency?”

“We need the police over at The Wine and Bark immediately,” I said, tossing the soiled rag on the floor.

“Oh? Rachel? This is Jen. What's happened? A robbery?” the operator asked.

Even though Pacific Cove was a small town, I'd barely met anyone in my few weeks here. Rachel, on the other hand, probably knew everyone in town, even the 9-1-1 operator, it seemed.

“Not Rachel. This is her sister, Maggie. We have a dead body here.”

The operator gasped. “A dead body? Are you sure? Did you check for a pulse?”

I looked up at the woman who was hovering by the door of the bar. “Did you check for a pulse?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“No,” I admitted into the phone.

“Check for a pulse. I'll hold,” the operator said.

“Can you check for a pulse?” I called to the woman.

She gasped. “Oh no! I'm not touching him.”

“All right, you come talk to 9-1-1,” I said.

She reluctantly came around the bar, still clutching the dog, who growled at me as they approached. “Hush now, Beepo.” She took the phone from me. “Jen? It's Yolanda. Maggie's going to check for a pulse. It's Dan, you know? I came over early to meet with Rachel … no, I don't know where she is.…”

I approached the man on the floor. Next to his bloody bashed head was an oversized bottle of wine.

Dear God!

Someone had clobbered him in the head and the blow had killed him. What kind of person would do something like that?

I knelt beside him and closed his eyes with my fingers, sighing at the loss of life. He was definitely dead, there was no need to take a pulse, but I grabbed his wrist anyway. When I lifted his arm slightly I saw a paper on the floor, trapped under the man's coat.

What was this?

I grabbed the slip of paper and saw Rachel's name on it. It was probably nothing and yet my stomach seemed to fill with dread.

I glanced toward Yolanda; she was still chatting with the operator. Almost without thinking, I shoved the paper into my pocket.

Yolanda looked up. “Anything?” she asked, sounding almost hopeful.

I shook my head.

“Just the police then, Jen. We don't need an ambulance,” Yolanda said. “Oh, you send one anyway?” She was silent for a moment, then said, “Right, right. No sirens.”

Yolanda hung up and stared at me grimly. “I'm so sorry about this, Maggie. I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “This is awful.”

“Where
is
Rachel?” Yolanda asked.

I wished I knew. Why had Rachel suddenly decided, mysteriously, to leave town?

I glanced toward the restrooms, the paper burning a hole in my pocket. I stood. “Um. She's out of town. I'm going to check the restroom.”

Yolanda's free hand thumped against her chest. Beepo's legs cycled rapidly, alarm coursing through his tiny body. “Oh God! I forgot about that. Should you? I mean what if someone's hiding…”

I waved a hand at her, hoping she would take it as a sign to calm down and, more importantly, shut up. For God's sake, it was bad enough to find a dead body, did I have to be assaulted by a chatterbox, too?

Now that was mean. I just need a minute of quiet to think.

“I'm sure there's no one in there, Yolanda. I'm gonna check the window and stuff.”

Yolanda came around the bar, squaring her shoulders. “I should go with you. Safety in numbers and all that.”

I shook my head. “No, no. I…” What could I say to this woman?

I have to be alone to read this note and see if my sister is involved in a murder?

“Uh…” I faltered. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

Yolanda's face softened. “Oh, honey.” She marched toward me, Beepo yelping and snarling as she got closer. She linked her free arm through mine. “I'll hold your hair.”

I released her arm from mine. “I can manage.”

“I don't blame you one bit. It is an awful, gruesome sight.”

“I'll be okay. I need a minute.” I took a step away from her and toward the corridor that led to the restrooms. She still seemed to want to follow me. “Why don't you pour yourself a brandy?” I suggested.

Yolanda looked at me thoughtfully, then glanced back at the bar. “Yes, you know, I think you have the right idea. A brandy. I'll pour two. We've had quite a shock.”

I nodded, keeping an eye on her as I pressed against the restroom door with my hip. When she seemed suitably distracted, I ducked into the bathroom and yanked the piece of paper out of my pocket.

Oh crap!

It was a letter from Dan to Rachel. I scanned it. Due to customer complaints, as the manager of DelVecchio's, he was threatening to file charges against The Wine and Bark for serving alcohol to minors, serving alcohol after hours, and becoming a “disorderly house.” Next to each charge was a reference code to the Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control regulations along with a possible penalty of a fine or imprisonment.

In addition, there was a reference to a violation of the Environmental Health Statute 114030 regarding the harboring of animals inside a food facility.

I shoved the note back into my pocket, suddenly feeling hot, nauseous, and claustrophobic all at the same time.

Oh God, I was going to be sick, after all.

I tugged at my shirt trying to fan my face. It gave me no relief, so I opened the bathroom window, then ran the water in the sink.

I stuck my head under the faucet and let the water run down the back of my neck.