Yappy Hour (9 page)

“Yes,” I said, not sure what else to add.

“Oh God, I hope everything is all right,” Evie said.

I shrugged, unsure what I was supposed to say. Certainly, publicizing the fact that someone had been found dead in the bar wouldn't help business.

Evie looked away from the mop water and said, “My band will be here in a few. Mind if I start setting up?”

“No, that's fine,” I replied, glad not to have to explain about Dan. “Do you need help setting up?”

“Nah,” she said. “I'll just move some of the tables over there so we can get our amp system going. Where's Rachel? Will she be back in time for the fund-raiser next weekend?”

The question of the day.

The more I considered what Grunkly had said, the more likely it sounded. If Rachel needed space, she would have found solace at Stag's Leap. It seemed more rational than eloping … but then again,
rational
wasn't a word I'd used to describe Rachel.

I watched Evie as she pushed the chairs and tables aside. She was rail thin and barely seemed to have the strength to move the tables, which all had wide wooden bases. I helped her push one of the tables, and she flashed me a big crooked-tooth grin.

The bar door pushed open and man in dark clothes and combat boots stepped in. Involuntarily, I stiffened.

“Hey Bish,” Evie said. She turned to me and said, “Bishop is our guitar player. Stage name, The Burning Bishop.”

He grunted at us. He had a piercing in his lip and bulging biceps. His stance was imposing and I felt vaguely threatened.

Suddenly the bar seemed too dark, and I rushed to prop open the door. While I searched around on the patio for something to secure the heavy door, I saw Gus DelVecchio approaching. He waved at me enthusiastically.

“Hi, Maggie! Getting the bar ready?”

“Yeah, we have a band tonight,” I said. “It's a dress rehearsal for the big fund-raiser next weekend.”

Gus walked over to me. “I'm sorry our breakfast was interrupted this morning.”

He grabbed my hand and a jolt of electricity coursed through me, which I tried to ignore.

“That wasn't your fault. What did Officer Brooks tell you? Do you have any more information about Dan?”

Are you a suspect?

“He told me about Dan. I remembered you weren't supposed to have told me, so I pretended I didn't know, but then somehow he knew that I'd called Dan's parents last night, so he called me a liar. I'm afraid it didn't go well.”

“I'm sorry. I feel like it's my fault,” I said.

Not only had I gotten Gus into trouble, but now Officer Brooks would think I was a blabbermouth. It seemed like I'd gotten off on the wrong with foot with practically everyone in town. A heaviness settled into my belly.

“It's not your fault. How could it be your fault?” He sighed. “Anyway, I managed to walk out of there without having to hire a defense attorney. So that's a bit of an accomplishment. But it doesn't bring Dan back.” He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and for a moment looked like a lost little boy. I fought the impulse to hug him.

Across the patio, Yolanda and Beepo clicked and clacked toward us, Beepo on his Day-Glo leash and Yolanda sporting leather pants and leopard halter top.

Gus watched her approach and suddenly made himself scarce. “I'll catch you later, Maggie,” he said, giving my hand a final squeeze and retreating into the restaurant.

So he wasn't friendly with Yolanda
.

“Wow, that's some outfit,” I said to her when she reached me.

She flicked her hair. “It's my dancing outfit.”

Beepo snarled at my feet and I inched away from him.

“He won't bite you,” Yolanda said.

But he might relieve himself on my shoes!

“Yolanda, do you know if Rachel was dating someone?” I asked.

Yolanda crinkled her delicate nose. “As far as I know, she wasn't. Why?”

I shrugged. “It's not important.” I wasn't ready to confide in her. First, I didn't know her all that well, but more importantly, she didn't seem all that trustworthy at the moment, what with the fact that I'd found her hovering over Dan less than twenty-four hours ago.

Yolanda, Beepo, and I walked together toward the painted blue and orange door of The Wine and Bark. I must say the bar door looked decidedly more cheerful without the crime scene tape.

Before pushing open the door, Yolanda leaned in to me and said. “Do you know if we've been given the all clear about Dan?”

Beepo yapped at the front door of the bar, clearly indicating he wanted in.

I shrugged. “I don't know any more than I did yesterday. Do you?”

She nodded. “I went to the station to give my statement to Officer Gottlieb.” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Did you do that?”

“Yes. I gave my statement to Officer Brooks.”

A disapproving look crossed her face, and Beepo barked at me. Evidently, she was irritated with me, and Beepo wanted to make sure I knew it.

Did Yolanda have the hots for Officer Brooks?

I refrained from asking, but if one odd look from her caused Beepo to bark, I hesitated to think what he'd do if she suddenly raised her voice at me.

“I think Dan's next of kin have already been notified,” Yolanda said.

In other words, she meant we were at liberty to gossip.

“What do you think happened?” I asked.

“Well, obviously someone whacked him over the head with that magnum bottle,” Yolanda said.

“Right, but who do you think did it?” I asked. “Any rumors?”

Yolanda made an exaggerated head gesture toward DelVecchio's. Anger coiled around my middle. So that was it, everyone was going to blame Gus. Forget about innocent until proven guilty.

Suddenly a middle-aged woman, dressed in turquoise from head to toe, sauntered down the cobblestone path toward us. Under one arm she carried a roll of canvas, and in the other hand was a wooden box.

Yolanda shrieked, “Mrs. Clemens!” She took off at a mad dash toward the woman, with Beepo in hot pursuit.

Ah, the paw-casso practice run, how could I forget?

Across the street, a woman and a man, both with small dogs, huddled around Mrs. Clemens. My clientele was arriving, better get back to work.

I entered the bar and found that Evie and the guitar player were in a heated argument. They immediately got quiet when they saw me.

“Hi,” I said. “Looks like we're about to get busy. Do you need anything before I get to work?” Evie shook her head, but the guitar player approached the bar.

“How about a fire hydrant?” he asked.

“What?”

“It's a cocktail. Get it? Fire hydrant for The Burning Bishop?” I must have flashed him a look, because he laughed and said, “I'll tell you how to make it.”

“Oh, right.” I put on the Day-Glo apron with logo of The Wine and Bark on it and crossed to behind the bar.

“Gin, pineapple juice, and cranberry, and a splash of grenadine,” he said. “You never made one of these before?”

I shook my head.

I wondered if Rachel had left me a cheat sheet with her specialty cocktails anywhere. I rummaged around behind the bar, but found nothing, which of course was no surprise. Leaving me instructions would have taken planning on her part, and Rachel never planned.

The Burning Bishop emptied his drink in one pass, then burped. He slammed the glass down on the bar and said, “Another, Mother.”

“Bish,” Evie whined. “No more. We got to play.”

He waved a hand at her. “You're not the boss of me.”

I felt like I was witnessing children on a playground on the verge of a fight. The door to the bar swung open and a tall African American man stepped in.

“Hey, there Smasher,” Bishop said. He turned to me. “This here is our drummer. Smasher, this is Maggie.”

The man graced me with a charming smile as he thumped Bishop on the back. “Are you staying out of trouble?” He winked at me as he ushered Bishop back to the makeshift stage. “Ready for a sound check, Evie?”

Through the window of the bar, I could see a crowd forming on the patio. Mrs. Clemens, Yolanda, and several of the crew from yesterday, including Brenda, Max, and their dogs. The door flung open and they poured into the bar like a waterfall, loud and continuous.

Oh God! Was I ready for this?

Brenda flanked the bar. “Two greyhounds! One for me and the other for Mrs. Clemens.”

“How about a pitcher of saltys?” Yolanda asked the group. “We can take it to a table.”

The dogs swirled around, barking and sniffing. Max appeared behind the bar. “Do you need some assistance? I sometimes help Rachel out.”

I refrained from throwing myself at him, but my voice said it all as I yelled a grateful “Yes!”

He chuckled. “Okay, ladies, have a seat. I'll bring the drinks.” He motioned to them and the throng backed away. The beagle poked its nose around the bar.

“Oh, I have your bunny,” I said to the beagle.

The beagle kept his eyes on me while Max said, “Do you? Ah, Bowser and I wondered where that went.”

I pulled the pink plush bunny out of my bag and tossed it to Bowser. He caught it midair, his tail swinging back and forth contentedly. After a moment, he dropped the bunny at Max's feet. Max tossed the bunny on the floor near the table the gang had commandeered, and the beagle obediently went to be with the gang.

I looked around at all the bottles and glasses and felt short of breath.

Max studied my face. “It gets easier,” he said. “I tended bar in college.”

I nodded numbly.

“Pitcher of salty dogs. Do you know how to make that?”

“Greyhound with salt, right?”

He smiled as he pulled a bottle of Stoli out from the rack. “That's right.”

I salted the rims of the glasses. “I thought this was a wine bar. Why all the fancy cocktails?”

“Ay, we usually drink wine only during the work week. Friday Yappy Hour kicks off our weekend celebrating. We love Rachel and the bar. It's super that she provides a place for everyone to hang out with their pets … we missed her yesterday.”

I nodded.

He poured the vodka over ice and gave me a sidelong glance. “What happened yesterday, by the way?”

I pressed my fingertips into my temples. It would be the never-ending question. Each person would ask me, one by one, until the news had snaked its way into every ear in Pacific Cove. I wondered if posting it on the Internet would be faster.

Before I could say anything, Brenda, followed by her Chihuahua, made her way back to the bar. Max seemed to stand up straighter and puff out his chest. Brenda was dressed all in black save for a pair of teal Manolo Blahnik sandals.

“Maggie, sorry to be a bother, but can I have a treat for Pee Wee?” Brenda asked. She picked up the small dog and stroked his ears. “We've been out all day and he's been such a dear.”

I grabbed a Bark Bite from the bowl nestled near the cash register. No sooner did I hand her one than all the dogs began sniffing widely and rushing over. I handed out treats to each one.

Brenda patted her flat stomach. “How about for us? Any dogs in blankets ready?”

I glanced at Max for help.

“Oh, we'll get right on that,” Max said.

Brenda wiggled her fingers at us and waltzed back to the crowded table. The band started up and the noise level increased, complete with the dogs barking to the Howling Hounds' music.

“I'm supposed to do food, too?” I asked Max.

“Only arf d'oeuvres,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and he laughed.

“Don't sweat it. The dogs in blankets are just hot dogs rolled in mini-croissants. Rachel has a ton frozen in the back fridge. All you have to do is turn on the oven.”

“That I can handle,” I said, heading to the rear of the building and preheating the oven.

I felt like an alien in my own skin. Everyone here seemed really kind and funny, and yet someone had been murdered hours ago in this very building. Was I even safe around these people?

I pulled the dogs in blankets from the freezer and popped them onto a baking sheet. I was hungry and laughed to myself thinking about what kind of meal Gus was cooking up next door at DelVecchio's. Certainly not dogs in blankets.

A warmth filled me as I remembered him squeezing my hand. When I emerged from the back after having put the dogs in blankets in the oven, there was a hubbub at the bar.

Brenda and another woman were huddled with Max, and their respective dogs were circling their feet. The look on the woman's face was a mixture of shock and sadness. When they saw me they immediately descended upon me.

“Yolanda just told us the news about Dan,” Max said.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Brenda demanded, her delicate brows furrowing together.

“We … uh … the police told us not to—”

“I can't believe it!” she said. “Poor Dan! Any ideas who did it, Maggie?”

“It's gotta be Gus,” the woman standing next to Brenda said. “He'll be in charge of the whole business, now that Dan's gone. What better motive?”

My heart lurched at the thought that Gus was already tried and convicted by the town. Even the police were looking into him. I suddenly felt conflicted; while I was upset that Gus was being accused of such a horrible thing, a small part of me felt relieved that the police weren't prodding into Rachel's business. Gus had been right—they were going to try to pin it on him. But he didn't strike me as a cold-blooded killer. With the police barking up the wrong tree,
someone
had to figure out who was responsible for Dan's murder.

A sharp beeping sounded throughout the bar, rattling the patrons.

Ack! The smoke detector. I had forgotten the arf d'oeuvres in the oven. I ran toward the back as smoke billowed through the bar.