Chihuahua Confidential (6 page)

“But drinking was OK?” I asked.

“Well, you know. He slipped a little.” Rodney waved his glass in the air. “So did I. But as long as he wasn't doing drugs, I figured I was doing my job.”

“So is that why you were worried about leaving him alone?”

“Yes, as soon as he got his advance for
Dancing with Dogs,
he started sneaking around, making phone calls and hanging up when I came in the room. I thought he was trying to score some drugs. That's why I was so worried when I left him alone at the studio.”

“Did you tell the police this?” I asked.

Rodney shook his head vigorously. “No, and you can't either.” His voice went high with anxiety. “Leo would cut me off without a cent if he knew any of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Leo promised me a big bonus to be paid at the end of six months if Nigel stayed sober. It was only a week away when he died. If Leo finds out that Nigel was drinking or buying drugs, he won't pay me. And I
need
that money!”

“Because you need to find a new place to live?” I asked.

“No,” Rodney said. “One of my friends made a film based on my screenplay. We've got a chance to enter it in Sundance, but we need to finish it within a week. If I don't get that bonus, we're out of luck.”

“Everyone in L.A. is in the movie business,” Pepe muttered.

My shoes were still squishing as I headed toward the car with Pepe.

“Perhaps you should not drive when you are all wet, Geri. It could be dangerous,” he said.

“What can I do?” I said. “You want to walk all the way back to the hotel?”

“That does not sound good, either,” he said.

“Let's just get in the car and go,” I told him.

As I dug into my purse for the car keys, he said, “Say, I may have a solution for your wet clothes.”

“What's that?”

“It is how Conchita took care of a similar problem in one episode of—”

“How is one of your Spanish soap operas going to help me?”

“Easy,” said Pepe. “Conchita was running away from the evil Fernando and fell in the river. When Fernando could not find her, she got out all soaking wet.”

“And?”

“She went to a nearby gas station restroom, took all her wet clothes off, and dried them under the hand dryer—you know, those things on the wall that blow hot air out to dry your hands.”

“You're kidding!”

“No. It worked. We just need to find a gas station.”

“Not happening,” I told him. “I'm not going to stand around naked in some public bathroom trying to dry my clothes!”

“It worked for Conchita.”

“I'm not Conchita. Get in the car. We're leaving.”

“
As you wish
,” he said, hopping into the front passenger seat when I opened the door.

“Look on the bright side of things,” Pepe told me as I started the car. “At least our investigation is proceeding apace.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask Rodney about the package!” I said as we pulled away from the curb. “But I guess I can ask him tomorrow. And it's true—we did learn some new things about Nigel.”

“
Sí,
it seems that he was planning to buy drugs at the time he was killed.”

“But surely he couldn't have drugs delivered to him at the studio?”

Pepe snorted. “Are you kidding?” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked him, annoyed at his superior attitude.

“I have been on many a Hollywood set, Geri,” Pepe said. “They are crawling with drugs.”

“OK, if you say so.” I had to give him that. I had never been on a set before. “But why would someone who wanted to sell him drugs kill him?”

“Perhaps because he owed them money?”

“But surely it would have been smarter to wait, since he was about to begin earning money again,” I pointed out.

“But that would go quickly if he returned to his old habits,” Pepe pointed out.

It seemed we had reached a dead end. I started to ease the car back into the traffic on Sunset Boulevard.

“Geri, can you stop at a 7-Eleven? All this investigating has left me famished.”

“I kind of doubt there are any 7-Elevens in Beverly Hills, Pepe.”

“Wait!” he suddenly exclaimed, his nose sniffing like mad. “I smell something!”

“Don't tell me, you smell a 7-Eleven?”

“No, it is something else.”

“What?”

“Turn right here,” he said.

“What?”

“Right, right,” he repeated. “Right on this street.”

I almost missed the corner but did as he asked.

“Now what? What are we doing?”

“Turn right again!”

I turned.

“Now left!” Pepe said after we'd gone a couple blocks.

I followed his directions once again and ended up going down a wide, tree-lined street that serpentined past luxury mansion after mansion, most set well back from the road.

“Slow down!” Pepe commanded, his nose sniffing a mile a minute.

Instead of slowing, I pulled over to the curb and stopped, saying, “I'm not going any farther until you tell me what we're doing.”

He turned and faced me. “Geri,
por favor
, just a little more. It is
muy importante
!” He stuck his nose back out of the car and took a deep breath. “Ah,
sí,
” he said like some particular odor was instantly recognizable. All I could smell was the scent of freshly mowed lawns.

“Move the car forward, Geri,” said Pepe. “Slowly! We are almost there.”

This seemed so important to my pooch that I gave the car a little gas, and we crept forward at about ten miles per hour.

“Even slower!” Pepe said after we'd gone less than a hundred feet.

Down to five miles per hour.

“Slower still!”

Down to two miles per hour, barely a crawl.

“
¡Alto!”
he told me. “This is it!”

“This is
what
?” I asked, applying the brakes.

“Ah, the
hacienda
of my youth,” he said, his tail wagging furiously. “I would recognize its sweet smell anywhere!”

“What? Where?” I asked, looking past his nose. I couldn't see anything but an eight-foot-tall hedge like the one at Nigel's house.

“Move the car up to the gate,” Pepe told me. “You will see.”

Rolling forward a bit, I stopped at a short driveway between the hedges. There, beyond a wide, wrought-iron gate, was a magnificent, Spanish-style mansion, two stories high with white stucco walls and a red-tile roof. A number of cars were parked in the circular driveway.

“This is where you grew up?” I asked my dog.

“
Sí,
” he said. “It is the
casa
of Caprice Kennedy.”

“We're at Caprice's house?”

“Of course, Geri. It is what I smelled. One does not forget meaningful odors—especially the happy ones.”

I could hardly believe it. We must have driven close to a mile since Pepe first noticed the scent of Caprice's place. If this was Caprice's place. I pulled out my Map of the Stars and began looking for a star with Caprice's name on it.

After a few moments, Pepe said, “Well?”

“Well what?” I looked up from my map. The star that marked the home of Caprice Kennedy did seem to be in the general area where we had stopped. Perhaps Pepe had sneaked a look at the map.

“Are you not going to pull up to the gate so we can go in?”

“Pepe, why would they let us in?”

“Because they know me,” he said.

I shook my head. “Pepe, even if this is the right house—”

“Just pull forward,” he said. “There is a radio intercom there. I can talk them into admitting us.”

Well, maybe I could dissuade Pepe from his delusions by going along with him. “OK,” I said. “Why not?”

At the gate, there was indeed an intercom mounted at the driver's side of the car. I pressed the button, and it was only a couple seconds before I heard a male voice, deep and sonorous. “Who is it?”

“Hi, uh, I'm Geri Sullivan,” I said.

“Yes?” asked the man.

“Tell Caprice that Pepe has returned!” said Pepe.

“Is that a dog with you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh, you must be with the dog show. Come on in!” the man said. “The party is out back by the pool.” And the gate began to glide open.

“You see, Geri!” said Pepe as we cruised up the driveway. “Caprice has not forgotten me.”

“You know, Pepe,” I told him, “it sounds like she's having a party.”

“Caprice is always throwing parties,” he said. “She is famous for them.”

Caprice had a lot of guests, judging from the line of cars parked in front of the house. I found a spot at the end of the line for my rented red convertible.

“This way, Geri!” said Pepe, jumping out of the car and charging around the corner of the house. I followed behind him somewhat reluctantly. Unlike Pepe, I'm not good at parties. And I felt even more awkward than usual because we were crashing this one. Plus I was still dealing with the consequences of falling in the pool. My damp jeans had molded themselves to my legs, as wet jeans will do. And although my yellow cotton blouse was mostly dry—thank God it was no longer transparent—my hair had scrunched up into ringlets all over my head. Not the most fashionable look for a party at the home of a movie star.

Pepe had no such concerns. He dived right into the crowd of people gathered around the huge swimming pool, in the back of the house, which had been landscaped, complete with waterfall, giant boulders, and lush foliage, to create the illusion that we were in some sort of tropical paradise.

Fortunately, I saw right away that this was a
Dancing with Dogs
party. A TV screen was set up on the terrace, shaded by a striped awning. Scenes from the show flashed across the screen. The German shepherd leaping through a hoop held by his owner. The three judges conferring, their heads together. The poodle, his little pom-poms jiggling as he pranced around the stage. Rebecca stood near the screen with a silver-haired man, possibly the cinematographer. She was watching the images and gesturing with her hands. The guy leaned back with his arms crossed across his chest.

A bar was set up by the back door, and most of the guests held drinks in their hands. I thought I recognized some of the camera guys and lighting techs, but I didn't see any of the other contestants, or choreographers, or dogs. Or Pepe, either. Where was he?

I finally located him in the crowd of young men gathered around Caprice. As I approached, he was telling her, “Caprice, you will be so proud of me! I found our house by smelling it!”

Our house
. Those words pierced my heart.

Caprice stopped midsentence. She wore a formfitting, blindingly white cotton dress with some strategic cutouts, which provided plenty of glimpses of her tanned flesh. “I swear that dog is talking to me!” she said with a little laugh.

“I am talking to you, Caprice!” said Pepe.

She looked down at him, and I held my breath. Could she hear him, too?

Then she smiled and said, “Oh, I know who you are! You're the Chihuahua from the show.” She raised her head, and I thought for a moment she was looking for me. But instead she called out, “Jennifer!”

A dark-haired young woman, who was dressed in black jeans and a black tank top, stepped out from the shadows behind a palm tree, where she had apparently been waiting for such a command. She presented herself in front of Caprice.

Caprice picked up Pepe and kissed him on the head. “He looks like the dog I used to have,” she said with a wistful tone in her voice. “Do you remember that dog, Jennifer?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said. She bent her head so her straight hair fell forward and covered her face.

“Don't you think he looks like my Pepe?” She cradled him in the crook of her arm and rocked him like a baby.

“I am your Pepe!” said Pepe.

“No,” said Jennifer with only a cursory look at him. “This dog is much fatter and older.”

“You are fatter and older, too!” snarled Pepe, raising his head and growling a little.

“I guess you're right,” said Caprice with a sad tone in her voice. “Anyway, he shouldn't be out here. It's not safe. Someone might step on him! Take him and put him with the other dogs.” She handed him to Jennifer, who carried him away, holding him at arm's length. Pepe was twisting and turning, trying to get back to Caprice. I think he had forgotten about me altogether.

I tried to catch up with Jennifer, but she knew her way around. She dodged the guests and skirted the patio furniture and disappeared into the back door of Caprice's mansion. I followed her through a sunroom, down a wide hall, and down a set of narrow stairs. Where was she taking Pepe? To some sort of basement dungeon? Oddly enough, Pepe was quiet and calm.

We passed a wall covered with publicity photos of Caprice. I thought I saw one of her posing with Pepe. It seemed Caprice only used the dogs for photo opportunities but locked them up when they didn't serve her public image. Ahead of me, Jennifer turned a corner and I hurried after her.

Around the corner, the hall opened up into a huge playroom, covered with Astro Turf and littered with dog toys. High windows on one wall let in natural light and the scent of eucalyptus and chlorine. I could hear the murmur of the guests in the pool area.

There were lots of little dogs scampering around the room, doing the things dogs usually do, dashing at each other and sniffing each other's butts. I recognized a few of them: Caprice's Papillon, Princess, still wearing her diamond collar, and Siren Song, the golden Pomeranian, Pepe's lady love. The rest were small dogs: a toy poodle, a silky gray shih tzu with a topknot, and even a Puli, one of those funny dogs that look like a mop, but no other Chihuahuas.

Jennifer set Pepe down behind a baby gate that blocked the door.

“Home sweet home!” he announced with great satisfaction, and went scampering off to join the other dogs.

“Nasty little creature!” said Jennifer, brushing off her hands as if to rid them of contaminants.

“Don't you like dogs?” I asked.

“Oh!” she said when she turned and saw me behind her. She threw up her hands, as if to ward me off. “You scared me.”

“That's my dog you just brought down here.”

“Yes, well, Caprice asked me to bring him down here.” Jennifer sounded defensive. “She worries about the dogs when there are so many people around. She wants them to stay here where they won't get stepped on or fall in the pool.”

So Caprice was actually a responsible dog owner. I didn't like hearing that any more than I liked hearing Pepe describe this place as his “home.” But I could see his point. It was dog heaven. There was even a little kitchen in the corner of the room. Stainless-steel bowls of water were set out on the linoleum, and glass jars of treats lined the counter.

“You don't like dogs?” I repeated my question.

“Dogs are OK,” Jennifer said. She brushed back a lock of hair with her wrist. “It's just not fair. They have their own personal chef who prepares fresh-cooked meals with organic vegetables and free-range meat. A trainer comes in to work with them three days a week, and a groomer comes once a week to do their hair and nails. And what do we get?” She looked at me with her eyes squinted.

“None of that?”

“That's right. We're on call twenty-four hours a day. And she almost always calls me when I'm on a date or at the gym. And acting classes or auditions? Forget it! She seems to have a sixth sense about when I'm really serious about my career and she'll do anything to keep me down.”

“So you're an actress?”

“Yes, I got a part in a small independent film, but every time the director schedules a shoot or a voice-over, Caprice comes up with something else I need to do instead, like taking the dogs to the doggie spa. I think she's trying to sabotage my career.”

“How long have you worked for Caprice?” I asked.

“Three years,” Jennifer said.

“So do you remember the other little white Chihuahua she had?” I asked. I glanced at my little white Chihuahua. He had circled the entire playroom, sniffing each object and often nodding his head, as if to say, “Yes, I remember this!”

Jennifer nodded, her eyes down.

“So are you sure this isn't the same dog?”

“Absolutely!” She looked up at that and shook her long straight hair like a pony getting rid of a fly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Look,” she said, grabbing my arm with sharp fingernails. “That other dog died. He ran out into the street and was hit by a car. We just didn't tell Caprice because we knew she would be devastated. So we told her he ran away.”

“Oh!” I looked over at my dog again. He had finished with his inspection of the room and was now greeting the other dogs in typical dog fashion. He began by sniffing under the tail of his lady love, Siren Song, and she returned the favor.

I couldn't imagine what life would be like if anything ever happened to him.

I heard a shrill ringing sound, and Jennifer jumped. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “Caprice wants me,” she said. “Gotta go!”

“I'll just stay and watch my dog for a minute,” I said. “Sometimes he doesn't get along with other dogs.”

That was an understatement. Pepe regularly challenged dogs twice his size. In Seattle, he had antagonized a Great Dane, which turned out to be to my benefit, as I got to meet the dog's handsome trainer, Felix Navarro. We had just started dating when I left Seattle, and it was hard to be away from him, though some distance was probably good. I have a pretty poor track record at picking men.

I was bumped out of my reverie by the sound of high-pitched barking. Pepe had gone right up to Princess and backed her into a corner. She was giving as good as she got, snapping and yipping right back at him. I was about to intervene when their tones changed. They began circling each other, tails wagging. How odd! Pepe and Princess had been foes since they first met. Then Pepe's ears drooped and his tail curled under. My brave little man was being cowed by the prissy Princess.

He came running over to me and whimpered a little. I had never seen my dog in such an emotional state. I picked him up and cuddled him.

“Pepe, what's the matter? Are you all right?”

“No,” he said softly.

“What is it?”

“Well, I was challenging her for that big pink doggy bed in the corner. That used to be mine.” I looked and saw that Princess had indeed settled down on the bed in question, which was designed to look like a four-poster, complete with canopy.

“Really, it's too girly for you, Pepe,” I said.

“It had blue covers and blue satin sheets in my day,” he said. “Geri, pay attention. This is
importante
. I was talking to Princess—”

“Do you mean you were really talking to her?”

“
Sí,
but not as I talk to you, of course,” he said, sounding a little annoyed. At least he perked up. “With us
perros,
it is a complex language: the twitch of the fur, the wrinkle of the muzzle, the scent of the skin, the gleam in the eye. Far too subtle for a human.”

“So what's wrong?”

“It is what Princess told me,” he said. His big brown eyes seemed to be full of tears.

“What did she tell you?”

“She said the bed used to belong to Caprice's favorite dog, Pepe. Caprice always cries when she talks about him. She loved him very much, but he ran away and left her. Princess says it broke Caprice's heart!”