Yappy Hour (28 page)

“Oh, shut up. I'm not even really dating either one of them.”

“Well, start dating Gus.” He took a sip of his cocktail. “And be sure to save me some leftovers. I can't really cook, either. There, now you know all my secrets. Not a dog guy and not a cook—there's no reason for Brenda to go out with me.”

“Oh, stop! You're a nice guy and a computer genius. There're plenty of reasons for Brenda to go out with you.”

The door opened and the videographer entered, followed by the social media maven. The pair made an unlikely couple: the videographer was stocky and bald, while the maven towered over him with mane of wild red hair. The pair seemed madly in love.

The maven made a huge fuss over my chicken purse. She thought it was wild and hip and would be the latest rage. She immediately went to work tweeting and posting to all the major social sites, while her boyfriend filmed her strutting about with it.

“I need another drink,” Max confessed.

I giggled. “Me, too. I honestly never thought anyone could like the chicken purse.”

“There's no accounting for taste,” Max said, pouring a long shot of vodka into a tumbler for me.

I took the drink from him and toasted. “If it's all the rage on the Mexican Riviera, I'll let you know.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I got the job I was interviewing for with Soleado Cruise Lines. I start next week, at least if I can figure out how to hire a nurse my great-uncle will keep.”

“What? What job?”

“Purser on the ship. First stop is Mazatlán.”

“So, you're leaving?”

I shrugged. “Well, I haven't exactly figured things out. Like my uncle—”

“You can't leave,” he said. “Who's going to run Yappy Hour?”

“Rachel is! She'll be back.” At least, that's what I'd convinced myself. She couldn't stay away forever. “She'll be back with Chuck, right? They'll be back soon and—”

The door to the bar flew open and Yolanda made her entrance. The conversations stopped short as all eyes turned toward Yolanda and Beepo.

Ignoring Max, I watched as Yolanda scurried toward the bar, Beepo happily trailing alongside her. She was wearing the most outrageous outfit I'd seen her in yet. It was a black lace dress that fit her like a second skin. It was practically see-through, and so short I feared if she stooped to pick anything up, she'd flash everyone.

Max made a strange wounded animal noise, then breathed. “Wow.”

“Hello lovelies. I'm here to help!” Yolanda said.

“What are you wearing?” I asked.

She gave us a full fashion-model spin. “Like it? I got it in Vegas. I had to wear black…” She stopped suddenly and stared at me. “Why aren't you in black? Didn't I explicitly tell you to wear black?”

I shrugged. “I liked the way this dress fit,” I said, looking down at my conservative-by-comparison mulberry number.

Yolanda glanced at her bracelet wristwatch and made a disapproving face. “I don't think there's time for you to change.”

Well, that's good, because I didn't have any plan to.

“Look what I picked up.” I popped my chicken purse on the counter.

Yolanda shrieked and then let out a childish giggle. Beepo growled.

“Hush now!” she said to Beepo, then dashed around the bar toward me, taking small clickety-clackety strides because her tight dress wouldn't allow her to take a normal stride. “Oh Maggie! I want to hug your neck! You're such a good friend.”

“And it's posted all over Twitter now,” the maven said. “We're trending
#chicken
!” She picked up the bag excitedly and swung it around in celebration.

Max snorted out his drink, and I threw a towel at him.

Yolanda squealed and danced about. “Trending chicken!”

“I'll start another thread with
#bokbok
!” the maven said.

Beepo growled at the chicken bag, launching for its hideous beak. Yolanda snatched it out of the maven's hand and passed the bag back to me.

Darn!

For a moment, I'd thought my mission would have been accomplished. But no, I'd have to wait a little longer, bide my time.

A man in a brown uniform appeared on the cobblestone path, rolling a black cart behind him. Next to him was a man dressed in a suit, whom he was talking to in an animated fashion. The man in the suit had over-the-collar wavy hair and a flamboyant tie. Despite the soft wave to his hair, his face had a decidedly chiseled appearance, complete with Roman nose and dimpled chin.

Yolanda's eyes went wide and she stood at attention. “Our auctioneer! I must get a closer look at him.”

“I can see how he might be worthy of closer inspection,” I joked.

The two men peeked into the bar. “Is this where the fund-raiser's going to be tonight?” the man in the uniform asked. “Where do you want the auction set up?”

Yolanda quirked an eyebrow at me. “Just give me a moment.” She pranced over to the man in the uniform and gesticulated widely for him to unpack his rolling cart by our bandstand. Then she struck up a conversation with Mr. Roman Nose. Both seemed to evaluate each other as if secretly judging a beauty competition.

I looked across at the stage. Evie was texting on her phone, distracted. When she noticed the man in the uniform unpacking his cart before her, she shrieked, “I wasn't told that I'd have to share the stage with doggie shampoo and sweaters.”

“Not just sweaters,” Yolanda squealed. “These are hand knitted and imported from Scotland!”

“I don't give a rat's patootie!” Evie screamed.

“Well, you don't have to, because it's not your call! It's Maggie's.”

I groaned. I knew Yolanda had it out for Evie. They'd been battling over the storage space for months now.

“Evie, can't we have the auction and then music?” I asked. “Think of the auction as your opening act.”

Then I remembered there was an opening act. The magician. Oh well, better to address one thing at a time.

“People are paying good money to come to the auction!” Yolanda wailed.

“The auction? They're paying money to see me and the band,” Evie countered.

Smasher scoffed at this, and Bishop said, “I need a smoke.”

They disappeared out the front door, and Evie trailed, her cigarette case in hand.

“That woman is a pill,” Yolanda said under her breath, while flashing a wide toothy smile at Mr. Roman Nose.

Max resumed stringing up the multicolored lantern lights. Yolanda distracted herself by chatting it up with the auctioneer, and I suddenly found myself alone with Beepo. He circled the counter where my chicken purse was and growled.

Oh! An opportunity!

Could I lower it just a tad and let him get to it?

I grabbed it off the counter and pretended to look inside it for something. When I was sure no one was watching me, I relaxed my arm, bringing the bag down to Beepo's level.

He sniffed at it, then bit at the fake chicken's wing.

Come on, Beepo, mark it.

He growled a low rumble and bared his teeth again. He seemed puzzled as to why the chicken wasn't fighting back. So I shook the bag a bit and he tore off running toward Yolanda.

Oh, good God! What a coward!

I tried to summon all my patience and left the chicken bag on the floor. I proceeded to uncork a few of the wine bottles I knew would be served first once the crowd started arriving. I could feel a set of watery doggie eyes watching my every move. As soon as he was convinced I was thoroughly disinterested in him, he returned to sniff the bag.

He lifted his leg, but instead of spraying the chicken, he put his leg down and then looked at me. He barked several times, and Yolanda broke away from Mr. Roman Nose and came around the bar.

“Beepo! Hush little doggie, what are you up to?” She scooped him in her arms and said to me, “Oh, Maggie, you better take the purse and put it away. Otherwise Beepo…” She made a gesture with her hand that could only be interpreted one way. She wanted me to safeguard the purse or risk Beepo spraying it.

“Right,” I said.

The man in the uniform finished setting up the makeshift stage with dog paraphernalia and called out to Yolanda to come and examine it. She released Beepo and together with the auctioneer, aka Mr. Roman Nose, they headed in the direction of the stage.

Beepo shot out toward the chicken, raised his leg, and whizzed.

I covered my mouth with my hand.

Oh my God! I had my evidence.

 

Chapter Thirty-one

Victory!

I had the evidence that could possibly solve the crime.

I could barely contain my excitement. Like a child, I looked around frantically for someone to share my joy, but realized probably none of these people would be happy if Yolanda and Beepo were convicted of a crime.

Evie, Bishop, and Smasher were still on the patio smoking and yukking it up. Possibly the only person in the near vicinity that would be happy was Evie, but she had such a strange volatile energy I hesitated to share anything with her. Instead, I pulled the chicken bag away from Beepo and placed it into a plastic sack.

Beepo snarled at me, as if he was aware of my intentions. Nevertheless, I grabbed the purse and my cell phone and ran toward the bathroom. Leaning against the foyer door of the restroom, I dialed Officer Brooks.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Hi, it's me, Maggie,” I whispered urgently. “I have it! I have the evidence!”

“Maggie? Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes. I called because I have it!”

“Have what?” His voice was low and deep, sending an involuntary rumble through my bones.

“I have the DNA evidence,” I said.

“I don't follow you.”

“Beepo peed on my purse.”

“I'm sorry,” Brooks said.

“No, you don't understand. Dan had dog urine on his shoes and trousers, right? Beepo marks everything. I'm sure it was him. If you get the bag tested, you'll get a match.”

“And what will that prove?” Brooks asked.

“That Yolanda is the killer,” I said.

“Yolanda?” he asked, with a note of incredulity in his voice.

“Yes, she had a grudge against Dan.”

“She did?”

“Well, I don't know that for certain, but let's say she did. They met up here at The Wine and Bark, and they fought. Say Dan threatens Yolanda; Beepo protects her furiously. He pees on Dan's foot in order to get him away from her. Then, say Dan gets mad at Beepo and Yolanda whacks him with the magnum bottle!”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Apprehension inched its way across my skin. Why wasn't Brooks saying anything? I crinkled the pink plastic bag in my hand.

Finally, Brooks cleared his throat and broke the silence. “It sounds a bit far-fetched.”

“She's far-fetched,” I countered.

He chuckled. “Well, that's true.”

“Can you come collect it?” I asked awkwardly, suddenly feeling like I'd done the wrong thing.

What kind of person tricks their friend's dog into peeing on a purse?

I reminded myself that this just might be the evidence to keep The Wine and Bark out of a lawsuit, although some part of my brain must have disagreed, because I was overcome with remorse.

Here was the woman who had stood by me during this torturous week, and now I was suspecting her of murder? A wave of nausea swam through me, and I rushed into one of the stalls in time to be violently sick.

When I finished, I went to the sink to splash water on my face; it wasn't enough to feel any relief, but I hesitated to stick my head under the faucet as I would ruin Abigail's work on my hairdo.

I ran the water on my wrists and panicked.

Breathe, Maggie. Everything is going to be fine.

There was a brief knock on the restroom outer door and Yolanda popped her head into the bathroom. “Oh my God!” she trilled. “Look at you. You're a hot mess. What happened? Are you ill?”

I grabbed a paper towel and rubbed it across my face. “I'm fine, I'm fine.”

Yolanda plucked a paper towel of her own and soaked it, making a quick compress for the back of my neck. “You look like a chicken with its head ripped off!”

I shuddered at the mention of a chicken and kicked the pink plastic bag back under the sink, hoping it was out of her line of sight.

She fussed over me. “What is it? You look like you did the night we found Dan. Are you having another panic attack?”

Ugh. I did feel hot and claustrophobic, but mostly I felt guilty. Hot with guilt—was that a side effect?

“Can you open a window?” I asked.

“Sure, sure, of course.” She pranced over to the side wall and tugged on the window, while I scanned the room for a better hiding place to stash the offending pink bag.

When she turned around, she said, “I came to tell you Officer Hottie McHottie is here to see you. But maybe you should just take a minute.”

I glanced into the mirror. The hairdo I'd been hoping to salvage was a wreck; one side was plastered flat against my face, while the other side was frizzy to the extreme. My lipstick was smeared and there were giant wet splotches on my beautiful scoop-neck dress.

Tears threatened.

Oh God!

All I needed was streaks of mascara down my face. I was a disaster.

“You should have told me you weren't feeling well,” Yolanda said. “I would have held your hair—”

“Stop!” I couldn't bear to listen to her be kind to me.

She closed the distance between us and rubbed my back. “What is it, honey?”

I couldn't find a way out. I had to go through with it.

A sharp rap came to the door. “Everything all right?” Officer Brooks asked from the hallway.

Yolanda gasped. “I'll cover for you.” She poked her head out the door and said, “Maggie's indisposed at the moment. Is Abigail out there yet?”