Part 3 (1/2)

”That's the least of our problems.”

I had no idea how true those words were. But I was about to find out.

THE FIRST HEAT for the heavyweight category was scheduled to start in thirty minutes. I hadn't found anyone I was searching for. It was as if they'd disappeared into thin air.

I finally spotted Darby snapping photos of a trio of Doxies-a couple of long hairs, and one short hair. The pups were young, maybe ten or twelve months, full of energy and playfulness. Their handler, a gray-haired older gentleman with a wide grin, asked if the photos would be available to purchase.

Darby looked up and caught my eye. I waved her over.

”Have you seen Betty?” I asked.

”Not since her fight with Richard.” She reached down and patted Missy on her head.

I looked at her questioningly. ”You were there?”

She shook her head no. ”Everyone's talking about it. Did she really pull out a gun and threaten to shoot Richard Eriksen and his dog?”

”She had a gun. She would never hurt Zippy.” Notice I didn't mention Ricky-d.i.c.ky. I quickly filled in Darby on the situation and Betty's missing gun.

”Oh, no,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed. ”Where do you think the girl with the dachshund tattoo went?”

I shook my head. ”Your guess is as good as mine. She has to be here somewhere.”

”Would you like me to check out the racing area? If she's there I can text you.”

”Please. If you see Betty, send her back to the booth.”

Darby hung her camera around her neck and scurried off. Missy and I backtracked through the vendor area and made our way toward the spectator section next to the racetrack.

”Fifteen minutes until the heat number two. All compet.i.tors report to the starting gate,” a garbled voice rumbled over the PA system.

Although she had offered to help find Betty, Darby was still the official photographer, and her first priority would be to photo doc.u.ment the race. I weaved my way through the group of yammering teenagers and made a beeline toward the track-a roped-off area with spray-painted white lines on the gra.s.s.

I could see the racers and their humans lined up at the starting gate, while their favorite person waited at the finish line. I imagined last minute instructions whispered into each racer's ears. Everyone was eager for the race to begin. I noticed Darby speaking to a group of judges huddled together watching the lineup. One judge checked her wrist.w.a.tch, then said something to the group.

”All compet.i.tors must report to the gate,” the emcee announced again. ”This is the last call.” His tone held a strong sense of urgency.

Sounded like someone other than Betty was missing.

I joined Darby at the gra.s.sy edge. ”Any sign of Betty?”

She shook her head, worried. ”Mel.” She took a breath. ”Zippy's not at the gate. He's supposed to run in this heat.”

I felt my face blanch. ”What?”

”Apparently Gia has been looking for Richard and Zippy. She's frantic. No one has seen him since his argument with Betty.”

I had a bad feeling. ”We've got to find Betty.”

BETTY WAS AWOL.

So were Richard and Zippy.

I rubbed my temples in an effort to ward off the throbbing pain behind my eyes. I had a feeling Betty was behind Zippy and Richard's disappearance. If she'd seen them, she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from confronting him again. And that concerned me. I didn't know what Richard was capable of if pushed too far. Judging by the show of temper he'd displayed earlier, it was possible he might try to intimidate Betty if she crossed the line.

Bless her heart-Betty hadn't met a line she didn't want to cross.

Darby agreed to keep Missy while I continued my search. I took a turn around the track again, checked out the vendor area, and did a quick scan in the spectator section, but didn't see Betty. Either my timing was terrible or she wasn't with Richard after all.

I stopped walking and concentrated. It was possible she'd taken off in her Mini Cooper. Where she might have gone, I didn't have a clue, but her car was one of the few places I hadn't looked yet. And I was out of options. I ignored the pit in my stomach.

The dog park had a tiny parking lot, with limited s.p.a.ce, so most of us took the trolley from downtown or we parked along the canyon road. Since Betty and I had arrived about the same time, I knew she had driven herself and left her car along the street.

As I exited the park, a slight breeze rustled my hair. Gooseb.u.mps rose on my arms. Directly across the street from the entrance stood the group of protesters waving their signs and marching in one continuous circle. I picked up the pace until I was practically jogging. I ran across the street. A car horn honked as my foot hit the sidewalk. The driver slowed to a crawl and flipped me off as he pa.s.sed by.

I'd run past a half-dozen vehicles when I saw a man leaning against a white sedan. Focused on finding Betty, I didn't think much about him, until his body slid off the car, and with a dull thump, landed on the road.

Bright red blood oozed down the car's snowy-white side panel where his body had been seconds ago. My first thought was that a car, probably the same person who'd honked at me minutes ago, had hit him. I ran toward him, yelling for help, digging my cell out of my back pocket to call 911.

”Sir! Sir, are you all right?”

Cars whizzed past us, oblivious to the man who lay face first on the ground. I dropped to my knees next to him. I rolled him over, praying he wasn't seriously injured.

I gasped; my cell slipped from my fingers.

It was Richard Eriksen. And he hadn't been hit by a car.

He'd been shot in his black heart.

Chapter Four.

BETTY FOUND ME. Right after I found Richard Eriksen's dead body. And if you're paying attention, you know who found the two of us next. Homicide Detective Judd Malone.

Betty and I waited on the sidewalk as Detective Malone moved in our direction with a heaviness that suggested the last place he wanted to be was here. With us. I felt the same way. I sighed in dread knowing what was about to happen.

Betty, on the other hand, gasped in wide-eyed excitement. ”That's my kind of man.”

She sprinted across the gravel parking lot straight for Malone as if reuniting with her lover after a long separation. He immediately held out his arms in warning. A warning Betty blithely ignored as she threw her pint-sized body against him. ”You're here. I knew you'd come.”

Of course he'd come. It was his job.

Malone unhooked Betty's arms from around his neck, and peeled her off his chest like a fruit roll-up. ”Mrs. Foxx, don't do that again.”

Yes, the three of us have a history. During our brief, but action-packed time together, Betty had developed a major schoolgirl crush on the good-looking detective.

”You're all dusty.” As she brushed herself off, the bottom of her straw handbag repeatedly slapped Malone's arm. With a resigned sigh, he stepped to the side.