Part 8 (1/2)

”You look like you're about to pa.s.s out. Stop holding your breath.” Betty said.

”Will you tell me where you've been?” I pushed one last time.

She shook her head.

I tried a different approach. ”What did Shughart say?”

Betty sat on top of the storage container. I noticed her sneakers were no longer white, but gra.s.sy green. ”You'd like her. She's a smart one. She's got two pugs, Charlie and Daisy. Cupcake promised to stop by the shop next week to check out our travel carriers. She's leaving on vacation next month.”

”I meant what did she say about your involvement with Richard's death?”

She shrugged a delicate shoulder. ”Don't leave town. Don't talk to the press. And if I see Stephanie to call her or that handsome Detective Malone.”

”Holy cow, Betty. You're officially a murder suspect.”

Betty clapped her hands and pressed them to her chest. Her gray eyes brightened with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”I know. Exciting, isn't it?”

Chapter Nine.

I DIDN'T CARE WHAT Betty thought; it was not exciting. More like terrifying.

By the time I got her loaded into her Mini Cooper and headed home, darkness had started to settle around us. I made her promise to call me once she'd arrived safely. Betty claimed I was overreacting. Maybe I was. But I couldn't shake the feeling that she was still keeping a secret. Something important.

I'd had a front-row seat the last time someone I cared about had kept a big secret-it had blown up in her face.

Malone had asked me to keep Betty out of his way. It looked like that wouldn't be as difficult as I'd originally believed. She was too busy disappearing.

I headed down the sidewalk for the last time and made a mental note to park closer to the entrance gate tomorrow. There were a handful of cars still parked along the canyon road. I'd luckily found a spot under a streetlamp. Once I reached the Jeep, I shoved the last plastic tote inside. I started to load Missy when I heard what sounded like a m.u.f.fled howl.

”Stay.”

Missy obediently waited for me to give the ”load-up” command.

I concentrated on the evening sounds, picking out what belonged and dismissing it, instead waiting for what didn't fit in. Within a minute I heard the sound again. I glanced around but I didn't see an animal or a human. I closed the Jeep door.

”Let's take one last walk, girl.”

Missy sighed, but dutifully followed.

We strolled along the sidewalk, perfectly lit by the overhead streetlamps that lined the walkway. I kept my eyes peeled for someone in distress. As I drew closer to a beat-up black Nissan, I heard the m.u.f.fled howl of despair again. It came from inside the car. Had someone left a dog inside with the windows up? Granted, heat wasn't an issue this time of night, but why did people insist on taking their pets to run errands, only to leave the animals locked up in a vehicle?

I stomped up to the car intending to free the imprisoned dog, or at least check on his wellbeing and crack the window if possible. The second I got next to the Nissan, I knew I had it all wrong. Not about the dog in the car. I could see him clear as day, with his face pressed against the gla.s.s, leaving doggie kisses on the window. But the dog wasn't alone. And it wasn't just any dog.

It was Pickles. And Lenny.

Lenny didn't look happy that I'd found him hiding in his car. If he hadn't caught me peeking in the back window, I'd have walked away. I'm sure the nasty look engraved on his face was meant to frighten me off. Silly me, I took his stare as a challenge. I knocked on the pa.s.senger window.

He rolled it down a smidge. ”Go away,” he shouted through the crack.

”Are you okay?”

”We're fine.”

The man obviously didn't know the definition of ”fine.” The smell of leftover fast food wafted from his car. His droopy eyes could barely focus on me. I'd either woken him up or he was drunk. At the moment, I believed he was drunk.

”You're not driving anywhere are you?”

”What's it to you?” he growled.

I pointed to the white bag on the seat. ”If that's what I think it is, you shouldn't be driving.”

He cursed, shoving the bag under the pa.s.senger seat. He fumbled with the handle before he finally managed to open the door. I jumped back, almost falling over Missy. The dome light blinked on. There were piles of dirty clothes; bags of food, gum, and candy wrappers; liquid cold medicine; and bottles of what looked like vitamins.

Lenny crawled out, yelling at me. ”You're a nosy b.i.t.c.h. If I want to drown my misery, that's my business.” He slammed the door shut. Pickles immediately started to howl.

I pointed at the dog. ”Is he okay?”

Lenny crossed his beefy arms across his chest, effectively blocking me from getting closer. ”Does he sound okay? He's depressed. If he's not racing, a little piece of him dies.”

He wasn't the only one. From Lenny's rumpled state, he could have been referring to himself. He looked down at Missy and squinted. ”My first dog was a bully. A faithful breed. Good choice.”

”Ah, thanks.” Instinctively, I gripped Missy's leash tighter. ”What about you? Are you upset about the race or Richard's death?”

He stepped forward, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”Aren't you upset about it?”

He was too close. I could smell his breath, which surprisingly didn't smell like alcohol at all. His breath was actually quite refres.h.i.+ng. Like mouthwash. I stepped back. ”Well sure, but I'm not going to get wasted because of it.”

”I'm not wasted. This is all her fault,” he ground out.

I was afraid to ask. ”Whose?”

”Gia Eriksen.”

I thought for sure he was going to say Betty. ”Do you think she shot Richard?”

He looked up with red-rimmed eyes. ”What?”

I tried a different tactic. ”What's Gia's fault?”

”She convinced Hagan to postpone the race. We were ready today. We would have won.” He smacked his humongous fist into the palm of his hand, flexing his bulging biceps in the process.