Part 20 (2/2)
”On your marks,” Hagan yelled into the mic.
”Get set.” He raised the starting gun, and pointed it in the air.
My heart raced as I waited for him to pull the trigger.
BANG!.
The clear plastic door lifted. Pickles, Maverick, and Barney shot out immediately. Their long wiggly bodies ate up the gra.s.s as they raced toward the finish line. Pickles was in the lead, his mouth open as he charged forward. He was focused on the toy monkey Lenny held in front of him. With Zippy out of the way, Pickles could experience his first win.
Poor Dutch stood at the starting gate, sniffing the gra.s.s where the other dogs had been seconds earlier. I giggled when he lifted his leg and marked his spot. Chloe got a late start, but she came on fast, gaining on the three leaders.
”Chloe is making a comeback,” I shouted, bouncing on my toes, energized. ”She's gonna catch up to the others.”
”Run, Pickles. I got a hundred bucks on you,” Betty shouted at the top of her lungs.
Darby swung around with a shocked look on her sweet face. ”What?”
”Pictures, Darb,” I said. ”I'll explain later.”
Suddenly, Chloe was within a nose of Pickles. Maverick and Barney started to run out of gas. It was down to Chloe and Pickles.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, ”Go, Chloe. Come on girl, you can do it.”
All of a sudden, Chloe bit Pickles on the behind. My breath caught. The crowd gasped.
Pickles whipped around and ran in the opposite direction. Chloe chased him, nipping his rear as they ran.
”No, no, no,” Lenny screamed. The veins in his face pulsed with each ”no” he uttered. ”Come back, Pickles. Come!”
”Get the chicken, Barney. Get the chicken,” Darby yelled. She lowered her camera for a second, then raised it again. I could hear the quick burst of the shutter as she snapped picture after picture.
Barney and Maverick raced in unison to the finish line nose to nose. I clenched my hands into tight fists. I caught myself holding my breath. I forced myself to breathe.
Luis yelled encouraging words, waving the chicken strip so hard it broke in half, sending a chunk flying across the finish line. Barney raced to the chicken then skidded to a stop. He dropped his head and ate the snack. Maverick raced past him, crossing the finish line first. The crowd roared in celebration.
”Oh, no!” Darby and I cried in unison.
I was heartbroken for Luis. They'd almost won. He'd been so close.
”The winner of the first heat is Maverick. Second place, Laguna's own Barney,” Hagan announced once Barney crossed the line.
We continued to wait on the other three. Lenny swore at Pickles and Chloe, who were both out of bounds chasing each other in some kind of doggie dating ritual. And remember poor Dutch? Well, he slowly made his way toward his owner.
Luis lifted Barney and held him high. ”Great job,” he shouted. ”Great job!”
He carried him toward us. We continued to hoot and holler our excitement like a bunch of Texans at a three-legged race during a family reunion.
”That was awesome.” I rubbed Barney's head. ”I bet you'll get to run in the finals.”
Luis beamed. ”I think so too.”
”Come by the boutique tomorrow. I'll have something extra special for Barney.”
”Yeah, well don't shake your chicken so hard next time. You still have the big race to run. And if you drop a piece, do it on the other side of the finish line,” Betty grumbled.
”Don't be rude,” I chastised. It wasn't Luis's fault she bet on the wrong dog.
”No, she's right. I was so happy, I forgot what we were doing.” Luis smiled broadly, unperturbed by the unsolicited advice. ”I'll pay more attention next time.”
”You were fine.” Darby gave him a quick hug. ”I'm so proud of both of you. I got some great photos too. I'll show them to you later. I'll print copies for you.”
”Thanks, Darby. Hey, here comes that TV reporter. Do you think he wants to interview me?”
”Absolutely,” I said. If not, I'd make sure he did.
We expected to see MacAvoy and his cameraman, Ryan, ready to interview the winners. But he was alone. And running. His perfectly coiffed hair windblown, his face pasty white.
”Where's Detective Malone?” he asked out of breath.
”I haven't seen him since Gia and Fallon's fight. Why? What's wrong?” A shaken MacAvoy wasn't normal. His blazer was off, and there was blood on his hand. My heart jolted, not from excitement-from dread.
He caught his breath, then shoved his b.l.o.o.d.y hand through his hair. ”I found the filmmaker. She's dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Three.
I KNOW THIS SOUNDS awful, but I was relieved I wasn't the one to find the dead body. Let's get real here. How many dead bodies can a girl stumble over before she becomes a suspect? That's a rhetorical question. No answer needed.
Darby rummaged around the bottom of her messenger bag and found a clean tissue for MacAvoy to clean the blood off his hand. I slipped my cell from my pocket and pulled up Malone's number, then handed the phone to MacAvoy. He quickly explained why he was using my phone before he updated Malone. He returned my cell with a shaky hand.
”Thank you for your help.” His voice wavered. He cleared his throat. ”He wants me to meet him at the chili truck.”
The same chili truck I'd visited earlier this afternoon. The same chili truck where Betty had placed a bet. The same chili truck Grey had insisted Betty and I stay away from.
Coincidence? I didn't think so either.
MacAvoy split without another word. He never did explain why there was blood on his hand.
”He's really upset,” Darby noted, her voice heavy with concern.
I agreed. I hadn't pegged him for the emotional type. MacAvoy had barely held eye contact with us. Even after he'd talked to Malone, the reporter's tanned faced had looked an unhealthy white.
I felt badly leaving Luis to celebrate his almost-win alone, but the dead girl had Betty's gun. That took precedence over any party. Darby, Betty, and I hustled to the to the crime scene. I formed a suspect list in my head for the new murder as we power-walked toward the food area.
Gia was obviously the prime suspect. She'd threatened Stephanie for questioning her about the doping, and the filmmaker had recorded Gia's tirade.
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