Raiders of the Lost Bark Read online

  I had always assumed when a chef published a cookbook, those were his or her recipes. Did the freedom to duplicate another chef’s recipe make that world more or less cutthroat? Did Pepper have more or less of a motive to kill off Addison than the other suspects? I had all new questions.

  A server brought Betty and me plates of BBQ chicken, grilled pineapple rings, and a spinach salad. I studied the plate, thinking about what Pepper had said. “So, if Red had a cookbook, and this was one of his dishes, I could publish the same recipe as my own?”

  “The ingredients and how to prepare them, yes. But not the words or way he explains how to put everything together. Certainly not the way he plates his dish.” She sneered. “But why would you? He doesn’t utilize negative space; the color is bland.” She used her knife to push my stack of chicken over. “Why does the chicken have to be piled like a medieval castle tower? His plating lacks creativity.”

  Pepper’s nondescript appearance hid a sharp understanding of the culinary world. She actually sounded like she knew what she was talking about. I studied her as she nudged the last few bites of food around her plate. Was it a case of being a better teacher than cook? Or had Addison lied to Hudson to make Pepper look bad?

  “I liked breakfast better,” Betty said, around a mouth full of pineapple.

  She was right. The chicken was dry and sauce a little on the sweet side. It was hard to believe this was something Red had created.

  I took a long drink of water, washing down the overcooked chicken. “Have you guys seen Hudson?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No.” She lowered her voice. “Did you know you’re in the news?”

  Man, I had been hoping MacAvoy would do the right thing. Thinking he would suddenly grow a conscience overnight was insanity on my part. I didn’t want to know how MacAvoy had spun that last conversation with Sunday, but from Veronica’s strained expression, it wasn’t in my favor.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Betty said.

  Veronica looked offended. “I know that. But you two need to see this blog.” She whipped out her smartphone and pulled up the website in question. Once she found what she was looking for, she handed me the phone.

  Holy cow. A “celebrity blogger” claimed Addison and I were childhood friends. According to a “close friend,” I was jealous of Addison’s success in the pampered pet world, and was now a prime suspect in her murder. With a link to MacAvoy’s exclusive interview with Sunday as the blog’s main source.

  I broke out into a sweat. I handed the phone back to Veronica before it slipped from my grip.

  I looked at Betty. I could feel my Texas indignation boiling to the brim. I was so mad, I could start a fight in an empty house. “He ran that whole interview. He’s slicker than a jar of slop.”

  Veronica’s gaze bounced between Betty and me. She vibrated with nervous energy. “There’s more. I think this part is good news, though. Since Callum MacAvoy’s interview aired, there’s been pressure all over social media for the Laguna Hills police to turn over Addison’s personal items to Sunday.”

  I pondered what she’d said for a second. I shoved my plate to the side and stood up. “We need to see what the police turned over to her.”

  Betty tossed her napkin on the table and jumped up ready to defend my honor. “And then we can take down the sexy reporter.”

  Pepper shot me an appraising look. “Sunday Hill doesn’t like you. How are you going to convince her to let you look at it Addison’s things?”

  I shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Betty grabbed her handbag and sunglasses. “You gotta start paying attention, Cookie. You blew up that bridge when you called her a liar.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ONCE WE WERE finished eating, it was time for the obstacle course. We’d have to look for Sunday later. We grabbed the dogs and joined the others on the field. The empty field. There was no obstacle course set up. No one there to get the game started. That bad feeling I had earlier had morphed into a really awful feeling.

  I was worried about Hudson. Something was wrong. He would never miss a camp-sponsored event. It was time to take action. I called the Laguna Hills police, but they weren’t interested in filing a missing person’s report since he had been missing for less than twenty-four hours.

  I explained he was the program director and it wasn’t like him to skip an event he had planned. I’d also reminded them there had been a murder here days earlier, but that didn’t matter.

  They had rules. Procedures to follow. It gave me a headache listening to them. I hung up, frustrated. I looked round at the group of guests and fifteen canines waiting to be entertained for the next hour.

  I needed advice. I needed someone to rattle the police’s cage and take this seriously. Addison was already dead. Who knew what was going on with Hudson?

  “I’m calling Malone.”

  Betty immediately began primping—fluffing her hair and pinching her checks.

  I rolled my eyes at her. “You know he can’t see you, right?”

  Betty stuck out her tongue.

  Nice.

  On the fifth ring, he finally answered. “Malone.”

  I didn’t waste words. “It’s Mel. I need some advice.”

  “You sure do.” His sharp voice bit through the air and into my ear. “I thought I already told you to call Grey? I saw that interview with MacAvoy and Sunday Hill. Somehow, you managed to find yourself smack in the middle of everything, including a murder investigation.”

  I turned my back to the group. “I’m not calling about that. The program director, Hudson Jones, is missing.” I quickly filled him in on the details. “The last time he was seen was around eleven o’clock last night. I’ve called the police, but they won’t act. He’s missed all the meals, and the events he had planned for the day. That’s not like him. He’s hyper responsible. There’s a problem.”

  “If you’ve already called the local police, what do you want me to do?”

  I blew my bangs out of my face. “I don’t know. Do what you do so well. Talk to someone. Have them start a search party. Make them do what cops are supposed to do when someone is missing.”

  Whatever Malone said was muffled by the phone. Or it could be that he’d turned his mouth away from the receiver as he cursed. “I’ll make a call.”

  “Thank you.” I was about to hang up when he suddenly felt the need to provide some unsolicited advice.

  “I saw the news. You need to lay low. Keep your nose clean. Did you get yourself a good lawyer?”

  I moved away from the crowd. “Not yet. Do you really think I need one?”

  “As soon as we hang up, you should call an attorney.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Is there any way you could come here and help out these two clueless cops?”

  “No.” I could hear the finality in his voice. I had a clear picture of what his face looked like right now. A stern frown that usually went along with the words, “Stay out of my investigation or I’ll toss you in jail.”

  I rubbed my forehead, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “Can you call and put in a good word with Lark and Finn?”

  “Detective Finn?”

  “Yes. Female, tall, blond, athletic, wears these ugly blue blazers, and has zero personality.”

  “You just described half of the female homicide detectives,” he said wryly. “But yes, I know her.” He didn’t sound positive about recognizing who Finn was.

  “I don’t like the way you said that. Now I’m scared.”

  “You should be. Stop talking to MacAvoy and get a lawyer.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d been walking as we talked. I found myself standing on the trail to the campfire ring, and somehow, Betty and the dogs were right behind me. I glared at her. She gla
red right back.

  “How do I convince Finn to look for Hudson?”

  “If you’ve already called to report him missing, that’s about all you can do right now. Have you reported his alleged disappearance to the park ranger?”

  I rolled my eyes at the word “alleged.”

  “I talked to Ranger Elliott earlier and mentioned we hadn’t seen Hudson today. He didn’t seem concerned. But that was before Hudson missed the obstacle course event. Do you think Hudson got lost or injured on a trail?” I looked at the vast mountainside.

  “I don’t rule out anything when dealing with a missing person.”

  With one last reminder to stop talking to MacAvoy, he hung up.

  Betty planted herself in front of me. “Is he on his way?”

  I shook my head. “No. We’re on our own.”

  She eyed me. “What’s the plan?”

  “Let’s go to headquarters and see if we can find a clue as to where he might be. Maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his absence.”

  I didn’t believe that for a minute. And by the skeptical expression on Betty’s face, she didn’t either.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, we were inside the empty headquarters tent looking for clues pointing toward Hudson’s whereabouts. The air was hot and stale. The fan hadn’t been turned on for the day. It was eerie to think about how quiet the tent was at the moment, when just days ago it was bustling with purposeful police, working Addison’s homicide case.

  Betty stood in front of Hudson’s desk, her hands on her hips. “He’s a neat freak. There’s nothing out of place. No potato chips, no leaky ink pen.”

  I rummaged around the makeshift desks the police had created days earlier. Raider and Missy were curled up next to a couple of high-back chairs toward the rear of the tent, panting as they slept.

  “Have you seen how to turn on the fan?” I asked.

  Betty waved a blue piece of paper above her head. “I found a schedule for the week,” she yelled.

  I darted to her side. My stomach sank. “According to this, he planned on being here.”

  “It’s not looking good, Cookie.” She shook her head.

  “Look for a revised version.” I knew I was grasping at straws, but I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling Hudson was in danger and it was up to us to save him. I had the sudden thought, if something happened to Hudson, who was in charge? Loni from the ARL?

  I returned to the desk I was searching and stumbled across a blue folder with a large coffee stain on the front, hidden under a stack of papers attached to Hudson’s clipboard. Judging by the coffee stain, the folder didn’t belong to Hudson.

  I flipped it open and leafed through the pages. I frowned in confusion. I flipped through the pages slower, reading instead of skimming this time. It looked like police notes pertaining to statements given by the guests. Including one from Ranger Elliott. There was also a preliminary cause of death—suffocation. To the side there was a handwritten note that read “pillow?”

  Why did Hudson have this? Was it left behind on accident, or had Hudson taken it?

  Suddenly, Sunday barged inside carrying a large cardboard box. “Where is he?” she shrieked.

  I jumped, dropping the papers on the hardwood floor. The dogs leaped to their feet, barking at the unexpected visitor. I sighed in exasperation. It only took a couple of seconds to get them under control, but if Sunday had possessed common sense or consideration regarding the special circumstances of the glamping event, calming the pooches wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Oh, joy. It’s you,” Betty griped.

  I scrambled to pick up the papers I’d dropped. I was at my wits’ end with Sunday. “You know, we’re out here with dogs. When you enter a room shrieking at full volume, it upsets them. Can you tone it down?”

  I thought I’d handled that rather calmly. Sunday’s brittle smile shattered into a thousand pieces, making me think I wasn’t as reasonable as I’d thought.

  She glared down her condescendingly straight nose, sneering at Missy and Raider. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  A sentiment we could all agree on. “What do you need to make that happen?”

  She strutted through the middle of headquarters, her dramatic entrance wasted on us. She stopped in front of Betty. With a patronizing look, she dropped the box, which landed on the scarred oak desk with a loud thud. “I want to talk to that inept program director. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “We’re looking for him, too.”

  “Someone needs to find him now. I’m missing very important items.”

  Betty peeked inside the box. “That sounds more like your problem than his.”

  Sunday flipped her wispy blond bangs to the side of her face. “He helped the police gather Addison’s belongings, and the most important things aren’t there. The police insist this is everything. I know for a fact it’s not.” She crossed her arms, clearly conveying it was now our problem.

  This was the box of Addison’s personal effects? For once, good luck shined its face on me. I looked inside. My heart skipped a beat as I searched through the items.

  My eyebrows knitted together in concern. No letters. No recipe cards. No USB drive. As much as I detested it, I had to agree—this wasn’t all of it.

  “And the police said this was everything?” I asked. “No backpack?”

  “I wasn’t given a backpack. Did she have one?”

  “She could have. I thought I’d seen one,” I lied. Heck, I not only knew she had one, I’d searched it myself.

  “Addison’s recipes are missing, and her photos.”

  Photos? I’d never seen any photos. “I don’t understand. The way Addison talked, the cookbook was ready to go to press. Other than the foreword.”

  “She had made some . . . changes. She was going to give them to me here. I need those recipes. Especially the pictures.”

  “What pictures?”

  “Plating shots. Dogs eating her food. Her childhood photos of her and her parents.” She waved her hand dismissively, pretending it wasn’t important. She wasn’t fooling me.

  “Childhood photos?” It was difficult to swallow past the lump in my throat.

  The corners of her mouth tightened. “That’s right. We were doing a ten-page spread of candid shots. Addison and her parents. Addison’s parents in their early years together. Her father was an Olympic athlete, you know. And a Miss America judge.”

  “Hey, Cookie’s a reformed beauty queen. Maybe you—”

  I cut Betty off with a look. She immediately looked hurt. I’d have to explain it to her later.

  I turned to the drama queen from New York City. “As soon as we find Hudson, we’ll let him know you need to talk to him. Until then, you can either take this back with you or leave it here. I’m sure whatever you don’t want, Hudson will be happy to take care of.”

  “I have no use for any of this. Hudson can take care of it along with my new traveling bag. He can find me in my tent. I can’t wait to leave this Godforsaken dirt bowl.”

  She clip-clopped out the door, leaving Addison’s personal effects on Hudson’s desk. After all the chaos she’d stirred up, the heartless battle-axe only cared about herself.

  “Mission accomplished, Cookie. The hot mess express has left the building.”

  I wanted to die inside. Mama had mentioned photos, but I was distracted by Pepper dumping her garbage. Could there possibly be photos of my mama and Addison’s father? Could Addison’s recipes and photos be on the USB drive I’d seen in the missing backpack?

  Good Lord, could this get any worse?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE REST OF THE day went by at warp speed. After we left headquarters, Betty and I made the rounds asking about the brooch. We came up empty-handed once a
gain. At this point, I wasn’t sure what more we could do. I was devastated. Eventually, I would have to break the news to Caro. Just the thought of how that conversation would go made me want to join the witness relocation program.

  Once again, dinner was delicious. The salmon was moist, the garlic potatoes perfectly seasoned. I wasn’t sure what had happened with lunch, but Red had made a full recovery.

  Throughout the meal, the conversation centered on where Hudson might have disappeared to. One rumor floating around was that he’d been called back into town for a family emergency. By the end of the meal, the consensus was to cancel the s’more fest for the evening.

  Mr. Swanson had whispered to Betty that Red had bushed off everyone’s concern as busybody paranoia. Apparently, last night, Hudson had offered to pick up Red’s grocery supplies this morning. Red claimed we’d all feel silly when Hudson waltzed into camp later tonight, upset that we weren’t gathered around the campfire.

  I would love to see that happen. But I wasn’t holding my breath.

  After a day like today, I would have preferred a soak in the tub and a glass of red wine. Instead, I got to hang with Betty watching reality TV. Thankfully, I still got the glass of wine.

  Betty had bought us both adult onesie pajamas. I swore this would be the one and only time I’d wear them. So there we were, in our purple cotton onesies, feet up in the recliners, glasses of red wine in our hands, the dogs stretched out on the couch snoozing, as we watched two naked strangers volunteer to be dropped in the middle of the wilderness to “survive” for twenty-one days on TV.

  “Good news. If we lose our shoes this week, I know how to make us palm frond footwear,” I said during a commercial break.

  Betty set her wine glass on the side table. “I’d sign up for that show. I could do it.”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t watch you. Even if your body parts were pixilated.”

  Betty laughed for a second before turning serious. “I’ve been thinking. When Sunday mentioned Addison’s daddy was a Miss America judge, you got antsy and changed the subject.”