Raiders of the Lost Bark Page 9

  “Oh, look who’s coming.” A sly grin settled on Betty’s face. Judging by the lilt in her voice, the person was male.

  I leaned to my right to see around Pepper and immediately wished I hadn’t. MacAvoy. He looked directly at me. Darn. There were still a number of empty chairs at our table. Plenty of room for him. Sure enough, Mr. TV made a beeline for us.

  Of all the empty seats, why’d he have to choose one at our table?

  Chapter Eleven

  MACAVOY HAD CHANGED out of his company shirt and put on a plain old green cotton T-shirt. He was still wearing that same idiot grin he always did when he thought he was about to get a scoop.

  “Good evening,” he said, with a disarming tone. “Ms. Maddox, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

  Pepper blushed. Lordy, we were in trouble. She might dress sensibly, but she didn’t have a good read for people. That might explain why she’d over-shared with a reporter about how far she was willing to go to get her job back. I studied Mr. TV and wondered if he was able to wrangle that information out of her, or if she’d randomly offered it.

  “It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. MacAvoy. Please sit here.” She indicated the chair next to her and directly across from me.

  He didn’t waste time, he yanked the wooden chair back and claimed his place. “I’d love to. Please, call me Mac.” He held out his hand to Asher. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Asher Knox.” They shook hands quickly across the table. “This is Eddie.”

  MacAvoy held his palm toward the dog. Eddie gave it a quick sniff. He wasn’t rude, but he didn’t seem eager for attention from the stranger either. The dog was definitely a better judge of people than Pepper.

  MacAvoy’s gaze bounced between Betty and Asher. “Are you a friend of Betty’s?”

  “You got a problem with that?” My feisty assistant threw back her small shoulders, practically staking her boyfriend territory.

  He cleared his throat. “Not at all.” He directed his overworked charm toward me in the form of a tenacious grin. “Are you ready for that interview? I have questions about your relationship with the victim. We can take care of it tonight.”

  I unrolled a cloth napkin and placed it on my lap. “Sorry. I have plans to wash my hair.”

  “You can interview me, handsome.” Betty slumped in her chair as she made googly eyes across the table. “Why don’t we take a moonlit walk later tonight? After everyone’s gone to bed.”

  MacAvoy jumped, ramming his knee into the table. “I thought dinner was to be served ten minutes ago?” he croaked.

  Poor guy. Betty had to be playing footsies. I felt a tad bad for him. Not so bad that I wanted to help him. I enjoyed watching him squirm too much. “There’s a lot to do now that it’s just Red. We should probably cut him some slack.”

  Pepper snorted. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy. He’s a bully and a loudmouth.”

  Not as demure as first impressions might indicate. “We saw you speaking with him before he rang the dinner bell.” I didn’t mention she’d been clutching a knife. “I’m surprised you haven’t been approached to help, Pepper.”

  “I offered. But I’m not needed. He knows I’m a better chef than he is.” She sniffed, clearly offended. “He’ll change his mind. He’s already in the weeds with this service. He won’t get out of it without some help.”

  Betty leaned across the table, turning her attention on her newest friendly target. “Tell us all the dirt. Cookie here interrupted him and that blue-haired chef arguing. It was vicious. Yelling. Cursing. Slamming of pots and pans. Do you think he could have killed her?”

  Good grief. A gross exaggeration. If this was how she talked to the other guests, no wonder they thought I was involved in Addison’s death.

  Mr. TV regarded me with a raised brow. He knew Betty well enough to know her account of the events was embellished. At the same time, he had to be curious to know what was fact and what was exaggeration.

  Silence settled across the table as we all turned to Pepper. Her eyes were as wide as fry pans. “How would I know?” she squeaked.

  We’d never get Hudson’s secret out of her if she remained defensive. I attempted to redirect the dinner conversation. “So, Asher, you never finished your story. What happened between you and Addison?”

  “It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, really. We had a disagreement about some missing cufflinks. I was certain I’d left them in the kitchen during a cooking lesson. I asked her about them a few days later, and she blew up. Accused me of calling her a thief.”

  Betty gasped. I knew exactly where she was headed. I rested my hand on her arm and squeezed gently.

  “Were you? Calling her a thief?” I asked.

  “I was simply asking her a question.”

  “Was that recent?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “Did you find them?”

  He rubbed Eddie behind the ears. “Unfortunately, no.”

  Well, that was interesting. Was Addison a blackmailer and a jewel thief? Was she killed over stolen cufflinks?

  Did she have my Grandma Tillie’s brooch and my mother’s letters?

  Excited chatter rippled through the diners, cutting the tension at our table. Black-tie servers marched down the lighted pathway, carrying our dinner on large silver platters. I smiled as I saw a pile of lamb kabobs on half of the trays.

  Immediately, there was concerned talk about whether or not it was safe to have wooden skewers because of the dogs. The concern wasn’t needed. The canine version of lamb kabobs was actually a meat patty served in a crystal sherbet glass, which was placed in front of each canine.

  “What’s in this?” Asher asked the young woman attending our table.

  “Lamb, lentils, and spinach,” she recited.

  “I’ve never heard of feeding my dog spinach.” Betty sniffed at Eddie’s lamb patty.

  “Leafy greens are a wonderful source of iron, fiber, and calcium. Addison taught me that.” Asher broke up the patty with his fingers then set the glass before Harry. “Wait.” Asher licked his finger. “Not bad. Nicely seasoned. Okay, you can eat.”

  The pooch sniffed the food, then immediately dug in. “He’s a discriminating eater,” Asher said. “Red did a good job.”

  Pepper huffed and mumbled something indistinguishable. Using her fork, she broke up Dim Sum’s patty. Once she finished, she set her dog on the table. MacAvoy’s eyes grew large, but he kept quiet. I immediately noticed the dog’s paws were dirty. A dark brownish-red matted the white fur. Could it be dried blood? Was Dim Sum responsible for the bloody paw prints around Addison? If so, why wouldn’t Pepper have noticed and bathed her dog?

  Like Harry, Dim Sum made quick work of his meal.

  I picked up my fork and slid the lamb cubes, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions to my plate. “You were right to not take the bet.” I winked at Betty.

  “I knew you were up to no good.” She piled her food on one side of her plate. “This isn’t going to work at all. We need to pay that chef a visit. Raider will starve on these baby portions. I’ll need a dozen doggie bags.”

  “I’m sure they’d never give a larger dog the same portion size as a small dog. Raider won’t starve.”

  Conversations turned to how delicious the meal was and if the pet recipes would be made available to the campers.

  “This is the best mint-cucumber sauce. I could drink it.” I ran a piece of perfectly cooked lamb across the plate, soaking up the sauce. “I’m curious, does anyone know who’d want to hurt Addison?”

  Asher pulled the last chunk of meat from his skewer. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with her other than those few lessons. She struck me as someone who had a lot of secrets.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “She didn’t share det
ails about her life. She always had new scheme on how to get what she wanted.”

  “You have no idea,” Pepper muttered.

  “Did you know her?” MacAvoy had been unusually quiet until now.

  “Not as well as her.” She pointed her empty skewer toward me.

  Great. Obviously, she wasn’t ready to let the whole job thing go yet. “I didn’t know her as well as you might think.”

  Pepper fed her pooch a small piece of meat from her plate. “No one knew her. She liked being mysterious. I wasn’t impressed with her. She was too competitive. Wanting to get the upper hand when there wasn’t one to get. She liked to threaten people who got in her way.”

  Sounded like Pepper might have also had firsthand experience. “In what way?” I asked.

  “She—” Pepper started, then quickly clammed up. “The typical hotheaded chef stuff.”

  I wasn’t buying it. She was going to say something more specific. I wondered why she’d changed her mind at the last minute. Was it because it would paint Pepper in a bad light? Or was it because she’d killed her?

  “When did you see her last?” I continued to look at my plate in hopes that my lack of eye contact would make it easier for Pepper to continue talking.

  “I saw her slinking off to the spa. You could tell she was meeting someone there in secret by the way she kept looking over her shoulder.”

  “Do you know who she was meeting?” MacAvoy asked.

  Pepper’s hand froze. “No. No. I have no idea.”

  Oh, she was lying. My adrenaline kicked in. “Did she see you?”

  “No. She never noticed me.”

  Did she mean ever or just at that minute? “Do you remember what time that would have been?”

  “Right after the game. Around one-thirty.”

  I squeezed my fork. She had never planned on meeting me. When had I become such a sucker? “You might have been the last person to see her alive. Have you talked to the police?”

  “I have. They asked me if I’d seen you.” She smirked.

  Of course, everyone looked at me. “I wasn’t there.”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t say if you were or weren’t. I just told the truth. I only saw Addison.”

  Only, that wasn’t the truth. Pepper knew who Addison was meeting. Or maybe Pepper followed Addison inside and . . . and what? Exactly how was Addison murdered? “Does anyone know how she died?”

  “Stabbed.” That was Pepper.

  “Choked.” That was Asher.

  “I take that back. I heard the program director say she was smothered,” Pepper tossed out one more rumor.

  Once again, campfire gossip spread like a southern California wildfire. Even Hudson was involved. Last I knew, he didn’t have any idea how Addison had died. I looked at MacAvoy. “Your turn. What do you know?”

  “The cops are playing this one close to the vest. Betty’s the one who found her. How’d she die?”

  “Do I look like I know how to perform an autopsy? She was lying on the massage table with a white sheet over her body and a dinner fork sticking out of her neck.”

  “Was she dressed under the sheet?” MacAvoy probed.

  Darn, that was a good question. I wish I’d have thought of it.

  “I don’t know, Hot Shot. I didn’t lift up the sheet. I was busy screaming.”

  I held back a chuckle. I could see her, hands on either side of her face, screaming like the kid in Home Alone. “Take a minute and think back. You walked inside and then what?” I asked.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. “I was thinking about how long a massage I could talk you into paying for. I was annoyed because there wasn’t anyone there to help me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What did you see?”

  “It was very pretty, peaceful. There were two massage tables. She was lying on the table on the right.” Her eyes popped open. “The sheet wasn’t laying flat. I saw her black shoes. I think she was dressed.” Her voice shot out with excitement.

  So it was possible she was there for a secret meeting. Was she blackmailing someone else? Was she there to meet Hudson for clandestine meeting? Addison was busier than I’d thought.

  “Where is everyone?” A loud husky voice rumbled through the dining area, hanging on the evening air.

  One by one, everyone turned to watch a stylishly dressed petite-sized woman plod toward the tables. Her sheer black top, tight leather pants, and four-inch-heeled, black fashion boots were out of place. She was definitely a newcomer.

  “Hell-ooo. Can someone direct me to Hudson Jones?” She pushed a wisp of shockingly white bangs from her eyes. Her pixie haircut emphasized her strong facial features.

  Hudson had been sitting at table three. He quickly made his way to the woman and engaged her in conversation.

  “Who in the world is that?” Betty asked in a stage whisper.

  “Bad news.” Pepper grabbed her glass of wine and gulped it down, keeping her back to the stranger.

  “You know her?” MacAvoy was practically salivating at the prospect of a juicy story.

  Pepper swept her pooch off the table and onto her lap. “That’s Sunday Hill. Addison’s agent for the cookbook.” The panic in her hushed tone was unmistakable.

  Hudson had mentioned Sunday was coming to collect Addison’s personal belongings. He’d been expecting her hours ago. I watched as he guided the young woman back up the pathway, the same way she’d just come from.

  “You don’t like her?” I asked Pepper.

  She shook her head frantically. “I’m terrified of her. She destroyed one chef’s career because he went against her advice. A client was approached to be a contestant on a reality cooking show. He wanted to do it. She didn’t want him to. He did it anyway. She got production to sabotage every meal he cooked. He looked like an idiot on national television. He had a meltdown and ended up in a mental hospital for three days. He’s never worked as a chef again.”

  That sounded extreme, but it didn’t explain why Pepper was afraid. What was their history? “You know this is true because . . . ?”

  Pepper nodded. “I was his sous-chef for two years prior to his breakdown. I can’t let her see me.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that. Hudson just left with her.”

  That didn’t seem to matter to Pepper. She scooped Dim Sum into her arms and stood. “I have to go.” She dashed off toward the campfire ring.

  “That was odd,” Asher murmured.

  MacAvoy’s eyebrows pulled together. “Do you believe her?”

  “She seemed truly afraid.”

  Sunday didn’t look as ruthless as Pepper was making her out to be. Although there was also the side comment Hudson had made when we were at Addison’s tent. He was also nervous about the agent’s arrival. “I wonder if Sunday Hill knows who might want to hurt Addison.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” MacAvoy stood.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Exactly where you think I am. To find out what Sunday Hill knows about Addison. Are you coming?”

  Betty looked torn, not wanting to miss out. “Can I get a doggie bag first?”

  Chapter Twelve

  ASHER OFFERED TO grab as many leftovers for Raider as Red would give him. Betty proclaimed her gratitude and promised to return the favor. I inwardly cringed, thinking about how she might interpret the appropriate way to return the favor.

  MacAvoy, Betty, and I followed Hudson and Sunday to the headquarters tent. I was disturbed that Mr. TV and I had somehow teamed up. I didn’t trust him. But as Grandma Tillie used to say, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Not that I considered Mr. TV an enemy, but he wasn’t a friend either.

  “I heard about you and Grey.” MacAvoy glanced at me. “I nev
er trusted the guy. I tried to warn you about him.”

  “You’re not a very good judge of character. I trust Grey Donovan with my life. You, on the other hand, I trust less than a courtroom full of crooked lawyers. Keep your nose out of my personal life.” My Texas accent made a brief appearance. It did that when I lost my temper. I quickened my pace. Why in God’s green earth, did he think he, of all people, should discuss my relationship with my ex-fiancé?

  Betty cackled. “That’s my spunky Cookie. We need to keep the handsome reporter around. He makes you ornery.”

  “He makes me disagreeable.”

  MacAvoy stopped talking to me, which helped my temper cool off by the time we caught up with Hudson and Sunday. The heavy canvas door was propped open. We could see them standing at Hudson’s desk, talking. I stopped abruptly at the doorway. Betty let out a “oof” as she stumbled into my back. Would it be rude if we just walked inside? They were obviously having a private conversation. Not normally the one to second-guess myself, I didn’t like the feeling of self-doubt.

  “What’d you stop for? I can’t hear them from here,” Betty grumbled.

  “Stop jabbering and maybe you’d be able to.” My stomach tightened. The last time I’d been inside, I was questioned by Detective Finn. Thankfully, she wasn’t around. I pushed aside the angst and concentrated on our mission—gathering info on Addison.

  Mr. TV patted his back pocket. “Damn, I don’t have my notepad.”

  “I thought you were working on a story? What kind of reporter doesn’t have his notebook with him at all times?” Betty taunted.

  At the moment, I felt less apologetic about crashing their meeting. “I guess everything’s off the record then. You wouldn’t want to report inaccurate facts.”

  I entered the tent, Betty and Mr. TV hot on my heels. The crime scene equipment that had been laid out earlier in the day was gone, as were the uniformed officers. The extra tables and chairs that had been set up as makeshift desks were still shoved up against the canvas walls.