Trigger Yappy Page 10

  Brad rubbed my back. “Hey, hey, easy there.”

  Suddenly everything seemed funny. The fact that no one had mentioned the double date. The fact that Gottlieb had such a shiny bald head and ridiculous-looking eyebrows and mustache. And mostly the fact that they seemed to treating me as if they were running an intervention against crime-solving busybodies.

  The wine burned down my throat and threatened to come out through my nose.

  Oh God, I am cracking up.

  The front door opened and Yolanda breezed in. She wore a simple black dress that was accessorized with shimmering beads. In her hair and on her feet were the same glittery beads, giving off the impression that she was slick with moisture, as if she just stepped out of the ocean. The effect was stunning. Conversations stopped, Gottlieb’s jaw dropped and indeed it seemed as if every man in the restaurant had paused to appreciate the siren beauty who had graced them with her presence.

  She smiled knowingly at Gottlieb, but her face fell when she spotted Brad and me.

  I wiggled my fingers at her and I swore her face sagged in disappointment for a split second, although I may have been the only one to notice.

  She floated over to us. “Good evening, y’all,” she drawled.

  Gottlieb heartily kissed her cheeks in greeting and put a possessive arm around her shoulder. “Yolanda! You are stunning! What an amazing dress!” Gottlieb beamed as if he’d won the lottery.

  Brad smiled at Yolanda. “Good evening,” he soothed warmly. He must have noticed the same look I’d seen. He was talking to her like she was a wounded bird.

  “Hi there, honey,” I said.

  Before she could reply, Gottlieb asked, “Would you like a glass of wine, Yolanda?”

  Yolanda nodded pleasantly. “That would be very nice. If you don’t mind, I’m just off to powder my nose, while you order.” She clutched fiercely at my wrist, cutting off the blood flow. “You’ll come along won’t you, darling?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Once in the ladies’ room, Yolanda hissed, “What are you doing crashing my date?”

  “I’m not crashing your date,” I said. “I had no idea they planned this.”

  Yolanda turned on the water at the bathroom sink and wet her fingertips. She pressed them gently to her temples. “Let’s not ruin our date with your murder talk, okay, Maggie?”

  “My ‘murder talk’? What do you mean? This afternoon you wanted to find out what happened to Fran as bad as I did.”

  “They don’t want us investigating! Don’t you see?” Yolanda asked. “This thing. This whole fake date thing—”

  “It’s not a fake date,” I protested.

  She waved a hand at me. “It’s so that they can make sure we’re not meddling.”

  “Someone broke into my apartment,” I said.

  Yolanda’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

  I recounted the break-in at my apartment for her.

  She wrapped her arms around me in a fierce hug. “Oh my goodness, Maggie! You could have been killed!”

  “No. That’s the thing. He wasn’t after me, was he? I mean he broke into my apartment while I was in the shower! He could easily have killed me, right? Bonked me on the head or whatever. But as soon as I called out he, or she, ran.”

  “She?” Yolanda asked.

  I shrugged. “Well, that’s the thing. I’m not convinced it was a man.” I pulled the note out of my handbag and showed Yolanda the loopy handwriting. “It looks like a lady’s writing, doesn’t it?”

  Yolanda made a face. “It could be a man trying to disguise the writing.”

  I sighed. “I know, but I think it was Darla in the van this afternoon.”

  Yolanda pressed her lips together. After a moment of deliberation she whispered, “Maggie, I saw the van again this afternoon. After I dropped you off. The driver cut me off at a red light.”

  My breath caught. “Was it Darla driving?”

  Yolanda shook her head. “I really couldn’t tell. But I’m scared. I could have been killed.” She tsked. “I’m going to have to trade in my convertible for one of those awful SUVs.”

  I snickered despite myself.

  Yolanda slapped my hand. “Don’t laugh. This is a serious matter!” I tried to compose myself and her attention returned to the note she was now clutching. “Do you think Brad or Gottlieb could pull fingerprints off the note?”

  I pulled the note out of her hands. “We’re not showing this to them!”

  Yolanda expression turned serious. “Maggie! This isn’t a game! Someone is threatening us!”

  “No, no, no. Don’t say anything. Brad will kill me if finds out we’ve been asking questions.”

  * * *

  Since I couldn’t decide between the Crispy Alaskan Cod covered in jalapeño tartar, served with a side of sesame slaw and spicy fries, or the Spiced Rubbed Mahi Mahi served with avocado-tomatillo salsa, Brad did me the favor of ordering the cod and offering me half.

  I ate with abandon, as did Brad and Sergeant Gottlieb. Yolanda on the other hand, only daintily picked at her BBQ grilled salmon with chipotle sauce. Every time she got a chance she gave me a meaningful glance.

  To avoid any talk about Fran or the break-in, I chatted about the food and alternatively queried Gottlieb about the kitchen renovations he was contemplating. In the middle of a discussion about the merits of tile verses terra-cotta, Yolanda burst out with, “I think you should tell them, Maggie. I’m scared.”

  Gottlieb was startled and put down his glass of Zinfandel. Brad, on the other hand, found his glass and drank with renewed energy, as if fortifying himself for the news.

  I turned to Gottlieb and said, “Go with the terra-cotta. Yolanda is scared the tile could crack.”

  Yolanda glared at me. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

  I motioned to her plate. “She doesn’t like the salmon and is scared she might have an allergic reaction. Blow up like a balloon!”

  Yolanda’s jaw clenched. “I’m not allergic to seafood.”

  Gottlieb examined her plate, his bushy eyebrows furrowing together so that it looked momentarily like a rodent had over run his face. “Well!” he said. “You’ve barely touched your food. Don’t you like it?” He looked over shoulder for a waiter. “I’ll send it back.”

  Brad put down his glass, his fingers drumming out a staccato rhythm as he studied me.

  “It’s not the salmon,” Yolanda soothed. “The salmon is lovely. It’s that—”

  “She thought you two were going to have a hot and heavy date, and now she’s mad at Brad and me for tagging along,” I said.

  Yolanda flushed scarlet, but Gottlieb perked up as if that was the best news he’d ever heard. He placed one of his enormous hands on top of Yolanda’s delicate little fingers and said, “Ah now. Don’t be disappointed. I’ll take you out next week. Just the two of us.”

  Brad’s tapping ceased and he gave me a look that said he saw straight through me. “How’s the wine?” he asked pointedly.

  I reached for my glass. “Delicious.”

  “As good as Verdant Vines?” he asked.

  Yolanda seized the moment. “We went up there today to get some wine for the Wine and Bark and someone nearly ran us off the road. Maggie thinks it was Hendrick’s girlfriend, Darla. And then someone—”

  “You went up there after I asked you not to?” Brad asked.

  “We had to,” Yolanda interjected. “We have to make an impression on Vrishali because of the Kitty Corner opening up.”

  “What?” Gottlieb asked. His forehead creased and he looked as if we’d lost him several questions back. But with a wiggle of his eyebrows he was back in the saddle.

  “Long story,” I murmured, then took a sip of wine.

  A tuxedo waiter approached our table. “How’s everything tonight, folks?”

  Brad smiled disarmingly. “It’s just about to get interesting.”

  The waiter laughed. “I’ll leave you to it then. Let me know if th
ere is anything else I can bring you folks, before the dessert menu, of course.” He turned on his heel and left.

  Brad fixed his sexy blue eyes on me. “Maggie? You were saying?”

  “I don’t know that it was Darla. But it was definitely a woman driving and she wore a cap with a logo. I’ve seen Darla wearing a ball cap with the Verdant Vines logo—”

  Gottlieb tsked. “Now, ladies. Detective work is more than just deducing who wears a cap or not. Someone could have been impersonating Darla to make you think just that. You really have to leave the police work up to Officer Brooks and myself.”

  Annoyance burned inside me. I knew Yolanda liked Gottlieb and overall he seemed like a very nice man, but I couldn’t take the patronizing. “Leave the detective work to you? What about Officer Ellington? Do you know about his prior relationship with the victim? What about the fact that he fits the profile of the killer?”

  Brad squinted at me. “What profile?”

  “Man, size twelve work boots,” Yolanda said.

  Gottlieb and Brad stared at her and she suddenly clasped a hand over her mouth.

  “And you know this how?” Gottlieb asked.

  His eyebrows seemed to stand at attention, but Yolanda simply rolled her shoulders back and said, “I pay attention.”

  Gottlieb murmured and Brad pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Just so we are clear. Officer Ellington is not a suspect,” Brad said.

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  “No, no. We’re not going to do this. We’re not going to discuss the ins and out of an ongoing investigation,” Gottlieb said. “I’m sure you ladies understand.”

  Before we could protest, our waiter materialized at the table, asking, “May I clear some plates here?”

  Brad leaned back to give the waiter access. The waiter silently cleared our plates and somehow magically presented a dessert menu to each of us.

  Brad ordered the chocolate mousse for us to split and Yolanda and Gottlieb ordered the Macadamia Nut Brownie Sundae.

  When the waiter retreated, Gottlieb asked, “What’s this about a Kitty Corner? I do love little kittens.”

  Yolanda paled.

  Gottlieb a cat lover?

  Yolanda would never shut up about it. This date was going from bad to worse.

  Brad seemed to pick up on the tension because he said, “Dogs, too. The sarge loves all animals.”

  Gottlieb’s mustache twisted violently as if he was swallowing back a protest, but then he laughed a little too robustly. “Yes. Yes. I like all sorts of creatures.”

  Our waiter returned and meticulously placed the desserts between each couple.

  Brad’s hand brushed against mine as he picked up his spoon on the side of the saucer holding the mousse cup. He caught my eye and winked wickedly at me.

  I dipped into the dessert and enjoyed the creamy decadence in my mouth for only a moment before I noticed Yolanda across the table, wringing her napkin.

  “What about your apartment, though, Maggie. I think you should tell them,” she said.

  Ire bubbled up inside me. Wasn’t I ever allowed one moment of peace before the next catastrophe assaulted me?

  Brad put down his spoon and squinted at me. “What about your aparment?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said.

  Gottlieb cleared his throat. “If it’s nothing, then tell us and let us judge.”

  “Someone broke into Maggie’s apartment—,” Yolanda said, her voice shrill and panicky.

  “It’s alright, Yolanda,” I soothed. “Nothing is going to happen—”

  “I don’t want Maggie to end up like Fran,” Yolanda sniveled, her eyes welling up with tears.

  Brad slammed a fist down on the table. “Dammit, Maggie! Didn’t I tell you not to get involved? To not go to the vineyard? This isn’t a game. Fran is dead!”

  Anxiety burned my throat. Suddenly I was the bad guy. Brad was angry, Yolanda was crying, and Gottlieb looked as if he wanted to choke me.

  “I didn’t mean for…” My voice sounded distant and the room tilted to the right. I pressed one hand to my forehead and the other on the table to steady myself. My vision blurred and then I had no peripheral vision. I sucked in a deep breath.

  Oh Lord.

  I knew this feeling all too well.

  Things are closing in on me.

  Brad stood and swiftly helped me out of my chair. “Let’s get you some air.”

  My legs felt so wobbly that I feared I’d land facedown in a dessert plate, but Brad expertly guided me out of the restaurant. Once outside, a blast of fresh ocean air whipped my senses back in order and my wooziness subsided a bit.

  “Panic attack,” I whimpered. “I get them sometimes in moments of severe distress.”

  Brad’s hands were on my arms, still supporting me. He leaned his face close to mine. “‘Severe distress,’ huh? What the hell do you think you are causing me?”

  “I dunno,” I said lamely, wishing my balance would return.

  Brad slipped a hand to the crook of my neck. “Repeat after me,” he whispered. “No more investigating.”

  “Mmm,” I mumbled.

  He leaned in close until our foreheads were touching. “No more investigating. I mean it,” he said again.

  The low register in his voice made my tummy quiver.

  “I agree with you,” I said, barely able process the thought.

  “I’m not trying to be an ogre here. I care about you, Maggie.” His mouth was so close to mine, I could feel his breath on my lips. “I want you to be safe. Do you understand?”

  I wrapped my arms around his back and squeezed my body into his. “I understand,” I said.

  “Say it,” he said, pulling his body away from mine, but leaving his lips close.

  Teasing me, toying with me.

  Well, two can play at that game.

  “No more investigating,” I lied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  An obnoxious buzzing jarred me out of sleep. I’d been dreaming about Brad and how sweet his protective nature was. I fumbled for my alarm clock, then realized the buzzing was my phone.

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I reached for the phone, hoping it was Rachel being released from the hospital.

  “Hello?”

  “Maggie!” It was Yolanda, her voice sounded hoarse and in pain.

  I jolted up in bed. “What is it? What wrong?” I was suddenly disoriented. It was pitch black outside. Still night. Why was Yolanda calling me in the middle in the night? Had her and Gottlieb’s date ended poorly?

  “It’s Beepo!” she wailed.

  “Beepo? What do you mean?”

  “He’s … he’s…” Her breath caught in a jagged way. She let out a huge sob. “He’s gone, Maggie! I think he’s…”

  “Gone? Slow down, honey. Take a deep breath,” I said. “Do you want me to come over?”

  “I think someone took him. My place looks ransacked—”

  “Okay, call Gottlieb, I’m on my way.”

  “No, no,” she wailed. “I can’t call him.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I … please. You come over. Can you call Brad?”

  “I’ll call him right now. Give us a couple of minutes.”

  I hung up and speed-dialed Brad. He picked up on the third ring, his voice groggy and thick with sleep. “Maggie? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” I said. “I just got off the phone with Yolanda. She says her place has been broken into and Beepo’s gone.”

  “She’s just got in now?”

  I glanced at the clock. It was 4:30 A.M. “I guess so,” I answered.

  “Hot damn, Sarge,” he said.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. She’s super distressed. You know how she loves that little dog.”

  Brad laughed. “Okay, okay, I’m just trying to wake myself up. I’ll jump in the shower and head over to her place in a few minutes. Tell her not to touch anything.”

  “I wi
ll. But pick me up on your way. I want to go with you.”

  “Maggie. You promised no more investigating.”

  “This isn’t investigating,” I said, jumping out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans. “This is being there for a friend.”

  He snorted.

  “Besides, you know how I feel about Beepo.”

  This time Brad laughed out loud. “Yeah, you hate him.”

  I snickered. “Hate is such a strong word.”

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, hanging up.

  I rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and do something about the rings under my eyes and my tangled mess of hair. A girl is just not her best at 4:30 A.M.

  Fortunately, Brad took long enough it that it gave me a chance to reset my hair and completely redo my makeup. When he knocked on my door, I opened it to find him fresh faced and shaved with damp hair and a bright smile. He wore blue jeans and snug T-shirt that outlined his pecs. It was all I could do to not pull him into my apartment there and then.

  He leaned one arm on my door frame and said, “So you just wake up beautiful?”

  I grabbed my purse off the couch. “No. I work at it, but apparently you don’t.”

  He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously and shook his head. “Me? Beautiful? Yeah right. You’re lying.”

  I pulled out my keys to lock the door and said, “I only lie about big stuff.”

  He snickered at my comment, but stopped my hand from locking the door. “Hold up.” He fingered the lock. “You said someone broke in yesterday. How’d they get in? Did you leave the door unlocked?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “There are no marks or scratches.” He smoothed his palm across the doorjamb. “Did you leave your key anywhere? Or do you hide a spare?”

  An uneasiness fluttered in my chest. “There’s only one copy of my apartment key.”

  Brad looked at me expectantly. “Where it is?”

  “At the Wine and Bark.”

  He groaned. “That means anyone could have swiped it, right?”

  I locked my door and we headed down the hallway.

  He slipped an arm around my waist and said, “Make me a list of everyone who was there on Saturday night, okay? And call a locksmith. I want you to have a new lock put in.”