Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice Read Online Free PDF Page B

blushed again.
    His attractive receptionist appeared in the doorway. “Hugh,” she said in a high-pitched scolding tone. “Jean just called to remind you to bring the financials to the meeting.”
    “Oh!” He glanced down at his appointment book. “You’re right. Why don’t you print them up for me?”
    After she left, Hugh explained, “I’m the treasurer for the local humane society. We’re trying to develop a no-kill shelter here. Far too many dogs, and other pets, are needlessly killed every year. We’ve got a major investor who is going to give us a large sum of money if we can raise enough money to match his grant.”
    “That sounds like an amazing cause,” I said.
    “But, unfortunately, going to the meeting means I can’t take Henry back home, as I intended. Would you be willing to take him up to the Carpenter mansion for me?”
    When you get a request like that from a handsome vet with a heart of gold, it’s hard to resist. I looked at Pepe.
    “A good chance to do more investigating, partner,” he said.
    “Sure,” I said.
    “And be sure to tell Yolanda that I’ve scheduled Henry for dental surgery on Tuesday. I think he has a few teeth that need to come out.”
    Pepe shuddered.
    Hugh looked at him. “Has your little dog had his teeth checked recently?”
    I shook my head. Pepe started shivering.
    “It’s one of my favorite exams to conduct,” said Hugh with hearty good humor, his own perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth gleaming. “It can make such a difference in terms of how comfortable they feel.”
    Pepe turned and ran out of the room.
    “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

Chapter 8
    “So, how do you explain that?” the detective asked Jimmy G. She leaned down, her face only inches from Jimmy G’s nose.
    He took his time, looked around the small room. Some sort of weird foam padding on the walls. A big mirror he knew was a one-way window. Jimmy G was no stranger to police stations. He knew how to handle an interrogation.
    “Can’t explain it,” he said. No way he was going to give her what she wanted. Detectives and police—they were natural enemies, like cats and dogs.
    “According to the preliminary tests, he died less than ten minutes after he called you and about three hours before you left a message on his phone,” the detective said.
    Jimmy G lifted his eyebrows. He felt like he was winning this round. She was giving away more information than she was getting.
    “So I’m going to ask you again,” she said. “What was the subject of your conversation?”
    “Confidential,” said Jimmy G.
    “You realize this is a murder investigation?”
    “I thought you had a suspect in custody,” he replied.
    She frowned, then shook her head. “Boswell? No, he was the intended victim.” She must have realized she had made a mistake. She squinted her eyes. “How do you know about that?”
    “Small town,” Jimmy G said. He held out his hands in an attempt to look hapless, which was easy, as Jimmy G usually was hapless. “Heard about it at the bar.”
    She shook that off by dismissing it with her hand. She tried a new tack. “If you were working for Mr. Bickerstaff, you are no longer obligated by client privilege. Just think about that.”
    Jimmy G did think about it. How would the police react if they knew Jimmy G was working both sides? Maybe they knew already.
    The door opened, and an older man entered the room. He was stocky and square, with graying hair. He introduced himself as a homicide detective by the name of Rick Moore. The female detective stood back against the closed door with her arms crossed.
    Moore threw a piece of paper on the table in front of Jimmy G. It made his head spin. It was covered with numbers. He couldn’t made heads or tails out of it.
    “We know that a call was placed to your office by Barrett Boswell earlier in the day,” Moore said. He leaned over the table.
    “So?” said Jimmy G. “Lots of people call Jimmy G.”
    “Why