Chihuahua of the Baskervilles Read Online Free PDF

battle.”
    “I don’t think he has a chance in hell, but it’s an exciting story, isn’t it? Cute little old lady married to an asshole. Stay away from anything libelous, of course, but you can get the idea across without using the word asshole, right?”
    Angus rolled his eyes. “We’ll see what we can do.”
    “That’s great. Well, I just wanted to check in. Go work your magic, big guy.”

 
    Five
    Charlotte was still on the phone when the staff of Tripping was ready to begin interviewing, so Angus decided to talk to Ivan first.
    He and Michael took their places on a settee in the upstairs parlor. Across from them, Ivan straightened one leg, achieving a negligent he-man look despite the fussy Victorian chair in which he sat.
    Michael started his recorder, then set it on the low table between them before nodding to Angus.
    “Full name?” Angus prompted. “And may I ask where your accent is from?”
    “Ivan Blotski. I am from Russia. Siberia.”
    Angus nodded. “Why do you think Petey’s ghost appeared?”
    Ivan stroked his upper lip with two fingers. “Ghosts appear for two reasons—to harm or to warn. Petey would not harm Charlotte, so maybe she needs checkup at doctor or is considering bad investment.” He grinned. “Maybe Petey warns her not to pass up chance of working with super successful Russian TV star.”
    “You train Mrs. Baskerville’s dogs,” Angus said. “Have you always worked with Chihuahuas?”
    Ivan chortled and stood. “Let me show you something.”
    Angus and Michael followed him into the hall, Michael carrying his recorder.
    Ivan pushed open the door of his room and stood aside to let the two men enter. “This is what Ivan was.”
    Unlike the pastel tones in the rest of the Baskerville house, rich color saturated this room, along with the odor of stale cigarette smoke. A garnet velvet bedspread looked positively opulent against gold-figured wallpaper, but what really caught the eye were the posters on the walls, their leaping forms depicted in strong, inky strokes.
    “Good Lord,” Angus said. “You worked with wolves ?”
    “Six years, I toured with the Trans-Siberian Circus.” Ivan pointed to the one poster that wasn’t covered in Cyrillic characters. “That one you can read. Is from engagement in London.”
    Angus stepped closer. “‘Ivan Blotski and His Wonder Wolves.’” He peered at the drawing of a man down on one knee, a wolf jumping between his upstretched arms. “You had a beard then, I see.”
    Ivan rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “It was required, because they did not change poster art, only performer’s name. I wore the same costume as the man before me, and kohl around my eyes.”
    “And this television show you want,” Angus said. “Would that involve wolves?”
    “Possibly.” Ivan’s languor disappeared. “It will be a dog-training show like no other. It will be huge.”
    “What makes it like no other?” Michael asked.
    “ Me. I am exotic, being Russian, and I have trained wolves. It is a … no-brainer, but Charlotte will not make up her mind.”
    “What would Charlotte have to do with it?” Michael asked.
    Ivan rubbed his fingers together in the gesture for money. “I need to get teeth fixed, have media training, make demo.” He gripped the back of a worn leather chair. “Cesar Millan and his pit bulls … Tcha! You don’t know fear until wolf has his jaws around your neck.” He turned his head to the side and touched a patch of scarred skin below one ear.
    Angus gave a low whistle. “What happened?”
    Ivan shrugged. “The oldest wolf challenged me for leadership of the pack. I submitted rather than die, but when he let me go, I got my gun. I shot him, making sure the others saw.” He sighed. “For five years I considered that wolf a friend, but what could I do? It was my livelihood.”
    Angus shook his head in awe. “Man, that’s one hell of a story.”
    “I have many stories. You want to hear about ghosts?” Ivan’s