Chihuahua Confidential Read online

  “It should be called a dog suit, not a gato suit,” Pepe observed.

  I turned around to admire my form in the mirror as Robyn pinned a feathery tail to my rear end.

  “I will admit they have done a good job on your costume,” said Pepe. “You do indeed look like a Chihuahua. But the largest one I have ever seen.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment. You can never tell with Pepe.

  Our next stop was makeup. While we were waiting for our turn, Jake, the Certified Animal Safety Representative, strolled up. He was a big, broad man with deeply tanned skin and deep wrinkles around his eyes. He looked like someone who spent a lot of time outside, doing something like fishing or hunting.

  He gave me the once-over. “You make a mighty fine dog,” he said. “Perhaps I should be keeping my eye on you.”

  I laughed politely. “How’s it going?”

  He shrugged. “Everything seems fine. All the dogs are happy.” He bent down to pat Pepe on the head, but it was pretty clear that it was just a token gesture. “Cute little feller,” he said. “Though I prefer the bigger breeds, myself. Working dogs, you know, that’s what dogs were meant to do.”

  “I work plenty,” said Pepe. “Tell him, Geri. Tell him that we are private investigators.”

  “My dog works pretty hard,” I said. “You should see his hip-hop routine.”

  “Well, I guess I will in an hour or so,” Jake said.

  “So you watch every performance?” I asked. “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Any physical movements that might put too much stress on the animals,” he said. “Dogs have some physical limitations, and certain activities could be dangerous for them.”

  “People have physical limitations, too,” said Pepe. “I can do things that humans cannot do. For instance, lick my own—”

  “Never mind, Pepe!” I said sharply.

  “For example, the German shepherd,” Jake rambled on. “Those dogs are notorious for hip problems and shouldn’t be doing any movements that would compromise their hip joints.”

  “Shouldn’t you be watching the rehearsals, then?” I asked. “You could spot problems before the performances.”

  As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. If Jake came to the rehearsals, he’d run into Ted. I had seen him briefly at the dance studio. He told me he was choreographing a Jive routine for the border collie today.

  I tried to backpedal. “I’m sure the choreographers are aware of what is in the best interest of the dogs.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Jake. “My contract only requires me to be on the set, but I’ll see if I can extend that to the rehearsal space. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  I smiled weakly. I would have to warn Ted.

  “There is one other thing that worries me,” said Jake. “I’m afraid they are going to stage some kind of fight. I’ve insisted they keep the dogs separate, but you know how it is with these reality TV shows. They always have to stir up conflict, and if there isn’t any, they create it.”

  “That would be bad,” I agreed. “One of the dogs could get hurt.”

  “We’re ready for you now,” said Zack, the stylist.

  As we went in, Siren Song and her dance partner, Luis, filed past. Pepe gazed at his lady love with longing eyes. She was all fluffed up with gold glitter sprinkled over her fur and a big gold flounce flapping off one shoulder. Luis had her tucked into the crook of his elbow. He wore a tight silky T-shirt, the same reddish-gold color as the Pomeranian’s fur and a pair of tight, gold lamé trousers. They were doing a salsa. They might be our toughest competition for this round.

  Pepe was carried off to have a bath and a trim, and I took advantage of his absence to duck into the vet’s office. Luckily, Alice was there, paging through a thick book. She put it down and gave me a rueful smile.

  “Studying for an exam,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m wondering if my Chihuahua is chipped,” I said.

  “I can certainly check him out for you. I should be able to tell if he has a chip by just feeling for it. But I won’t be able to give you any more information without a scanner. I don’t have one here, but I can bring it in tomorrow.”

  “That would be great,” I told her. “And there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you could check him without him knowing it?”

  “I doubt that he will know what a scanner is,” she said.

  “But could we just not say anything about it?” I asked. “Like maybe pretend it’s a routine test that all the dogs have to undergo?”

  “Whatever you want,” she said, but I could tell by her eyes that she thought I was a little nutty. Maybe I was.

  I was still sitting in front of the mirror, watching my stylist pull my hair back into a high ponytail, when Pepe came trotting over, shaking himself with vehemence, the way he always did after being exposed to water. The groomer had placed the little baseball cap over one ear, and the gold chain was firmly positioned in the center of his chest.

  “Are we ready, L’il Dawg?” I asked him, getting out of the chair.

  “Ready if you are, L.L. Cool Geri!” said Pepe.

  Just then Shelley came hurrying up. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  “Who?” I asked, looking around but seeing no one.

  “Says his name is James Gerrard,” she said, looking at her clipboard, “and I really don’t have time to deal with this. You’re not supposed to have visitors on the set.”

  “He’s my boss back in Seattle. I don’t know how he found me.”

  “Why don’t you ask him?” she said, turning around to look behind her. “Now, where did he go? He’s not supposed to be loose on the set.”

  “Jimmy G’s right here,” said my boss, popping out from behind a screen.

  Chapter 13

  Jimmy G was hard to miss. He always dresses like a forties detective cliché. And today was no exception. He wore a pair of two-toned brown-and-white loafers, tan slacks with cuffs, a houndstooth sports jacket with extra-wide lapels, and a brown fedora, tipped to a jaunty angle over one eye.

  “Hi, doll,” he said, giving me the once-over. “Jimmy G almost didn’t recognize you in that funny-looking, fuzzy-wuzzy costume you’re wearing. What are you supposed to be? A big rabbit?”

  “A dog,” I told him.

  “Well, not too many women would admit to that,” he said. He added a “Ha-ha!” since I didn’t laugh at his joke.

  Jimmy G glanced down at Pepe. “I see the rat-dog’s with you as usual.”

  Pepe responded to the insult with a growl. (I was always amazed when he made actual dog sounds instead of speaking.)

  “Same back at ya,” my boss told Pepe before turning his attention back to me. “Jimmy G had a tough time getting in here to see you.” He pointed at Shelley, adding, “This hard-nosed broad kept trying to send me to a different soundstage.”

  “They’re remaking Kiss of Death on Soundstage 12,” said Shelley. “I thought you were one of the extras.”

  “Hey, do you think there’s any chance of that?” Jimmy G’s face lit up. “Might as well get a little camera action. When in Hollywood, do as the natives do!”

  “You’d have to ask them,” Shelley said with a sour face. She turned to me, clutching her clipboard. “You’re not supposed to have visitors on set unless you notify me in advance. So I can’t allow this guy to remain.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know he was going to show up here. How did you find us anyway?”

  Jimmy G gave a snort. “Whadda ya think? Jimmy G’s a private eye. Tracked you down!” He seemed mighty proud of himself. “So where’s this package?”

  Oh, the package. I had completely forgotten about it. “It must be around here someplace,” I said. “I gave it to Rodney for safekeeping.”

  “Who’s Rodney?”

  “Rodney Klamp. He’s the assistant to the assistant to the assistant
director. But I haven’t seen him today. Where is he?” I turned to Shelley.

  “He never showed up this morning,” said Shelley.

  “So this guy who’s disappeared is the last person who had Jimmy G’s package?” Jimmy G was getting agitated. “He probably stole it.”

  “Why would he do that?” I asked. “What was in it, anyway?”

  “Jimmy G’s not at liberty to say. It’s important, that’s all. Very important.”

  “We can look around for it,” I told him.

  “No, you can’t!” said Shelley. “You’re supposed to be onstage in five minutes. We’re on a very tight schedule.”

  “Do you know how to get a hold of this Rodney character?” Jimmy G asked Shelley.

  She shook her head. “No.” She gave Jimmy G a shove. “Now, you! Get out of here! And, you two!” She pointed at me and Pepe. “Onstage! Now!” She stormed away, clutching her clipboard.

  “Jimmy G has to find this guy,” said our boss, his big brown eyes rolling.

  “You could try him at his house,” I said. “We were there last night. Well, not really his house, but where he’s staying.” I dug the Map of the Stars out of my purse and showed Jimmy G the location of Nigel’s house. As he took off, I heard him mutter, “Nacho, damned Nacho.”

  Our second performance went a little more smoothly than our first. Rebecca announced us as “L.L. Cool Geri” and “L’il Dawg,” and I slid ever so comfortably into character. Pepe and I punched and kicked through our hip-hop routine, gaining confidence and energy as we danced. I crouched down and he jumped over me. I did imagine all the fire hydrants as we did our side leg lifts in perfect unison. Then he crouched down and I jumped over him. The audience howled.

  When L’il Dawg and I finished and took our bows, even the judges went wild. The audience was on their feet, and I thought I saw Jimmy G in the front row.

  “You rocked it, L.L. Cool Geri!” said Pepe.

  “So did you, L’il Dawg!” I said, giving him a low five.

  Miranda gave us a ten, Beverly gave us a nine, and Caprice gave us an eight. Her comment: “Although the routine was cute, I’ve seen better dancing at my parties.” Still our score was high enough for us to bump Siren Song and Luis out of their current spot in first place.

  We headed to the interview room to wait for the results, which were disappointing. The poodle Max, who had danced last, got a perfect score and came in first, acing us out by only one point. Siren Song had taken third place.

  Then we went back through hair and makeup. By the time we got into our street clothes—jeans and a tank top for me, fur for Pepe—the set was almost deserted. The lights were low as we picked our way toward the glowing exit sign.

  As we approached the door, I saw a shadow peel itself away from the wall. For a moment, I was frightened. After all, we didn’t know who had killed Nigel St. Nigel. But then I realized it was Ted Messenger.

  “Hi, I was waiting for you,” he said. “I wanted to compliment you. You did great tonight. I know you’ll be able to take the lead again.” He held open the door so we could walk out. The sky was bright after the darkness of the soundstage.

  “Thanks!” I paused and shaded my eyes so I could see his face. “You know, I should warn you that I talked to Jake, the Animal Safety Representative, and I think, because of something I said, he might show up for the morning rehearsals.”

  “So?”

  “That might be a problem for you.”

  “It might be,” said Ted. He didn’t seem concerned. “But I might not be there in the morning, anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.” I kept my tone light, though I was disappointed. “I was hoping we would get a chance to work with you again.”

  “Geri, I think you should ask this dude out!” said Pepe.

  “Why wouldn’t you be here tomorrow morning?” I asked Ted.

  “The choreography bit isn’t getting me the access I need to all the dogs. I’ve got to find another way to roam freely around the set.”

  We were heading down the alley between the soundstages, toward the parking lot. A guy carrying a plastic tree over his shoulder walked by us.

  “He might have seen something outside the soundstage that will help us figure out who murdered Nigel,” said Pepe.

  “Have you heard anything more from the police?” I asked.

  “No. I assume my lawyer has that all under control. Have you heard from him?”

  “No,” I said, but then I remembered my cell phone might be at the bottom of Nigel’s pool. Maybe it was ringing underwater.

  “But what did he see?” asked Pepe.

  “Do you remember seeing anyone around, right before you picked up the gun?” I asked.

  “Are you still sleuthing?” he asked.

  “Sleuthing? What sleuthing?” I asked with a little laugh.

  We had reached the parking lot, and I didn’t see the town car that usually took us back to the hotel.

  “I’ve seen you talking to everyone,” he said. “You’re trying to figure out who killed Nigel, aren’t you?”

  “Of course we are,” said Pepe. “We are detectives!”

  “Well, if I did find anything,” I said, “I would tell the police.” Then I realized that might sound like a threat to the guy who was a suspect. “But we haven’t. Found anything, that is.”

  “Cute, how you keep talking about your dog as if he is your partner,” said Ted.

  “I am her partner!” said Pepe.

  He saw me looking around the parking lot. “Do you need a ride back to your hotel?”

  “I would love a ride,” I said.

  “Great!” He pointed out his car: a sleek, black Jaguar convertible.

  “Sweet!” Pepe said when he saw the sporty car. “I call shotgun.”

  “How does an animal activist get a fancy car like this?” I asked as I settled into the passenger seat. Pepe sat on my lap. Felix would have insisted that he ride in the back, but in a convertible, what did it matter? If we got into an accident, Pepe would fly out of the car like a furry football. The thought made me grab him tighter.

  “I get paid well for what I do,” said Ted absently as he exited the studio lot and nosed the car out into the L.A. traffic. “Have you had much time for sightseeing since you’ve been here?”

  “Not really,” I said. “We’ve been too busy. Dancing and sleuthing.”

  “Well, I think you should see some iconic L.A. sights. How about a trip to the beach?”

  “Sure, we’d love that!” I said. “Wouldn’t we, Pepe?”

  “I do not enjoy the beach,” said Pepe. “The sand gets between my sensitive toes.”

  Chapter 14

  Everyone in L.A. seemed to be heading west. Santa Monica Boulevard was a sluggish river of cars. But Ted seemed to know what he was doing. He turned left, zigzagged through a series of curving streets lined with oleander hedges, and eventually we popped out onto a wide boulevard. The ocean lay before us, a heavy gray mass exhaling white-topped waves. Ted pulled into a parking lot, and we climbed out of the car.

  We passed an outdoor area where muscle-bound men were working out and past a vacant lot filled with booths that were selling colorful T-shirts, and kites, and sunglasses. We headed north up a winding boardwalk, dodging roller skaters and cyclists. A brown-skinned man in a white turban skated up to us, playing an electric guitar strapped to an amplifier on his back. His pale blue eyes were portals into some fantastic world.

  “Harry Perry,” said Ted. “Everybody knows him.” He veered off the path and onto the sand, heading toward the water’s edge. Sand filtered in through the spaces in my sandals, and I stopped and peeled them off. Pepe was not happy. He lifted his little feet high in the air, grumbling the whole time.

  Ted got far ahead of us. I could see his lanky form, his long lean legs in those tight jeans. He faced the ocean with his arms spread and put his head back so the light fell on his upturned face. It was such a private moment I wanted to turn away, but then he
spun around and came racing back to me.

  “Isn’t this glorious?” he said.

  I could see what he meant. The sun was setting over the sea, and there was a path of gold, right in front of us, sparkling on the water. But as I looked around, my mood darkened. The sand was littered with trash. And a gang of ugly seagulls huddled a few yards away, shrieking at Pepe. They looked big enough and mean enough to carry him off. The breeze was brisk, throwing stinging sand in our faces. Very few people were sunbathing, but the surfers were out, in wet suits, slipping and sliding down the surfaces of the waves.

  “Did I tell you about how I learned to surf?” Pepe asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It was with Caprice,” he said. “She had to learn to surf for her role in Beach Baby, and she took me along to her lessons. I can hang twenty with the best of them.”

  “How did you learn to surf if you’re afraid of the water?” I asked.

  “I’m not afraid of the water,” said Ted, coming over to me.

  But Pepe did not respond. Unusual. I wondered if I had finally caught him in a lie, and then I wondered if all his stories were lies. Maybe he needed to make himself look big by making up these fantastic tales because he was such a little dog.

  “Let’s sit here,” said Ted, drawing me over to a spot on the sand. He spread his jacket out on the sand. We hunkered down, and he flung his arm around me, I think to warm me up because it didn’t seem like a romantic gesture.

  The sun turned bloodred. I shivered and Ted drew me closer. Pepe managed to wriggle in between us and planted himself so that my leg would not brush up against Ted’s, all without saying a word, remarkable for him. He continued to gaze out at the sunset as if he were meditating.