Wags to Riches Page 10

  “Well, what kinds of things do you like to do?” I asked.

  “All kinds of things.” He licked his lips again. “I like comics, so I was thinking of maybe opening a shop. I could be a clown—I’m really good at juggling—and I also know how to ride a unicycle. I found out I like cooking, especially after I took one of Jonah’s classes. And I like working with wood.”

  I was impressed. He had a ton more hobbies and skills than I did.

  “Sounds like all of those are good possibilities to explore.”

  He nodded. “But I won’t do anything with pets,” he promised. “I don’t want to hone in on your clients. And now with John opening his own place…”

  I smiled. “I guess it is getting a little crowded, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, definitely. But it’s more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shuddered. “I just don’t want to be on Poppy’s bad side.”

  I laughed. “I think she’s like these dogs,” I said, motioning to Trixie and Duke. “They might seem scary but they’re harmless.” I didn’t fully believe this—I’d been on the receiving end of Poppy’s wrath more than once—but it felt like the right thing to say.

  Rudy didn’t look convinced. “If you say so. I try to get in to her place a couple times a month just so she doesn’t get upset with me. You know, have her watch Dempsey and hope that’s enough to keep her happy.”

  “She’s not a mob boss,” I said.

  Rudy wiped the moisture beading on his forehead. He was either hot, or just talking about Poppy had made him break out into a sweat. “If you say so.”

  I just smiled. Poppy wasn’t my favorite person, by any stretch of the imagination, and I knew she had the power to wreak havoc on people’s lives by calling up her chief of police husband. But I also felt as though she and I had sort of turned the corner after the incident at her pet hotel. She still didn’t like me, and I’m sure she still resented my dog walking business, but I didn’t feel as though she were actively trying to ruin my life anymore. And I definitely didn’t feel as though I had to do things to placate her.

  Rudy, however, clearly felt differently about that.

  He glanced down at Dempsey and then back at the two dogs with me. His posture stiffened and he took another step away from us. “I should get going.”

  “Me, too.” Duke whined when I said this, and a shudder ran through Rudy, as if the sound was like nails on a chalkboard.

  He started walking away from us. Hurrying away, actually. “Have a good day,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You, too.”

  I didn’t know if I was going to have a good day, per se, but I was bound and determined to make it a productive one.

  By visiting Carmen and getting some answers.

  TWENTY TWO

  I was finally on my way.

  The dogs had been returned to the house, and I’d promised them a much longer walk later that morning. I felt a little guilty that all I’d managed to do was walk them home, but I wanted to get going. I’d downed a quick glass of water, and, armed with an address, I was en route to Carmen Diggs’ house.

  She lived close to the marina, according to the maps app on my phone. I could visualize the area, a side street that was a jumble of smaller houses and small, older apartment complexes, but I had no idea what her actual house might look like.

  It was still early so there was very little foot traffic on the sidewalks. An occasional jogger, a couple of moms pushing strollers and chatting, and an elderly woman out for a stroll with her little Yorkie, were the only people I passed on my way toward the marina. But traffic was brisk on the roads, with delivery trucks and mail trucks, and several cars, most of them minivans or SUVs, sporting out-of-state license plates. A UPS truck was pulled up to the curb by one of the souvenir shops at the marina, and the driver was busy wheeling a dolly filled with boxes to the back door of the store. A food delivery truck was parked outside of Shawnty’s, as was a van that advertised laundering and delivery of linens and uniforms.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out.

  “How’s everything going so far?” Asher asked.

  “I’ve had Duke for less than two hours,” I said, smiling. “Things are fine.”

  “He’s not too much trouble?” he asked. “I was thinking about it, and if it gets too difficult, you can always run him over to Poppy’s. I have a credit card on file there so you can just drop him off if you need to.”

  “Why in the world would I take him to Poppy’s?”

  “Like I said, if he’s too much to hand—”

  “I think of Duke as my own dog,” I said, cutting him off. “Or, at the very least, an extended member of my family. He’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  I couldn’t understand Asher’s concern. I walked Duke twice a day, and he and Trixie were the best of friends. Unlike my own dog, he actually listened and was obedient. Having him as a houseguest was going to be a piece of cake. Besides, Asher was paying an obscene amount of money for me to keep him. Even if Duke required 24-hour supervision, I’d still keep him at the house. I needed that cash.

  “Alright,” Asher said with a sigh. “I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t,” I told him. “You hired me to take care of him and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Still.” He paused. “I owe you. Maybe we can do dinner or something—as a thank you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said, even as the butterflies stirred in my stomach.

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

  His words managed to turn my insides to jelly. He wanted to take me out…and I wanted to go.

  He sighed again. “I have another call coming through. The architect I’m working with.”

  “You should take it.”

  “I know.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Give Duke a pat or two for me, alright?”

  “I will,” I promised.

  “And we’ll do dinner? Sometime when things settle down?”

  I swallowed. “Yes. Of course.”

  I swear I could hear the smile in his voice. “Perfect. Something to look forward to.”

  He said goodbye and hung up, and I was left thinking about a future date with Asher when I should have been planning what I was going to say to Carmen.

  Because I was almost at her house.

  My phone had reverted back to the maps app and I realized that her apartment building was pretty much directly across from the marina. It was a two-story, buff-colored building that seemed to have a total of four apartments: two on the bottom floor and two on the top. The upper level units were accessible by separate exterior staircases, one on either side of the building.

  I stood on the sidewalk, the marina to my back, and stared at the building. I didn’t even know if Carmen was going to be home, and I still didn’t really have a plan of attack for how to approach my conversation with her. I was armed with the information from the article in the paper along with my conversation with Gunther. I hated to admit it but it didn’t feel like much. Unfortunately, it was all I had.

  A car door slammed just to my right, and I looked away from the building. A dark sedan had pulled up next to the curb while I stood there, its engine idling. The passenger door opened and a guy stepped out. I recognized him immediately. It was Davis, the busboy from The Perfect Catch. He was dressed for work, in black pants and a white button-down, and his dark hair was once again pulled back into a tiny ponytail. I thought he might look in my direction, and I was ready with a wave or a smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into the open passenger window, said something to the driver, and then hurried toward the restaurant. The car reversed a few feet, and then the driver did a U-turn on the street. It rolled past me, on the opposite side of the road, but I still got a good look at who was behind the wheel.

  I squinted, trying to bring the driver into focus.

  And then I frowned.

  Because, even though I wasn’
t completely sure, it seemed that the person who had just dropped Davis off for work was the same man who had stepped over me when Brenda and I had collided in the restaurant.

  Jeb O’Neill, the owner of Anthony’s, and the man who had shown up to see if Jonah wanted his old job back.

  TWENTY THREE

  A million thoughts raced through my mind.

  Why was Jeb O’Neill still on Sweetwater Island?

  More importantly, why had Davis been in the car with him?

  I stole a glance at the restaurant. Davis was parked out back, standing just outside the door and sucking on an e-cigarette.

  I started toward him and he looked my direction, his eyes widening a little in surprise. He quickly tucked the e-cig close to his side and offered a feeble wave hello.

  I didn’t say hi back. “What are you doing?”

  He pointed to his chest. “Me?”

  I nodded.

  He looked at the back door. It was closed, and I noticed for the first time just how badly dinged up it was. “Uh, waiting for my shift to start.” He paused. “Jonah should be here any minute to open things up.”

  “Who dropped you off today?”

  He looked at the ground, appearing even more uncomfortable than before. “What do you mean?”

  I could tell he was a little flustered by my questions. And I knew he was purposely being evasive with his answers.

  I decided to cut right to the chase. “Why were you in the car with that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy Jonah used to work for,” I said impatiently. “The guy who owns Anthony’s.”

  Davis shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The e-cig he was holding trembled between his fingers. He wouldn’t look at me.

  My pulse began to race. Everything had suddenly become startlingly clear. “You,” I breathed.

  He was sweating bullets now, his eyes still locked on the pavement beneath his feet.

  “You stole the money, didn’t you?” My voice was sharp.

  His chin jerked up and he stared at me in horror. “What? No!”

  “You’re the one who did it.”

  His eyes bulged. “I didn’t. I swear!”

  But I was barely listening. I didn’t have all the details—in truth, I actually didn’t have much of anything—but the fact that he was with Jeb O’Neill and the fact that he was looking more than a little guilty told me everything I needed to know. Or at least I thought it did.

  “He made you do it,” I said slowly, putting words to the first theory that sprung to mind. “He was jealous of Jonah’s success here and he’s still upset that he left. He thought that if he stole the money—or had you steal the money—then Jonah would be forced to close, and he’d be able to persuade him to come back to Anthony’s.”

  Davis shook his head. “No, that’s not it at all.”

  “No?” I raised my eyebrows. “Then tell me why. Tell me why you stole the money.”

  “I didn’t!” he protested.

  I folded my arms and stared at him.

  His eyes had a wild look to them. He stuck the e-cig in his mouth and took a deep drag. The small puff of mist dissipated almost as quickly as it appeared.

  I uncrossed my arms and reached for my phone. “You know, if you don’t want to talk to me, I know a couple people you could talk to instead. Like Detective Simcoe and Chief Ritter.”

  His mouth dropped open, and he shook his head even more vigorously this time.

  I pulled up the police department’s page on my search engine and hit the button to place a call.

  “Wait.” Davis’s voice was desperate.

  I didn’t want to, but I ended the call. I could always call back.

  He hesitated before emitting a deep, resigned sigh.

  “Jeb is the owner of Anthony’s,” he said.

  I glared at him. “I know that.”

  “And…” He took another drag off his e-cigarette. “And he’s my uncle.”

  TWENTY FOUR

  “Your uncle?”

  This felt like the confession I needed to prove Davis was indeed responsible for the missing money.

  “So you did do it,” I said flatly.

  “No.” Davis looked a little less panicked. More resolved. “No, that’s not it all.”

  I hated the flicker of doubt I was suddenly feeling. “I’m not following…”

  He raked a hand through his hair, apparently forgetting it was pulled back in a ponytail because it suddenly became a mussed mess. “It’s a long story.”

  I offered a thin smile. “I’ve got time.”

  “So, I lived in Charleston my whole life,” Davis began. He was still holding his e-cigarette but it hung loosely between his fingers. I wondered if it was out of juice. “And about a year or so ago, I started running with the wrong crowd. My parents weren’t worried but Uncle Jeb was. He tried talking to my parents about straightening me out, but they weren’t interested.” He shrugged. “Too busy with their own lives, I guess.”

  I frowned. What kind of parents weren’t interested in helping out their kid, especially if they could see him headed down a less than desirable path?

  “So Uncle Jeb took matters into his own hands,” Davis said. “Pretty much forced me to move away from home.”

  “He forced you?”

  Davis nodded. “Yeah, he said nothing good would come out of me staying there. That even if I stopped running with those guys, I’d find them eventually. Or they’d find me. He said I needed some distance. And a clean break.”

  “So, Sweetwater Island?”

  He nodded again. “Uncle Jeb has some rental properties he owns. Nothing big, just some places here and there that he’s bought over the years. He rents some of them to long-term clients but others he just does Airbnb. He thinks they’re a good investment or something.” Davis frowned, as if he couldn’t quite figure out the logistics behind that. “He has a couple of units in an apartment building over by the bridge. One, this little studio apartment, was vacant, so he set me up there. Got me a bike so I could get around, that sort of thing.”

  I had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that at least on the surface, it seemed as though Uncle Jeb was doing the right thing.

  If that was the real story, that is.

  “Did he get you the job at The Perfect Catch, too?” I asked.

  Davis’s eyes rounded. “No. I did that.”

  I gave him a doubtful look. “You just happened to wander into the restaurant of his former chef?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”

  “So your uncle didn’t say a word about a former employee being here on the island and opening up a restaurant.”

  “No, of course he did,” Davis said. “He even suggested I go in and turn in an application. I’ve had a ton of restaurant experience, mostly because of Uncle Jeb’s connections in that business, so it felt like the best place to start looking for a job would be in that same world. He mentioned that a former cook of his owned The Perfect Catch, but he didn’t pull any strings to get me the job. In fact, he told me not to even mention my connection to him.”

  “Why would he say that?”

  “I don’t know,” Davis said. He blew at the strands of hair falling into his face. “I didn’t give it much thought. Besides, I didn’t want to use my uncle’s name to get a job. If this was a fresh start, I was going to do things right. Do things for myself. He was already helping out with so much anyway—with the apartment, finding me a bike…I wanted to do this on my own.” He straightened. “And I did. Jonah basically hired me on the spot, as soon as I handed him my application. He looked it over, asked me a couple of questions, and then asked if I could come in the next day. I’ve been working here ever since.”

  It was a feel-good story but I still had my doubts. “So you just randomly chose PC? Out of all the restaurants on the island?”

  He nodded. “I’ve worked at a few seafood restaurants. There are a t
on of them up in Charleston.”

  “Why not Shawnty’s? Why not apply there?”

  “I was going to,” Davis said. “It was on my list. But I stopped in here first.” He glanced at the back door of the restaurant and then at me. “It’s the closest restaurant to the road. Shawnty’s is tucked further back.”

  This was true.

  But I wasn’t completely convinced.

  “You’re telling me your uncle didn’t put you up to this?”

  “Put me up to what?”

  “To working here. To trying to hurt Jonah’s business.”

  Davis stared at me, his mouth slightly agape. “Why would he want to do that?”

  “Because he wants Jonah back at his own restaurant. From what I’ve heard, Jonah was the best chef your uncle’s restaurant ever had.” Okay, so no one had actually told me that, but it was what I’d inferred from my conversations with both Tate and Jonah.

  Davis considered this for a moment. “Yeah, Jonah is pretty much the best. And Uncle Jeb has told me that he’d love to get him back at Anthony’s. But…but he wouldn’t do anything bad to make that happen. He…he wouldn’t steal his money.” He looked at me and frowned. “And neither would I. I have a good thing going here. I’ve turned my life around. You know?”

  He was so sincere, so earnest. It was hard not to believe him.

  But I still pressed. “Why was he here then? Both yesterday at the restaurant, and then again today? I know he was here to talk to Jonah about coming back to Anthony’s. Why would he come and do that?”

  Davis hung his head. “That was because of me,” he admitted. “I told him about the missing money and he decided to drive down and talk to him. He was hoping he could convince him to come back, yes, but he didn’t do anything to hurt Jonah or the restaurant. You have to believe me.”

  “And today? Why did he decide to stick around?”