Wags to Riches Page 11

  “He spent the night at my place yesterday,” Davis said. “It was the first time I’d seen him since I moved here. He wanted to catch up with me, see how things were going. And I…I wanted to cook for him.” Davis swallowed. “Jonah has been letting me mess around in the kitchen a little, and he let me take one of his cooking classes for free. I wanted to show my uncle what I’ve learned so far. Because maybe if I keep cooking and keep getting better, he might let me come and cook for him at Anthony’s, you know? As much as I like living here, my home is Charleston and I’d really like to get back there some day.”

  He was tugging on my heartstrings now. I could hear the longing in his voice, could tell how homesick he was. But it also sounded like he was determined to continue straightening out his life, and he knew the best place to do that was Sweetwater Island.

  Davis pointed to a rusty bike rack, barely visible over by the dumpster. A sturdy black beach cruiser bike was locked into it. “He dropped me off at work this morning because I left my bike here last night. You know, since he was in town. He offered to drop me off before he headed back to Charleston.”

  I stared at the bike, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking of the story Davis had just told me, the story that appeared to completely absolve him and his uncle from any connection to the missing money.

  I sighed.

  Davis was either telling me the truth or he was a very good liar.

  TWENTY FIVE

  I was back to my original plan.

  Talk to Carmen.

  Davis had been a diversion—a necessary one, considering his potential involvement with the missing money—but my conversation with him had offered no new clues as to what had actually happened to Jonah’s stash of cash. All it had done was convince me that he couldn’t be responsible for it, and that I was better off sticking with the original plan.

  I’d left Davis outside the restaurant and crossed the street so that I was in front of Carmen’s apartment building. A quick scan of the addresses told me her unit was an upstairs one so, after figuring out which of the two was hers, I climbed the stairs and readied my hand to knock on the door. My heart was pounding and sweat trailed down the back of my neck…and I didn’t think it was just from the humidity.

  I didn’t know why I was suddenly so nervous.

  The woman behind that door was very likely the person who had stolen Jonah’s life savings. Getting it back would save his restaurant…and would get me a decent paycheck in the process.

  A paycheck I desperately needed.

  “You can do this,” I whispered out loud, feeling my cheeks burn as I did so. Normally Trixie was by my side when I talked to myself, so I could always say I was talking to her. I had no such excuse this time.

  I took a deep breath and, with eyes squeezed shut, rapped my knuckles on the door.

  And felt my phone buzz in my pocket.

  I didn’t reach for it.

  Not now. Not when I had just steeled myself for my confrontation with Carmen.

  But no one answered the door.

  I knocked again.

  And felt the phone start buzzing again.

  I bit my lip in frustration. There was nothing but silence behind that door. She either wasn’t home or she’d made the decision not to answer it.

  However, the person trying to contact me on my phone had apparently not come to the same conclusion—that I wouldn’t be answering—because it started buzzing again.

  With a frustrated sigh, I yanked the phone out of my pocket. My hand flew to my mouth as soon as I saw the name.

  It was Jonah.

  I’d completely left him hanging. After all of his texts yesterday—and my promises of answers—I’d never given him a concrete answer as to what I’d found out after my conversation with Gunther. In fact, the only thing I’d told him was that I was pretty sure Gunther didn’t do it, and to sit tight because I would bring him the real culprit.

  I hadn’t been in touch since.

  I didn’t want to, but I answered the call.

  “Well?” Jonah demanded, wasting no time. “Have you arrested Gunther yet?”

  “I’m not a police officer,” I reminded him. “And I already told you, I don’t think Gunther was the one responsible for the theft.”

  But he wasn’t listening. “Because I can take care of it myself, you know. In fact, I know exactly where he is.” I could hear the threat in his voice.

  “You do?”

  “At the coffee shop, right across the street from the marina. I saw him on my way into the restaurant.” He made a growling noise deep in his throat. “I almost stopped and confronted him but I knew employees were waiting to get in here and I figured I should probably try to touch base with you. You know, since you never got back to me last night.”

  A wave of guilt washed over me. “I know, and I’m sorry about that,” I said. “But I’m glad you didn’t go in because what I said last night still stands. I don’t think he did it.”

  “Why?” Jonah asked. I could hear the irritation in his voice. “Why don’t you think he did it? You haven’t told me squat.”

  I chewed on my lip. I didn’t want to mention the stolen recipes, mostly because I wasn’t sure how Jonah would react to that particular bit of news. For all I knew, the theft of his recipes might be on the same level as his life savings.

  I ignored his question. “I’m working on a couple of other leads,” I said instead. “Some other potential suspects.”

  “Like who?”

  I didn’t want to tell him that I’d gone from Gunther to Carmen, then to Davis and Jeb, and then back to Carmen again. It would probably give him whiplash…and, of course, way too many people to go and confront. “It’s too soon to say,” I said carefully.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “What in the world does that mean?”

  “It means that all I have are some leads,” I said. “I’m trying to flesh things out here, see what I can find. That’s what you asked me to do, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he said stubbornly. “I asked you to find my money.”

  “And I’m trying.” My tone held a note of exasperation, too. “But you have to let me do my job without constantly sticking your nose into my business.”

  “It’s my business,” he retorted. “It’s my money that’s missing, and my restaurant that’s going to close if I don’t find it soon.” His voice cracked on those last couple of words.

  Sympathy quickly overrode the irritation I was feeling. “I know,” I said, softening my tone a little. “Just give me today. I’m looking into something right this second. And I promise, the minute I know who it is, I’ll tell you. I just…I want to get this right, Jonah.”

  The line was quiet for a minute.

  “Fine,” he finally said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But as soon as you know something,” he continued. “As soon as you know, I want to hear about it.”

  “You have my word.”

  When we hung up, I was still standing in front of Carmen’s door. Still without answers.

  I took a deep breath.

  I had two choices, it seemed.

  One, I could wait at Carmen’s place and hope she showed up sometime soon. And when she did, I could pounce on her with my questions and see if I could get het to admit to the theft.

  Or I could focus my attention somewhere else.

  Sure, I didn’t have any suspects, but there was someone I could still talk to. Someone who might be able to answer at least a few questions.

  Gunther Lawrence.

  I still didn’t think he was the one responsible for the money, but I was thinking about the conversation I’d had with him, when he’d admitted to stealing the recipes. He’d seemed pretty reluctant to talk about his relationship with Carmen and I hadn’t pressed the issue. Maybe he had information that might be valuable.

  I knew without a doubt that Carmen was the person I really needed to talk to, but Gunther might be able to fill in some of the missing p
ieces to the case.

  And the best thing was, I knew exactly where to find him.

  TWENTY SIX

  I was at the coffee shop five minutes later.

  Just Java was an airy café housed in a home that at some point had been converted into commercial space. With bright yellow siding and whitewashed window shutters, it was hard not to smile when passing by. The inside of the shop was small, just big enough for a half dozen two-top tables and the kitchen area where baristas prepared customers’ orders, but there was ample seating outside, both on a front patio and a larger one behind the house.

  I scanned the front patio, looking to see if Gunther was seated at one of the wrought iron tables. All of them were full, and while there were several seated parties that included men, Gunther didn’t appear to be one of them. I saw no bald heads and no handlebar moustaches.

  I walked up the brick sidewalk toward the entrance just as a man with an Australian shepherd was leaving, a dog leash in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. I smiled at the dog, which the owner noticed. He glanced proudly at his dog and then back at me.

  “His name’s Ozzie,” the man told me.

  I knew I didn’t have time to stop and chat, even though I wanted to. A dog was an instant conversation starter, and this dog was gazing at me adoringly, its blue eyes locked on mine, its tail whipping back and forth.

  I bent down and gave Ozzie a quick pat. “You’re a very handsome boy,” I told him.

  His owner, a portly man who looked to be in his fifties, nodded. “And doesn’t he know it,” he said with a chuckle. He cocked his head, studying me behind a thick pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Say, are you that dog walker? Woof Walkers or something?”

  I perked up a little. How did he know about me? “The Woof Pack,” I said, nodding.

  He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I’ve seen your flyers around town. How is business going?”

  “It’s good,” I said. “I’ve got a few regular clients and I’m steadily building my clientele.” I looked at him. “Are you looking for a dog walker?”

  He brought his drink to his lips and sucked on the straw. “I might be.” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I gotta say, Ozzie likes his exercise.” He patted his own stomach. “Me? Not so much. Especially in this heat. Now, winter is another story. We can walk for miles. But summer? No can do. I prefer an air-conditioned gym for my exercise, but that doesn’t help my Ozzie.”

  I smiled and nodded, and then did my best to be subtle as I craned my neck to look into the coffee shop. I didn’t want to blow this guy off, not when he might be interested in my services, but I also wanted to see if Gunther was still there.

  I couldn’t see him.

  But I did see someone else I knew rushing toward me.

  Poppy Ritter.

  Holding a tiny, mostly white terrier.

  I almost chuckled, remembering the coffeemaker I’d seen at her fancy pet hotel, and my assumption that she herself probably got her coffee elsewhere. Obviously, I’d been right about that.

  But there was something about Poppy’s expression that kept me from laughing. She had her dog clutched to her chest with one arm, and she was looking at her phone as she walked. As she came closer, she let out a little gasp of horror.

  “Poppy?” I said, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  She barely even glanced up. “Tiffany! She’s sick.”

  Ozzie’s owner and I exchanged glances before I returned my attention to Poppy. She looked like she was on the verge of fainting.

  I reached for her elbow, attempting to steady her. Her knees wobbled and I looked around frantically for a chair. Ozzie’s owner spied one and shoved it across the patio, the bottoms of its metal legs scraping loudly against the tile.

  Poppy dropped into the chair, the arm holding the dog positively vise-like.

  I crouched down next to her. “Tiffany? Is that a sister or a friend or something?”

  Poppy glared at me. “No,” she snapped. “It’s my dog.”

  I stared blankly at her. “Your dog? The one you’re holding?” The terrier in her arms looked a little sleepy but she certainly didn’t look ill. She was a cute little thing, mostly white but with small tufts of brown and black fur, too. A dainty pink bow secured a segment of hair on her forehead, presumably to keep it from falling into her big brown eyes.

  Poppy nodded and then wilted a little in her chair. “The housekeeper said she didn’t eat her biscuits.” She bit her lip, her eyes glassing with tears. “So I went home and picked her up. I brought her here because she loves the vanilla almond scones. And she wouldn’t eat that, either!” There was a crack in the floodgate because a single tear slipped down Poppy’s cheek.

  “Maybe she isn’t hungry?” I suggested.

  A look of incredulity crossed Poppy’s face. “Are you serious? She’s always hungry for scones. Always.”

  Ozzie’s owner was still standing next to me. “Uh, I should get going,” he murmured.

  Poppy wasn’t listening; she probably wasn’t even aware that he’d said anything. “I need to get her to the vet,” she announced. “She probably needs emergency surgery.”

  It was my turn to look shocked. “Surgery?”

  Ozzie’s owner cleared his throat. “So, yeah, I’ll be in touch about walking Ozzie. I’m sure I can find your contact info.”

  I patted my pockets, hoping I might find a business card or two tucked inside. No dice. “Just look for one of my flyers,” I said weakly. “That has all of my info. I…I’d love to walk Ozzie for you.”

  I couldn’t believe a potential client was leaving and I hadn’t managed to say a word about the services I was able to provide. Not a word trying to sell my business and grow my client base. Instead, I’d been sidelined by Poppy and her insistence that there was something horribly wrong with her dog.

  “Here.” Poppy was thrusting something in my direction.

  I looked at her outstretched hand. A set of keys sat in her open palm. “What’s that?”

  “My keys.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m too distraught to drive. You can drive me.”

  “Drive you where?”

  Poppy rolled her eyes, as if the answer should be obvious. “To the vet, of course.”

  I sighed. I was not there to play chauffeur for Poppy Ritter. I was there to find Gunther and to talk to him about Carmen.

  But I also knew the last thing Sweetwater needed was a hysterical Poppy driving the streets of town, gunning the engine and steering one-handed—because I knew she had no plans to set that dog down—while she raced across town to get to the vet’s office.

  While I was thinking this, a woman stood up from a table, revealing a smaller table directly behind her. A table I hadn’t seen before.

  A man was seated with his back to me, a laptop parked in front of him.

  It was a man who, at least from my perspective, looked an awful lot like Gunther Lawrence. His bald head was like a beacon announcing his identity.

  I took a step toward him. This was my chance. This was the guy I wanted to talk to. But as soon as my foot lifted off the ground, I noticed Poppy.

  She was breathing heavily now, her cheeks tinted red. “You need to call an ambulance,” she rasped.

  My pulse quickened. Was she having a heart attack or something? From the stress? “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are…are you okay?”

  “Not for me, you fool,” Poppy hissed. “For Tiffany.”

  My mouth fell open. Did she really think an ambulance would come and get her dog to bring it to the vet? As soon as I thought that, though, I remembered who her husband was. Despite how crazy the idea sounded, I had no doubt it could very well happen. The chief seemed to do whatever his wife requested, and I imagined quite a few people who also worked in law enforcement and in public positions probably fell in line in much the same way.

  I snatched the keys from her hand. There was no way she was calling an ambulance for her dog. Not if I had anything to say about it.


  Unfortunately, that meant talking to Gunther would have to wait.

  Poppy struggled to her feet, cradling her dog as if she was some sort of rare and precious artifact. “We have to hurry,” Poppy told me.

  I sighed impatiently. “Yep. Let’s go.”

  Poppy brushed past me and I turned to follow her back onto the sidewalk and to wherever her car was parked.

  Before I did, I glanced longingly at the back of Gunther’s head. It was the second opportunity in less than five minutes that was now slipping through my fingers. And all because of Poppy Ritter.

  I sighed again. I’d catch up with him later. I would have to.

  I squinted, trying to see if I could bring his laptop into focus before I trailed after Poppy.

  What I saw made me stop dead in my tracks.

  I couldn’t read the words on the screen, but I knew what he was looking at.

  A restaurant review site.

  Except he had pulled up a page to leave a review.

  A page with The Perfect Catch’s logo serving as a banner across the middle.

  And, based on what I was seeing, he was giving it a single star.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  All I could think about on the drive to the vet’s office was the image I’d seen on Gunther’s laptop screen.

  Why was he leaving a bad review for Jonah’s restaurant?

  Okay, I knew why he would be doing it. Jonah was his competition, after all. But that type of behavior still took my by surprise. He’d seemed so contrite about taking Jonah’s recipes, so to see him on a website where he was clearly going to try to hurt Jonah’s business felt like an especially strong slap to the face.

  “Hurry,” Poppy urged. “She’s getting worse. I think I’m losing her!”

  I glanced down at the dog nestled in her arms. From what I could observe, it looked like she was sleeping, not in the throes of death.

  “Turn right,” Poppy ordered.

  Her car, a black Porsche that I swear I’d never seen her drive before, took the sudden turn with ease. It was by far the nicest, most expensive car I’d ever driven, and I could see how people craved—and were willing to pay big money for—luxury cars. The engine purred, the leather seats were as soft as butter, and the steering wheel practically glided through my hands as we navigated the frequent turns on our way to the vet. Yeah, I could get used to driving a Porsche.