Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Two?
From Murder at Yappy Hour
Chapter Two Continued…
“All right, you come talk to 9-1-1,” I said.
She reluctantly came around the bar, still clutching the dog, who
growled at me as they approached. “Hush now, Beepo.” She took the
phone from me. “Jen? It’s Yolanda. Maggie’s going to check for a pulse.
It’s Dan, you know? I came over early to meet with Rachel . . . no, I
don’t know where she is.”
I approached the man on the floor. Next to his bloody bashed head
was an oversized bottle of wine.
Dear God!
Someone had clobbered him in the head and the blow had killed
him. What kind of person would do something like that?
I knelt beside him and closed his eyes with my fingers, sighing at
the loss of life. He was definitely dead, there was no need to take a
pulse, but I grabbed his wrist anyway. When I lifted his arm slightly I
saw a paper on the floor, trapped under the man’s coat.
What was this?
I grabbed the slip of paper and saw Rachel’s name on it. It was
probably nothing and yet my stomach seemed to fill with dread.
I glanced toward Yolanda; she was still chatting with the operator.
Almost without thinking, I shoved the paper into my pocket.
Yolanda looked up. “Anything?” she asked, sounding almost
hopeful.
I shook my head.
“Just the police then, Jen. We don’t need an ambulance,” Yolanda
said. “Oh, you send one anyway?” She was silent for a moment, then
said, “Right, right. No sirens.”
Yolanda hung up and stared at me grimly. “I’m so sorry about this,
Maggie. I wish we could have met under more pleasant
circumstances.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “This is awful.”
“Where is Rachel?” Yolanda asked.
I wished I knew. Why had Rachel suddenly decided, mysteriously, to leave
town?
I glanced toward the restrooms, the paper burning a hole in my
pocket. I stood. “Um. She’s out of town. I’m going to check the
restroom.”
Yolanda’s free hand thumped against her chest. Beepo’s legs cycled
rapidly, alarm coursing through his tiny body. “Oh God! I forgot
about that. Should you? I mean what if someone’s hiding . . .”
GRAB YOUR COPY OF MURDER AT YAPPY HOUR HERE
I waved a hand at her, hoping she would take it as a sign to calm
down and, more importantly, shut up. For God’s sake, it was bad
enough to find a dead body, did I have to be assaulted by a chatterbox,
too?
Now that was mean. I just need a minute of quiet to think.
“I’m sure there’s no one in there, Yolanda. I’m gonna check the
window and stuff.”
Yolanda came around the bar, squaring her shoulders. “I should go
with you. Safety in numbers and all that.”
I shook my head. “No, no. I . . .” What could I say to this woman?
I have to be alone to read this note and see if my sister is involved in a
murder?
“Uh . . .” I faltered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Yolanda’s face softened. “Oh, honey.” She marched toward me,
Beepo yelping and snarling as she got closer. She linked her free arm
through mine. “I’ll hold your hair.”
I released her arm from mine. “I can manage.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. It is an awful, gruesome sight.”
“I’ll be okay. I need a minute.” I took a step away from her and
toward the corridor that led to the restrooms. She still seemed to
want to follow me. “Why don’t you pour yourself a brandy?” I
suggested.
Yolanda looked at me thoughtfully, then glanced back at the bar.
“Yes, you know, I think you have the right idea. A brandy. I’ll pour
two. We’ve had quite a shock.”
I nodded, keeping an eye on her as I pressed against the restroom
door with my hip. When she seemed suitably distracted, I ducked into
the bathroom and yanked the piece of paper out of my pocket.
Oh crap!
It was a letter from Dan to Rachel. I scanned it. Due to customer
complaints, as the manager of DelVecchio’s, he was threatening to file
charges against The Wine and Bark for serving alcohol to minors,
serving alcohol after hours, and becoming a “disorderly house.” Next
to each charge was a reference code to the Department of Alcoholic
Beverage Control regulations along with a possible penalty of a fine
or imprisonment.
In addition, there was a reference to a violation of the Environ‐
mental Health Statute 114030 regarding the harboring of animals
inside a food facility.
I shoved the note back into my pocket, suddenly feeling hot,
nauseous, and claustrophobic all at the same time.
Oh God, I was going to be sick, after all.
I tugged at my shirt trying to fan my face. It gave me no relief, so I
opened the bathroom window, then ran the water in the sink.
I stuck my head under the faucet and let the water run down the
back of my neck.
Breathe, Maggie. Everything is going to be fine.
Surely Rachel didn’t kill this guy.
Even if their fling ended badly and she didn’t like him anymore.
Even if he was . . . threatening her. . . .
Okay, so she had a motive, but . . .
I turned my head toward the water, letting it pour directly into my
ear, hoping it would drown out the memory of the sound of Rachel’s
voice as I recalled her famous joke, “Good friends will help you move, but
a sister will help you move a body.”
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