The Big Chihuahua (2 page)

Mark and Tammy Darling lived in a perfect little Craftsman bungalow in the Ravenna neighborhood of Seattle, a charming older neighborhood full of small homes set back on leafy streets. It was the sort of home I dreamed of owning, and maybe I could afford with all the money I had made on our last case. Pepe insisted that half of the money was his and we were still negotiating about how to spend it. He suggested getting a fancy new car or, at least, a year’s supply of beef jerky and bacon.

The front yard looked like an English garden, with its profusion of old-fashioned flowers: hollyhocks and ruffled irises, speckled foxgloves, and bright blue delphiniums. Mirrored ornaments set here and there sparkled in the sun and a glass globe drifted in the waters of the birdbath, an iridescent bubble. Along the fence on the property line, fruit trees had been espaliered. The finishing touch: a cute little red Smart car in the driveway.

A winding brick path led us through the flowers to the front door. The house had a roomy front porch with fat pillars and wide stone steps. The porch was furnished with a swing, draped with a colorful serape. A wind chime hanging from the porch roof tinkled faintly. Pressing the doorbell triggered a sonorous chime and the appearance of a distressed man.

“Come in! Come in!” he said. “Oh, I’m so glad you agreed to help me.”

Mark Darling had worried brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and brown hair that stuck up in odd tufts all over his head. I couldn’t quite tell if this was due to his running his hands through his hair or if it was an artful effect achieved with hair product. It gave him a youthful appearance, though I judged him to be in his early forties, about ten years older than me.

A little dirty white dog that might have been a mix of poodle and Yorkshire terrier came bustling up as soon as we crossed the threshold. It didn’t look like anyone had groomed her for a long time. In her anxious state and unkempt hair, she resembled her owner.

“That’s Fuzzy,” said Mark, ushering us inside.

Fuzzy and Pepe began sniffing butts and doing that weird jumpy dance dogs do when they’re getting to know each other.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Mark asked, hurrying us through the hallway, past a spacious living room, and into the kitchen, obviously recently redone. The kitchen counters were poured concrete colored a golden hue, and the backsplash was made of translucent leaf-green tiles. Open shelves displayed a collection of orange, yellow, and green Fiesta ware plates and bowls that made me envious. “Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Water?”

“Gracias,”
said Pepe, trotting over to Fuzzy’s bowl and slurping down the water. He finished up with a mighty sneeze. For some reason, Pepe always inhales some water when he’s drinking. Fuzzy sat nearby looking forlorn as Pepe turned his attention to Fuzzy’s stainless-steel food bowl.

“Ugh!” said Pepe, turning away after a few mouthfuls. “Bargain brand.” He shuddered and shook himself off as he does when something upsets him.

I asked for tea and Mark turned on a stainless-steel electric kettle that was sitting on the counter. The kitchen was immaculate. There were no dirty dishes in the sink. No stains on the stove. It didn’t look anything like my house.

“Do you have a cleaning service?” I asked.

Mark seemed startled. “Oh, you mean because the house is so clean?” He looked around. “I guess I got a little carried away. Cleaning is what I do when I’m anxious. It sucks to feel helpless—I just have to keep busy!”

When the water was hot, he poured it into a clear glass carafe and invited me to join him at the breakfast nook on one end of the kitchen. The windows looked out on a backyard that was even more precious than the front yard. Raised beds full of luxuriant vegetables. A huge state-of-the-art stainless-steel grill on a cobbled patio. Even a bread oven set among herbs.

The sky had been getting increasingly darker. As we watched, the rain began to fall, dripping from the edge of the eaves, spattering against the windows. It was June in Seattle, but we sometimes called this month Juneuary because the weather is not that much different from January. Pepe jumped up onto the bench beside me while Fuzzy lay down on the floor at Mark’s feet, putting her head on her paws with a deep sigh.

“Poor Fuzzy,” said Mark, taking a sip of his tea. “She’s just been moping. I can’t believe that Tammy would abandon her.”

I found it odd that he wasn’t thinking of himself, but maybe he was the kind of guy who always thought of other people first.

“Is Fuzzy particularly attached to Tammy?”

“Yes, Tammy always wanted a dog, but we couldn’t have one when we lived in an apartment. So as soon as we bought the house, she went right out to the shelter and came home with that mutt.” He took a sip of his tea. “I can’t believe she could just walk away from her. And all this.” He waved his hand at the yard. It certainly looked like a little bit of paradise.

“How long have you been married?”

“Our anniversary is June twenty-fifth. Next week. Seven years of married bliss.” He took a sip of his tea and looked out the rain-smeared window at the garden.

“Do not speak, Geri,” said Pepe. “That is good interviewing technique.”

Actually, I wasn’t going to speak anyway, since I had just helped myself to one of the giant sugar cookies Mark had set out and my mouth was full. The cookies looked and tasted like they were homemade. Was Mark baking as well as cleaning to compensate for his loss?

“I know what you’re thinking. That’s what the police said. The seven-year itch. She got tired of being married and ran off. But, believe me, there was nothing wrong with our marriage. I mean, we had our share of problems, but we were working on them.”

“Ask about the problems,” Pepe suggested.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what were the problems?”

“Well, of course, that’s why you’re here,” Mark said. He leaned forward. “We wanted children, but we couldn’t get pregnant. No matter what we tried and, believe me, we tried everything. Then finally, just when we gave up, Tammy got pregnant. She was so excited.”

He took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. “She had a miscarriage in the fifth month. It was terrible. She couldn’t get over it. That’s when those people got a hold of her.”

“The Dogawandans?” I asked.

“Yes, she attended a seminar and they filled her head with nonsense. Said it was all meant to be. The baby was not gone but living in a different dimension. And she could be there, too, if she divested herself of all her attachments. She went away for a weeklong retreat at their compound, which is somewhere near Cle Elum, and she never came back.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

Mark sighed. “Almost a month ago.”

“And the police weren’t concerned?” I found that hard to believe.

“No. Not after I showed them the note.”

“What note?”

He set down his cup, reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a worn wallet. He opened it and pried out a piece of much-folded paper. He handed it to me without comment and watched as I unfolded it, carefully, because it had been folded and unfolded so many times it was about to fall apart. The message was written on pale green, lined paper, the kind you find in steno notebooks, like the one I carry for my case notes.

“Read it out loud, Geri!” ordered Pepe.

So I did. It read:

 

I’m not coming home.
Don’t try to make me.
This is the last time you will hear from me.
I am dead to you from this point forward.

“Not good,” grumbled Pepe.

“Pretty ominous!” I agreed, folding it back up and handing it to Mark. “It almost sounds like a suicide note.”

He nodded. “Yes, if it weren’t for the money, I might think that, too.”

“What money?”

“A few days after I got this note in the mail, Tammy withdrew twenty-five thousand dollars from our bank account. I’m positive she gave it to the Dogawandans.”

“Geri! That is
mucho dinero
,” said Pepe. “And it is all going to a dog!”

“Not to a dog,” I said. “To Crystal Star.”

“Ridiculous, right?” snapped Mark. “All of our retirement money. She just wiped out our account. I’m investigating whether I can get any of that back. Of course, I immediately cashed out our other accounts and put all the money in my name. I’m not going to let that fraud get her hands on it.”

Fraud
was a strong word but maybe true—there had been many articles written over the years accusing Crystal Star of being a fraud. No one could believe that she was really channeling an ancient spirit presently housed in the body of an elegant Weimaraner. But I knew better than most people that strange things could happen. As if to illustrate my point, Pepe spoke up again.

“Geri, we must go to meet this woman who can talk to dogs. Once she listens to me, she will throw off this Dogawanda character and make herself an acolyte of Pepe
el Magnifico!
”

 

 

We borrowed a photo of Tammy, a vivacious redhead with a wide, freckled face and an infectious grin. I promised to call Mark as soon as we had any information.

I drove straight home to Eastlake. My condo is in an old brick building that was built around the turn of the century and converted to condos in the 1980s. The building has eight units built around a central courtyard. Each has its own front porch, back door, tiny laundry room, small kitchen, small dining room, small bedroom, small bathroom, and a small living room with a bay window. Mine is on the corner and has what they call a pocket view: I can just see a sliver of Lake Union, the urban lake just north of downtown Seattle. I’ve always loved my home both for its retro charm and its coziness, but it looked cramped after the luscious spaciousness of the Darling home.

I went into the kitchen and scooped out a generous portion of Pepe’s favorite wet dog food and plopped it into his bowl. Then while he was chowing down, I went through my cupboards, gathering all the ingredients I needed for the evening meal.

I was making dinner for my boyfriend, Felix, and his brother, who was flying up from
L.A.
It was going to be a little tricky since Felix and his brother are both carnivores while I’m a vegetarian, so I planned to make a pasta dish.

I had already been to the specialty butcher at Melrose Market and purchased some slices of ham that I planned to dice and add to the portions I served to my guests. I wasn’t going to have any even though I had been assured the ham came from a happy free-range pig that had been slaughtered humanely. I was a vegetarian before I adopted Pepe, but once my dog started talking to me, I became even more committed. Not that Pepe understood this. He is most decidedly not a vegetarian and we frequently argue about this.

Albert the Cat came in to rub against my legs, and as soon as he entered the kitchen, Pepe left. They had reached a sort of truce, after some initial dust-ups, where they had agreed not to be in the same space at the same time. Pepe had claimed the living room while Albert the Cat ruled the bedroom, but they had to share the kitchen.

Pepe begged me to turn on my laptop. “I will do research on this Dogawanda character,” he said. It was set up on the coffee table in the living room where Pepe could see the screen and use his tiny paws on the touch pad.

So I let him entertain himself while I made sure I had everything I needed for dinner. I checked the items off one by one and was just congratulating myself for being so organized when Pepe called out.

“Come quick, Geri!” he said. “I have found something.”

“What is it?” I asked, hurrying into the living room.

“Sit down and see for yourself.”

Pepe is pretty skilled at working the computer. He even has a Facebook page and more friends than me. He pushed a button with his paw and an image of a beautiful, fortyish woman appeared on the screen. She had long, frosted blond hair and was dressed in multiple layers of flowing turquoise silk. Her arms were lined with turquoise bracelets and her fingers thick with silver and turquoise rings. Her head was raised skyward, her mouth was open, and the expression on her face was one of sublime ecstasy. On either side of her stood two huge statues of wolves, their heads also raised high, as if they were howling at the moon.

The caption below the photo read:

I read the story out loud: “‘Rock guitarist Fox Black arrived Saturday at the Dogawanda Ranch just a few miles outside of Cle Elum for some one-on-one time with the famous guru, Dogawanda, and his human translator, Crystal Star. Black’s manager says his client is “burned out on fame” and is seeking a more meaningful approach to life. The famous lead guitarist is only the latest in a long string of celebrities who have sought counsel from Dogawanda.’”

“Perhaps we are in the wrong business, Geri,” said Pepe. “Maybe you should channel me and we, too, could rake in the
dinero
.”

“Pepe,” I said. “If I could get people to believe that you were a talking dog, we
would
make a fortune.”

“You think?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” I said. I followed a link on Crystal Star’s page to the Dogawanda Center for Enlightenment. This page showed a blurry photo of a beautiful gray dog who appeared to be floating on a cloud.

“So what does this Dogawanda have to say?” Pepe asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s not speaking to me the way you do. But apparently somebody has transcribed his sayings.” I clicked on a sidebar that read T
HE
W
ISDOM OF
D
OGAWANDA, VOLUME
I.

“Read it to me, Geri,” said Pepe.

So I did: “‘In the Before Time, Dogawanda cast off his slavery to all things and became a warrior for Truth. Needing not gold or silver, he traveled the continents spreading enlightenment and tranquility.
Having nothing, you have everything, and everything is the Here and Now,
became his mantra. This is the Word of the Dog.’”

“I like the last part about the dog,” said Pepe.

I clicked on another one of the tabs at the top of the screen. This one was labeled E
VENTS
.

“Oh, this looks good,” I said. “Crystal Star is giving an introductory weekend at the Center and it starts tomorrow. It looks like I can still register. Then we’ll be able to find Tammy Darling. All we have to do is pretend to be interested in Dogawanda.”

“I am interested in Dogawanda,” said Pepe. “If Crystal Star knows how to find people who will listen to dogs, I want to meet her!”