Chihuahua Conspiracy

Chapter Fourteen

Seeing as both Paisley and I could use a change of scenery, I leashed her up and drove us downtown to enjoy a bit of window-shopping.

“Have you been here before?” I asked my doggie companion as the two of us strolled down the narrow sidewalks that flanked the commercial heart of our small seaside town.

“Nope,” Paisley answered, then stopped to squat beside a young tree that had just begun to change colors for the fall. “But I like it very much. So many excellent smells!”

Although I was sure our definition of excellent varied substantially, I smiled and nodded my agreement. Paisley was happy again, and that’s what mattered most.

“Which smell is your favorite?” I asked conversationally.

“Oh, definitely all the pee!” she squealed, happier than a pig in number two as she enjoyed the apparently intoxicating aroma of number one.

I didn’t ask any more questions after that. Instead, the two of us continued on our way, stopping frequently to allow the Chihuahua to sniff anything that caught her fancy.

“Oh, hello there, Angie!” Mr. Gable, the owner of the nearby jewelry store, called from the spot where he was idling with a steaming mug of coffee. The old man had become something of an institution here in Glendale, and it was no wonder he’d recently been voted head of the downtown council.

“Hello, Mr. Gable,” I called, quickening my pace to join him.

“And who might this little fella be?” The smiling, white-haired man carefully lowered himself to the ground and let Paisley sniff his hands. His coffee, too.

“This is Paisley,” I announced proudly. “Nan’s and my newest addition.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I bet the cat doesn’t much care for that.”

“You bet right,” I answered with a laugh. Hopefully, Mr. Gable’s well-meaning comment wouldn’t turn the dog into a nervous, shaking mess all over again.

In the end, she appeared too taken by the kindness of this new friend to worry about the unkindness of the hostile feline back home.

Mr. Gable and I chatted amiably for a few minutes about the upcoming holiday spectacular. We were a good three months off, but it was widely known that the downtown businesses started planning on December 26 of the previous year. The yearly festival got bigger and grander with each run, and I couldn’t wait to see how it would look this Christmas.

Mr. Gable, however, refused to give anything away. “It’s better as a surprise,” he promised with a Santa-like wink.

Just as I was about to press a little harder for details, an unexpected movement down the street caught my eye. Mind you, we were in downtown Glendale, which meant lots of people, dogs, and vehicles came and went—even in the middle of the day.

Somehow, though, I knew the sudden pale blur wasn’t a part of all that. I guess you could say my kitty sense was tingling.

Paisley felt it, too, because she nudged my foot with her nose and said, “It’s that nice lady we smelled the other day. Remember at the shelter?”

And she was right. Suspicious Trish had made yet another appearance in my life, and I wanted to know why.

“Well, nice chatting,” I told Mr. Gable with a brief wave goodbye. “We’ll see you soon.”

I picked up Paisley, even though I knew she’d probably rather walk, and hurried back in the direction from which we’d come. I needed her close so that I could whisper to her about what would happen next.

“We have to be very, very quiet,” I told the little dog, channeling my inner Elmer Fudd. We weren’t hunting wabbits, though, we were stalking suspects—and that was way more dangerous.

“If we can stay quiet and hidden long enough, I think we might just win Detective,” I promised with a quick grin.

Paisley gasped but said nothing in response. Good dog.

Trish cut through an alley, and I raced faster to catch up, making sure I remained far enough behind to avoid letting her spot me. She stopped in a parking lot and stood, waiting.

Paisley and I hid ourselves behind a nearby dumpster. Neither of us spoke a word.

Then I spotted it, a giant, beat-up Cadillac crunching onto the gravel lot. The driver was most definitely male, but I couldn’t make out much more than his wispy frame and deep voice. He and Trish spoke for a few minutes and then he hopped out of the car and popped the trunk open.

Inside, the spacious trunk was filled to the brim with pet supplies, still in their packaging. If the mysterious man was here to make a donation to the shelter, he was sure acting shifty about it.

I didn’t have long to puzzle over this, because the very next thing I knew, Trish had pulled a wad of bills from her front pocket and handed it to the driver.

And that was more than enough to make me finally spring to action. First, I grabbed my phone and zoomed in on the license plate, so I’d have it for later. Then I placed a call to my good friend Officer Bouchard and told him he needed to come down straight away.

“Did we win Detective?” Paisley asked, staring up at me with glistening dark eyes.

“Yeah, I think we did,” I told her, offering an enthusiastic petting for the job well done. “But we need to be quiet just a little longer before we can know for sure.”

We watched as Trish and the man had some kind of argument, and then he drove off with both the cash and the pet supplies. Trish groaned and stalked back toward the alleyway, where Paisley and I still stood crouched behind the dumpster.

Uh-oh.

I needed to think fast, so I set my dog on the ground and cried, “Oh my gosh, Paisley! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Yes, I’m right here, Mommy!” the little dog barked, not quite catching on to the ruse.

Trish walked by us without so much as a nod of recognition, so I called after her. “Hey, Trish. Is that you? Three times in less than twenty-four hours! What are the chances?”

She grimaced but stopped moving at least. “I’m sorry, I can’t really hang around and talk. Nice to see you, though.” Without waiting for my response, she quickened her pace again and continued down the alley.

Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting away that easily.

She must have had an awful lot on her mind, because Paisley and I easily trailed her without her discovering us. She moved fast, and I wished for the second time that day that I was in better shape. Somehow I managed to keep up, though, as Trish led us to a second parking lot on the other side of downtown Glendale where the same man from before sat waiting in his idling car.

“Bingo,” I whispered, then sent a quick text to Officer Bouchard to let him know we’d relocated to the north parking lot.

Trish unlocked a dirty white sedan and popped its trunk, then together she and the man began to move the contents of his vehicle into hers. They’d managed to clear about half of the goods by the time Officer Bouchard’s police cruiser joined us on the scene.

My excitement mounted. My cop friend had made it on time, and now this was it. Somebody was going to be in big trouble.