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Series: Lexi Graves Mysteries, Book 15 |
When social media queen, Tiffany Rose is shot and kidnapped live on air, the crime grips the nation. Private Investigator Lexi Graves races to her aid but she's too late. The kidnappers are long gone and the only witness is a tiny, frightened dog named Elf. Even worse, Lexi and her best friend, Lily are arrested at the crime scene as prime suspects. Upon being hired to find Tiffany, Lexi knows it's only a matter of time before the kidnappers make their demands and if their demands are not met, the nation's new sweetheart will pay with her life. When she starts to look for clues about the perps who arranged for Tiffany's ordeal, Lexi's suspicions spike. Instead of enjoying the high life, Tiffany is saddled with mounting debt and seriously considering elaborate schemes to make money fast while the wolves circle her. Did she go so far as to borrow from the wrong people? Or were her extreme lengths designed to solve all her problems? All Lexi knows for certain is that she will stop at nothing to uncover the truth.
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CHAPTER ONE
“Just look at her,” sighed Lily. “She’s so perfect. She’d look unspoiled even with a trash bag tied around her.”
I glanced up in alarm. “You sound like a serial killer. No one looks good dead.”
“Tiffany Rose would. Anyway, I meant around her body like a dress, not over her head.” Lily flashed me a concerned look as she continued, “You’ve been in the crime game too long, Lexi.”
“At least as a private investigator I’m on the right side of crime.”
“That’s debatable at times,” snorted Lily.
I shrugged as we both gazed at Lily’s cellphone, which she had propped against a wine bottle on the bar of the venue Lily owned and ran. It was mid-afternoon, long after the lunch rush and too early for Happy Hour, so we were passing the time watching Tiffany Rose’s enormously popular vlogs online, a social media trend that had been rising over the last few years. Having had my own unfortunate brush with starring in an online video, thanks to my nephew’s sharp thinking and good timing, I could appreciate any public attention. But Tiffany was an industry all by herself. Aged twenty-nine, only a few years younger than us, Tiffany had the flawless skin that cosmetic models kill for and a bright, infectious, bubbly personality. She seemed to find everything exciting and those qualities conspired to attract a legion of fans. That, and her luxurious, consumerist lifestyle. So far this afternoon, we’d viewed one “unboxing” where Tiffany squealed at every new makeup palette, lipstick and cosmetic brush sent by several public relations firms. We shared her glee as she opened the boxes, sampled them, and gushed about the brands on camera to her global audience. Then there was a cleverly edited “clothing haul” video in which she tried on a rack of clothes and practically strong-armed me telepathically into purchasing one of the pretty dresses. Then we watched her chatty “get ready with me” tutorial as she applied her makeup while talking to the camera. After a string of poses in her evening wear, she signed off by blowing a kiss to the camera just like she did in every video. Now she was trying on clothes again and talking while she discarded accessories on the tufted, white pouffe in her glamorous closet. A small, fluffy dog looked on.
“I think I hate her a little bit.”
“What happened to women’s solidarity? Sisters supporting sisters?” I asked.
“It helps if I’m not brimming with envy.”
“I like your smoky eye makeup today. It’s a good look on you.”
“Guess where I got it from,” said Lily, pointing at the screen.
“Oh!” I contemplated that. “I think I’ll try that too. Which video?”
“I’ll send you the link. She’s the reason I bought a whole basketful of goodies at the drugstore last week.”
“I thought that was because you needed everything and couldn’t decide between the numerous similar items.”
“That too. My bank balance doesn’t agree. And when I got home, Jord looked through the bag and guess what he asked me?”
“What?”
“He asked what blusher was for!” Lily stepped back from the bar with an appalled look on her face. “I told him it was for my cheeks and he asked which ones!”
“Clueless,” I remarked, unsurprised. Jord, the youngest of my brothers, may have grown up with two sisters and married my best friend, with whom he shared a daughter, but he was still oblivious about women’s makeup.
“Utterly. He thinks mascara goes on your lips and lip gloss and lipstick are the same thing. He occasionally steals my moisturizer even though he refuses to admit it. I know I can’t go through it that fast.”
“I actually noticed his skin was looking pretty good, now I know why.”
“So you’re coming over later to watch Tiffany Rose’s live Q and A video? Ruby is closing the bar tonight so I’m free.”
“What’s that? What questions? What answers? Will she discuss the spat she had with Flavia?” I wanted to know what topic was scheduled. Would Tiffany spill the details about her boyfriend, or her upcoming plans, or a special collaboration that would encourage me to buy something I never realized I so desperately needed? Or would she finally tell everyone why she and her rival, Flavia, were engaged in a huge, ongoing, public feud?
“She put the notification on her Instagram feed a couple of hours ago, inviting questions. Viewers can ask her anything about her life, makeup, fashion, the new apartment and more. And she’s doing a live cocktail-making session to start so we can drink with her too, just like we’re all together in a bar.”
“But we’re not actually with her.”
“Kinda. We’ll be doing the same thing at the same time, just not in the same place. And we can’t actually talk to her unless we submit our comments. Hey, do you think she’ll come on my bar vlog and agree to do a collaboration with me? I sure could do with the views!”
“You’re still doing that?”
“Yes!” Lily paused, then frowned. “You don’t watch them?”
“I’m still traumatized from my last guest appearance online,” I said with a sigh. The video my nephew filmed became a viral hit. Fortunately, I wasn’t obviously identifiable, being dressed in a plush cocktail costume, but Lily’s bar was perfectly clear and occasionally, patrons would ask about it. “But yes, I do watch them. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Truthfully, Lily’s short videos were fun, informative and enjoyable. It’s a shame they didn’t garner as many views as she would have liked.
Lily’s gaze returned to the screen. “So you think I should ask her?”
“Definitely ask her. Don’t ask, don’t get,” I said, sounding suspiciously like my mother.
“I will. She’s already got six thousand questions but at least mine is original, right? No one else owns a bar... I think.”
I nodded while trying to mask the skepticism on my face. Not about owning a bar, but the originality of her question. A lot of people were eager to collaborate with Tiffany for online content since she had such a huge audience. Her patronage was more valuable than currency to less well-known vloggers who longed to achieve her level of fame.
“So you’ll come over and we’ll watch her livestream Q and A together? It’ll be fun!”
“Okay,” I agreed, “But not because I need the fashion tips. I’m already fabulous.”
“Of course you are,” agreed Lily. “It starts at eight. Come a little bit before? We need to prepare our snacks and cocktail ingredients.”
“I’ll be there.” I checked my watch. “I need to go. Solomon wants me to help tail a couple.”
“You’re doing honey traps now? I thought Solomon didn’t like those kinds of cases.”
“No. Much worse. A couple of dogs.”
“No need to denigrate them!” gasped Lily.
“I’m not! The couple we’re seeking are actually dogs. Apparently, there’s some kind of ongoing pedigree dognapping ring right now in Montgomery and Solomon’s handling the case.”
“Oh. In that case, tailing the dogs is kind of a pun.” Lily giggled and I groaned.
“I’ll see you later,” I told her as I hopped down from the bar stool and reached for my purse, which I always hung on a hook under the bar. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck. I wouldn’t want this case to dog you for days.”
“Please stop!” I rolled my eyes as I turned to walk away, holding back the laugh that nearly escaped me. I just hoped I could still see the fun side of the case after a few hours of surveillance. I wasn’t entirely convinced Solomon even needed me on it. I figured he was just bored waiting around for something to happen and wanted my delightful company to help him pass the time. I knew he had few leads already.
I stepped out into the sunlight, confronted by the same dilemma that was plaguing me for weeks, ever since my car swiftly exited this world in a fireball. Shall I take the bus, call a cab, or ask for a ride? The latter was more like begging now, after getting multiple rides from just about everyone I knew. All the pool cars at the agency were occupied by other employees, leaving me with few options. I hated riding the bus; it took forever and there was always someone next to me who wanted to chat instead of doing the decent thing and leaving me the hell alone. I could walk or run but I wasn’t wearing athletic wear and my heels were too cute to seriously pound the pavement.
Dropping my shoulders, I pulled out my cellphone and called a cab. Twenty minutes later and many dollars lighter, I climbed out of the cab half a block from where Solomon said he was staked out. I hightailed it to his car and slipped inside.
“Did you bring any snacks?” he asked after leaning close to brush a kiss across my lips.
“Hello, darling husband,” I said, “and no.”
“Do you have anything in your purse?”
After a quick investigation, I produced two items. “A squashed chocolate bar and some mints.” I dropped them into Solomon’s waiting hand and he checked the wrapper.
“The expiration date hasn’t passed yet!” he exclaimed happily as he unwrapped it.
“Of course it hasn’t! I haven’t quite turned into one of the guys yet.”
“Never turn into one of them,” he said, biting into the chocolate.
“No problem. I’m sure I can pull off masculine fashion but I might have some trouble with the hirsute element.”
“Plus, I’d have to divorce you.”
“Over my beard? That’s harsh.”
“I’m not kissing you if you grow a beard.”
“Just because you have boundaries doesn’t mean you need to communicate them.”
“I think I do on that one. I love your soul but I promised ‘in sickness and in health’ not ‘in beard and you get weird’.”
“You can grow a beard if you like,” I said, stroking his jaw. He had a fine layer of stubble, which was unlike him. Usually, he kept his hair very short and his face clean- shaven.
Solomon stopped chewing. “Would you like that?”
“I like this stubble. It’s very appealing. Also you smell very sexy today.” I leaned in to smoosh my nose against his neck. “You smell like mint and something earthy.”
“I’m not having sex with you in the car.”
I pulled back. “Jeez, John! I was only complimenting your choice of shower gel!”
He gave me a suspicious look. “Really? Why are you doing that pouty thing and fluttering your eyelashes?”
“Absolutely no reason.” I batted my eyelashes again and licked my lips. Sometimes Solomon reminded me of a chocolate bar: thoroughly edible, and undeniably delicious, but having more than one would probably knock me out from pleasure overload. No, scrap that. I can eat a lot of chocolate. More than one Solomon however? I would definitely faint after that scenario.
“Stop it. It’s four PM.”
“I can read a clock.”
“We’re on a public street.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going with this. Are you announcing your case notes aloud? Should I write any of this down?” I teased.
Solomon fixed me with a smoldering look that usually resulted in my eager consent to anything he asked. “I’ll take you to bed later. Or maybe to the stairs if we don’t make it that far,” he said.
I sucked in a breath as all the oxygen seemed to rush out of the car. My heart pounded and my palms got clammy. Then I uttered the words no husband wants to hear in response to his sexy suggestion. “I’m hanging out with Lily later. We’re watching an eminent lifestyle vlogger do a livestream video,” I said.
“I have no idea what any of that means.”
“Well, Lily is my best friend and also my sister-in-law,” I started.
“I know that bit.”
I pulled in a deep breath and prepared myself. “It means, I’m not available for you to put the moves on me.” I clasped my palm to my mouth, immediately regretting my words.
“I’ll save my moves for later. Heads up. Movement.” Solomon grabbed his camera, his face turning serious as the door to the pet salon opened and a woman strolled out with a dog so enormous and furry, it might have been a bear. The two dogs I could see through the plate glass windows looked like hamsters in comparison.
“What is that?” I asked. “It’s a bear, isn’t it? She only thinks it’s a dog.”
“A St. Bernard,” said Solomon. “Not the one I’m looking for. The markings are wrong.”
“Tell me again what we’re doing here.”
“I’ve been tracking the movements of several pedigree dogs that were reported missing and the one commonality they share is all of them are clients of the Pampered Pooch Parlor. Either the parlor is behind the dog thefts, or they’re passing on information, perhaps unwittingly, to the responsible party,” he explained. “I’m staking them out for a few days so I can decide which of the employees could be in on it, or any tradespeople doing business with the parlor who might be linked to the thefts.”
“That’s an awful lot of work to steal dogs. Why not just grab them from their yards?”
“That would require knowing where their yards were. Most people don’t let their prize dogs roam their front yards. Someone must know which homes to target. Designer puppies sell for thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands for the offspring of champions. It’s a relatively new crime that is fast rivaling drugs in some countries, with less severe penalties.”
“Wow.”
“So far we have five missing pooches. Three bitches and two dogs. They’re all young and none of them were neutered so they’ve probably been stolen for breeding purposes. The thieves can’t show them, but they stand to make a lot of money off their litters on the semi-black market. Someone must be aware of that information. You can’t just flip the animal over and check.”
“Why don’t they just ransom them?” I wondered. “Surely, the owners are prepared to pay.”
“I wondered about that too,” said Solomon as he lifted his camera and fired off a round of snaps when a young man in a blue PPP polo shirt with a little paw logo left the building and headed down the street. “Sure, there’s money in the ransom but if the bitches have several litters, each consisting of several puppies, and the dogs sire who knows how many puppies… That’s a goldmine! They can breed the animals until the dogs can’t sustain it anymore before they discard them for new ones.”
“Those poor animals!”
“The owners are desperate to get them all home and safe so they collaborated and hired us. They said they would pay any ransom., but paying the dognappers means all pedigreed dogs will continue to be at threat. It’s a smart move.”
A few minutes passed before the young man wearing the PPP logo returned, a deli bag in his hand, and went inside. We watched through the glass-fronted windows as he handed out sandwiches and chips to the other employees.
“He’s my top suspect,” said Solomon.
“Why?”
“He’s in huge debt from veterinarian college, he hasn’t secured a fulltime job, and he lives way beyond his means for a parlor technician. Nice apartment, no roommates. BMW. He just paid for a vacation to Hawaii.”
“Maybe his parents fund him?”
“They just filed for divorce and their house is in foreclosure. The dad gambles and has already maxed out his credit.”
“I see your point.”
The young man left the parlor again and walked further down the street, our view unimpeded by traffic. He walked into a small grocery store on the corner and we lost sight of him as he strolled down the aisles.
“What about the other employees?” I asked as we waited.
“There’s the owner,” said Solomon when a woman with brown hair swept back by a slim, yellow headband stepped into view. “She’s fifty years old and lives in the apartment upstairs. She has a small mortgage on the whole property but no other debts. She doesn’t live the high life. There are two other employees. One is a retired veterinary nurse who takes extra shifts at the parlor. She’s married with two grown sons, and lives well within her means, thanks to the pension fund she and her husband accrued. She works only because she wants to, not because she needs to financially. Finally, the owner’s seventeen-year-old daughter works in the parlor on weekends and plans to attend the University of Chicago next year although her mom prefers that she go to community college.”
“Maybe she needs the extra money to fund that?”
“Her grandparents set up a small trust for her when she was born. They invested in stocks that do pretty well although they won’t cover everything. The daughter invested in a second-hand car with her parlor savings and has the usual teenage expenses. Movies, clothes, makeup.”
“Those are my expenses too,” I pointed out, “and I’m much older.”
“She has a car though so one could say she’s one step ahead of you in life stages.”
“Thanks for rubbing it in.”
Solomon glanced at me. “You do need to buy another car.”
“I know! I have a house,” I added, thinking about my other expenses. “I have a savings account too. I’m a bona fide adult.” After saving to finally purchase my dream yellow bungalow, I officially moved into Solomon’s house. Thankfully, I found a lovely family to rent it. Although I wasn’t sure I would live in the house again, I couldn’t bear to part with it. Plus, it’s good to have financial independence despite a well-functioning marriage. If anything goes wrong, I’ll never be destitute. Although Solomon made it clear that I would always be looked after should anything happen to him, I like knowing I can always rely on myself.
“Does it have wheels?” asked Solomon.
“No, but have you seen some of those tiny houses on wheels? Adorable!”
“A little obvious on a stakeout. I’m not knocking your achievements, although I do question some of your responses. I’m just pointing out that a teenager is more physically mobile than you are.”
“I have an Uber account. My rating is 4.88.”
Solomon glanced at me and shook his head.
“I bet yours is 5-stars, isn’t it? Such an overachiever.”
“I don’t even have an account! I drive my car. By the end of the week, you should also be driving your own car. Your insurance money came through. I saw the check.”
“Fine. I’ll buy a car, but this time, I want a fire retardant one.” The young man came out of the grocery store with a grocery bag in each hand. I nudged Solomon. “There’s your suspect. What do we need to catch him doing?”
“It’s unlikely we’ll catch him doing anything red-handed. The dogs aren’t being snatched from the parlor. They’re stolen from their homes after they’ve been pampered; and in one instance, when the dogwalker let the pooch off the leash in a dog park. Before you ask, I already cleared the dogwalker,” explained Solomon. “I’ve set up a stooge to go in with a dog descended from two prize-winning show animals and a busy lifestyle, requiring him to be out of the home quite often. We’ll see what happens.”
“Who’s the stooge?”
“Delgado.”
“And the dog?”
“A Pomeranian. Tiny dogs are very popular.”
“Delgado and a ball of fluff that doesn’t reach past his ankles? Are you sure anyone will be convinced it’s his?” I asked. Antonio (Tony) Delgado was ex-Army and a lifelong friend of Solomon’s. Tall, broad, and menacing, he wasn’t someone you dared to cross. He married my sister, Serena, and became a stepfather to her daughter, Victoria. He also had the patience of a saint.
“Yes. He’ll claim it belongs to his wife and he is merely a tolerant hubby.”
“That works,” I said. I watched the young man pause as a dogwalker with a group of seven dogs of various breeds and sizes stepped onto the sidewalk. He stopped to pet some of the bigger, inquisitive ones and reached into his pocket, but I wasn’t sure if it was for a dog treat or a business card. Suddenly, two of the dogs started lunging at the grocery bag he carried. He jerked the bag away and the dogs leapt forwards, tugging their walker. The young man staggered backward as they crowded him and the walker lost control of all the leashes. Then the young man started running, but the dogs remained on his heels in hot pursuit as his shredded bag slowly released packages of raw meat.
He almost reached the parlor when several police cars came screeching around the corner. The cars pulled over and the officers jumped out, their weapons drawn. The young man stuck his hands in the air and the dogs went crazy for the suspended bags he held. Then the biggest one barreled into him and down he went in a pile of fur and sausages.
The dogwalker and the police officers pulled off all the dogs before one of the officers handcuffed the young man and hauled him to his feet.
I watched the whole thing unfold with my mouth open.
“This is interesting,” said Solomon.
“You don’t say.”
Solomon reached for the door handle. “I’m going to find out what’s going on,” he said as he got out. When he came back ten chaotic minutes later, he got into the car and shook his head. “Apparently, there was a case file open on this guy already for suspected narcotic thefts from the vet school. The drug division put out a warrant on him an hour ago. My contacts at the police department had no idea. They have him on camera handling the stolen dogs but no one understood the connection until now. A canine team was dispatched to collect them and bust the dognapping ring before they catch wind of this. I’ve sent one member of the team to identify the dogs that are being held. There was a mix-up as to who should arrest him, which is why there are so many officers here.”
“What about your case?”
“Seems our stakeout is over.”
I looked at two of the dogs happily sharing a raw steak seasoned with sidewalk grit. “Seems so,” I agreed.
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