Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice by Waverly Curtis Read Free Book Online

rolled down a bit, and a hand came out, waving what looked like a bunch of hundred-dollar bills.
    “Does that work for you?” the man asked Jimmy G.
    Sure did. Jimmy G approached the car, and the man at his side opened the door. In a minute, Jimmy G was sliding into the dark leather seat facing the limo’s sole occupant. He was no kind of dope, though. He kept one hand near the .45 in his shoulder holster as he studied the occupant of the car.
    The guy was midforties, had dark brown hair, wore a well-tailored, summer-weight tan suit. His lips were large and fleshy. There were dark circles under his eyes.
    “If you must smoke,” the stranger said, “at least smoke something good.”
    “White Owl,” said Jimmy G, holding up his cigar. “It is good.”
    “This is better.” The man reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a leather cigar case, took out a large, Churchill-style cigar, and handed it to Jimmy G.
    One look at it told Jimmy G it was a Cohiba. Cuban. Illegal in the US.
    “Little expensive for Jimmy G’s blood,” he told him.
    “We can pay you enough so you can afford these from now on.”
    Jimmy G tossed his White Owl out the window and fired up the Cuban. It was so rich and smooth, it was almost intoxicating.
    “Who are you?” he asked the man.
    “I’m a Superior Court judge,” he said, carefully lighting a cigar of his own. “My name is Julian Valentine. Let’s just say I have an interest in the disposition of the late Lucille Carpenter’s fortune.”
    “A judge, huh?”
    “Clallam County Superior Court.”
    “What do you want?”
    “We want you to finish the job you started for Bernie Bickerstaff.”
    “You know about that?”
    “Yes, and we know how much he paid you and how little you delivered.”
    “Hey, the guy was dead!” Jimmy G was quick to point out.
    “Exactly,” said Valentine, sucking at his cigar. He paused for a moment, then released a curl of smoke from his pursed-up mouth. “So now you work for us.”
    “Who’s us?” Jimmy G asked cautiously.
    “Those who have an interest in seeing that the Carpenter fortune goes to the rightful heirs.”
    “And what do you expect Jimmy G to do?” Jimmy G asked.
    “We need a copy of the trust document. You should be able to get one from Boswell. Here’s his address.” He handed him a sheet of paper.
    “What if he doesn’t want to share it with Jimmy G?”
    “Use whatever means you consider necessary,” said the judge. “We can’t proceed until we see that document.”
    Jimmy G folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
    “In addition,” said the judge, “we need statements from witnesses who can prove that my mother was crazy when she signed that trust document. Here’s a list of people who should be helpful.” And he passed Jimmy G another sheet of paper.
    Jimmy G was confused. “Your mother? I thought we were talking about some rich old lady name of Carpenter.”
    “Hey!” said the judge. “Show some respect. That’s my mother you’re talking about. She was a Valentine before she was a Carpenter.”
    “Oh,” said Jimmy G, thinking he understood. “How will Jimmy G get in contact with you?” he asked.
    Valentine frowned, pulled his cigar out of his mouth, and squashed it in the large crystal ashtray to his right. “You’ll be staying here.” He handed Jimmy G a card that advertised FLORAL FANTASY B&B , with an address in Port Townsend. “That way we’ll know how to find you. You don’t contact us. We contact you.”

Chapter 11
    “That’s ridiculous!” snapped Clara. “My aunt has given up her life for those dogs. She deserves every penny she gets for their upkeep.”
    Yolanda fired off a string of rapid Spanish directed at her niece. Clara pouted but began picking up the dog’s saucers.
    “What do we do next, Barry?” Yolanda asked.
    “Well, they’ve set a court date for a hearing, about three weeks away. We’ll just have to show up with evidence that Lucille was of sane