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

interview. Until the police release the crime scene, I’ll be working out of my home office.” He handed me a card with an address scribbled across the back.
    “I was planning to head back to Seattle tonight,” I said.
    “Surely you have some questions for Yolanda,” Boswell said.
    “Yes, you should be our guests,” said Yolanda. “We can talk after dinner. And I will feel so much safer with you on the premises.” She turned to Clara. “Go tell Caroline to set two extra places for dinner.”
     
     
    After Boswell left, Yolanda took us on a tour of the house. Mrs. Carpenter had obviously been a fan of English décor. The house was full of sturdy oak pieces, four-poster beds, heavy velvet curtains, and lots of English bric-a-brac. The tour ended in the kitchen, which was a bit more modern, and the domain of Caroline, the cook, who, as Yolanda explained, did not “live in.” She drove in from town every day to prepare breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for humans and dogs, but left as soon as dinner was served.
    Caroline had prepared a feast of vegetarian lasagna, a salad of tossed greens (which she said came straight from the garden), and zucchini muffins, all of which were laid out on the island in the kitchen. There was a choice of fresh lemonade (I couldn’t handle that, remembering Bickerstaff’s contorted visage), locally pressed cider, or red wine. I chose the wine, a blend of Washington reds, which went well with the lasagna.
    The dogs had their own meal of fresh raw meat that had been mixed with vegetables and rice. They padded into the dining room, and the cook set out their dishes along the wall, in order, according to their age. Pepe was given a small plate at the end of the line. He gobbled down his dinner, then prowled along the line to see if any of the other dogs’ dishes held leftovers.
    The humans sat at one end of a long oak table that had places for twelve guests. A large silver candelabra occupied the center. On one end of the room, a china closet with glass doors displayed stacks of gold-rimmed porcelain. The wallpaper was a William Morris design: a greenish background with pink and yellow flowers. Paintings of cocker spaniels hung on the walls.
    “How long have you known Mrs. Carpenter?” I asked Yolanda, after taking a few bites of my lasagna.
    She was just toying with her food. “I’ve been with her for thirty years.”
    “Since my aunt first came to the United States,” Clara observed. She was attacking her meal with gusto.
    “That’s right. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Mrs. Carpenter. There was a civil war going on in my country, but I couldn’t leave without a sponsor. She sponsored me. It was so generous of her.”
    “You mean so cunning,” Clara said. “She just wanted a slave.”
    Yolanda rebuked her with a glance. “Hush, I was not a slave!”
    “Then why did you never leave?” Clara asked.
    “Mrs. Carpenter was very good to me,” Yolanda said.
    “She was not! She was rude and demanding and disrespectful!” Clara said.
    “You never saw the good side of her,” Yolanda remarked mildly. “Besides, the kids needed me. Especially after their father died.”
    “The Carpenter kids?” I was confused.
    “Oh, no! I’m talking about the Valentine kids. They were only teenagers when their father died. I helped raise them until they went off to college. Then Lucille moved to Sequim and met Mr. Carpenter. He had his own set of kids. Lucille needed me more than ever. And the kids did, too!”
    Clara rolled her eyes.
    “You don’t think much of that?”
    “You’d have to know the kids.”
    “I brought Clara up to help me three years ago, when Lucille got sick,” Yolanda said.
    “What did she die of?”
    “Meanness,” said Clara.
    Yolanda glared at her. “Congestive heart failure. Her poor heart broke when all the kids refused to speak to her. First her own, then Mr. C’s, whom she helped raise.”
    “Why did they hate her so much?”
    “Because she