Dog Dish of Doom, page 17
On it were clearly printed the words This was a warning.
Now I was pissed off.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“A bomb?” Det. Alana Rodriguez, as I’d noticed had become her custom, was acting like a threat to my life was less a danger to me than an annoyance to her. She stood in the back room of the bagel bakery looking at the damage done by the explosion and shook her head. “You got someone to plant a bomb in a bagel bakery?”
“What do you mean, ‘I got’ them to do it?” I asked. I’d brushed off as much of the dust, soot, paper, sweat, and flour that had collected all over me after I’d dialed 911 and alerted the NYPD to the explosion. “You think this was part of my ingenious plan to get you to pay more attention to me?”
“You know what I mean,” Rodriguez answered. I probably did know what she meant, but getting blown up had made me cranky. “Why exactly would somebody go to all this trouble?”
“I’m guessing they wanted Bruno and thought I was an obstacle,” I told her. “Blowing me up would get me out of the way.”
Rodriguez looked over at the bomb tech named Hogan who had come with her. He checked over the remains of the explosive in the oven, glanced at her, and shook his head. “Nobody tried to blow you up,” she said.
That was news to me. “How do you figure that? They lured me here and planted a bomb in the bagel oven. You think that was a way to get me to date them?”
“They wanted to scare you,” Rodriguez said, taking her arms out of their naturally condescending crossed position and picking up some of the threatening confetti that was currently decorating the room. “If they wanted you dead, they wouldn’t have bothered to put snarky notes inside the bomb for a dead person to read. And this device wasn’t strong enough to do much more than make the windows rattle anyway.”
“Tell that to my molars; I think they’re still vibrating,” I told her. “All I know is that I walked in here following Taylor Cassidy, and when she snuck out the front door, I found a ticking metal object in the oven which blew up two seconds later.”
“Ticking?” Rodriguez said, smiling in a wry, annoying manner. “Bombs haven’t ticked in decades. Who has a clock running on gears anymore?”
“That’s what’s interesting,” said Hogan, who walked over with some piece of electronics held with tweezers in his left hand. “This device was rigged to tick like an old clock. It actually was programmed with that sound, so anyone who got close enough to it would hear the thing supposedly ticking when in fact it was running completely digitally and without any moving parts inside. It’s an awful lot of trouble for a programmer to go through just to make a retro-sounding bomb.”
Rodriguez listened to him carefully, glanced at the mangled processors in his tweezers, and blinked once or twice. This was an indication that she was thinking. “It is a lot of trouble,” she agreed. “Why would someone bother with all that?”
“I just do the tech stuff,” Hogan told her. “You’re the detective. Detect something.” It was nice to see her get the same treatment she was so quick to give out. But it didn’t seem to have an effect on her.
“The only explanation is they wanted the bomb to be found,” she said. “Which makes sense when you understand that its only purpose”—and here she turned to look directly at me—“was to scare someone, not to do any real damage.”
“Fine,” I told her. “I get it. They wanted to scare me, and it worked. So how come you’re not out looking for Taylor Cassidy? She clearly worked with the people trying to get Bruno, or she is one of them herself. She brought me here and left before the bomb could go off. She must have known it was going to happen and ran as fast as she could. Why isn’t she your number-one suspect right now?”
Rodriguez’s arms returned to their customary folded position. “What makes you think she’s not?” she said. “Do I go around telling you how to get dogs acting jobs?”
Dogs with acting jobs! “What time is it?” I asked.
“Time for you to tell me why you’re so sure this is about the dog,” Rodriguez answered, which was about par for her usual level of helpfulness. “Why isn’t this actually about you?”
I missed the implications of that remark because I was fixated on the time. I took my phone—which miraculously had survived the terrifying blast intact—out of my pocket and looked at it. The time was 2:28. I still had thirty-two minutes to get to the Palace Theater and take Bruno’s leash from my mother in time for his rehearsal.
“I have to get uptown,” I told Rodriguez. “My car’s parked outside. I have just enough time.”
“Enough time to answer my question,” the detective countered. “What’s your connection to all this?”
I started toward the door. “As soon as you find out, could you let me know?” I asked. “I thought I was just the dog’s agent.”
She did nothing to stop me from leaving. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but I got my car as quickly as possible and made it to the theater with two minutes to spare. Sure enough, there were Mom and Bruno standing outside the stage door. I thanked Mom for the help.
“Did Dad find a genius to headline your show yet?” I asked. I was being sociable. People like it when you show interest in what they’re doing and don’t think just of yourself. But while Mom was trying to answer, I took the leash from her hand and knocked on the stage door. I couldn’t be late for this rehearsal.
Ronnie, the guy who was watching the door that night, took a look at Bruno and let me in despite my not having an official Annie theater pass. Les had in fact hired Bruno and Louise had signed the contract, so that part was done, but we hadn’t been properly vetted by theater security yet. I was waiting for Bruno’s ID card, which I sincerely hoped would be hilarious.
Mom followed in behind me, and Ronnie, clearly seeing she was with me, made no objection. Mom was saying something about the singing ventriloquist Dad had been auditioning, but I was moving too fast to really hear. Okay, so I didn’t really care. I thought Mom probably was just as indifferent. She hates ventriloquists.
Les was, naturally, not onstage yet when we arrived, but Akra, who was probably one of seven hundred Akra clones created to be everywhere Les needed to be all at the same time, was standing, ever-present clipboard in hand, in the stage-right wings, holding a hand to her earpiece.
“He’ll be here in ten,” she told me, or the person speaking in her ear, when we approached. “Can you get Bruno ready?”
Bruno was a dog who was being asked to perform for treats. “Um, sure,” I said. I looked down at Bruno for a moment. “Okay. He’s ready.”
“That’s not funny,” came a voice from behind me, and I didn’t even have to turn around. “And neither was telling me that my dog was missing.”
Louise Barclay, who should have had better things to do the day after her husband’s funeral than watch her dog jump up on a sofa professionally, was wearing high heels. I could hear the clack of each step as she approached.
My mother, to my right, turned, looked at her, and sighed. Oh. That woman again.
“I was protecting Bruno from a dognapping ring who had targeted him,” I told Louise, who came up on my left with Mike Goldberg right beside her. What was he, her,… well, “lapdog” seemed inappropriate.… “I couldn’t let anyone know where he really was.”
I felt Bruno wedge himself in behind my legs and push against me. He wasn’t happy to see Louise. I could relate.
“You were crying and screaming,” Louise noted. “You were pretending you didn’t know where he was and putting me through hell and all the time you had him at your house.”
“I actually didn’t know where he was when I came downstairs and told Detective Rodriguez Bruno was missing,” I told Louise, and by extension Akra.
“That’s true,” Mom chimed in. “I had taken the dog away when Kay was at the bar.” There are times I really wish Mom wouldn’t be quite so helpful.
Louise looked like her eyes might spring out of their sockets, something I definitely wanted to avoid if possible. “What?” she croaked.
“Are you saying you left Bruno alone in the theater and went to get a drink?” Mike was doing his best to sound outraged, but he was so used to playing the role of the relaxed, friendly playboy that it came out seeming vaguely amused. If he’d been holding a martini glass his outrage would have played even worse, but his tone would have been perfect. Bruno pushed harder and growled lightly. Maybe it wasn’t Louise he was less than thrilled to see.
“I was getting a drink for Bruno,” I said, and then realized I hadn’t actually helped myself. “Water. A drink of water. That’s why I was at the bar.”
“That’s outrageous.” Mike again. Sounding like he was asking if anyone wanted to play a rousing game of squash.
Louise, finally showing some sense, ignored him. But that didn’t really help me much, since she snatched Bruno’s leash out of my hand. “That’s it,” she said, apparently believing that despite her husband being the one who was dead, the past few days had actually been an organized series of events designed to make her life miserable. She turned toward Akra, who was mumbling into her Bluetooth link in a voice too soft for us to hear. “I want this woman removed.” Louise pointed at me.
Huh? “I beg your pardon?” I said.
“You heard her,” Mike said. Akra simply looked mildly surprised. “You’ve done nothing but try to get between Louise and her dog since you signed her as a client. You’re fired. Go represent a bat or something.”
“I didn’t sign Louise as a client,” I told him. “I signed Bruno.” Mike’s brow wrinkled, as if I’d said something confusing.
Akra, clearly trying to see if this was a real thing, hesitated. “This is your business,” she said finally. “Not the company’s. I guess you’ll have to leave, Kay.”
Well, that wasn’t good. “You’re actually listening to this?” I stuttered.
“It’s not my call who represents the dog,” Akra said. “It’s the dog’s owner, and she says she wants you gone.”
“That’s so rude,” my mother told the gathering. “But I’m afraid we can’t abide by your decision.”
You tell ’em, Mom! “That’s right,” I said. “We can’t. I’m staying.”
“You don’t get to make that choice,” Mike told me. His face was now cold and unfeeling. “The terms of your contract are very specific.” He had read my contract? Who was this guy?
“The terms are very clear,” Mom said, cool and collected. “And Bruno’s contract with Annie plainly stipulates that Kay and only Kay will bring him to rehearsals. It is very specific in stating that the dog’s owner would not be allowed to do so.”
I’d known I’d gotten the showbiz gene from Dad, but now the lawyer gene was making itself known, and it was coming from my mother. I stood in awe for a moment.
Akra blinked. “That’s in his contract?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” I said, finding my voice just when I’d thought it had taken a flight to Caracas. “Les requested it—insisted on it, really—himself.”
That got Akra. “Well, if that’s what Les asked for, that’s what we’ll do.” Mike, not Louise, opened his mouth to protest, but Akra cut him off. “Les will be here shortly. Let’s make sure you’re not in the auditorium, please.” She looked at Louise, then at Mike. “Please.”
Louise looked as if she’d been slapped in the face, which she had been (metaphorically), and Mike threatened myriad lawsuits, but the fact was, they were no longer in the auditorium when Les McMaster ambled in five minutes later. I stared adoringly at my mother.
“You’re amazing,” I said.
She waved a hand at me to dismiss the thought. “Don’t be silly. You’d have thought of it yourself.”
I doubted it, but there was no sense in arguing with her. “Thank you,” I said, and she didn’t protest that.
Les looked over at Bruno and me—he didn’t appear to see Mom—and squinted. “I got a call from Detective Rodriguez this morning asking me about Bruno,” he said. “She said he was missing.” Clearly, Rodriguez had called before I’d spoken to her, and clearly she was more concerned about Bruno than she’d let on the night before. Maybe there was a human being in there after all. “He doesn’t look missing.”
“He’s not missing now,” I said. “There was some confusion.” That wasn’t just true; it was the Mount Rushmore of understatements.
“Uh-huh.” Les, who is a tall man, looked down at me because he could. “Good.” He took a step closer and … sniffed. “You smell like fireworks.”
Mom looked concerned immediately, because that’s something she does incredibly well. I hadn’t had the time to mention my exciting day at the bagel factory and all the brouhaha about Bruno (would that make it a Bruno-haha?) had kept her from asking how the rendezvous with Taylor had turned out.
I wondered how Rodriguez and the cops were doing in their search for Taylor. Which made me look nervously around the house. She wasn’t there, at least not where she could be seen, but I felt Les’s eyes (and Mom’s, if the truth be told) watching me with a combination of worry and skepticism.
“I, um, spent the day in an abandoned bagel factory,” I told Les. Mom knew that part, but I could see she wasn’t buying that excuse. “I guess the stale flour and stuff got on me.”
“Uh-huh,” Les repeated. Then he snapped his fingers and shook his head vigorously, remembering that the world did indeed revolve around him and he needed to rehearse his new canine actor. “Let’s get to work, shall we, Bruno?” I let the dog off his leash and he walked directly over to Les and sat down. “Good.”
They ran through Bruno’s scene for about an hour, with Mom reading some of the female lines to cue the dog and Les reading those for the male actors. Mom, reflexively, added nuance and emotion to her readings but Les didn’t seem to notice because he was concentrating on Bruno.
“He’s got it down already,” he said finally. “I could put him in tonight.” I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or to himself, so I didn’t answer. In showbiz, always assume the director is talking to himself unless he addresses you by name. Les turned toward me, then looked at Mom. “You were very good,” he said. “Who are you?”
If it had been Dad, he would have reached into his pocket and pulled out headshots, a résumé, and the business card of his agent, whoever that was these days. Mom being Mom, she told him her name and said she was my mother. Which was also true, but wasn’t going to get her hired for anything.
“Mom is a professional stage performer and has been since before I was born,” I told Les. I might not be her agent but I could certainly talk up my own mother. “She’s a real pro.”
“Thank you, honey,” my mother said.
Les opened his mouth to answer and that’s when all the lights in the house went out at once. Stage, house, everything. It was utter darkness.
My first instinct was to drop down to the stage floor and call to Bruno. Nobody was going to dognap him on my watch. Again. I heard his collar jingling and then felt his nice warm fur, and I held him close and attached his leash. Then I asked Mom if she was all right.
“I guess so,” she answered. “I’m afraid to move; I don’t know how far I am from the edge of the stage.” Mom is a real pro, but she’s always been more interested in character than performance and doesn’t always take blocking well. She fell off a stage once when we were playing an unfamiliar hotel and almost broke her leg. Now she’s a tad skittish.
“Don’t move,” I said. “You’re still about twenty feet from the edge, but you’re better off staying where you are.”
I felt something pull at my hands, one holding the leash and the other with my fingers wrapped around Bruno’s collar. I couldn’t tell if someone was trying to help me or grab Bruno so I held on tighter and said, “Hey!” It was the best I could do under the circumstances; I don’t have a go-to response for that situation.
The fingers pulling at me retreated. At least I thought they were fingers. They could have been chopsticks or unsharpened pencils for all I knew. I yelled, “Who is that?” and got no answer. It sounded like footsteps were running from me. But Bruno was still right where he should be. That was what counted. “Coward!” I hollered. No response.
“Akra!” Les’s first impulse when anything unexpected happened was to call out to his assistant so that he could blame it on her and she could fix it. It’s a system.
But this time Akra didn’t answer.
“Akra!” he tried again and got the same response. “Where the hell is Akra?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She usually just appears even before you call for her. What do you think happened?” Bruno was panting a little bit, but I held his leash tight to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
Then the lights came back on.
Even though I could feel him the whole time, I checked first to see if Bruno was safe. He licked my hand and seemed completely unperturbed by the experience. Mom, too, was just fine, if a little startled by the whole thing. She looked at me and said, “Thunderstorms so early in the year?”
Les, however, was not quite so unshaken. His head swiveled back and forth as if he were watching the quickest tennis match in history and his mouth dropped open. “AKRA!” he shouted. “Akra, where are you?”
“She must be checking out the cause of the power outage,” I said. Why was he so worried?
But Les kept shaking his head to the point I was worried about his neck muscles. “No. She’s never not there when I call for her. Never. If I call her up at four in the morning, she answers on the first ring.” I made a mental note not to ever apply for the job of Les’s personal assistant.
He walked from center stage to the stage-left wings and shouted Akra’s name three more times. With each yell, he seemed a little more frantic. I would have called for someone else just to quiet him down, but I’d never seen anyone attend to Les other than Akra.
