Dial C for Chihuahua Read Free

involve.
    As we pulled up in front of the Tyler residence, Pepe, who had been talking non-stop the whole way there, said, “Are we here? Is this the place?”
    â€œI think so.” I took out my notes to double-check the address.
    Pepe stood, putting his forelegs on the armrest so he could see out the window. “The house number—what is it?”
    â€œIt’s 640,” I told him. The house sat behind a wrought-iron fence with pointed barbs. Huge stone pillars flanked the driveway with the house number displayed in tile on either side.
    â€œ Sí, ” Pepe told me. “ Seis cuatro cero . This is the correct casa.”
    Casa seemed a misnomer, I thought. It wasn’t just the biggest home on the block, it was a gigantic white wedding cake of a mansion. Four huge white Corinthian columns on either side of the entryway supported a gracefully curved upper deck. Gold-painted lion statues guarded the wide stairs leading up to the front door.
    â€œI do not like those big lions,” said Pepe.
    â€œThey’re not real.”
    â€œStill, they give me a sense of unease.”
    â€œFine. Just be quiet for a minute,” I told him. “I want to make sure I’m prepared.” I grabbed my big brown leather purse and rooted around to find my pen.
    â€œYou tell me to be silent? I am insulted.”
    â€œLook, Pepe, your mouth hasn’t stopped during this whole trip. You talk more than any dog I ever knew.” I stopped, realizing how absurd that sounded.
    He hung his head. “Perhaps it is because you are the only person who has ever listened to me in my whole life.”
    That stung me—I certainly knew what it was like when nobody would listen to you. I gave him a gentle pat on the head.
    â€œI apologize,” I told my tough little hombre with the delicate feelings.
    He perked right up, his tail wagging. “Then I can talk?”
    â€œYes, you can talk.”
    â€œLook there, Geri,” he said, looking out at the house again. “The front door—it is ajar. Is that not strange?”
    â€œYes, it is,” I said. I watched the door for a minute, but saw no sign of activity. “You stay here.” I opened the car door. “I’m going to check it out.”
    â€œMe, too.” Before I knew it, Pepe had scrambled across my lap and out of the car. He ran up the stairs and into the house in a flash.
    â€œPepe!”

Chapter 3
    How could such a tiny dog run so fast? And how would I explain his presence to the client? I scrambled to catch up with him.
    I paused at the open front door and caught my breath, hoping Pepe would appear in the entryway. The foyer was all white marble and crystal chandeliers, with a huge semicircular staircase as the centerpiece. I rang the doorbell, which produced a mournful series of chimes but no human response. I didn’t know if I could just walk in. What were the rules about that?
    I rang the doorbell again. Still no answer. But this time I did hear a faint and distant yip coming from somewhere to the right. It was the first time I’d ever heard Pepe bark. Although it didn’t really sound like a bark. More like the sound a tiny Chihuahua might make right before being gobbled up by a tough pit bull.
    That thought got me moving. I dashed through the foyer and headed right, finding myself in an all-white living room, one of the largest I had ever seen. The carpet was a snowy white, the walls were papered in white damask, the curtains were clouds of white satin. Even the grand piano in the corner was white. It desperately needed a spot of color, something like the bright red throw rug under the glass coffee table.
    It took a second before it sank in. That wasn’t a rug, but a pool of blood. As I got closer, I saw that it surrounded the body of a man who lay face down on the white carpet. Pepe was sniffing the bottoms of his shoes. The man wore Birkenstocks, those clunky sandals so popular in