Mariska nodded. “The millionaire. Yes. They found him dead in his bedroom.”
“But it says he bred Yorkies.”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
Charlotte pointed at the box of puppies. “These are Yorkies.”
Darla clucked her tongue. “So he died the same time someone was stealing his puppies? That’s an awful day.”
“Maybe he saw them stealing the puppies and that’s what gave him the heart attack,” suggested Mariska.
Charlotte poked the paper. “It didn’t say he had a heart attack, did it?”
Mariska shook her head. “I made that part up.”
“Maybe he was murdered for the puppies.” Charlotte scanned the article looking for more information, but as usual, the local paper’s crack team of journalists had failed to include any meaty facts. It was little more than a puff piece about a rich guy.
Mariska’s attention moved from Charlotte to the box sitting on the table. “You really think those are his puppies?”
“They have to be, don’t they? It would be a heck of a coincidence if puppies showed up here the same night he died.” Charlotte lowered her paper as the gate slammed shut at the opposite side of the pool. Gladys Sorenson and her broad, Swedish cheekbones entered the area with a beach bag over one arm and something small, furry and brown tucked in the crook of the other.
A puppy.
Gladys struck up a conversation with another woman who began fawning over the dog.
Charlotte tucked the paper under her arm, plucked the puppy from Darla’s grasp, replaced it in the box and carried the box towards Gladys. Darla barely registered her loss, so engrossed was she in the aftermath of Helen vs. Gina.
Gladys smiled as she approached. “Hi Charlotte, have you met Max?” She held up the dog.
“You can’t keep him.”
Gladys paled. “What?”
Charlotte lowered the box so she could see inside. ‘Max’ peered into the box and began whining, eager to return to his littermates. His pleas awoke his brothers and sisters, who pawed at the sides of the box hoping to reach him. Gladys pulled him away.
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Gladys, but he’s stolen. Look.”
Charlotte put the box on a patio table and laid out the paper beside it so Gladys could see.
“I don’t have my glasses,” she said, beginning to pout.
“You can see the headline?”
“Philharmonic Days.”
Charlotte scowled. “It says Philanthropist Dies.”
“I told you I didn’t have my glasses.”
“Right. Anyway, point is, he bred Yorkies. I think these puppies are his.”
“Max is a purebred?”
“That’s not the point. Max isn’t Max. He has to go back. He’s stolen and he could be part of a murder investigation.”
Gladys sighed, staring at the puppy in her hand. “Roger wasn’t thrilled. I told him it was a sign, though. That we were supposed to have a dog.”
“Maybe it is. It just can’t be this dog. At least not yet. Maybe you could buy it from the estate when everything gets figured out.”
Gladys looked at Charlotte as if she’d sprouted a second head. “I’m not paying for a purebred dog.” She held out the puppy and Charlotte took it to place it in the box with the others.
When she looked up, Janice Rocco was standing at the gate, a puppy in her arms.
“You have to give it back,” said Gladys, jerking a thumb towards the box.
Janice spun to leave, tucking the dog beneath her beach coverup as she fumbled with the gate. Charlotte had never seen the woman move so fast.
“Janice, you have to give it back,” she called, running after her.
Chapter Nine
“I’m going to need a bigger box.”
It had taken some work, but Charlotte had finally convinced Janice Rocco to turn over her puppy. Now five dogs jumbled in her cardboard box.
“How many siblings do you guys have?” she asked them. “Did any of you take a head count?”
“What are you going to do with them?” asked Mariska.
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know. Maybe I should stay here and see if they just keep showing up at the pool. Maybe I should go knock on doors.”
“Ooh, we can help you with that,” said Darla.
Mariska nodded. “You know we love playing detective with you.”
“I’m not playing—” Charlotte’s phone rang in her pool bag and she fished for it.
“Hello?”
“It’s Frank. You know those puppies from last night?”
“They’re tied to the millionaire murder.”
Frank paused. “How’d you know that?”
“It was in the paper.”
“It was?”
“Not exactly. I think they hire their reporters directly out of grade school.”
Frank made a snorting noise she took as a laugh. “No, I’m saying the sheriff over there just realized there might be foul play. It couldn’t have been in the paper. Six of those puppies were stolen from the scene of the crime.”
“Six? I have five of them now.”
“Really? Good. How’d you go from three to five?”
“People started showing up at the pool with them.”
“To drown them?”
“What? No! Why would you even say that?”
“I don’t know. Why would people bring puppies to the pool?”
“To show them off.”
Frank grunted. “Oh. Right. That makes more sense.”
Charlotte covered her phone and looked at Darla. “What is wrong with your husband?”
Darla rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started.”
She returned to her call. “Mariska and Darla said they’d help me knock on doors if you want us to find the straggler.”
“Sure. I’ll get Deputy Daniel to help. You can split the work. I’m going over to the mansion right now to turn over what we have. Buddy of mine’s son is the sheriff there. Are you home?”
“I’m at the pool but I’m heading home now. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes? I need to get changed.”
“For what?”
“For coming with you.”
“To the mansion?”
“I’m a part
