The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo by Sparkle Abbey Page A

certainly hadn’t downed a half bottle of wine and survived a round of Mama Take-Down. The noon reporter had managed to make it to prime time.
    “A day of fun turned into a day of terror. Richard Eriksen was found shot to death during the Laguna Dachshund Dash.” He paused. His beseeching eyes looked through the camera and landed into every viewer’s home. “In the dog-eat-dog world of wiener racing, has Zippy’s rivalry with his fellow competitors finally been pushed to a new level?”
    “Oh, please,” I muttered, disgusted.
    “The police have yet to make an official statement, but witnesses claimed to have seen an elderly woman threaten Mr. Eriksen with a gun earlier in the day. No word on the woman’s identity at this time. The final races are set to start Sunday at two o’clock,” he finished.
    I knew he couldn’t be trusted. He’d just thrown Betty under the bus. Sure he didn’t call her by name, but it was only a matter of time before her identity became public knowledge.
    Callum “Mac” MacAvoy had better hope I didn’t lay eyes on him tomorrow. I had a few choice words to give him. On the record.
     
     
     

Chapter Eleven
    I’VE LEARNED THE best way to start the day is with an early morning jog on the beach. Today was no exception. The crisp air cleared the cobwebs from my head and gave me a jolt of energy. Energy I’d need for the day ahead.
    After a quick shower, and a bowl of cereal, I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, an event T-shirt, and my motorcycle boots. I’d remembered to slip on my engagement ring too. Considering all the action yesterday, I decided to leave Missy at home.
    I backed out of the driveway and pointed the Jeep toward PCH, then headed to the boutique. Stray dark clouds had moved in. Morning fog wasn’t unusual in Laguna, but these clouds were different—heavy and low—plus the air didn’t smell salty, but like rain. Not a good sign for a race day.
    Just blocks from the shop, I pulled over and parked in front of the Koffee Klatch. I was in desperate need of a chai latte.
    The Koffee Klatch’s funky décor, large comfy couches, and free Internet, made it a local favorite. It didn’t hurt that the owner and employees loved dogs. The line was short for a Sunday morning. Sven, a lanky twenty-something who looked like he stepped off the pages of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale, towered over the customers from behind the glass counter. Three years ago, he’d left his family’s Danish vineyard in Santa Ynez Valley for our laid-back beach town. From all appearances, he seemed to like it here.
    Before I could utter a word, Sven asked if I wanted my usual Sunday order of a chai latte and a blueberry muffin. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t exactly a last-minute decision to stop.
    I nodded. “Please. To go.”
    “Sure thing,” he said with wink and a nod. While he rang up my order, I stuffed a couple of ones into the tip jar.
    “Is it true you were at the race yesterday? And you found the dead guy?” He didn’t sound excited, but he was certainly curious. News traveled fast in Laguna. Especially gossipy bad news.
    “I did.” I paid for my food and stepped to the side, hoping that would be the end of the questions. I wasn’t about to get off that easily.
    “What happened?” He dropped a blueberry muffin inside a small white bag and handed it to me.
    I eyed the other two people waiting to place their order. Neither one was shy about hiding interest in my answer. I groaned silently. Malone liked to keep his information out of the public eye if possible. In the past, I’d followed his lead. There was no reason to stop now.
    “Honestly, I’m waiting to hear just like everyone else.”
    Sven wiped off the espresso machine’s steam wand with a wet cloth. “Do the police have any leads?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to anyone since I gave my initial statement.”
    Two quick bursts of steam shot from the wand. “I met the wife. You just missed