The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo by Sparkle Abbey Page B

her.”
    “Gia was here?”
    He nodded. “She doesn’t appear to be too upset about her husband’s murder.”
    “Why’s that?”
    His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear a word. The noise of the espresso machine heating the milk drowned out most of his answer. The second the machine stopped, his raised voice shot through the café. “She acted like she didn’t have a care in the world. Other than her dog winning today’s race.”
    I wished I could have heard the first part of what he’d said. Didn’t anyone tell Gia that the spouse is the first suspect? The best course of action for her would be to fly under the radar and not draw attention to herself. Was she really that obtuse? Or could it be that she believed she’d get away with killing her husband?
    Sven finished preparing my chai, snapped on the lid, then slid it across the counter. “Are you going out there today?”
    “I have a few things to take care of at the shop first. What about you?”
    “I’m here all day. Would you do me a favor?”
    “Sure.”
    He pulled a twenty from his pants pocket. “Would you make a bet for me? Put this on Pickles.” He shoved the money into my hand.
    What the heck was he talking about? “You’re putting money on Pickles?”
    He motioned for me to follow him toward the back of the café. I grabbed my drink and followed.
    “After meeting Gia, I’m rooting for the underdog,” he said.
    “Well, you obviously haven’t met Lenny, have you?” I said wryly. “Seriously, I don’t know anything about betting.”
    Sven shoved his hands in his apron pockets. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know all about the underground gambling. I heard from a friend that the bagman will be behind the chili tent.”
    “Bagman?”
    “You know. Rodney. The money runner.”
    “Since I’m the one with your money, doesn’t that make me the bagman?”
    Sven laughed. “I guess it does. You’re much better looking than Rodney, by the way.”
    I looked at the twenty in my hand. “I really don’t know about the gambling.”
    His blue eyes widened as he ran his hands through his spiky, blond hair. “Look, I don’t want to get into trouble. How about you forget we had this chat? Keep the cash.” He moved to push past me, but I blocked his path.
    “Whoa, there. I didn’t say anything about trouble.”
    The front door opened. We both turned to see who’d walked inside. Well, surprise, surprise. If it wasn’t Mr. TV himself. I had a lot to say to him, but not here. There was no sense stirring up more gossip than was already brewing around town.
    MacAvoy wore the same grey blazer as he had yesterday, but today he had on black jeans and a black T-shirt. Interesting. He dressed like Malone now? They say imitation is the best form of flattery.
    Mr. TV’s gaze bounced between Sven and me. By the curious look on his face, I thought he’d join us, but instead, he strode straight to the counter and waited in line. But that didn’t stop him from watching us like a neighborhood busybody.
    I turned my back to the nosy reporter and spoke quietly. “Is there betting at every race?”
    Sven shrugged. “Sure. Like I said, it’s not a big deal.” He inched away from me, eager to escape my questions and return to his customers.
    He didn’t strike me as a typical wiener race fan. As far as I knew, he didn’t even have a dog. “How’d you learn about it?”
    “Friends. Online.”
    Translation: his gambling buddies. “Who’s Rodney? Is he a local?”
    “He’s from the valley. He’s watched too many gangster movies, but he wouldn’t harm a fly.”
    Against my better judgment, I said, “I’ll find a way to get your bet placed.” I was curious about the gambling, and there was no better way to nose around than by placing a bet.
    “I’ve got customers.” Without another word, he rushed back to his station, apologizing to everyone in line for the long wait.
    I shifted my drink and bakery bag to the same hand so I could shove the