Yappy Hour by Diana Orgain Page A

ago.
    Yolanda, Beepo, and I walked together toward the painted blue and orange door of The Wine and Bark. I must say the bar door looked decidedly more cheerful without the crime scene tape.
    Before pushing open the door, Yolanda leaned in to me and said. “Do you know if we’ve been given the all clear about Dan?”
    Beepo yapped at the front door of the bar, clearly indicating he wanted in.
    I shrugged. “I don’t know any more than I did yesterday. Do you?”
    She nodded. “I went to the station to give my statement to Officer Gottlieb.” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Did you do that?”
    â€œYes. I gave my statement to Officer Brooks.”
    A disapproving look crossed her face, and Beepo barked at me. Evidently, she was irritated with me, and Beepo wanted to make sure I knew it.
    Did Yolanda have the hots for Officer Brooks?
    I refrained from asking, but if one odd look from her caused Beepo to bark, I hesitated to think what he’d do if she suddenly raised her voice at me.
    â€œI think Dan’s next of kin have already been notified,” Yolanda said.
    In other words, she meant we were at liberty to gossip.
    â€œWhat do you think happened?” I asked.
    â€œWell, obviously someone whacked him over the head with that magnum bottle,” Yolanda said.
    â€œRight, but who do you think did it?” I asked. “Any rumors?”
    Yolanda made an exaggerated head gesture toward DelVecchio’s. Anger coiled around my middle. So that was it, everyone was going to blame Gus. Forget about innocent until proven guilty.
    Suddenly a middle-aged woman, dressed in turquoise from head to toe, sauntered down the cobblestone path toward us. Under one arm she carried a roll of canvas, and in the other hand was a wooden box.
    Yolanda shrieked, “Mrs. Clemens!” She took off at a mad dash toward the woman, with Beepo in hot pursuit.
    Ah, the paw-casso practice run, how could I forget?
    Across the street, a woman and a man, both with small dogs, huddled around Mrs. Clemens. My clientele was arriving, better get back to work.
    I entered the bar and found that Evie and the guitar player were in a heated argument. They immediately got quiet when they saw me.
    â€œHi,” I said. “Looks like we’re about to get busy. Do you need anything before I get to work?” Evie shook her head, but the guitar player approached the bar.
    â€œHow about a fire hydrant?” he asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s a cocktail. Get it? Fire hydrant for The Burning Bishop?” I must have flashed him a look, because he laughed and said, “I’ll tell you how to make it.”
    â€œOh, right.” I put on the Day-Glo apron with logo of The Wine and Bark on it and crossed to behind the bar.
    â€œGin, pineapple juice, and cranberry, and a splash of grenadine,” he said. “You never made one of these before?”
    I shook my head.
    I wondered if Rachel had left me a cheat sheet with her specialty cocktails anywhere. I rummaged around behind the bar, but found nothing, which of course was no surprise. Leaving me instructions would have taken planning on her part, and Rachel never planned.
    The Burning Bishop emptied his drink in one pass, then burped. He slammed the glass down on the bar and said, “Another, Mother.”
    â€œBish,” Evie whined. “No more. We got to play.”
    He waved a hand at her. “You’re not the boss of me.”
    I felt like I was witnessing children on a playground on the verge of a fight. The door to the bar swung open and a tall African American man stepped in.
    â€œHey, there Smasher,” Bishop said. He turned to me. “This here is our drummer. Smasher, this is Maggie.”
    The man graced me with a charming smile as he thumped Bishop on the back. “Are you staying out of trouble?” He winked at me as he ushered Bishop back to the makeshift stage. “Ready for a sound check,