Free The Girl With the Dachshund Tattoo by Sparkle Abbey Page B

choice.”
    “Ah, thanks.” Instinctively, I gripped Missy’s leash tighter. “What about you? Are you upset about the race or Richard’s death?”
    He stepped forward, eyes flashing. “Aren’t you upset about it?”
    He was too close. I could smell his breath, which surprisingly didn’t smell like alcohol at all. His breath was actually quite refreshing. Like mouthwash. I stepped back. “Well sure, but I’m not going to get wasted because of it.”
    “I’m not wasted. This is all her fault,” he ground out.
    I was afraid to ask. “Whose?”
    “Gia Eriksen.”
    I thought for sure he was going to say Betty . “Do you think she shot Richard?”
    He looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “What?”
    I tried a different tactic. “What’s Gia’s fault?”
    “She convinced Hagan to postpone the race. We were ready today. We would have won.” He smacked his humongous fist into the palm of his hand, flexing his bulging biceps in the process.
    “Let’s be reasonable. Her husband had been murdered. I don’t think postponing the race was too much to ask.”
    “But we were going to win.” His voice broke. “Finally.”
    Good heavens. Was he going to cry? He was way too sauced to make any sense. And if he wasn’t making sense, he shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car.
    “Lenny, what hotel are you staying at? I’d be happy to drop you off.”
    He puffed his chest, and for a second I thought his cotton shirt would rip in half and fall off his body. “I don’t need your help. Scram.”
    “You shouldn’t be driving.”
    “I told you. I’m not drunk.” He motioned toward the backseat of the car. “Besides, do I look like I’m going someplace? Get out of here.” I looked at the pillow and blankets shoved on the floorboards of the backseat. He was sleeping in his car?
    As long as he wasn’t driving in his current condition, I was good with leaving. With a quick wave, Missy and I skedaddled to the Jeep.
    On the drive home I wondered if there was more to Lenny’s outburst than he’d let on. I don’t care what he said—the man was toasted. Maybe he was embarrassed that I’d found him sleeping in his car. Poor Lenny really was down on his luck. No wonder he wanted to win so desperately.
    Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted to win badly enough to kill Richard to ensure Pickles stood a fighting chance.
    Love made people do crazy things.
     
     
     

Chapter Ten
    ONCE HOME, I left the totes in the Jeep and set the alarm. The alarm was new. Not too long ago, my vehicle had been beaten within an inch of its precious Jeep life. I won’t bore you with all the details. After two months of bodywork and a new paint job, she was as good as new. I’d decided a state-of-the-art car alarm system was appropriate.
    I took Missy for one last walk so she could do her business, which she managed in record time. As soon as we walked inside the house, I yanked off my motorcycle boots and ditched them by the front door. Missy headed straight for her dog bed.
    Circle. Circle. Knead. Knead. Circle. Circle.
    Once she worked the pillow exactly the way she wanted, she dropped with a sigh. After tossing my handbag on the couch, I padded toward the kitchen and grabbed a wineglass from the cupboard. I popped the cork from a bottle of Pinot, filled the glass, and sipped my wine. The warmth of the alcohol spread through my body. I sighed in contentment. For the first time today, I felt like I could breathe. Relax.
    My thoughts immediately turned toward Grey. Nope. I wasn’t going there. Unwilling to wallow in self-pity about the possible demise of our engagement, and thus our relationship, I set my glass on the breakfast counter and attacked the dirty breakfast dishes I’d left in the sink.
    I’d placed the last bowl in the dishwasher when it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard from Betty yet. Had she made it home okay? Would she tell her daughter that the police considered her a murder suspect? What would Betty tell Duane