Free Barking Detective 04 - The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice by Waverly Curtis

fog of bizarre dreams full of swirling patterns and attacking cats and opened his eyes, then shut them again. Surely he was still dreaming. He popped one eyelid open. Nope, not dreaming.
    He lay very still as the fragments of the night before settled around him. After leaving Boswell’s house, he had headed for the Floral Fantasy B&B, where the judge said he had a room waiting. The owner, a slim young man who introduced himself as Lionel, ushered him upstairs and into what he called the Lavender Room.
    The whole place reeked of lavender. The walls were covered with wide stripes of lilac and purple. There was no TV, just a vase filled with dried lavender flowers on top of the looming chest of drawers. “We don’t believe in mass entertainment,” Lionel said. “Our guests come here to relax and get away from it all.”
    Not Jimmy G. He left to hang out at the nearest bar and staggered back to the B&B after last call, waking up his disgruntled host by leaning on the bell. His key had disappeared somewhere during the evening.
    Jimmy G struggled out of the bed, throwing off the purple floral bedspread and gathering up his scattered belongings. Something was missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. His head was still spinning, and he figured getting out of the lavender stink would help clear it.
    As he clattered down the narrow stairs, Lionel popped out of a doorway: “Mr. Gerrard,” he said. His forehead wrinkled slightly as he took in Jimmy G’s attire: the wrinkled jacket, the stained tie, the uncombed hair. “We’ve been holding breakfast for you.” Oh, yeah, Jimmy G remembered something about breakfast being served at certain ungodly hours.
    Lionel held open the door, which led into a sunny, glassed-in porch, lined with green plants. One place was set at a glass table in the middle of the room. “The other guests have already breakfasted and taken off for the day,” Lionel said. “Coffee or tea, Mr. Gerrard?”
    “Coffee,” said Jimmy G, then remembered to add, “black.”
    “Very well.” Lionel disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later with a plate heaped with food. Behind him was another young man, with a freckled face and strawberry blond hair, who was carrying a silver urn and a china cup.
    “Here we have our special frittata made with kale and egg whites,” said Lionel, setting down the plate with a flourish, “served with potatoes à la greque.”
    “And this is our special blend, roasted just for us by our friends at PT Roasters, totally shade-free, organic coffee,” said the other man, pouring coffee from the urn into the china cup. “And when you’re ready, I’ll be happy to sit down and answer your questions.”
    “And you are?”
    “Kevin Carpenter. Didn’t Julian tell you?”
    “Who’s Julian?”
    “Judge Valentine!” The young man seemed amazed that Jimmy G would not recognize Julian by name.
    “Oh, yeah.” Jimmy G tried to remember if the judge had told him anything about Kevin Carpenter. All he remembered was something about a paper. He patted around in his pockets. Not there, but maybe he had left it up in the room.
    He did find his flask and poured a little swig into his coffee. That helped settle his stomach, and he was able to polish off the rather peculiar breakfast.
    Just as he was finishing up, Kevin appeared, carrying a cup of his own. Jimmy G thought it was only polite to offer him a swig of bourbon.
    Kevin looked alarmed. “It would totally spoil the flavor of the Darjeeling,” he said. “This is first flush.”
    Whatever that meant. Jimmy G poked around in his pockets and found a pen and a relatively clean napkin from the Anchor Tavern.
    Kevin sat across from him expectantly. “So what do you need to know?’
    Jimmy G tried to remember what he was supposed to ask. Better to fake it.
    “Why don’t you tell me in your own words,” he suggested.
    “Well, obviously the whole thing is a ghastly mistake. I mean my father would have turned over in