Murder Unleashed by Elaine Viets

at your store and I should have picked it up. Period. I don’t have to give you any information about my private life.”
    “It.” Barkley was an “it” to her owner. Willoughby didn’t really love the perky puppy, just the money she brought in. Maybe my plan has a chance, Helen thought. She took a deep breath and started in. “Jeff will lose everything if you sue, Willoughby. His reputation, his shop. I’ll lose my job.” Helen didn’t mention that she had much more to lose, including her freedom, if this story went public.
    “And I’ve lost my income,” Willoughby said. “I’m bankrupt if that dog isn’t found. Do you know what the payments are on this house? Or the maintenance? The pool service alone costs a fortune.”
    Not to mention the landscaping, Helen thought, as a palm frond sailed through the air. It’s already gone with the wind.
    “Suing us won’t help you,” Helen said. “Jeff doesn’t have one million dollars, much less fifty million. The only one who’ll get any money is your lawyer. Please give us a chance to find Barkley. You don’t want this story getting out to the media. A catfight over a dog won’t help you.”
    I could have used a better choice of words, Helen thought.
    But Willoughby was listening. She leaned forward and said, “What choice do I have? Barkley has to be on the set in Miami Monday or the department store contract is canceled.”
    “There’s a hurricane coming,” Helen said. “It’s supposed to be a bad one. When it hits, electricity and phone lines will be down, bridges will be out, roads will be flooded. Barkley’s shoot will be canceled. Things won’t get back to normal for weeks. No one will expect you to produce Barkley during a major hurricane. The papers will have other news to print besides a lost-dog story. You have some time to save the situation. Please let us find Barkley for you.”
    Willoughby considered Helen’s words. She could almost hear the wheels turning in the blonde’s frilly brain. Finally she said, “You have one week.”
    Helen nearly collapsed with relief. It was the first time she’d felt at ease since Willoughby screamed at her in the store. Helen wanted to sink into the sofa’s soft surface and snooze on the piles of pillows. Her plan would work if the weather cooperated. She was probably the only person in Broward County who hoped the hurricane would hit.
    “Then we’ve got a deal,” Helen said. “But you’ll have to help me.”
    “I’m not giving you any money,” Willoughby said in a hard, flat voice. Her hand shook slightly, and the ice clinked in her glass.
    “I’m not asking for any,” Helen said. “I need you to answer some questions. Do you think anyone besides your husband could have kidnapped your dog?”
    “No,” Willoughby said. “The police aren’t sure he did it, but I know it was Francis. He hates me. He’s never forgiven me for filing for divorce and getting temporary custody of Barkley.”
    Willoughby didn’t mention that she’d also exiled her husband from the McMansion. Francis had lost everything—his wife, his income, and his home. Helen wondered how much rage was in that pale little nonentity with the restless hands.
    “I thought Detective Brogers was going to talk to your husband.”
    “He did, for all the good it did. Francis claimed someone impersonated him at your store. He says he never took Barkley.”
    “Could the police get a search warrant for his home?”
    “They didn’t need one,” Willoughby said. “Francis let the detective inside his condo to look for the dog. He made a big deal out of inviting him in to search. Brogers says he checked the entire place, including the closets and the storage room. There was no sign of a dog, not even any food or water bowls. But I know Francis has it. He’s hidden it somewhere. Francis is too smart to keep Barkley at his condo. Oh, there’s another thing. Francis has an alibi. He says he was at the mall when the dog was