The Silence of the Chihuahuas Read Online Free Page A

of smell is weak and she rarely gets down on the ground to investigate the plethora of clues to be found there. Yes, plethora. Just because I am a dog does not mean I have a meager vocabulary. Geri has not memorized, as have I, the various brands of tobacco products. She cannot tell from sniffing the pores of a perpetrator what they ate for breakfast. I can. But in the past Geri has been able to relay my findings to those in authority. Unfortunately, her insistence that I talk has landed her in a world of trouble. Several people were threatening to lock her up in a psychiatric facility, including her so-called counselor, Susanna. So I have taken a vow of silence in order to protect her. Which means I must watch helpless as she bungles along, trying to figure things out on her own. Just today we went to visit a fancy facility where she thought she might find her sister. She left discouraged.
    But I know for certain that her sister is there. I managed to make contact with her and reassured her that Geri and I were going to rescue her. Unfortunately, my talking seemed to confuse her and she became quite agitated. Not only that, I happen to know there is a delectable smelling poodle bitch who accompanies one of the doctors to work. And I also know that a beet and bacon salad was served for lunch in Contentment. I sampled it and it met with my approval.

Chapter 3
    When I got back home, there was a message on my home phone from Jay, Brad’s partner. He said he was really worried by a message he had received from Brad and would I come right over.
    So I got back in my little green Toyota with Pepe and raced right over to Jay’s house. And it is Jay’s house. He’s the one who pays the mortgage. Brad has never made a profit in his interior decorating business. Brad is good at getting clients—better than I was—and his clients are pretty wealthy, though eccentric. But he buys extravagantly too. He’s always snapping up deals at estate sales or prowling around second-hand stores. He’ll plunk down one thousand dollars for a Victorian sofa, then let it sit in the back of his shop for years.
    Brad’s partner, Jay, on the other hand, runs a successful, high-end catering business, with more than forty employees on his payroll, and he’s the one paying off the mortgage on the house they share on Queen Anne Hill. It’s an old Victorian mansion decorated in Brad’s favorite style: I’d call it baroque Victoriana: red damask walls, gold tassels on the curtain tie-backs, gilded chairs, and lots of porcelain figures of birds. Jay, has a thing for birds. One room is a dedicated aviary where his pets—mostly parrots and cockatoos—fly around freely.
    Jay came to the door with his favorite bird on his shoulder, a bad-tempered Quaker gray parrot. I flinched. My skin had been punctured by this creature’s sharp beak more than once. I looked down at Pepe, who should have promised to protect me, but he had already trotted into the hallway and was sniffing around the edges of a wrought-iron umbrella stand that was shaped like an umbrella. An umbrella would have helped me defend myself against that parrot, but no one in Seattle ever uses an umbrella. We view it as a sign of weakness. But it helps us identify the out-of-towners.
    â€œGeri! I’m so glad to see you! Come in! Come in!” said Jay, waving me off the front porch and into the crowded living room. I could see Brad’s influence everywhere: the green Morris wallpaper, the gilt chairs striped in gold and green, the glittering gold lamé curtains, and the green velvet pelmet above them. Brad’s style is way over the top, but it’s recognizable and I suddenly missed my friend more than ever.
    â€œWhat’s going on, Jay?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Jay said. “That’s why I called you.” He waved me to a seat on the mustard yellow velvet sofa and settled down opposite me in an