A Chihuahua in Every Stocking

Book 0: Barking Detective Mystery

by Waverly Curtis

Genres: General Fiction; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Move over, Rudolph – let Pepe lead the way!

Who would steal a little girl's dog, right before Christmas? After seeing young Sophie's heartbreaking story on the news, P.I. Geri Sullivan and Pepe—her talking Chihuahua—vow to rescue this bonita canine named Chiquita. But tracking the pooch's scent through a Pacific Northwest winter wonderland isn't easy, especially when the trail leads to an elf who's been mortally mauled! Geri and Pepe must save little Sophie's Christmas and find this muy naughty dognapper . . . and stir up a little Christmas magic along the way!

Praise for the Barking Detective Mysteries

"Pepe is a delight!" —RT Book Reviews (4 stars)

"Move over, Scooby-Doo, there's a new dog in town!" —Jennie Bentley

"A fun twist on the typical P.I. partnership." —Simon Wood

15,500 Words

Release date: October 1, 2014

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 84

Sample

For the first time since my divorce, I was looking forward to Christmas. Instead of being a fifth wheel at my sister’s house, watching her kids open their presents and enduring an awkward holiday dinner during which my sister and her husband would grill me about my lack of employment, I was going to celebrate Christmas at my house and toast to all the good things that had happened during the past year. My new job, working at a private detective agency. My new boyfriend, Felix Navarro. And my new pet, my Chihuahua, Pepe. I was determined to create the total Christmas experience: a wreath on the door, bayberry-scented candles, cookies baking in the oven, eggnog in a crystal punch bowl, and a pile of presents under a fat Christmas tree glittering with ornaments and sparkling with lights.

Unfortunately, I had waited until the last minute to get the tree. Felix kept promising he would go with me, but he was too busy working as a dog trainer. Apparently pets frequently misbehave around the holidays, just like people. So by the time I arrived at the Christmas tree lot, on December 24, the trees had been thoroughly picked over. Most of those left were either too big or too expensive or both. My Chihuahua, Pepe, tried to help.

“This one! This one, Geri!” he said, rushing back and forth between me and a Noble fir leaning against the chain-link fence that defined the tree lot. But as soon as I pulled the tree out and twirled it around to see if it was the right one, he dashed off down the next aisle to the Grand firs.

I put the Noble fir back and followed him. He was standing in front of a huge tree with bushy branches that towered over my head.

“That’s too big, Pepe!” I said. “Where would we put that?”

The woman next to me looked puzzled. I saw her glance around, but there was no one in the aisle but me and my little white Chihuahua.

“I’m talking to my dog,” I said.

She smiled weakly and went scuttling away.

I was a bit disappointed. It isn’t that unusual. Most people talk to their dogs. It’s just that very few dogs talk back. Mine does. He’s been talking since I adopted him from the Humane Society. He was a rescue, one of a group of Chihuahuas, flown up from Los Angeles where they were being abandoned in record numbers.

“Over here, Geri!” I heard him say. He had vanished, crawling through the fragrant branches of the evergreens and into the next aisle. I went around the corner and found him sniffing around the trunk of a Douglas fir. It was a beautiful tree, about six feet tall, with thick branches, stiff green needles, and plenty of room for ornaments.

“Good work, Pepe,” I said as he danced around the trunk with glee. “This tree is perfect!” He scurried ahead of me toward the cashier at the front of the lot, while I followed a bit more slowly, dragging the tree along the path.

As we approached the counter—a piece of plywood on top of two sawhorses—I almost stumbled over Pepe. He had stopped in front of a spindly little tree that was propped up against a trash can. Maybe someone had planned to buy it and changed their mind, or maybe the owner of the lot had decided it would never sell and was going to toss it out.

“What is it, Pepe?”. . .