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A Deadly Bone to Pick
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When Molly Madison, dog-wrangler extraordinaire, stumbles upon a murder in her new hometown, she must track down a killer to save the day.
Ex-police officer and former P.I. Molly Madison is starting over. After the death of her husband, she and her golden retriever, Harlow, move cross-country to California. But as charming and peaceful as the beachside town seems, she soon learns its tranquil tides hold dark secrets.
On her first day in the new house, a large, slobbering Saint Berdoodle wanders in. Molly winds up taking on the responsibility of training Noodle since his owner is too busy to do the job. On one of their daily beachside walks, Noodle digs up a severed hand. Once Molly alerts the police and they run a background check on her, an incident from her past makes her an immediate suspect—after all, Noodle’s testimony to clear her name won’t hold much water in court.
To prove her innocence, Molly must rely on instincts keener than a canine’s to sniff out the real killer. But when Molly’s life is put in danger, will her two very loyal pups be able to rescue her?”Flawless and descriptive writing frame an enviable beach community where ex-cop, Molly, is determined to start a new life.”—Krista Davis, New York Times bestselling author
“Dog lovers and mystery fans alike will love A Deadly Bone To Pick.”—Mia P. Manansala, author of Arsenic and Adobo
“Mystery fans and animal lovers alike will delight in this caper about a straight-shooting ex-cop turned dog-wrangling sleuth. With Rothschild’s deft plotting, a sweeping cast of quirky characters, and an endearing canine duo, this is a book worth barking about.”—Tessa Wegert, author of Death in the Family
“A Deadly Bone to Pick is a smart, solid mystery that fans of Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone will enjoy.”—Olivia Blacke, author of Killer Content
“A delightful beachy mystery that’s gone to the dogs! Peggy Rothschild’s debut is a tight and twisty tale featuring my favorite kind of support team: an adorable duo on four paws that give the phrase ’a nose for crime’ new meaning.”—Victoria Schade, author of Who Rescued Who
“Smart. Fun. Furry! Murder abounds and clues are buried deep in this whodunit… It’s doggone good!”—Abby Collette, author of Body and Soul Food
“Readers won’t have any bones to pick with Peggy Rothschild’s debut mystery, A Deadly Bone to Pick, which delivers a delicious puzzle while also providing a wealth of dog-training tricks.”—Lauren Baratz-Logsted and Jackie Logsted, authors of Joint Custody
“Rothschild’s twisty mystery, filled with adorable canines and abundant clues, is plain paw-some.”—Jennifer Chow, author of Mimi Lee Cracks the Code
“A charming new cozy certain to delight dog lovers of all breeds.”—Kirkus ReviewsAfter losing their home during a California wildfire, Peggy Rothschild and her husband moved to the beach community of Los Osos along the central coast. When not at her desk or out walking, you can usually find her in the garden.
Peggy is a member of Sisters in Crime National and Sisters in Crime Los Angeles. A DEADLY BONE TO PICK is her first cozy mystery.
“Please be careful with that.” I winced as the two muscle-bound men, dressed in matching navy-blue uniforms, wrestled the antique ship captain’s desk through the front door. “It was my great-grandfather’s.” In reality, it had belonged to something like my great-great-great-great-grandfather. But why would they care? Nor would they care that Mom insisted I take the desk-part of a misguided effort to show she believed I’d move back to Massachusetts one day.
My golden retriever, Harlow, tail waving, practically vibrated with her desire to meet these potential new friends.
“Stay.” As much as I expected every person to love my dog, this was not the time. Ever obedient, she settled onto the travertine tile.
“Where do you want it?” Muscle Man Number One said.
“On the second floor. Here, I’ll show you.” The front door stood wide open. I looked back at Harlow and told her to stay again, then led the way up the broad staircase. I hoped my few possessions all made it safely inside. But, even if they didn’t, nothing here was irreplaceable.
I wanted this move to work out. No, not wanted. Needed. I needed this move to work out. My gaze blurred. I wiped my eyes and hustled to the landing.
When I reached the hall, I hesitated. Was I sure I wanted to use the ocean-facing room for my office? The alley-facing room to the left would offer morning light. Shaking my head, I entered the first door on the right side of the hall. It didn’t matter where I put the antique desk. My work life was effectively over.
Ruined. Destroyed. Finito. Just like my personal life.
Shaking off a fresh wave of sadness, I entered the smallest of the three upstairs bedrooms. “Right there.” I pointed at the bare wall under the west-facing window.
As the movers unwrapped the desk, I trotted back downstairs. Harlow stood and smiled, tail still wagging. I knelt next to her and scratched the spot below her ears. “You are such a good girl. I move you all the way across the country and you roll with it.” I buried my face in the ruff along the back of her neck. As soon as my eyes closed, Stefan’s face shimmered before me. I took a deep breath and looked into Harlow’s warm eyes. “We may not be lucky, but we’ve got each other, right?”
Harlow thumped her tail.
“Helloooo?”
Startled, I raised my gaze to the vision filling my open front door. Standing at least five feet ten, not counting the cobalt-blue stilettos, the bottle blonde in an emerald tank and black leggings gave a finger wave. “Hi.”
Before I could scramble to my feet, she strutted inside. “Sorry to intrude. Are you the new neighbor?”
“That’s me. Molly Madison.” I extended my hand. “And you are?”
“Seville Chambers.” We shook, then she gave a mock bow. “At your service. Since you’re new, I figured I should tell you to keep your doors shut. Always.”
The moving men tromped down the stairs. Faced with two people who dwarfed her-at least in bulk-Seville stepped past me into the great room. “Sorry to pop in this way when you’re not even settled. But I saw the open door and thought you should be warned.”
That didn’t sound good. “Warned about what?”
“Frankendoodle.”
I couldn’t imagine anything called Frankendoodle being a cause for concern. But the crease between Seville’s eyes seemed to indicate she was serious. Not wanting to be labeled the neighborhood grouch, I kept my expression interested. “I’m sorry, but who-or what-is a Frankendoodle?”
Seville pointed at the doorway. An ivory and mocha monster filled the opening, upturned tail swinging like a metronome. “That’s the Frankendoodle.”
“Good lord.” The dog had to weigh close to two hundred pounds. I checked Harlow. She was still sitting, but her nose twitched, obviously eager for the go-ahead to meet a new playmate. I neared the door, holding out my hand to the dog. “Hey, there.”
He nudged my palm. “So, you want some pets, huh?” Seeing Harlow bristle, I called her closer and told her to sit. Keeping my body between the two dogs, I reached one hand out to stroke the Golden while running the other along our visitor’s curly coat. “You’re a sweet fella, aren’t you?”
“Excuse us.” The movers approached the front porch with my sofa.
I urged the humongous dog inside and out of their path. He gave a deep woof as the men entered. “It’s okay.” I rubbed his head and soft brown ears, then turned my focus to the moving men. “That goes over there.” I pointed at the great room before glancing up at Seville. “I’m guessing he’s a Saint Berdoodle? Half poodle, half Saint Bernard?”
“No clue. Don’t get me wrong, he’s friendly enough, but if you leave your door open, he’ll walk right in and drool all over everything. Six months ago he absolutely ruined one of my silk blouses.”
The ropey skein hanging from his mouth backed up Seville’s drool claim. “Where does he live?”
“Just down the street. At Dr. Joe Handsome’s.”
“Dr. Joe Handsome?”
“Okay, his last name is Johannson. But he really is a doctor. Once you get a look at him, you’ll call him Joe Handsome, too.”
“You actually call him that?”
“Not to his face. Besides, the man barely speaks to me anymore. Not since the Silk Blouse Summit.”
Not sure whether to pursue this detail, I dried my hand on my jeans and straightened. “And which house is yours?”
“I’m right across the street. The tan Mediterranean. If you need help getting to know where anything is in town, just ask.” She pulled out her cell. “Give me your number and I’ll send you mine.”
“Sure.”
We exchanged digits. I checked on the movers while keeping one eye on the dogs. The men were still unwinding the plastic from my sofa. After patting Harlow, I ran my fingers through the Saint Berdoodle’s fur and found his tags. Who engraved their dog’s name on a tag but didn’t include a contact number or license? Goofball. “So Frankendoodle’s a nickname.”
“It’s appropriate.”
I looked back at my retriever. “Harlow, come.” My dog bounded over to meet the Saint Berdoodle. “Meet Noodle.” Both dogs sniffed each other, tails wagging. I grabbed a thick piece of knotted hemp from the toy basket and tossed it to them. Harlow bit down on one end and shook it. Noodle pranced, then snatched the other end and pulled. “Smart dog.”
“I couldn’t help noticing the moving van’s almost empty.”
Since the truck was blocking a large section of the alley, I was sure all my new neighbors were counting down the minutes until it left. “They’ll be out of the way soon.”
Seville shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. I just mentioned it because your furnishings seem sort of sparse.”
I looked around, trying to see the ground floor through Seville’s eyes: no entry room table, no stools lining the kitchen bar, no dining table, no pictures on the walls, no tchotchkes or mementos of the past anywhere in sight.
“Is another truck coming with the rest of your things?”
“Nope. This is it. For now.”
“Is this some sort of feng shui thing?”
No way was I going to explain how I’d sold or given away nearly everything Stefan had bought for our house in Duxbury. “Most of my old stuff wouldn’t look right here, so I got rid of it.” I checked to be sure the dogs were still getting along before turning back to Seville.
“If you want tips on great places to buy furniture locally, just let me know. There are definitely places you want to avoid. And I’ve got a terrific decorator if you want to hire one.” Her tone and expression said an emergency call to said decorator was warranted ASAP.
The movers gave me a pretext to dodge her offer of assistance. “Excuse me. They have the sofa facing the wrong way.”
“Sure.”
To my surprise, instead of leaving, she sat on the stairs. When the sofa was situated where I wanted it, I returned to the entry. The dogs were still playing tug-of-war and Seville was examining her manicure. “Sorry I don’t have any coffee or tea to offer. Haven’t gotten that stuff unpacked yet.”
“No problem.” She gave me a lazy smile, as if she had nothing better to do all day than sit on my staircase. “So, what brings you to Pier Point? From your accent, I’m guessing you’re not a California native.”
“No. Massachusetts.”
“Makes sense. I moved from there, too.”
“Really? What part?”
“The Vineyard.”
“Year-round?”
“Yes.” She gave a faux shudder. “But I couldn’t stand the cold. My folks owned a real estate firm that handled sales and seasonal rentals. Plus they had a couple rentals down in Tisbury. I had the ‘fun’ of cleaning them between tenants. What part of the state are you from?”
“Duxbury.”
“A South Shore girl. Lifelong?”
“The past dozen years. What brought you to California?”
“College. I only applied to West Coast schools. It was so fricking frigid on the island. Of course, we didn’t get snow like you on the mainland. But the sun hardly ever came out. Except during the summer. I wanted to move somewhere with lots of sunshine. How about you? Did you move here for work?”
Moved to get away from work was more like it, but I wasn’t going to dive into that tangled mess. Instead I pointed at Noodle. “Does the doctor just let his dog run free all day? On these narrow streets?”
“Not exactly. Frankendoodle’s an escape artist. A giant, drooling escape artist.” She pointed at the splotches of saliva dotting the tile entryway.
“I should probably take him home.”
“Good luck with that. Joe Handsome is an emergency room doctor. He’s rarely home.”
“Oh. Well, I can’t let the dog run around outside. He could get hit by a car.”
Seville shrugged, then stood. “I guess that means you’re dog sitting.” Before leaving she gave another finger wave.
“Nice meeting you.” When she moved out of view, I turned to watch the cavorting dogs. Even though I had boxes to unpack, I couldn’t help but smile. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend, Harlow.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, the movers carried and positioned items while I provided direction and the dogs continued playing. When they ran out of steam, Noodle investigated Harlow’s crate in the great room while my Golden went to her large fuzzy pillow and began to circle. Noodle cocked his head, seeming to look for a bed of his own. After rubbing his ears, I told him to give me a minute. I trotted up the stairs, grabbed Harlow’s other sleeping pillow, and toted it back to the first level. Setting it a half-foot away from where Harlow was curled up and watching beneath heavy lids, I patted the soft fabric. “Bed, Noodle.”
The huge dog sniffed the pillow. It seemed to meet his approval and he sprawled across it, hind legs partway on the floor. I picked up the rope toy and quickly shifted my grip to the less drool-drenched end. After dropping it back into the basket, I wiped my hand on my jeans.
“Where do you want this?” Muscle Man Number Two held my coffee table aloft.
“In there.” I pointed toward the great room. “In front of the sofa.”
While the dogs slept, I accompanied the movers up and down the stairs as they brought in the last few items, pointing out where things should go. When the men deposited their final load and handed over the paperwork, I gave them a generous tip, then poured myself a glass of wine and climbed to the rooftop deck. I hadn’t yet bought furniture for this area, so I leaned against the railing, staring along the curve of road that gave me a coveted ocean view.
Our two-story in Duxbury had also been near the water, though we couldn’t see it from the house. A colonial saltbox with narrow, double-hung windows and a sharply pitched roof in back, it always made me feel like I was about to bang into something. My new home was masonry and wood with huge windows that let in the light along with peekaboo ocean views. The place felt airy, spacious, and unburdened by betrayal.
My stomach grumbled. I checked the time. Seven-fifteen. I hadn’t realized it was so late. The quality of light here was different. It being summer, of course the sun was still up, but even so . . . it was more than that. Pier Point would take some getting used to.
Also, it was time to take Noodle home.
Returning downstairs, I realized Seville never actually told me which house was Dr. Johannson’s. She’d only waved toward the street. I grabbed my cell and did a quick Google search, but without the doctor’s first name, my quest for an address and phone number fizzled.
I looked at the dozing canines. “At least it’s not a big street.”
Even calling it a street was an exaggeration. My garage and front door-along with those of my neighbors-faced a narrow alley that I’d been told beachgoers used as a shortcut. “Harlow, Noodle. Come.” I jingled my Golden’s leash. She stood and shook herself, then charged to my side, pressing her cold, damp nose against my leg. I attached the leash and patted her flank. “You don’t mind if I let your new friend use your old leash, do you?”
She swung her plume of a tail, which I took as approval.
Noodle remained on the pillow. “Has no one trained you, boy?” I pulled two treats from my pocket. After telling Harlow to sit, I offered a biscuit and she gobbled it. “Noodle.” I held out the second treat. “Come.” The giant sniffed the air, then wandered to my side. The biscuit disappeared from my palm, a small pool of drool left in its place. “Wow. No way to train you out of that.”
I hooked the other leash to the large beast’s collar. “Hope someone’s at least taught you to walk on a lead. Otherwise this could get ugly. I’m pretty sure you outweigh me by eighty pounds.” Mouth hanging open, the Saint Berdoodle waved his curly tail. “All right, let’s go.”
When I opened the front door, the massive dog lunged. I pulled up on his leash. Knowing Harlow wouldn’t bolt, I dropped her lead and used both hands to keep Noodle in check. “Heel.” Noodle continued straining against the leather strap. “Harlow, heel.” My Golden moved beside me. “Noodle, heel.” I held out a second treat.
Noodle stopped pulling but didn’t move to my side. “Come.” I tightened my grip on the leash and crouched to his eye level. He shuffled over and hoovered up the snack. “Good boy.” I picked up Harlow’s leash, holding both in one hand while I rubbed the massive dog’s curly head. “Let’s find your home. Can you show me where it is?”
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| Dimensions | 0.8700 × 5.1700 × 7.9300 in |
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