LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
Tonight! Sam Spencer hears Sophie Caruthers' 'deathbed' confession, and Iva gets a new leash on life -- as the mystery of The Maltese Chew Toy continues. (Photo by J.M. Hilton) To read our cyber tome from the beginning, click on 03/06/2007.
posted by LuLu @ 11:52 PM
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~
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The Maltese Chew Toy (continued)
Last week, dear sniffers, we learned that both Florinda and Bugsy Gatthamer bought the kennel -- she, done in by a jealous rival, and he by a bogus son. The butler, Mr. Webley-Fosbery, may have shot his REAL son, and Sophie Caruthers, a main instigator, now lies dying on Sam's little patch of earth...right next to Archer's doghouse.....
"Oh, my gracious!" murmured Mrs. Petoma as blood oozed past her sturdy oxfords. "This is every bit as exciting as The Romance of Helen Trent."
"Who's Helen Trent?" Murray asked Sam.
"I think she's related to a two-footer named Betty Crocker."
Murray cocked his head. "Uh, who's Betty Crocker?"
"Help me..." croaked Sophie Caruthers, stretching one trembling hand toward Mrs. Petoma. "...I'm dying."
The older woman knelt down slowly, allowing for her arthritis. Behind her Iva looked shocked, while Effie's expression was one of compassion.
"You're beyond hope, Sophie, but I'm here for you, dear."
"I loved Lefty," Sophie whispered. "I loved Lefty but he favored Florinda. I shot both of them. I guess you think I'm a pretty awful person?"
"Well, yes, I suppose I do," agreed Mrs. Petoma, "but as the Bible says: 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'" She took Sophie's hand. "But I must admit, there's a certain exhilaration to casting the first stone."
"I'm sure I could appreciate your gallows humor better if I weren't bleeding internally," Sophie hissed back at her.
"What happened?" Effie barked at Sam. "Who shot Miss Caruthers?"
"A two-footer named Lefty, sweet biscuit. She loved Lefty but Lefty favored Florinda."
"And Miss Caruthers shot Florinda Gatthamer," added Murray.
"Who are you?" Effie asked him.
"Oh," he said, "I'm Murray. I'm in the guard dog game, although at the present time I'm paw loose and fancy free."
Iva blinked.
Story continued below...
Story cont'd...
Sophie Caruthers tightly squeezed Mrs. Petoma's hand. "That hurts a bit, dear."
"Listen, you old biddy, confession is good for the soul, and I don't see a priest around here..."
Her elderly neighbor sighed. "Well, make it short, Sophie. I'm not unsympathetic, but kneeling is difficult for me, and I've got a roast in the oven."
"You know who Bugsy Gatthamer was?"
"Well, yes, dear. I do read the papers."
"I used to work for his wife...for Florinda...did her bookkeeping, and snooped."
"Hmmm, yes," said Mrs. Petoma. "I always pegged you as the type."
"I found out Bugsy's first wife had an affair with his business partner...."
"My late husband had an affair with his secretary."
"...but before that, she had an affair with Mr. Webley-Fosbery, the butler..."
"Busy little thing, wasn't she?" observed Mrs. Petoma.
"She and Fosbery knew each other before. She wanted to marry him, but she wound up with Bugsy. The boy got sent back east...and when Bugsy thought his wife was having an affair with his business partner, he killed both of them."
"What a sordid tale! But do go on."
"I convinced Lefty to pretend to be the long-lost son. He and Mr. Webley-Fosbery planned between them to get Bugsy out of Alcatraz, and murder him. A revenge killing, you see?"
"Not really, dear. In my husband's case, a bit of arsenic worked wonders. No muss, no fuss."
"Does she know what she's saying?" Effie asked Sam.
"Miss Caruthers or Mrs. Petoma?" Sam asked her back.
"You don't really think Mrs. Petoma killed her husband?"
"Sounds like it to me," he barked.
"You know," said Murray, "this story really is every bit as exciting as The Romance of Helen Trent."
(Story continued below...)
(Story cont'd)
"I made the mistake of introducing Lefty to Florinda," Sophie Caruthers went on, her voice fading faster than dime-store lipstick. "He thought she was so sweet, and he figured he could cheat on me and run off with her. But he was wrong."
"I don't understand, dear," said Mrs. Petoma. "What, exactly, was the point of this scam in the first place?"
"Why, the diamonds," croaked Sophie. "The diamond...dogs..."
Mrs. Petoma rose to her feet and shook out her apron. "Crime, while occasionally convenient, just isn't for amateurs, I'm afraid."
She then removed her apron and dropped it lightly over Sophie's upturned face. "Guess I'd best get the roast out of the oven and phone the police," she said, patting Effie on the head. "You doggies keep away from the corpse, now."
She didn't have to tell them twice.
But Iva sat back on her haunches and began to howl.
"Iva! Stop that!" barked Effie.
"Why? Why should I stop? I'm about to be homeless! I'll be sent to the pound!"
"Not if I have anything to say about it," declared Murray.
Iva blinked again.
"Let's go for a walk," he suggested. "A walk will make you feel better, and maybe you can tell me exactly who this Betty Crocker is...."
(Story continued next week...)
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