♫I don't want to be healthy or wise♫
♫I want money♫
♫I don't want to intellectualize♫
♫I want money♫
♫Just enough to keep me satisfied♫
♫And do the things I want to do♫
♫I want money♫
♫But mostly I want food!♫

High Stakes

Chapter 5

    It didn’t take us long to find the restaurant with the directions Miss Matches had given us just before she left. It was a trendy-looking joint, sleek and dark on the outside. Shiny chrome letters on a heavy ebony door were small enough to suggest that if we didn’t know the name of the place already, we probably weren’t likely to happen upon it by mistake. Funny, that. The name of the restaurant in those tiny shiny letters was Miss Steak. I liked it already.
    I noticed several flyers taped to a bench outside of the restaurant. I grabbed one, left a quick message of my own and headed inside with Morgan. We were met there by a young dog with wavy brown fur who seemed to be sizing us up as we approached. She gave us a long, cool gaze before asking, “May I help you?” in a tone of voice that suggested she’d really rather not.
    I studied her for a moment while she apparently decided whether or not we were worthy of Miss Steak. She appeared to be the maitre d’ and her nametag read Sadie. “Sadie, the lady and I would like to dine,” I announced in my best English sheepdog voice. Sadie raised an eyebrow at me and glanced at the ledger on the podium in front of her.
    “Do you have a reservation?” she asked.
    Morgan piped up. “Yes, I had my assistant call yesterday. It should be under Peabody.”
    “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Sadie replied with a half-smile that belied her true feelings. “I don’t have a record of it. You’ll have to come some other time, but please do remember to call ahead.”
    I could see Morgan bristling at the brush off we were getting, so I prepared to grease the wheels with a little greenery. I fished a dollar out of my wallet, but as I tried to slip it to Sadie, Morgan’s eyes widened and she stepped on my toe. “Ouch!” I yelped, and dropped my dollar. Morgan made no move to pick it up, so I leaned over to grab it, but she stepped on it firmly. Meanwhile, Morgan moved a bit closer to Sadie.
    I was busy trying to pull my money out from under Morgan’s paw when I heard her growl, “If there’s no reservation in your book, it’s your fault, not mine. You will seat us for lunch. Do you understand? Do I need to speak to the owner?”
    Good move, I thought, as I finally wiggled my dollar out. I held it up proudly and received a glare from Morgan and Sadie. I had to admit, it was clever of Morgan to give us an opening to speak to the owner. It was an opportunity missed, however, since Sadie smiled coldly and said, “Ah, it does appear that we have a cancellation. Come this way.”
    “Any chance we could sit in Samantha’s section?” I asked nonchalantly as we followed her to a table. “Are you growling at me?” I whispered to Morgan as we took our seats.

Chapter 6

    Sadie seated us in a big cushioned booth with walls around it high enough to give us a little privacy. I pulled out the flyer I’d taken from the bench outside and smoothed it out on the table. It was an advertisement for the upcoming Food Fete, detailing times, dates, and featured foods.
    “Look, Morg…oops, Paula,” I said, sliding the paper across the table to her, “Miss Steak is sponsoring the Food Fete, and they’re serving Kobe beef!” As Morgan scanned the ad, I took a moment to imagine a Kobe steak. Luscious. I was lost in reverie and might have been drooling a little when our waitress arrived with our menus. She was stunning. She had golden brown fur with long ears, just as Miss Matches had described them. So Sadie had put us with Samantha after all. I sent a mental “Ha” to Morgan and smiled at Samantha. She smiled back as she wiped my little drool puddle away with a white linen napkin. I made a mental note to have Morgan tip her well. She handed us our menus and introduced herself and the specials.
    “It all sounds simply smashing,” I said, “but would you happen to have any of that Kobe beef available yet?”
    “Oh, no, sir,” she replied. “It’s being flown in overnight from Japan next Friday, the night before the festival. They want it to be as fresh as possible. You should plan on coming here early if you want to try it Saturday. I think it’s going to be very popular.”
    She left a moment later with our orders: a porterhouse, rare, for me, and a filet mignon for Morgan. I was famished by that point, and it showed, so Samantha had been kind enough to leave her little linen napkin under my chin.
    “So what do you think?” queried Morgan.
    “I think you probably should have ordered that filet medium rare. Medium well is a travesty.”
Morgan closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them slowly. I wondered if perhaps she needed reading glasses with all of the eye exercises she seemed to be doing.        “About the restaurant,” she said. “Do you think there’s anything fishy going on?”
    I really thought it was more of a steak place than seafood, myself, but I ignored her question. “It seems nice. Of course I’ll have to wait and see what the food is like. I do wonder what the mystery is, though. Everything seems to be on the up and up so far.”
    Samantha returned a few minutes later with an appetizer of warm biscuits and peanut butter. “You’re Miss Matches’ friend, are you not?” I asked her.
She looked startled, but recovered her composure quickly. “Yes I am. Do I know you?”
    “I’m Lyle P., Private Eye. Your friend came to see me today and she said you two were worried about something.”
    “You’re Lyle? Matches told me she was going to find a detective, but I thought she said he was a Whigle. Aren’t you an English sheepdog?”
    I tried to give Morgan an “I-told-you-so” smile but she was engrossed in her nails yet again. “Just a little trick of the nose,” I told Samantha, and admired her surprised reaction with satisfaction. “So tell me, what do you think is going on?”
    She looked uncomfortable and shifted her weight from paw to paw. “Well, Mr. Lyle, I don’t really know what to say,” she said quietly. “I mean, I didn’t really think anything about it until Matches said she’d seen the owner with some funny-looking guys. I really think it’s probably nothing, and I’m sorry we troubled you.” Her eyes darted nervously from one end of the restaurant to the other, but she never met my gaze. I suspected there was something she was afraid to tell me, but I wasn’t about to press her for information before she brought my entree. A good rare steak is all about the timing.