by MCCOY, JUDI
Parking behind the patrol car, he set his dome light on the sedan roof, dodged the mound of dirty slush melting in the gutter, and strode to the main entrance, prepared to push his way through the throng. At the complex door, he collided with a dog walker. Bent at the waist, the person was attempting to wrestle a gaggle of noisy mutts into the building.
“Hey, that’s enough. Quiet now.”
Considering the walker was dressed in army fatigues, the distinctly feminine voice surprised him. Too bad he didn’t have time to take a step back and get a better view.
“Oh, jeez, excuse us,” the woman muttered when she danced backward and bumped into him.
Not thrilled about the distraction, he leaned down, grabbed her wrist, and pulled the knot from her fingers. “Here, let me.” He guided the unruly ankle biters around her legs until they were free and returned the leads. Expecting gratitude, he instead found himself staring into twin pools of icy blue.
“Thanks, but I could have handled it.”
“Sure you could,” he answered, his tone sarcastic. He gazed at her flushed face and bit his lip to keep from laughing. He’d never met a woman who used dog crap for skin cream before. “And while you’re handling it, you might want to—uh—”
“Want to what?” she bit out.
He nodded toward her left cheek. “Take a gander in the mirror.”
Color heightened her already-pink complexion, and she smacked her smudged face with her free hand. Grinning, he strode into the lobby.
Riding skyward, Ellie checked herself in the mirrored wall on the back of the elevator. Just like the guy she’d met downstairs had indicated, a dark smear marred her left cheek. She pulled a tissue from her bag, spit on it, rubbed, and brought the tissue to her nose.
Chocolate?
She inhaled again. It was chocolate, all right. She must have enjoyed that Dove bar a lot more than she realized, and if she saw that guy again, she would tell him so. He had some nerve, automatically assuming her foundation of choice was puppy poop just because she was in to dogs.
She delivered her charges to their homes; then she, Rudy, and Twink beat feet to Buddy’s floor, positive that, by now, someone had found him. Until they located one of Professor Albright’s relatives, she intended to bring the little guy home and give him a place to hang his leash, so to speak. The city pound would house the champion over her dead body.
When she arrived, a half dozen people crowded the hallway in front of the professor’s apartment, some knocking on doors, some talking into cell phones. Prepared to apologize for being late, she zeroed in on Officer Martin. She had zilch to add to what she’d already explained. If Buddy was still missing, she planned to search for him outside on the off chance he’d somehow gotten out of the apartment or evaded the boys in blue and found his way to the street.
“Sorry I took so long,” she said, approaching the officer. “I decided to bring the dogs home so I could talk to that detective without interruption. Is he here yet?”
“He’s here,” said a surly voice from behind the partially open door.
Officer Martin shrugged and returned her ID. “I’ll leave the two of you alone. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The door swung inward, revealing a tan trench coat covering a broad chest and a set of linebackersized shoulders. Raising her head, her gaze met that of the man she’d tangled with in the entryway: Mr. Dog Doo.
“It’s about time—” he began. Arching dark brows, he stared at her face. “Nice to see you were able to clean up before you showed. Smart move, Ms.”—he consulted his notebook—“Engleman.”
“You,” Ellie huffed, trying to ignore his coffee-colored eyes, rumpled blond curls, and amazingly square jaw. Had he appeared this . . . this impressive downstairs? Probably, but she’d been too flustered to notice.
He held out a case with his ID and shield, then flipped it closed before she read a word. “Detective Sam Ryder, NYPD. Tell me how you found the body.”
Determined not to drool, she stepped to the side and peered into the foyer, where three or four more people were huddled. “Lying right there, like it is now.”
“Officer Martin said you had a key?”
“I have a key to all my clients’ homes, as do most dog walkers.”
“And how many clients might that be?”
“Right now, five. I’ve just started my business.”
“I take it you’re bonded, with the usual licenses required to run a dog-walking service?” His smug smile made the question sound as if she were guilty of a crime. Which she very well might be, if she didn’t get her tail in gear and apply for the necessary documents.
“I’m . . . um . . . in the process,” she lied. “I’ll be legal as soon as the paperwork is finished.”
“Do your clients know you tromp through their homes if the dog isn’t immediately there waiting for you?”
Leaning against the doorjamb, she took note of his imposing height and vowed not to sigh or drool. “As a professional, I hardly ever go farther than the foyer. My charges learn to expect me at a certain time, and they’re usually standing at the ready when I arrive.”
“But not today.”
“No. Randall told me he hadn’t seen Professor Albright leave the building, so I knocked. When he didn’t answer, I used my key, but the door was already unlocked. It took a couple of good shoves before I could get it open enough to—” Realizing she’d just confessed to assaulting a dead body forced her to fumble. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t know it was him, of course.”
“And that was the first time you saw Albright today?”
“First time all week, really. He usually leaves for school before I get here.” She ran trembling fingers through her hair. “He was a nice man. It was a shock to find him like that.”
“I imagine so. Anyone else lurking in the hall, maybe waiting for the elevator or collecting their newspaper?”
“Didn’t Officer Martin already give you this information?”
“He did, but I want to hear it from your perspective, if you don’t mind.” He glanced at the floor, where Twink and Rudy watched with interest. “I take it neither of those dogs belongs to the professor?”
“Not too bright, is he, Triple E?
She cast Rudy a glare of disapproval. “The Yorkiepoo is mine. The Jack Russell belongs to a friend.”
Ryder’s full lips twitched. “Yorkie what?”
Her temper simmered, causing heat to rise to her cheeks. Great. Leave it to him to find a way to slide dog poop into the conversation. “Rudy is a Yorkshire terrier-poodle mix,” she said, proud to have circumvented the distasteful word. “Twink is a Jack Russell. Buddy is a bichon frise and an AKC champion.”
“You’re sure the dog wasn’t here when you found the body?”
“No, and I thought it was odd. I called the doorman and asked him to phone nine-one-one. Then I waited until Randall came up. He took my charges downstairs so I could inspect the apartment. If Buddy were here, he would have told—” Oops. “He would have showed himself. When he didn’t, I spoke to the officers.”
“Martin and Burroughs?”
“Right. Then Randall called to tell me the dogs were restless. If I didn’t get downstairs to do my job there’d be—” She glanced at Rudy and Twink. “A.C.C.I.D.E.N.T.S.”
“Accidents?”
“Shh. And yes.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, and she huffed out a breath. “It was nice of Officer Martin to let me go.”
“Hey, Martin,” he shouted down the hall.
The patrolman raised his head from his paperwork and trudged over. “Yes, sir?”
“Take these two dogs to the lobby and ask the doorman to hold them for Ms. Engleman.”
“Hey,” Ellie said, inching forward.
Ryder speared her with a brown-eyed glare. “You’ve probably done a job on the crime scene. And I have more questions.” Taking the leashes from her hand, he passed them to Martin, who quickly disappeared with Rudy
and Twink in tow.
“Detective?” someone said from the other side of the door. “Take a look at this.”
Unable to watch the officer striding away with her pals and pay attention to Ryder at the same time, she followed the detective into the crowded foyer.
“Any idea what did the damage?” Ryder asked, studying the back of the apartment door.
A thin balding man wearing latex gloves used tweezers to pluck a chunk of wood from around the knob, then dropped the bits into a plastic bag and sealed it. “Nope, but I’m fairly certain it’s fresh. We’ll know more after the lab runs a scan. And there’s something else.” He moved to the body, squatted, and held up the professor’s left hand. “Look at his fingers.”
She couldn’t get down on their level without being obvious, so it was difficult to see. From this distance, the professor’s fingertips appeared red, almost as if they’d been burned.
“The marks are fresh,” Ryder observed. “How do you suppose they got there?”
“I’d say that’s another question for the ME.” Both men stood. “She should be here any minute, by the way.”
At that moment, a woman in her midfifties with neatly tied gray hair and wise blue eyes stepped through the door.
“Dr. Bridges,” said the detective. “ ’Bout time you showed.”
“A girl needs her beauty sleep,” the ME answered, her face a blank. She glanced around the hall. “Did Fugazzo’s wife have the baby?”
“Last night,” Ryder answered.
Nodding, she stared at the professor. “This our guy?”
“That’s him. We need to get a handle on what we’re dealing with.” Raising an arm, he pinned Ellie to the foyer wall, gave her a look of warning, and took a step toward the body.
The doctor spoke quietly to the EMTs, then squatted and spread open the professor’s shirt. Ryder dropped beside her, and she shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
Ellie strained to hear her response.
“Best guess, that’s an incision for heart surgery, maybe a pacemaker.”
“And that means . . . ?”
“Can’t say until I open him up.” She checked the reddened fingertips. “Any idea where this came from?”
“Not sure, but it might be connected to the charred area around the doorknob.”
“Care to show me?”
She and the detective stood, and Ryder let her inspect the area in question. “Hmm. Okay. For now, let’s call the death suspicious,” Bridges said. “Have your crew handle it like a homicide in case it’s for real.”
“Fuck.”
Ellie bristled at the unpleasant word, though everyone else seemed to take it in stride.
“You ready to let us have him?” asked one of the techs.
The ME nodded. “I’ll meet you over there.”
“Send me the report ASAP,” Ryder said as she walked into the outer hallway. Turning, he shuffled to Ellie’s side and rested a shoulder against the wall to face her. “Did the professor ever mention a heart condition?”
“Not to me.”
“Did you smell anything unusual when you checked his pulse? Like burned flesh or maybe wood smoke?”
“Nope. Then again, it wasn’t something I’d think to notice. By the way, that stuff on my face before—”
“Yes,” he said, a distinct smirk on his lips.
“It was chocolate.”
The smirk morphed into a grin. “If you say so.”
“Yes, I say so, and never mind. Who’s going to search for Buddy? I’m really worried about him.”
They lifted the professor, and Ryder held out his arm to keep her in place. “We have a body, Ms. Engleman. That’s our only priority.”
“Are you telling me no one is going to hunt for Buddy?”
He heaved a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’ll order a patrolman to start a search?”
The detective met her glare. “Maybe after we’re through at the station. If I have time, I’ll see if somebody in stolen property can take a look.”
Stolen property? “You think someone took Buddy?”
“At this point, I don’t think anything. I’ll know more after I get the ME’s report and the evidence is processed.”
“Would it be against the rules if I ran my own search?”
“Knock yourself out,” he countered. “But you’ll have to call me immediately if you locate the dog, and you can’t start until I’m through with you.”
“Through with me?”
“I have to give a few orders. Then you’ll be joining me at the Nineteenth.”
“But . . . but I can’t. What will I do with the boys?”
“The dogs?” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Burroughs!”
The patrolman arrived so quickly Ellie figured he’d been outside waiting for the summons.
“Yes, sir?”
“Take Ms. Engleman and her dogs home. Then escort her to the precinct. Put her in a room and show her some of the NYPD’s finest hospitality.”
Burroughs grabbed her elbow, but Ellie stood her ground. “Hey, can he do that?” she asked the officer.
“He can do anything he wants.”
Before she knew it, she, Rudy, and Twink were in a squad car riding home.
Chapter 3
Ellie swiped at her still-smudged fingertips. She couldn’t decide what was worse: standing in the hallway of the Davenport while a forensics expert rolled a lint brush over her entire body or having her prints on record with the NYPD. Though Ryder had assured her the defuzzing was for her benefit—to help them rule her out as a suspect—she doubted the explanation. Especially since he’d acted as if she was guilty from the moment she walked into the professor’s apartment.
She leaned back in the molded plastic chair and glanced at her watch, then shifted her gaze across the drab, functional gray table. “Are we finished? Because I have to leave.”
“Got a hot date?” Ryder asked, his handsome face set in stony disapproval.
The comment was his most recent in a string of personal questions with which he’d hounded her since he’d begun the interrogation. During that time, he’d made it clear she was his most suspect suspect, even though she’d done her best to profess her innocence.
“I have an appointment, and as of about thirty seconds ago, it’s doubtful I’ll make it on time.”
“An appointment with who?”
Seething inside, she shrugged as if the query meant nothing. “A potential client.”
“Someone in the Davenport?”
“Yes,” she responded, trying to hold to the single syllable answers she had learned kept her out of trouble.
“On the same floor as the professor?”
“No.”
He raised a brow and she sighed. “Several flights down. Why?”
“I’m the one who needs to know, Ms. Engleman.”
Another glance at her watch told her she had to wrap this up, whether or not the disagreeable man approved. “I’ve given a sensible answer to every question you’ve asked. By now, you must realize I had nothing to do with the professor’s death.”
“I don’t realize anything. All I know is, I have a dead body on my hands and you had motive and opportunity. The situation speaks for itself.”
The comment niggled at her brain. She hadn’t spoken to her lawyer, Fred Hutchins, since her divorce was final, but she was fairly certain he didn’t practice criminal law. Until Ryder’s last comment, she was certain she’d be let go. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Motive? What kind of motive?”
“A dog you claim is valuable is missing.”
“And you think I killed the professor and stole it?” The man was a cretin. “Does the city know what kind of idiot they pay to investigate their murders?”
“We have yet to determine if the death was a homicide, Ms. Engleman, unless you know something I don’t,” he stated, rolling past her insult.
Ellie shifted in the chair, her lips m
atching his frown. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m good at my job, Ms. Engleman. Have no fear of that. And right now, you’re the only one who had the opportunity to do the deed.”
She scooted her seat back and stood. “In that case, I want to call my lawyer.” She’d phone Stanley, the retired judge her mother was dating, and ask him to recommend someone. “But if I’m not being charged, let me go.”
He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then said, “There’s no need to lawyer up. You’re free—for now. But don’t leave town. I’ll be in touch.”
“I’m going to search for Buddy, you know, with or without your permission.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” he answered in a dead-pan tone.
“Can I keep him if I find him?”
“That could be a problem. He’s Albright’s property—”
“But the professor won’t care.”
“That’s true, but one of his relatives might.” He flipped a page in his notebook and scribbled a line. “Just let me know if you remember something—or your story changes.”
“I have no reason to change one word of my story, and you know how to reach me.”
He pulled her card from his shirt pocket and eyed her printed information. “ ‘Paws In Motion,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘Dog walking for small breeds only.’ ” Tucking it back in his shirt, he said, “You got something against normal-sized canines?”
“I’ve already told you, I’m a fan of all breeds, but I can walk more of the tiny ones at a time, plus small dogs make small messes, an advantage in my business.”
Detective Ryder narrowed his eyes, stood, and ambled to her side of the room, where he propped a hip on the table. “I see.”
“Is that it?” she asked, ready to bolt. The detention room suddenly felt downright claustrophobic, as if the hunky pain in the butt was sucking up all the air for himself.
“Unless Albright’s death is natural, you’ll hear from me in a day or so. Remember, I expect you to call if you think of anything that might help the investigation.”