by MCCOY, JUDI
“Ms. Engleman?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“It’s Sam Ryder. Is it too late to call?”
“No, no, I’m up.”
“Great. Can we talk?”
Vivian mouthed, Who is it?
“Sure. Just a second.” She covered the phone. “It’s that pain-in-the-ass detective I told you about.”
Viv grinned, mischief written across her glamour-girl face like words on a billboard. “Mr. Rubber Hose?”
“Shh.”
“Ms. Engleman? May I speak to you in person?”
Warning her pal with a finger to her lips, she said, “Um . . . here? I mean, do you know where I live?”
“He’s coming here?” Viv hissed. “Tonight?”
“I’m a cop, remember?” Sam interjected.
“I remember.” Ellie covered the unit again. “What should I tell him?”
“That depends. What does he look like?”
Positive her face was on fire, Ellie raised a shoulder. “He’s okay.”
“That good, huh?”
Inhaling, Ellie stood and walked to the sink. “Ring the buzzer when you get here, and I’ll let you—”
“I’m downstairs right now. Give the signal, and I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Just a second.” She rested her bottom against the counter and stared at Viv. “He’s downstairs. Right now.”
“Well, goody. You can introduce us. I’ll even vouch for your character.”
“No.”
“No?” asked Ryder
“Not no to you, Detective.” She rolled her eyes at Viv. “Be quiet so I can think.”
“What’s there to think about? Your apartment’s decent, and you look passable enough for a woman who last wore makeup to her divorce hearing.” Viv raised a brow. “Maybe he wants to torture you some more—you know, tie you to the bed and—”
“Ms. Engleman? Have you changed your mind?”
“Uh, no, but—hang on a second.” She stared at Viv. “It’s bad timing.”
“Honey, with you, the timing will never be right. I’ll leave so you and the naughty detective can be alone.”
“No, don’t go.”
“Ms. Engleman? If this isn’t convenient—”
Viv pushed the buzzer for the downstairs door as she left the kitchen.
“I’m coming up,” he said. The line went dead.
“I’ll be over tomorrow after work,” Viv called from the foyer. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Hey,” said the leggy brunette as she passed Sam on the stairway.
He nodded and continued his climb to the third floor, but instinct urged him to glance back over his shoulder. When he did, he caught the woman staring. Their eyes met, and she gave him a sexy grin and a thumbs-up, and continued down the stairs.
Not used to meeting women who stood close to his height of six feet, he shook his head. Females were something else. His younger sisters loved to tell him he was a sitting duck where the opposite sex was concerned. The only thing that saved him from a second walk down the aisle was his job. Carolanne had cheated her way out of their marriage, telling him she could no longer stay hitched to a guy in a dangerous profession who kept irregular hours and seven-day workweeks. He now realized not many women could.
When he arrived at the apartment, he found the door already open. Stepping inside, he got a good view of the hall in front of him and a spacious modern kitchen to the left. “Hello. It’s Detective Ryder.” Hearing a growl, he spotted one of the dogs from that morning crouched at his feet. “Hey, watch yourself. I’m an invited guest.”
The dog sniffed his shoe, then took off toward the back of the apartment like a rat scurrying from a trap. Seconds later, it returned with the Engleman woman following in its wake.
“It’s a bad idea to leave your door unlocked,” he stated, though what he really wanted to say was “What kind of fool are you?” “Anyone could come in and rob the place or worse.”
“Hello to you, too, Detective.” She glanced in the mutt’s direction. “As you can see, I have a protector.”
Sam tamped back a snort, knowing Ms. Engleman would be pissed if he laughed out loud at her asinine assertion. “Sorry, but I think you’re misinformed. Dogs that small rarely protect you from burglars or rapists. They’d probably have a hard time frightening the meter reader.”
The pooch yipped and gave another growl.
“Can it. He’s friendly,” she said to the pup, though her eyes never left Sam’s face. “Can I get you something to drink before you bring out the rub . . . er . . . start this discussion? A soda? Water? Beer?”
“Ice water would be fine.”
“I’ll meet you in the living room. Make yourself at home.”
He entered a large room with three windows along the back wall, a fireplace flanked by bookcases on another, and an elegant dining table nestled against a wall that opened to the kitchen. A floral-covered couch and two matching chairs faced the fireplace, while a second seating arrangement took up space under the windows.
She came in from the kitchen and caught him checking out the surroundings. “We can sit in front of the fireplace or under the windows. Whichever you prefer.”
He focused on her naked windows. “You need drapes or blinds so you can close them for privacy this time of night. Anyone looking across the court-yard can see that you’re alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Rudy.”
As if staking his claim, the dog jumped on the sofa, growled low in its throat, and sent Ryder a glare that was both threatening and comical.
“Who is going to be very polite, or he’ll go to bed early,” she continued in a no-nonsense tone.
When Rudy gave another menacing growl, Ms. Engleman placed the tumblers of ice water on coasters, scooped the dog into her arms, and headed for the hall. “You’re toast,” she scolded the grumpy mutt. “I’ll be right back,” she called to Sam.
He took another survey while he waited. The honey-hued hardwood floor, covered in pastel-colored area rugs, shined in the light emitted by two brass lamps standing at either end of the sofa. A computer station took up a far corner, while a television sat on a wheeled table alongside the hearth. The dark wood furniture appeared expensive, ditto the pictures on the walls. All in all, it was a classy yet unpretentious room without a lot of feminine frou-frous or annoying clutter.
“The furniture is new,” she stated, returning to the couch. “It was a present from me to me shortly after I signed my divorce papers. So was Rudy.” She sat at the opposite end of the sofa, tucked her long legs underneath her, and clasped a knee with both hands. “I assume you’re here to ask more questions about the professor, unless . . . Have you found Buddy?”
Sam took out his spiral notebook, wincing internally at her hope-filled expression. “Sorry, no sign of the dog.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I asked the evening doorman to keep an eye out, but that was all I could manage until tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“After dinner, Rudy and I took a walk and had a better look around the Davenport. I spoke to a half dozen doormen, but we didn’t find a sign of Buddy.”
“I take it you intend to keep looking?”
“Of course.” She sat up straight. “What about you?”
“We have a call in to animal control, and they’re aware of the loss. Now about the professor—”
“Was it a heart attack?”
“I can’t divulge that information.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Then why are you here?”
“We parted on an uncomfortable note. I wanted to remind you that I’m the good guy in this mess. I need to hear any other details you might have remembered, no matter how trivial.”
Her furrowed brow told him she was thinking. “I said everything I had to say. The professor and I only met a few weeks ago. We talked sometimes, but it was always about Buddy. I thought you were here to tell me that you found him.”
“No, but I spoke to the night doorman you mentioned, and—”
“Kronk? Hah, don’t expect him to divulge anything. All he’s interested in is money.”
Sam flipped through his notebook. “Boris Kronkovitz. I plan to run him through the system, just to make sure he’s legal. Told me he’s keeping an eye out for the dog. Sounded as if he was already spending a reward. Any idea where he’d get a notion like that?”
She ran a hand through her unruly curls, and they caught the light from the standing lamps. “I may have mentioned something about money, but only after he assumed it was available. It makes sense that the professor’s relatives would offer a reward, since Buddy’s a champion. His stud fees are through the roof.”
“One of the things you and Professor Albright discussed.”
“That and what goes on behind the scenes at Westminster. He promised to get me a pass for next February’s show and introduce me to some of the owners and handlers.”
“And why would you want to do that?”
“What dog lover wouldn’t? It’s a thrill being close to all that canine perfection. I’d also hoped to find new clients.”
“And acquiring more clients would mean a lot to you.”
“To me and every other dog walker in this town. But we’re rehashing what I already told you.”
“Including the fact that you were well aware of the dog’s value, and knew others would pay to have him.”
She squared her shoulders, and the gesture show-cased the generous breasts hiding beneath her shirt. “Isn’t it about time you got off that subject and started a real search?”
He raised his gaze and focused on her eyes, which were an unusual shade of blue, maybe aquamarine or turquoise. “Because if I find the dog, I’ll find the killer?”
“Exactly.”
“And you think he was dognapped?”
“It’s an idea.”
She sucked in a breath. “Then the professor was murdered.”
“I can’t say one way or the other while the investigation is pending, but I want you to steer clear. This is a job for professionals. It’s all right for you to conduct a search for the dog, but if you think of someone we might consider a suspect, tell us and we’ll handle it.” The last thing he needed was an amateur Nancy Drew confronting a murderer. “Understand?”
“Was anything else missing from the professor’s home?” she asked, as if oblivious to his warning.
“Not that we’re aware of. His next of kin is a niece from Jersey. She’s coming to town to make funeral arrangements. Then she’ll go to the apartment and give an opinion on the contents.”
“Poor Buddy.” She thrust out her lower lip. “I don’t even want to think about him with strangers.”
“Then it’s possible he’d go with someone he didn’t know?”
“Possible, but not likely. It took several days before he’d say hello to me—”
“You mean before he came to you when called or went willingly on a walk.”
“Um . . . yes, that’s what I mean. I just can’t see him taking off with a stranger.”
“Not even if the thief had food or a toy?”
“He’d never go with anyone if the professor was ill or in danger. If we don’t find him, then someone stole him, and killed the professor in the process.”
“The doorman Randall intimated the professor was a creature of habit.”
“And if a robber knew his schedule—”
“As well as you do.”
“You can’t be serious. I’d never do anything to harm that sweet old man just to take his dog.” She huffed out a breath. “Is that why you’re here? To see if I was harboring Buddy? I told you this afternoon that you have my permission to check the apartment.” She stood. “Go on, be my guest—crawl under the bed, inspect my closets—”
“For cripes sakes, don’t get so bent out of shape,” he said, trying not to laugh. “I’ll be honest. At first, you were top choice for a suspect, but a couple of things don’t add up, so . . .”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind of things?”
“That’s something I can’t divulge. Suffice it to say you’re not the type to—”
“What do you mean, not the type? I didn’t know murderers came in types. I could kill someone,” she insisted, “if they ticked me off enough.”
“Okay, fine. You’re perfectly capable of inflicting bodily harm. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes—no—I—Oh, heck, of course not. But don’t be so quick to put me in a nice-girl box and think I’ll conform to your rules. Thanks to the D, I’ll never do that again.”
“The D?”
“Forget it.” Pushing a wayward curl behind her ear, she heaved a sigh. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
“I apologize if I insulted you, but that’s the first time I’ve had anyone tell me they were upset because I didn’t consider them a killer.” He tugged at the knot in his tie. “Have you changed your mind about looking for Billy?”
“His name is Buddy. He’s a living creature, not an article of clothing or a piece of jewelry. And yes, I’ll be on the hunt for him.”
Sam cursed under his breath and swore he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “Tell me again, how big is Buddy?”
“Maybe fifteen pounds. He’d fit in a tote bag or under a coat if it was roomy, and he’s snow-white with a distinctive cut. There are pictures of him in the apartment—” Snapping her fingers, she jumped to her feet and headed for the computer. “Give me a second.”
Sam crossed the room and stood behind her desk chair. “What are you doing?”
“I’m accessing the Westminster Web site. It has pictures of past winners.” The Web site came up, and she clicked on the menu. A page of photos showcasing miniature white dogs appeared, and she hit a few more keys. While her printer hummed, she went back to flipping screens. “Here you go.” She gazed over her shoulder, grinning. “That’s one of the professor and Buddy at their big win. Aren’t they the cutest pair?”
“Adorable,” he muttered, squinting at the monitor. “You said the dog’s stud fee was high?”
“Last the professor mentioned, five thousand dollars.”
Sam whistled his surprise. “How often did that happen?”
“Once a month or so. Depended on where the bitch lived.”
“Nice way to phrase it.”
She tsked. “ ‘Bitch’ is the common term for a female dog. And the owner of the stud doesn’t always get money. They’re sometime offered pick of the litter instead.”
“But the professor never took that option.”
“He couldn’t. He was getting up in years and making plans to retire, and housebreaking a puppy in a high-rise is hell. Besides, a new pooch might have made Buddy jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“I’m aware you aren’t very knowledgeable about canines, but they really do resemble humans in temperament and personality. They like or dislike other dogs, and they love, tolerate, or hate certain people. They can exhibit jealousy, anger, or pride, even if they aren’t pampered.”
“So you consider yourself an expert on the subject?”
“No. Well, maybe.” She passed him the picture from her printer. “Let’s just say I commiserate with dogs and their owners, and try to put myself in their place whenever possible.”
“So even if there’s a possibility Buddy was stolen, you’d still search for him?”
“Of course. In fact, tomorrow I plan to ask every street vendor I know. Then I’m going to the nearest shelter to see if someone turned him in. But it’s a long shot, because if he ran away, whoever found him will probably realize he’s a purebred. They might try to sell him or wait until they hear of a reward.”
She stood, and he took a step of retreat, unhappy with his gut reaction to her clean floral scent and world-class breasts. “Like Kronk?”
“Like Kronk.”
Out of questions, Sam nodded. He didn’t have a problem allowing her
to visit local shelters, because she knew exactly what to look for, and she had a lot more time on her hands than he did. His team had to keep tabs on the professor’s mail and phone messages, question a few more neighbors, and try to figure out what had caused the pacemaker to short. He also had to hear from the officer he’d sent to Columbia.
“Let me know if you find him, but remember—no police work. In the meantime, we’ll go at it from another angle.”
“Another angle?” she asked, following him to the door.
“We’ll be monitoring his phone and his mail. In case there’s a ransom note or call.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If a dognapper killed the professor—” She stared at him as if she’d just figured out the meaning of life. “What if whoever took him doesn’t realize the professor died, and reads about it in the newspaper? If they don’t think they can get money for Buddy, they might kill him.”
“Right now, everything is conjecture, but either way I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Oh, bull. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The robber didn’t expect Professor Albright to be home, and when he opened the door and saw the professor on the floor, probably thought he’d fainted or had some kind of seizure. You’re hoping the assailant will try to solicit a ransom before he reads about the death.”
“I can’t comment. Whatever you come up with is your idea, not mine.”
“This is terrible.” She fisted her hands in her hair. “Buddy could already be dead.”
“Or he could turn up at the shelter, because we don’t know for certain why he’s missing.”
“Either way, the whole thing sucks.”
“Yeah, life’s like that sometimes.” He reached around her to grab the knob, and she stayed rooted in place, which brought him close enough to see the drift of freckles dancing across her nose. Their gazes locked, and she blushed a delicate pink.
“Don’t forget to call me if you find the dog,” he muttered, pulling back to a safer distance.
As if flustered, she moved aside. “I—I’ll let you know.”
“You do that. And I’ll be in touch.”
He started down the stairs, then stopped and turned, but she’d already closed the door.