by MCCOY, JUDI
After climbing the steps of an attractive brownstone, she peered at the row of mailboxes in the foyer. Pushing the button marked MILLCRAFT, she waited.
A few moments later, a female voice answered, “Yes?”
“Ms. Millcraft?”
“Yes.”
“If you have a minute, I’d like to speak with you about your schnauzer.”
The buzzer sounded immediately. Ellie opened the foyer door and took the stairs to the second floor, still mulling over a possible introduction. How much should she reveal about Professor Albright? Should she mention how she’d found out about the woman’s missing dog? Would Ms. Millcraft speak to her if she knew her visitor was a regular citizen, not a member of the police force?
A door at the far end of the hall opened and a woman stepped out, wringing her hands. Rita Millcraft had short curly brown hair, a pretty face, and a look of weariness in her fortysomething eyes that suggested she hadn’t slept in several days. Dressed in hospital scrubs, she also wore a worried frown.
“Please tell me you have news about Jimmy,” she said in a rush of words. “I’ve been so despondent. I can’t thank you enough for—”
Ellie shook her head. “I don’t have any information on your missing—on Jimmy—but I do have a theory I want to discuss. Do you have some time?”
Ms. Millcraft propped herself against the doorframe and raised a brow. “What did you say your name was?”
“Ellie Engleman.” She held out her hand. “I’m a professional dog walker, and I heard about Jimmy from my vet.”
The woman accepted the gesture, but didn’t make a move to invite her inside. “You talked to Dr. Lepitsky?”
“My dog’s vet, David Crane, is a friend of Dr. Lepitsky’s. I saw Dr. Crane today, and he told me he and your dog’s doctor had a discussion about the incident.”
Rita Millcraft continued to appraise Ellie warily. Suddenly, her brown eyes filled with tears, and she began to sob. Ellie pulled a tissue from her bag and passed it over, waiting while the woman blew her nose and composed herself.
“Forgive me. I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t seem to get it together.” She took a shuddering breath. “Just when I think I’ve accepted the fact that Jimmy is gone, something triggers a crying jag and I lose all control.” She sniffed. “If I knew what happened to him—that I’d never see him again—I could grieve and move forward, but that’s not possible as long as no one has any answers.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Ellie offered a sincere smile. “I have a story to relate and a theory to run by you. I’m hoping you’ll help me make sense of it all. Maybe together, we can find those answers.”
Moments later, she sat on the sofa in a drab apartment with worn furniture and the faintly acrid smell of dog piddle. Ellie resisted wrinkling her nose as she filled Rita in on Buddy and the professor. “I’m positive the two incidents are connected, especially since your front door was charred, exactly like the professor’s.”
“You’re right. It’s too much of a coincidence,” Rita agreed, dabbing her watery eyes. “But it’s bizarre to think that someone out there is zapping people in order to steal their pets. And I can’t imagine anybody killing over one.”
“Both dogs were—are champions,” Ellie reminded her. “And that could be the key.”
“Jimmy finished at a show in Connecticut last year. I put him up for stud through one of the popular breeder magazines, just to see if I could earn a little extra money. Owning a top-of-the-line canine is so expensive these days.” She sniffed again. “Not that I mind, of course. Jimmy was—is—worth every penny I spend on him.”
“Of course he is,” said Ellie, patting Rita’s hand. Was it possible the professor had advertised in the same publication? “Can you give me the name of the magazine?”
Rita picked a periodical from a stack on her coffee table. “Here’s a copy you can have. My ad is in the back.”
Ellie tucked the magazine into her tote for future reading and passed Rita another tissue. “Do you use a dog walker?” she asked, expecting to be told no.
“I take Jimmy out in the morning, after work, and before bed, but a woman named Bibi Stormstein stops by every day around three to give him a nice long walk, even on the weekends.” Stifling a sob, Rita heaved a breath. “Of course, I don’t need her now that—that—”
“I understand,” soothed Ellie, though her heart began a kettledrum pounding. From the eau de dog pizzle scenting the air, she’d bet money Bibi was doing a piss-poor job. Biting the inside of her cheek at the pun, she debated sharing what she knew of the Goth weirdo with Rita and decided to put the news on hold. The poor woman had gone through enough trauma over the past week. If she thought someone she’d hired had a hand in the dognapping, Rita would never forgive herself. “How long has Bibi been walking Jimmy?”
“About a year now. She’s not very friendly, but she came highly recommended.” Rita wadded her tissue into a ball and set it on the table. “Do you think she knows something?”
“I’m not sure. What about the actual break-in? Did you let whoever it was inside the building?”
“They must have been inside, because I never heard the buzzer. I thought the knock might be a neighbor. I remember reaching for the knob, then wham. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor, and Jimmy was gone.” She rubbed her right arm. “It was an electrical jolt of some kind. I’m sure of it. But what it was exactly, I haven’t a clue—and neither do the police.” She bit her lower lip, holding back another volley of tears. “After I came to my senses, I searched the entire complex. When I finally figured out what happened, I called the authorities.”
“And you haven’t learned anything since? There hasn’t been phone contact or a ransom note?”
“Nothing. I even printed a reward poster on my computer and hung it around the neighborhood. Called the shelter, too. But there’s been no word.”
“And the police haven’t helped?”
“Not really. I phoned the officer in charge just this morning, but he hasn’t returned the call.”
Ellie wasn’t surprised that the detective working Rita’s case was ignoring her. She knew firsthand how uncooperative the city’s police were when it came to a missing dog. “Your building doesn’t have a doorman. What about a security camera that records whoever comes in and out?”
“The officers asked the same question. Unfortunately, we’re not that lucky. The tenants have pestered the owner, but he’s come up with every excuse in the book to avoid the expense of installing cameras.”
“Other than the people who live here and the land-lord, who else is able to come and go as they please?”
“A maintenance crew shows up a couple of times a month to mop the halls, vacuum, that sort of thing. Some of the other tenants have dog walkers or a cleaning or delivery service. But there’s no telling which individuals gave out keys to whom.”
“Do you use one of those services?” Maybe a cleaning service that deodorizes?
“No. Jimmy and I didn’t need help with the cleaning, and the tap water is okay.” Rita’s shoulder’s drooped. “It’s all I can do to pay someone to walk my boy. This city’s getting so pricey I won’t be able to live here if things keep going up.”
Ellie couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so she stood and handed the woman a business card. “I’m going to mull over what you told me and see if I come up with something. In the meanwhile, you do the same. I’ll check back with you in a couple of days.”
The downstairs buzzer rang, and Rita raced to answer it. Ellie picked up her tote bag and followed, only to find that the woman had already let her guest in the building. “You have company, so I’ll be going.”
“Please wait. That was a detective. He’s on his way up. He might have news about Jimmy.”
Ellie suppressed a groan. What were the chances someone from the NYPD, a detective no less, would pick tonight to stop and discuss the case? “I’d really better leave,” she insisted. “My own dog is home a
lone and—”
A knock on the door sent a chill down her spine.
Rita smiled and fluffed her hair. “I’m sure it’ll only take a minute, and it might be positive.”
She swung open the door, and Ellie, who had expected to see a strange detective, blinked. Sam Ryder’s cocky gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again. Heat surged upward from her chest to her face, embarrassing her further. Continuing to grin, the devilish detective introduced himself to Rita and held out his shield.
“Officer Ryder,” Rita gushed, “this is Ms.—”
“There’s no need for introductions,” he supplied, his expression locked in a completely out-of-character smile. “Ms. Engleman and I are friends. Isn’t that right . . . Ellie?”
“Sure we are,” she agreed, biting back a sharp retort. “Thanks so much for talking to me, Rita. Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”
She stepped around Ryder, but he danced in front of her and grabbed her elbow. “Don’t leave on my account, Ellie. Better yet, join me while I ask Ms. Millcraft a couple of questions. From where I stand, the conversation might prove interesting.”
As if oblivious of her new friend’s discomfort, Rita headed to the living room. “Follow me, and I’ll fill you in on the fascinating theory Ms. Engleman’s come up with on Jimmy’s disappearance. I’m sure it will help in the investigation.”
Sam gave Ellie’s arm a yank, sat her down next to him, and unclenched his fingers from around her elbow. The expression on her face, a mixture of horror and derision, was almost worth the rise in his blood pressure. He should have figured the faux Nancy Drew would be here, seeing as she kept turning up like the proverbial bad penny.
“Ms. Millcraft,” he began, taking a breath. Holy Christ, what was that smell? Rubbing his offended sniffer, he tried to concentrate on the woman he’d come to see. “I’ve been talking to Detective Taylor.” And I wish to God the idiot had warned me to bring a gas mask. “He suggested I speak to you.”
“He’s one of the policemen who came here when I reported Jimmy missing. I phoned him this morning, but he hasn’t called back. Did he send you with information about my baby?”
“Sorry, no. That is, I’m not sure how much progress the detectives have made. I’m here to get a few details on what happened that morning because it might connect to a case I’m working on.”
“You mean the one where that poor professor died protecting his dog? Such a sad story. Ellie just told me all about it.”
Protecting his dog? He gave his personal “bad penny” a sidelong glance. “Did she now? So I guess you know what I’ll need from you.”
Ms. Millcraft wasted no time reciting a recap of the morning in question, going over it point by point while Sam scribbled in his spiral notebook. Every once in a while, he cast Ellie a pseudo-grin, meant to let her know just how much trouble she was in. Finally, the woman ran out of steam.
“Thanks for your time.” He tucked the notebook in his pocket and held back a gag. He didn’t remember Albright’s apartment stinking like this, or Ellie Engleman’s. “If you think of anything else, give Taylor or Ragusa a call, and they’ll pass the information on to me.”
Ellie jabbed him with her elbow, and he scowled. Did she want him to comment on the stench? When she arched a brow, he got the message. “Oh, and I’m sorry for the loss of your pet.” And the fact that you’re living in an outhouse.
Ms. Millcraft gave a strangled hiccup and started crying all over again.
“Nice move, Ryder,” Ellie whispered. She passed the woman a tissue. “It’ll be all right. We’re going to find Jimmy.”
“We are?” Sam asked, glaring at her.
“Of course we are. It’s what the police do,” she said brightly. “They solve mysteries, and that’s what this is.”
Standing, Sam pulled Ellie to her feet. “That’s it. We’re outta here.”
Wrenching from his grip, she heaved her tote bag over her shoulder and flounced from the room.
“Don’t get up. We’ll see ourselves out,” he called to the still-weeping woman. Striding away, he muttered under his breath as he slammed the apartment door and walked into the hall, where he took a gulp of stale but mercifully piss-free air. Damn it to hell and back, when he got ahold of Ellie Engleman he was going to—to—
He spotted her on the stairs, scurrying away as if her pants were on fire, and envisioned himself stalking after her, spinning her around, and putting her at his mercy. He’d lean into her, and she’d gaze up at him, flames sparking from those big turquoise eyes, daring him to touch her . . . taste her. And he’d be more than happy to oblige, running his hands under her sweater, skimming her creamy flesh, cupping her breasts and teasing those suck-me nipples to tight buds of desire.
A gust of outside air fluttered his hair, and Sam realized the object of his lascivious thoughts had escaped through the front door. He shook his head as he jogged down the steps. He had to stop thinking like a marauding Viking, or a pirate bent on ravishing a damsel on a hijacked ship.
Ellie Engleman made him hot as a blowtorch, both above and below his belt. Next thing he knew, he’d be imagining them on the cover of a paperback novel, Ellie draped over his arm while he drooled on her barely covered bosom.
He caught up to her on the sidewalk and ordered his hands to remain at his sides. He didn’t need the kind of trouble she so obviously was capable of luring him into. But she did need to be taken down a peg or three.
“Turn in here.” Sam nudged her with his shoulder, steering her into a deli with a chalkboard out front advertising several specials of the day.
Instead of obeying, she spun to face him. “What the heck are you doing?”
“Buying you dinner,” he ground out. “A nice quiet meal where we can talk over a few things without fainting from urine overdose.” He continued encouraging her inside without touching her. “I promise it’ll be painless.”
She stuck out her lower lip. “I’m sure that poor woman has tried to train her dog, and he’s resisted. Spoiled animals often test their owners in that manner, and from the sound of it, Jimmy was definitely spoiled.”
“Isn’t there a drug they can take or something? How can you people live with that stench?”
“By ‘you people’ I assume you mean dog lovers.”
“I mean dog fanatics,” he corrected. “Now let’s talk.”
She stiffened her posture. “We don’t have anything to say to each other . . . unless you found Buddy.”
“One more time, I’m looking for a killer—not a dog.” He stopped at a table in the corner and nodded toward a chair. “Sit while I enjoy the scent of Manhattan’s carbon monoxide-tinged air. It’s got to be better than inhaling the toxic atmosphere in Ms. Millcraft’s apartment.”
To his surprise, she did as he asked and hoisted her bag on the empty chair beside her. He weighed his options: sit across from her and lose himself in her tempting blue eyes, or sit next to her, where his hands might prove impossible to control.
He opted for simple eye contact.
“Why are we here?” she asked, glancing around the deli.
He passed her a menu. “Because I haven’t eaten dinner yet, and reaming you out on an empty stomach could prove dangerous to both of us.”
“You don’t have any right to ream me out.” She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I don’t answer to you.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“The pastrami looks good. So does the soup.”
“For some reason, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Anyone who stayed in that apartment more than five minutes would. The soup of the day is split pea with ham, by the way.”
“Since I’m already sitting with a pea brain, I’ll pass on the soup.”
They were experts at firing one liners, Sam thought, as if they’d done so a hundred times before. “Tell you what. If you promise to eat something, I’ll promise to go easy on you. Ho
w does that sound?”
“It sounds ridiculous. You have no right to hold me here or anywhere else.” She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Unless . . . Am I under arrest?”
He thought about saying yes. It just might shut her up long enough for him to eat in peace.
“Well, am I?”
“Not at this moment.” But I’m considering it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The waitress, a college-age cutie wearing braces that rivaled the grillwork on a sixty-nine Buick, came to take their order, and he tossed her a flirty grin, just because he could. “I’ll have a bowl of the soup and a pastrami on rye. The lady will have the same.”
“You got it,” the girl said with a giggle.
Sam watched her walk away, her hips swinging to the gritty beat playing overhead. When he turned to Ellie, her pinched expression spoke volumes.
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m a guy.”
Her tsk echoed in the room. “That’s no excuse.”
“Sure it is. All men look. We can’t help ourselves.”
“Now you’re the one making excuses.”
“Why are you so uptight? I didn’t mean any harm.”
She arched a brow. “Did it ever occur to you that some women don’t appreciate being treated as if they work at Hooters.”
“I don’t think it bothered our waitress.”
“She’s a child. No real woman wants to be ogled as if she were a stripper on the runway.”
“So besides sticking your nose in police business, you’re now speaking for all women?”
“Of course not, but most intelligent women want respect, and that’s not what they get from men like you.”
He had no idea why, but he enjoyed ruffling her feathers. “What makes you such an expert on ‘men like me’?”
She opened and closed her mouth. “Never mind.”