by MCCOY, JUDI
“I’m a four, official runway-model size,” she answered. “I’m thinking of trying to work a few fashion shows.”
Before Sam could comment, his mother said, “Carolanne, you’re father’s illness took its toll on you. You’re positively wasting away. When was the last time you had a decent meal?”
His ex frowned, but her facial muscles didn’t move. “I’ve been dieting, Lydia. This is the new me.”
“Come on, Ma,” Sam advised. “We’re holding up the line.”
Neither spoke until they were outside.
“Oh, my God. Did you see Carolanne?” his mother asked. Then she began what Sam suspected would turn into a diatribe of mammoth proportions. “She’s skin and bones. And her face. Too much makeup, too much—”
“I saw her, Ma.”
“But she’s a skeleton. I swear, what’s up with the women of today? Susan is thin, but she has muscles . . . boobs . . . a butt. She’d never allow anyone to inject that bo-sox stuff into her.”
“I think it’s called Botox.”
“Bo-sox, Bo-tox. Whatever it is, it’s dead cow cells or some other disgusting additive.” She shuddered. “And Carolanne used to have breasts. Don’t you remember her breasts?”
Sam gazed at the star-filled sky. “I remember.”
“Fried eggs. I bet they look just like fried eggs.”
“Enough,” he ordered. “I don’t give a rat turd about the chemicals she’s using.”
“I heard the two of you whispering. Is she still hoping to break into fashion?”
“She mentioned it.” He opened the car door and helped his mother inside, then jogged around and slid behind the wheel. “Buckle up.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Lydia went on, as only his mother could. Then she gasped. “Oh no. She wants you back, doesn’t she? I knew she had an ulterior motive the moment I saw her all tarted up—”
“She doesn’t want me back, Ma.” What woman in her right mind would? “She’s dating someone, two someones, in fact.”
“Two? Hmmph. That figures. The woman will never change. It wasn’t enough she cheated on you; she’s even cheating on her boyfriend with another boyfriend.”
His phone rang and he jumped to answer it. “Ryder.”
“Pellicone, over in the Twentieth, Sam. I’m working a robbery, and I heard through the grapevine the case might interest you.”
Sam pulled into traffic. “I’m on the road. How about a quick overview?”
“We’re handling a dognapping. Warren Taylor, a detective out of the Nineteenth, said you’d want the particulars.”
Another dog gone missing? Well, damn. “I do.” He headed toward the Sunnyside section of Queens and his family home. “Give me thirty minutes. You on your cell?”
“Yep. I’ll be waiting.”
Sam closed his phone and set it in a cradle on the dash. “I can’t stay. The caller has information linked to a case I’m working, and it sounds important.”
“I understand.” Lydia placed her hand on his forearm. “This was nice, Sammy, even if it took a funeral to get us together. Will you make dinner this week?”
“I’ll try,” he answered, turning a corner.
“That’s what you always say.”
Her wounded tone raised his guilt quotient a couple of notches. “Honest, I will. I don’t miss on purpose, Ma. It’s the job.”
Her “I know” was followed by a heaving sigh.
He pulled in front of the house. “Want me to walk you to the door?”
“That’s not necessary. Just stay here until I’m inside.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You know this neighborhood is safe.”
Sam waited while she walked through the gate and onto the porch. Turning, she waved and let herself in. The porch light flickered and went dark, and he sat there until he saw the upstairs hall light go on. Then he hit a button on his phone and returned Detective Pellicone’s call.
The perfectly prepared dinner, complete with sterling silver and Georgette’s finest china and crystal, was one of her mother’s usual lo-carb affairs. The meal, accompanied by a vintage sauvignon blanc which Ellie guessed cost a hundred dollars a bottle, and a caviar and lobster appetizer, had been chosen to impress, and they did.
She dropped a second pat of butter onto her baked potato, then added a heaping spoonful of sour cream. Corinna had made the potatoes especially for her and the judge. She’d also provided a creamy, homemade blue cheese dressing along with Georgette’s standard balsamic vinaigrette, to go on the endive-and-pear salad.
“Do you really need all that butter?” Georgette asked, staring at Ellie’s plate.
“She’s starting again,” came a voice from under the table.
Good thing Rudy couldn’t see her mother’s raised brow or pursed lips, or he’d probably nip Georgette’s ankle, thought Ellie. Refusing to acknowledge the pointed jibe, she rubbed the pooch with her toes. Thanks to Stanley’s clever manipulation of the conversation, her mother hadn’t gone overboard on comments concerning her daughter’s invisible love life, lack of fashion sense, dubious profession, or her less than stellar figure.
“The broiled sole was fabulous, as were the string beans. What’s for dessert?” Okay, so she was begging for trouble. “Please tell me Corinna made one of her special pies.”
“Dessert?” Georgette asked. “I thought you’d be too full for another morsel, what with all the calories you just inhaled.”
Ellie rarely ate the amount of food she’d had tonight, but doing so gave her a chance to show her mother she’d bid her old life good-bye for good. “I don’t count calories anymore. The D is dead to me, and so are his rules.”
“What about your health? You’ve stopped going to the club, and I’m certain all that fat is doing disastrous things to your cholesterol level.”
“I can’t afford the club, and even if I could, I don’t have the time.” Ellie swallowed a final forkful of potato and scraped up the last of her green beans. “I had a physical about a month ago. My cholesterol is well within normal range, and thanks to my profession, I get plenty of exercise. I wore a pedometer last week, and it registered almost ten miles a day.”
“What did the doctor say about your weight?”
“My weight?” she asked, purposely obtuse. “What about it?”
Her mother tsked. “You must have put on thirty pounds since the divorce.”
“Thirty-seven, but who’s counting?”
“And?”
“And I’m healthy in every way I need to be. If you check the charts, I’m on target for a large-boned woman of my height.”
“Large-boned? How can you say that when the women in my family are just the opposite?”
“I take after dad’s side, remember?”
Georgette’s pinched expression telegraphed her displeasure.
“You never did answer the girl’s question,” Stanley interjected. “What’s for dessert?” He leaned back and burped behind his napkin. “Excuse me. The meal was wonderful.”
Corinna took that moment to stride into the dining room carrying a tray holding a lemon meringue pie, dessert plates, a sterling silver coffee urn, and cream and sugar. “Finish up now, ’cause this pie isn’t waitin’ around,” she ordered. “And who wants coffee?”
“Corinna, there’s no need to rush us.” Georgette dabbed her lips with her French linen serviette. “And the sole was exceptional. Thank you.”
“I hope that’s decaf,” said the judge.
“Of course.” Corinna passed a full cup to him. “How about you, missy?”
“Not for me.” Ellie glanced at her watch. “I can’t stay much longer, so let’s get down to the nitty-gritty while we dig into that pie.”
“Yes, let’s,” said the judge. “Georgette, when are you going to accept my proposal?”
Corinna grinned as she cut pieces of pie and set a plate in front of each guest. Then she pulled up a chair and joined them as if she were an old family friend. “Yes
, Ms. Georgette, when are you going to put the poor man out of his misery?”
Ellie’s mother blanched, gazing at everyone around the table. “I don’t believe it. Who’s idea was this planned attack?”
“Not an attack,” Stanley answered, forking up a bite of pie. “Merely an intervention. The three people who love you most are sitting here, hoping you’ll use your head and do the right thing. I’m too old to wait any longer, my dear. Who knows how many good years I have left?”
Tears sparkled in Georgette’s blue eyes. “Don’t say such things. There are plenty of good years ahead of you.”
“Of course, there are, Mother. But think of the stress you’re putting on the judge’s heart. He loves you and wants to spend as much of his life as he can with you.”
“Amen to that,” Corinna added.
As if three years old, Georgette stuck out her lower lip. “We’re already living together—”
“In sin,” he added.
“You’re not being fair. I need more time—”
“It’s you that isn’t being fair, Mother. Time is the one thing Stanley may not have.”
The judge straightened in his wheelchair, then grinned at Ellie. “Do me a favor and wheel me over to the lady of the house, if you please.”
Eager to do his bidding, Ellie stood. It was good to see her know-it-all mother at a loss for words. When they arrived beside Georgette’s chair, the judge pulled a pale blue box from his pocket and held it out to her.
“Georgette, I love you. I’ll even sign a damn prenup, if it will make you happy. Please marry me.”
He opened the box, and her mother inhaled a breath while Ellie stared in shock. The square-cut diamond was the size of a postage stamp. All Ellie could manage was a whispered, “Way to go, Stanley.”
Georgette held out her hand and allowed the judge to slip the ring on the proper finger. Ellie pushed the wheelchair closer, and her mother bent and placed her lips on her fiancé’s.
Corinna swiped at her eyes. “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you.”
“And I’m second.” Ellie bent and kissed Stanley’s cheek, then her mother’s. When her phone rang, she walked to her seat and dug in her bag. “Hello?”
“Ellie? It’s David Crane.”
She turned her back on the happy couple. “Hi. What’s up?”
“I just finished talking to my vet friend, Dr. Lepitsky. There was another dognapping.”
“No kidding? Where?”
“The west side of town. A miniature poodle bitch. It happened yesterday morning.” He gave her the name and address of the owners. “Hope it helps in your hunt for Buddy.”
“I’m sure it will. Thanks.”
She snapped closed the phone and tucked it away. It was too late to visit someone she didn’t know, but tomorrow was Saturday. The Marinos would probably be home. She only hoped she didn’t upset them by asking questions while they grieved for their missing dog.
The thought of phoning Sam flashed through her mind, and she balked. She had yet to inform him of the ads in the breeders’ magazine. When she added this third dognapping to the list, it was too much to explain over the phone, but she wasn’t keen on spending any more personal time with him than was necessary. Better to mull it over and do something about it in the morning.
In the meantime, she’d take another gander at those advertisements. If she found one announcing the Marinos were looking for stud service, she’d have a real lead.
And a plausible lead was what she needed to convince Ryder she knew what she was doing.
Chapter 14
“So. How long are you gonna keep me a prisoner here?”
Ellie fluffed her hair in the bathroom mirror while Rudy sat at her feet. They’d returned from his morning walk, and she’d just informed him he would not be tagging along on her visit to the Marino family.
“I’ll only be an hour or two. Use the time to catch up on your sleep.”
“I slept plenty last night,” he grumped.
“Well, I didn’t.” She studied her reflection, noting that a swipe of peach-colored lip gloss and a couple strokes of mascara were all the fussing she planned to do in preparation for her day. She’d worn a full complement of makeup yesterday, and had hated every minute of it. “Would you rather I turn on TV Land? Twink seems to love it.”
“Only because he’s obsessed with that guy who wears all the gold jewelry. He’s keepin’ his paws crossed that Viv buys him the same kind of collar for Christmas.”
Ellie grinned. She’d seen a lot of canine wear, both cute and ridiculous, at the PetCo on Eighty-sixth as well as at Bark Place on Seventy-second, but never a collar bedecked with gold chains. She couldn’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to buy one for their dog, even if they were available. The dangling chains could get caught on a dozen things around the house and create a choking hazard for the poor pup who wore them.
“Remind me to talk some sense into him, next time we’re on the topic of doggie fashion, okay? He’s taking this Mr. T business a bit too far.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
She sat on the commode lid, and he rose on his hind legs for a scratch. “I could turn on a classical station. It’s your favorite type of music. Soothing and mellow are good when you’re in a grouchy mood.”
Leaning into her stroking fingers, he snorted. “How about a nice long walk in the park? I met a friend yesterday, and maybe she’ll be there today.”
Ellie racked her brain for a clue. “Are you talking about the little Havanese that got loose in the afternoon?” Owned by an elderly woman, the petite pup had broken free of its leash and gravitated toward Buckley, Sweetie Pie, and Rudy. She’d hung around long enough for Ellie to gather her up and return her to Mrs. Steinman, to whom Ellie had also given a few of her business cards. “The one we rescued? Lulu?”
“That’s the one.” He made deep panting sounds. “She’s hot for me and vice versa.”
“I hate to harp on the subject but you’re . . . um . . . not intact, remember?”
“So you keep saying. It doesn’t mean Lulu and I can’t engage in a bout of friendly humping. You humans do that all the time.”
“We do not!” Ellie stood, embarrassed. The denial was a lie, and her pooch knew it. Though she wouldn’t exactly call what she and Ryder had done the other night humping, Rudy had heard and smelled their raging pheromones through the door. “I’m late. I have to get going.”
“Sure, run away when you’re caught with your pants down,” he shouted, trotting behind her. His nails clicked a pointed “guilty, guilty, guilty” on the hardwood floor as he followed her into the kitchen.
Refusing to look at him, she went about the task of making amends. “Here’s fresh water.” She filled his bowl at the sink and set it on his place mat. “And here’s something special.” She pulled a mini-Dingo bone from its red-and-yellow package. “Because you were such a good boy at Mother’s last night.”
His eyes darted from hers to the rawhide chew and back again. “If that’s hush money, I’m up for it,” he told her, and snatched the chew from her hand.
Ellie straightened her black turtleneck sweater, slipped on a lightweight denim jacket, and headed for the door. With luck, Rudy would sleep for the morning after devouring his treat, giving her plenty of time to talk to the Marinos and do a little snooping for Buddy, too.
She left the apartment and strolled into the nearest Joe to Go, smiling when she spotted her old school buddy working the counter. A handsome, dark-haired Joey Tribianni look-alike with an attitude to match, Joe Cantiglia had two things in his favor: a mind for business and a warm personality that reeled everyone to his side.
“I’ll have a half-caf skim latte, extra hot, hold the whip but add cream, and one packet of the blue stuff,” she chimed at him across the counter. It was a barista’s coffee order nightmare, and she’d done it on purpose. “Oh, and throw in a splash of that amaretto flavoring.”
Joe raised his head and peered arou
nd the customer standing at the register. “Look, lady, you have to wait your—” His scowl morphed to a grin when he saw her. “Damn, Engleman, I should have know it was you by that pain-in-the-keester order. Is that really what you’re drinking these days?”
She opened her wallet and pulled out a five. “Heck, no. I’ll take a large caramel bliss, extra hot. I can add my own crap at the bar.”
Joe scribbled on her cup and passed it to a helper. “So how you doin’?”
“I’m good. I’ve stopped at both stores and haven’t seen you in a couple of days. What’s up?”
“I’m opening a third Joe to Go over on Park and Eighty-first.”
“Wow, nice address.”
“It’s costing me a fortune, but it’ll be worth it. I’ve got sidewalk privileges, with a half dozen umbrella tables and extra chairs.”
“Just in time for summer. Lucky you.” Ellie stepped to the side and waited while he took another order, then grabbed the cup the barista set on the divider. “How’s Bev?”
He heaved a sigh. “We broke up. She said I was too busy to give her the attention she and the relationship deserved. What about you? No more hassles from the D?”
She rested a hip against the counter. “Not a one. It’s just me and Rudy now.”
“Guess that means you’re still walking dogs.”
“I have six regulars, and the possibility of a couple more.” She sipped the drink, savoring the rich caramel flavor. It needed more cream, but she wanted to spend another minute with Joe. “Know anyone around here who could use a walker?”
“You’re too expensive for my friends, but I’ll hand a card to whoever comes in.”
She dug a few business cards from her bag and passed them over. “Thanks. And tell them to call for my rates. They’re comparable to what everyone else charges. The difference is the extra care.”
He rang up another order. “Extra care?”
“You know, the special handling. I treat each charge like I do my own baby. Plenty of walk time, scratches, and tummy rubs, even a little ball playing in the park. And a price break for two walks a day or two dogs from the same owner. And speaking of breaks . . .”