by MCCOY, JUDI
“Come on,” she said to a still-dozing Rudy. “Last walk of the day.”
He stood and stretched. “So I heard. Viv made some racket. Poor T’s gonna suffer tonight.”
She snapped on his lead, and he followed her to the door. “What does that mean?”
“Viv’s a crier, especially when things don’t work out with men. She waits until she’s ready for bed. Then she climbs in, turns out the light, and sobs like a baby. It drives T crazy, especially when she pulls him close and uses him for a pillow.”
“Vivian cries? Like a baby?” Her tough-talking, no-nonsense, high-fashion friend was a closet crier? The idea was impossible to comprehend. “Are you sure he said that?”
“Sure as the sun rises in the east. Underneath all that bravado, Viv’s a tender soul.”
Viv? Tender soul? The words didn’t compute. Ellie walked to the landing and down the steps, where Viv and Mr. T stood ready and waiting.
“You okay?” Ellie asked her.
“I’ll live,” Viv replied. “But I can’t wait to get to sleep. It’s been a long day.”
The next morning, Ellie and Rudy popped in to Natter’s high-rise to see her potential new clients. Dodging moving men, who carted paintings and furniture from the service elevator to the door of the sprawling penthouse, she waited for a break in the stream before sticking her head around the doorway.
“Hello, Ms. Fallgrave? It’s Ellie Engleman. I’m here about your dogs.”
She stepped back as another man, this one dressed in a navy Armani suit and pristine white shirt with a red-and-yellow-striped tie, hurried into the foyer. “Which Ms. Fallgrave are you looking for?” he asked, spinning in place as he bustled by.
“Either one. I’m their—I hope to be their dog walker.”
The man, a Cuba Gooding Jr. look-alike, rolled his eyes. “Thank God you’re here. Helping take care of those oversized rats is driving me to drink. I’m Jackson Hall, Janice Fallgrave’s manager.” He held out his hand. “And I’m not a dog lover, so beware.”
Ellie accepted his greeting and they dodged sideways as a trio of movers charged out of the apartment and down the hall. When the coast was clear, he said, “Wait here, and I’ll try to rustle up one of them.”
“I don’t like that guy,” Rudy said with a snort. “He reminds me of your mother.”
“Georgette? I hate to break it to you, pal, but my mother isn’t a man, nor is she African-American.”
“But he isn’t a dog lover, and that puts them in the same boat, as far as I’m concerned.”
She heard voices a few moments before two women and Jackson ambled into view. Each of the women wore a designer warm-up suit that cost, she guessed, more than her entire wardrobe, and each carried a Chihuahua.
“Ellie Engleman,” said Jackson, “this is Patti Fallgrave and her sister, Janice.” He air-kissed Janice and waggled his fingers at Patti. “Be good, both of you. Don’t scare the nice dog walker away, because as of this minute, I’m no longer on babysitting duty.”
The women smiled in unison. If not for the difference in their heights, they could have passed for twins. Both had identical wide-set green eyes, curling dark hair, and a classically beautiful face.
Ellie extended her hand. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Natter tells me you’re looking for a dog walker”—she focused on the dogs they carried—“for those two cuties.”
“He’s right. Come on in, but mind the mess,” Patti, the taller of the two, stated. “The kitchen is sort of organized, so we can talk in there.”
Ellie followed, sidling around boxes, furniture, and rolling racks filled with clothes and stacks of shoes. The enormous apartment, covered from end to end in “stuff,” was bigger than her mother’s, with more windows and a great view of the park. In the kitchen, Janice pointed to a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll make coffee.”
“Thanks.” Ellie nudged Rudy with her toe, and he lay at her feet. “This is Rudy, my own companion. He’ll be with us on every walk.”
“Oh, isn’t he adorable?” Patti dropped to her knees and scratched Rudy’s head. “Look, Cheech, a new friend.” She made kissy noises as she brought her dog close. Unfortunately, Cheech wasn’t as charming as his mistress, and growled low in his throat. “Hey, hey, no grumping.” She stood and took a chair across from Ellie. “Sorry. He hasn’t been around other dogs very much. Just his brother, Chong.”
Cheech and Chong? Ellie smiled. “How old are they?”
“A year last week. We got them when I did my first cover for Vogue.”
“You’re a model?”
“You bet she is,” said Janice, crossing the room.
Patti stood, passed Chong off to her sister, and twirled in place. “All six feet of me. I was the ugly duckling of my high school graduating class in Union, New Jersey.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” Ellie said. “You’re beautiful.”
“Hah! It’s all smoke and mirrors. Expertly applied makeup, a fifteen-thousand-dollar dental bill, four-hundred-dollar haircuts, and ta-daa.” She twirled again. “A girl-next-door look every woman thinks she can achieve.”
“Maybe so, but the basics have to be there to begin with. For starters, you’re thin as a pencil.” Ellie remembered how difficult it had been to keep her size-eight figure. “That can’t come naturally.”
“Well, no,” Patti agreed. “I mean, I do splurge—”
“Yeah, sometimes she has two crackers with her bouillon,” her sister said, grinning. “I’m on her all the time to eat like a real person.”
“What do you do?” Ellie asked the shorter sister.
“I’m a singer. Right now, I have a gig at Club Fifty-two, but I’ll be cutting my first album in a couple of months. With any luck, I’ll have a successful singing career.”
Ellie opened and closed her mouth. “Are you telling me I’ll be a dog walker to the stars?”
The girls giggled. Janice passed her sister both dogs and left to finish the coffee while Patti took her seat. “We might be stars, but we promised each other a long time ago that we wouldn’t let fame go to our heads. Didn’t we, babies?” She snuggled the dogs against her chest, then set them on the floor. “Here, make nice with your new friend.”
Sniffing daintily, the Chihuahuas circled Rudy while he gave them a full-body inspection of his own. After a few unsuccessful attempts at humping him for dominance, the tiny canines backed off and returned to Patti, who scooped them up and set them on her lap.
“What do you expect in the way of walks?” Ellie asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think, Jan? Two a day?”
“Sure,” Janice answered, carrying a tray with coffee cups and a plate of cookies to the table. Sitting down, she passed a cookie to her sister. “Eat,” she commanded. “That sounds good. Do you dog-sit, too?”
“You mean stay here with them when you’re away? I suppose I could . . . unless you want me to bring them home.”
“Whichever is good for you. Patti sometimes travels for fashion shoots, and I’ll be going to LA in the next few months to sign a recording contract, God willing.”
“It won’t be a problem. At the moment, I don’t have a lot of customers, so I can do whatever you want.”
Ellie sipped her coffee while Patti wrote a check for the rest of the month.
“Where’s that extra key?” Patti then asked her sister.
Janice dug in her Mark Cross bag, pulled out a full key ring, unhooked one, and passed it to Ellie. “We like to sleep late, so let yourself in and call the boys. If they don’t come, yell until one of us gets up. I’m sure things will work into a schedule after a week or so.”
Ellie finished her coffee and set a few of her cards on the table. “It was great meeting you. Please hand these to anyone you think might need a dog walker. I’d like to stay within a ten-block spread so . . .”
“We won’t send you to the West Side,” Patti finished. “And we’ll tell Natter you’re on the list, so you’ll have access tomorrow m
orning.”
“Great.” After a few more minutes of small talk, Ellie pushed from the table. “See you in the morning, and thanks again for the business.” She headed to the foyer, impressed by the quality and quantity of furniture she passed. Georgette would die for a place like this, and she was well-to-do. The Fallgrave sisters had to be loaded.
“So what did you think of Cheech and Chong?” she asked Rudy as they rode the elevator to the lobby.
“I don’t think they speak English.”
“Of course they speak English.”
“Maybe, but it was hard telling. I’d ask to see their green cards, if I were you. Or mention INS.”
Ellie tsked. “You’re terrible. How about we make another pass at the shelter in case Buddy’s turned up?”
“Do you really think we’ll ever see him again?”
“I hope so. But the chances of finding him alive are getting slimmer with each passing day. I keep thinking that Randall or Kronk will have good news tomorrow. Keep your paws crossed.”
“How about a trip to the park?”
“If you’re a good boy.”
“Jeesh, what a nag.”
Monday morning was business as usual for Ellie and Rudy. They walked Mr. T, then set out for the Beaumont and picked up a coffee for Natter along the way. After introducing Bruiser to Lulu, Cheech, and Chong, Ellie gave the dogs plenty of time to sniff, play, and posture before leading them across the street to the park.
Rudy, entranced with Lulu, dominated the group, standing guard around the Havanese as if she was a burger and he a starving man.
“Back off, bub,” he groused to Bruiser when the Pom wandered too close.
The usually subdued Pomeranian growled, while Lulu preened. “One at a time, gentlemen, please. There’s plenty of me to go around.”
Ellie sighed. “Don’t lead them on, Lulu. It’s not nice.”
“It’s not my fault I’m a looker,” the Havanese replied, shaking her fluffy brown-and-white coat. “It’s only natural they’re enthralled.”
Great, thought Ellie. A dog with an overinflated ego. “No fair disturbing the balance of the group—is that clear? And don’t try to con me. I’m not as gullible as Mrs. Steinman.”
“She’s a bore. Mr. Steinman was more my cup of kibble, but he passed on. He was such a dear.”
Ellie kept her opinion to herself until she’d returned the four dogs to their homes. Then she said to Rudy, “You really know how to pick ’em. Lulu is a tease.”
“Maybe so, but what a doll. Too bad I’ve been . . . fixed.”
“Trust me, sometimes abstinence is the best way to live.”
“You oughta know.”
“Stop being such a wiseass,” Ellie said as they entered the Davenport. “Hey, Randall, how was your weekend?”
“Quiet. How about you? Any news on Buddy?”
“Nothing. I even went to the ASPCA yesterday to check. Have you heard anything?”
“Detective Ryder was by this morning. Told me most of the test results were in on the professor.”
And he didn’t call me? “Did he drop any hints about what killed him?”
“Not really, but he did say they were now positive it was murder. He examined my log again, too. It appeared as if he was looking for someone specific.”
“You sometimes see the mail a tenant gets. Did he happen to ask if you knew of anyone receiving Breeder’s Digest?”
“Heavens, no. Is there really such a publication?”
“You bet.” She raised a brow. “You’ve never heard or seen the magazine?”
“No.”
Ellie began her rounds in a snit. How dared the dastardly detective not tell her about the ME’s conclusion? He knew how much all this meant to her—how much Buddy meant to her. He was such a liar, pretending to let her in on the investigation, then keeping important information to himself. She’d be damned if she’d share anything with him again.
“Come on, Stinker,” she prodded, hurrying the beagle down the hall. “At this rate it’ll take an hour to get everyone walked and back home.”
She collected Jett, Buckley, and Sweetie Pie, ignoring their grumbles and complaints as they headed down in the elevator. On the sidewalk, she continued to fume instead of focusing on her destination. The inattention caused her to steer her horde into another walker’s group of larger dogs, which led to chaos.
No voices echoed in her mind. Instead, growls, snarls, and yowls sounded as the dogs fought for dominance. Leashes tangled as she and the other walker strove for control. The stranger’s canines were larger, heavier, and a lot more boisterous than her charges. Pedestrians and delivery people plowed past without a care for the disturbance, which made regaining order difficult.
When Ellie got a good look at the man handling the second group, she groaned. Eugene, his expression mutinous, shouted at the top of his lungs while tugging his canines into line.
“Call off your dogs, Engleman,” he ordered. His cigarette flew from his mouth and landed on an Old English sheepdog. “Kee-rist!” Eugene slapped madly at the dog’s smoking fur. “Look what you made me do. I’m calling the cops, you bitch.”
Passersby finally gave them a wide berth. Ellie scooped up Jett and Buckley, and dragged Sweetie Pie, Rudy, and Stinker away from the fray by their leashes. A doorman she didn’t know ran from the nearest building, and she handed him the leads, then charged back into the mass of animals to give Eugene a hand.
Not bonded with any of his canines, she had no idea if her mental manipulation would work, but she gave it her best shot. “Sit! I said sit!” she ordered, grasping three of the leashes. “Calm down or you’ll all go to the pound.” The dalmatian, German shepherd, and standard poodle dropped to their haunches, which allowed Eugene to bring the remaining five dogs to heel.
Heaving a breath, she said aloud, “Good dogs. Very good dogs. Thank you so much for behaving.”
His eyes narrowed to slits, Eugene sneered. “Stop talkin’ to my dogs and get the hell out of here. You are a boil on my ass—you know that? Gimme those leads.” He snatched the leashes from her hand. “Why the hell didn’t you watch where you were going?” He gave the Old English’s back another pat, cringed at the singed fur, and muttered a curse.
Ellie retrieved her own dogs and thanked the doorman. Then she took a few calming breaths. “I’m sorry, Eugene. It was entirely my fault. I’m just glad no one was hurt.” She stepped toward the sheepdog and smiled. “You’re okay, aren’t you, fella?”
“Get out of my way,” Eugene said through gritted teeth. After swiping a hand over his face, he rearranged the leads and steered his gang down the street.
Ellie hung her head. Great. She’d almost caused an innocent animal to go up like a torch. Of course, if Eugene didn’t smoke it wouldn’t have happened, and he was handling too many dogs. But it was still her fault they’d collided. She glanced at her crew. “Is everyone all right?”
“Fine,” grumped Buckley
“Okeydokey,” chirped Sweetie Pie.
“I’m good,” Stinker moaned.
“Nothing a little Scotch wouldn’t cure,” said Jett.
“Rudy, what about you?”
“I’m okay, too, but, um, Ellie, I think there’s something you should know.”
Just then her phone rang. “Hang on a second,” she told him, searching her bag. “Hello.”
“Ellie, it’s Sam.”
She led the dogs across Fifth toward the park as she talked. “Is there something I can do for you?” Like kick you around the block a couple of times?
“I have news. First off, the professor was definitely murdered. His pacemaker was scrambled by some type of electrical device. We don’t know how it was done, but we agree it was no accident. And I looked into that magazine. The subscriber list shows about a hundred names in Manhattan. It’s going to take a while to sort through them all. I have three men working on it.”
Okay, so he’d just filled her in. Still, he could have called her
before he’d told Randall. “I see. What do you plan to do next?”
“The publisher also gave me the names of a couple of pet stores that carry the magazine, so I’m off to check them out. There’re two in Queens, two in Brooklyn, and one in Manhattan.”
“Manhattan? Where in Manhattan?”
“Never mind where,” he said after a long silence. “I already told you, I’m handling things from now on.”
When she didn’t comment, he said, “Ellie, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I was wondering, what are you doing tonight?”
“Tonight?” She blew out a breath. “I have a date tonight. And right now I’m walking the group from the Davenport, so I have to go. See ya.” She closed her phone and dropped it in her bag. The big jerk. Did he really think she’d agree to go out with him, when he didn’t trust her enough to give her the latest information?
“So what did the hot-to-trot dick have to say?”
“Nothing of any importance.”
“Atta girl. The guy’s up to no good. Don’t give him another thought.”
She sighed as they entered the park, wishing she could take Rudy’s advice. Instead of stewing, she decided to give her charges an extra-long walk to make up for the morning’s excitement. “Come on, gang. Let’s go see what’s happening in the play area.”
Chapter 17
Sam disconnected the call and tossed the phone on top of his desk. Okay, so maybe he should have called Ellie when he received the ME’s report. And maybe he should have told her which store in Manhattan carried Breeder’s Digest. Either way, she was pissed. But that didn’t give her the right to get her nose out of joint or stick it into his investigation.
And he should have his head examined for asking her what she was doing tonight. Still, dinner and a couple of laughs—and maybe another round against her apartment wall—might have been interesting. Being told she had a date was the last thing he had wanted to hear.
He drummed his fingers on the desk. She was probably seeing that preppy veterinarian, the one who’d given her those leads. David Crane was more her type anyway—respectable job, moneyed background—and a dog lover. Ellie’s own upscale apartment and the comments she’d made about her mother told him she came from an upper-class family, just like the vet. Dr. Crane was tailor-made for her, since she probably wanted the same thing Carolanne and every other woman wanted: a guy with money to burn and the time to spend it on them.