by Judi McCoy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Dog Walker Mystery Series
Death in Show
“Ellie is wonderful, insightful, and her special way of communicating with her charges makes the reader laugh out loud.”
—Romantic Times
“McCoy deserves a blue ribbon herself for coming up with such an entertaining paranormal-spiced mystery and then perfectly seasoning the plot with just the right dash of romance.”
—Booklist
Heir of the Dog
“McCoy brings back professional dog walker Ellie Engleman and her reincarnated pooch with a witty and fast-paced mystery set in New York’s fashionable East Side. McCoy has a simmering plan of vengeance, peppered with humor, that readers will love.”
—Romantic Times
Hounding the Pavement
“McCoy fills this delightful story with humor, quirky characters, and delicious hints of romance.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“The crisp writing, humorous dialogue, and delightful characters, both human and canine, all make this book a winner.”
—Romantic Times
“Judi McCoy writes with heart and humor. Anyone who loves dogs or books will have a howling good time.”
—Lois Greiman
“A delightful dog’s-eye-view romp through the streets of New York. If you’ve ever talked to your dog, and wished that he would answer back, this is the book for you. Four paws up!”
—Laurien Berenson, author of Doggie Day Care Murder
“Engaging characters and a cute premise kick off this delightful series. This canine caper will have you begging for more!”
—Nancy J. Cohen, author of the Bad Hair Day mystery series
“Hounding the Pavement, the first book in the Dog Walker Mystery series, is a treat for everyone, whether a dog lover of not.... Ms. McCoy has written a cozy mystery sure to please.”
—Fresh Fiction
Also in the Dog Walker Mystery Series
Death in Show
Heir of the Dog
Hounding the Pavement
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Acknowledgments
To my partner in crime: Jessie Esposito, retired Port Authority of New York and New Jersey police detective, and one of the most decorated in their history. Jessie tries to keep me on the straight and narrow when it comes to police details, but sometimes Rudy and Ellie get distracted by a new scent or sound and take off on their own. Thank you, Jessie, for leading them back to the correct road.
To Piper Rome, author, attorney, pilot, singer, chicken farmer, cat lover, and animal-rescue expert. Piper gave Rudy his lawyer jokes, and she gave me all the info I needed on appointments to the appellate court.
To Bobo, (aka Gary Wallace) for his help and encouragement with this story.
To Gino Canzanetta, for his help and encouragement, as well.
Chapter 1
“Swear to God. Ellie, next year you’re getting flowers, candy, perfume. Hell, I’d even go to one of those prissy operas before I’d let you drag me to one of these so-called extravaganzas again,” groused Sam Ryder, as he hunched forward in his seat.
Ellie ignored his complaint and people-watched instead. She’d never been to a show like this before and was looking forward to the antics predicted. Sam had been behaving like a spoiled brat for the past week over this one night, and she’d simply pooh-poohed his griping. In fact, she found the idea that a crack homicide detective on the NYPD force was uncomfortable in these surroundings to be pretty entertaining in itself.
Vivian smirked. “Excuse me, Detective. Did you say ‘drag’? Because I thought I heard you announce that this wasn’t your idea of fun entertainment.”
“Ha-ha.” Sam loosened the knot in his necktie, as if the very air in Club Guess Who was choking him. “If Vince or any of the guys find out I was here, I’ll be the laughingstock of the department for the rest of the year.”
“Poor baby,” said Ellie, patting his fisted hand. She grinned at Viv and Dr. David Crane, the couple sharing their table. “Tell me, Dave, how do you feel about being here?”
The placid veterinarian smiled adoringly at Vivian. “It’s not my first choice for an evening out, but my lady wanted to attend, so why not? I’m secure in my masculinity.”
Vivian winked at Ellie, then focused on Sam. “A little bird told me that you’ve done nothing but complain about tonight since you heard about the tickets, which, by the way
, didn’t cost you a dime. It’s a free show at the most trendy playground in Manhattan. Why not sit back and enjoy it?”
Sam slouched in his seat, his expression that of a five-year-old waiting to see the dentist. “I’d rather pay a couple hundred bucks for two tickets to a Broadway flop than suffer through this—this fiasco,” he answered. “A production like this belongs in Miami or Vegas, not anywhere near where I live.”
Ellie suppressed a sigh. Rob Chesney, one of her clients, had given her passes for the opening night of his new drag show, and the event was a sellout. It looked like everyone in Manhattan wanted to see a host of female impersonators strut their stuff in a fun show filled with one-liners, songs, and plenty of dancing.
“You live in the Big Apple, and Manhattan has hosted a lot of things more outrageous than this. Remember the revival that got rave reviews on Broadway this past December? Everybody in the production was naked, even Scrooge, or so the newspaper said.”
Ellie had read the show’s description with her mouth open. She’d even thought about going, but figured if her mother found out she’d attended, she would never let Ellie forget it. It was going to be difficult enough having to explain to Georgette why she was here tonight. “Just be glad I didn’t push for those tickets as a Christmas gift.”
Sam growled . . . actually growled. Jeez, what a grouch.
Resting a forearm on the table, Ellie sipped her glass of white wine and continued scoping out the cavernous venue. The deep tiers seemed to go on and on. With fourseater tables clustered side by side, the place reminded her of a nightclub on steroids. And the customers seated around her were a show all by themselves.
She’d never been to this kind of performance, but Rob had given her the tickets as a peace offering after he realized that he’d offended her when he didn’t inform her of his unique profession. By the time she’d convinced him it wasn’t what he did for a living that ticked her off, but the fact that he hadn’t clued her in, he’d already committed to the freebies and passes to the backstage party when the show finished.
Considering that her ex had never done more than send her a dozen roses or a gift certificate to her favorite spa for Valentine’s Day, Sam’s dinner at one of Bobby Flay’s restaurants, Bar Americain on West Fifty-second Street, and a carriage ride around Central Park made this the best sweethearts’ holiday she’d ever celebrated.
“When the hell are they going to get this business moving?” said sweetheart ground out, drumming his fingers on the table.
Ellie checked her watch. “Any second now. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind and you actually want to see it.”
“The sooner it starts, the sooner we can leave.”
As if on cue, a drumroll sounded from the band situated at the rear of the stage, and the audience’s raucous laughter turned to an expectant murmur. Then the bright red curtain closed, a trio of colored spotlights arced across the forefront, and a man wearing formal dress, complete with a top hat and tails, glided from the wings to the center of the stage.
Bowing to rousing applause, the snazzy dresser grinned and began a stand-up routine that started out tame and built to a bawdy climax. His parting words, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in between, please give a warm welcome to the drag stars of tomorrow,” revved the crowd, and the orchestra struck up introductory music. Then the lights dimmed and the curtain parted.
Ellie gazed openmouthed as a sea of men dressed in feathery boas, five-inch stilettos, and sequined costumes in every color in a paint chip display stomped, strutted, and high-kicked across the stage. The music, more exhilarating than what she remembered from A Chorus Line, brought the performance to life. Minutes later, the band changed tempo and seamlessly segued into the second number, a slinky rendition of an old vamp song accompanied by a second group of dancers.
“Wow,” Vivian said as she watched. “Who knew men could do women better than women?”
“Certainly not me,” said Ellie. She gave Sam a sideways glance and breathed a sigh of relief. His body posture was less rigid and his scowl had morphed to a thin-lipped grin. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to enjoy this,” she whispered, leaning into his shoulder.
“If you imagine the performers are real women, then yeah, it’s an eye-popper.”
To Ellie, half the fun was knowing that the stage was filled with men dressed like women, but she didn’t want to ruin Sam’s fun. She wondered about Rob’s role in the show, and recalled their first meeting, when Randall, the doorman in one of the buildings housing her dog-walker clients, had sent her to Rob’s apartment to interview for the job of walking Bitsy, his Poodle-Chihuahua mix.
She’d guessed then that he was some sort of entertainer, but had believed he’d been born a female. It was a complete surprise when he showed up last November at a neighbor’s party in an Armani suit that declared him to be undeniably male.
After patiently sitting through several dances, Ellie was sure that her client had been stretching the truth. Each of the four numbers had been big, brash, and beautiful, but none of them included Rob. Then, when the troupe bowed to applause and left the stage, rolling platforms split the orchestra in two, and a spotlight shone on a set of stairs. The comedian dressed in the top hat and tails entered from the right and the audience grew quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first feature player of the evening. I give you Miss Bobbi Doll.”
Rob stood in the spotlight’s glow wearing a formfitting red sequined gown, a feathered headpiece that had to weigh ten pounds, and a pair of slingback pumps with stiletto heels. As he glided down the steps, Ellie smiled and poked Sam’s shoulder. “It’s Rob,” she whispered. “The guy who gave us the tickets.”
“Yippee.”
“Pay attention. I’ve been waiting to hear him sing for three months now.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Sam, be nice,” she warned. “I plan to introduce you at the backstage party later.”
“I can’t wait,” he said in a smart-ass tone. “It’ll be a perfect end to the night.”
Bobbi Doll stopped at the foot of the stairs and gave a sweeping gesture of welcome. After a clever intro, she—or was it he? Ellie still had no idea which pronoun to use when talking about a cross-dresser—began a stirring rendition of “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.”
She sat back, amazed at the sound coming from Rob’s mouth. The tone was pure Marilyn Monroe, his body movements identical. The crowd roared encouragement when Bobbi finished and strutted off the stage as dancers returned dressed in fresh costumes for the next number.
“That was your guy?” Vivian asked her.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m impressed. He was even better than Kylie Minogue doing Marilyn. What do you think?”
Ellie had never heard Kylie Minogue’s impression of the iconic blonde, but she had seen Marilyn in the classic movie and Rob—er, Bobbi Doll—was better at doing Marilyn than Marilyn had ever been. Unfortunately, if she confessed the bit about not knowing Kylie to Viv, it would give her friend another reason to lecture her on getting in tune with the entertainment of the twenty-first century.
“I still wish he’d told me he was a female impersonator as soon as we’d met,” Ellie said, showing her naïveté.
“The way you explained the meeting, I can’t believe you didn’t know,” answered Viv. “I wonder if he’ll do Christina Aguilera.”
Ellie frowned at the name of another singer who was unfamiliar to her. “Trust me, if you’d seen him the way I did that first day you wouldn’t have guessed either. But tonight, well, it’s not just the clothes, hair, and makeup. He has the voice and mannerisms of Marilyn down perfectly. I wonder if he does anyone else.” She turned to her date. “Sam, care to comment?”
Sam raised both brows. “It was an okay job.”
“He did a great job,” she countered. “It’s hard to believe he’s straight.”
Vivian sighed. “You can’t possibly still believe
that.”
“But Rob told me so. Why would he lie?”
Sam snorted so loudly that a woman sitting at the next table, who could have passed for a cross-dresser herself, gave him a dirty look.
“You are so narrow-minded,” Ellie said, glaring at him. “If a woman wore a tux would you automatically assume she was a lesbian?”
“And please bear in mind that I wore one on New Year’s Eve,” Viv, one of the girliest girls Ellie knew, reminded him.
“You looked adorable,” Dave said, his eyes shining. “It was an honor to be your escort for the evening.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Viv said, blowing him a kiss.
“Get a room,” Sam grumped, instead of answering Ellie.
“I’m waiting,” she prompted, brushing imaginary lint from the front of her red-and-gray-checked sweater. Viv, of course, was in Donna Karan. “Do you really believe that what a person wears defines who they are?”
“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “But remember the old adage—if it looks like a duck and it quacks like a duck . . .”
The latest dance number wound down and the tophat-and-tails guy returned to the stage. “And now, for your listening enjoyment, I give you Frieda deManeata.”
“Holy crap,” muttered Sam, “now what?”
“Shh,” Ellie told him when the person at the other table again glared in their direction. “For now, this discussion is over,” she told him. “But just wait until we’re alone.”
Sixty minutes later, the show was near completion. After the third headliner, Sheleata Burrito, performed, there’d been a short intermission, which allowed the patrons to order another round of drinks and stretch their legs. Then a second comic appeared, this one in a black bustier, mesh thigh-highs, and the necessary stilettos, and did a risqué skit on the joys of being a girl.