by Judi McCoy
“You know. That cross-dresser accused of killing that other drag queen during the opening of that club.” Hazel sneered. “So distasteful.”
“What about Rob Chesney?” Ellie asked, gearing up to support her friend.
“I signed a petition asking management to terminate his lease. Have you heard anything about it?”
“No, but I’m sure you could phone them and find out.” Then a second lightbulb clicked on in her brain, and she came up with an idea sure to lead the woman off the track and help Bitsy at the same time. “You’ve mentioned using a dog psychic for Buckley a couple of times. How good do you think she is?”
“Madame Orzo? Why, she’s fabulous. I always get the feeling Buckley and I are connecting on a deeper level after they have their monthly session.” She bent and scooped the maltipoo up in her arms. “Don’t we, my Buckley-wuckly?”
“Disgusting,” T snorted. “Bite her, Buck.”
Instead, Buckley growled. “She isn’t worth the trouble, fellas. I’ll pick my own battles.”
“Ah, well, then, I think I’d like to pay her a visit,” said Ellie. “Would you happen to have her contact information handy?”
“Absolutely.” Still cradling her boy, Hazel walked into the kitchen and returned with a card in hand. “Here you are. And please tell her I sent you.”
Chapter 10
Ellie, Rudy, and Mr. T finished morning rounds and traveled a few blocks south, enjoying the warm sun and the cool but pleasant breeze. While the dogs sniffed everything they passed and lifted a leg on anything higher than a cigarette butt, she inhaled the fresh air and the scent of emerging greenery. Buds sprouted on the trees and bushes in the park, and crocuses and daffodils peeked up through the damp earth, greeting the world in patches along the walkway.
Tulips, which would appear in a few weeks, and daffodils, along with daisies, were her favorite flowers. She usually stopped at the fresh market next door to the nearest Joe to Go and bought a bunch to take home each Friday to brighten her weekend. Every once in a while, Sam remembered and bought them for her, but she doubted he’d be delivering bouquets anytime soon.
In celebration of the rosy weather, she stopped at Pop’s lunch wagon. He’d returned to his regular spot this week, another sure sign that spring was on its way. After she and the old gent exchanged pleasantries, she took Rudy, Mr. T, the hot dogs, and her drink to a bench and sat down. It was an early lunch, but thanks to her mom, she’d been up since dawn and was now starving.
She took a bite of her wiener, savoring the spicy mustard and tart kraut piled on the bun. After washing the first mouthful down with a swig of Diet Coke, she grinned at the two dogs staring at her as if they were guards in front of Buckingham Palace.
“I guess you boys are waiting for a treat, huh?”
“Quit the chatter and toss us a bite, Triple E. T and I are hungry, too.”
Tearing off two mini-chunks of the plain hot dog, she did as Rudy ordered. Since the boys would swallow anything she gave them in maybe two chews, size mattered. She had no idea how to perform the doggie Heimlich maneuver, and didn’t want to try.
A moment later, they were eye-begging again, so she finished her wiener, gave them each a last piece, and sealed the remainder in a plastic bag. Rudy would get another bit, chopped into tiny pieces, in tonight’s dinner. If Mr. T was good, she’d leave a section at Viv’s when she dropped him off and suggest that she do the same for her boy.
After tucking the bag in her tote, Ellie searched for the business cards she’d collected from Randall and Hazel Blackburg. She didn’t want to call Eugene and offer him the job of walking Bradley until she got the okay from Rob or Kayla, but she did want to contact Madame Orzo. Unable to come up with anything more she could do for Bitsy, she thought a dog psychic might help. She had to take advantage of every available option, even though grumpy Buckley griped that the woman was inept.
She dialed the number, ready to leave a message. She didn’t plan on telling Madame Orzo the reason for the visit. If the woman was truly psychic, she’d be able to figure it out for herself at the appointment.
“ ’ello. Theez eez Madame Orzo. ’ow may I ’elp you?” asked a sweet-sounding voice on the other end of the line.
“Hi. This is Ellie Engleman, and I’d like to make an appointment for—my—er—a dog.”
“But of course. What time would be convenient for you?”
Wow, thought Ellie, the woman was a fast worker. “Um . . . today? Sometime after six?”
“Af-tair seex? You make it at say-ven, yes?”
“Ah, yeah, sure. Can you give me your address?”
Madame Orzo recited an address in the Village, which Ellie dutifully wrote in her day planner. “Should I bring anything—besides the dog, that is?”
“Not unless you feel it eez important to the client.”
“Oh, well, okay then. We’ll see you at say—er—seven.” She slipped the phone into her tote and leaned back on the bench, unsure of exactly what the psychic meant by her last statement. Should she bring the carrier Bitsy had been sequestered in at the time of the killing? A special toy? A picture of Rob?
If it was the carrier, she could pick it up at Rob’s when she told him she wanted to keep Bitsy overnight. If he believed her, they were all set.
“Stop frowning. The ex-terminator wouldn’t approve,” said Rudy, nosing her knee.
“I’ve already given her my opinion on Botox, so I doubt she’d ever suggest that I use it.”
“She knows how you feel about designer duds and diets, too, but has that ever stopped her? Noo-oo.”
Her boy was right on that count. “I don’t want to talk about Mother. I have to run an errand, so I’ll give you and T two choices. You can go home and sleep for the rest of the afternoon, or you can come with me. What do you want to do?”
“Come with you where?” asked T.
“Club Guess Who. I plan to get a dog’s-eye view of the scene of the crime.”
“I thought Detective Doofus warned you to stay away from that place,” said Rudy.
Ellie leaned forward and put her palms on her thighs. “He said I had to stay out of his investigation, but he didn’t say I couldn’t help Bitsy. I’m only going to scope out the room. Maybe if I put myself in her position under that table, I’ll be able to figure out how to get her to remember what she saw.”
“Yer really stretchin’ things, Triple E. Somethin’ tells me that flimsy excuse won’t fly if the dippy dick catches you.”
“Maybe not, but that will be my answer if he does, and unless he wants to call me a liar, I’ll stick to it.”
Rudy looked at T. “What do you think we oughta do?”
Mr. T shook from head to tail. “That’s an easy one. Home and sleep is my vote.”
“Ditto for me, but I do want to go on that appointment with you and Bits. I’ve never seen a dog psychic in action before. Could be fun.”
When Ellie stood and headed for home, she caught a thirtyish, very attractive man, dressed in a Ralph Lauren tweed jacket and perfectly aged jeans, grinning at her. She nodded and smiled in return. This wouldn’t be the first time someone had caught her talking to herself . . . or her four-legged pals.
“Hello,” the guy said, moving in her direction. “I couldn’t help but notice you earlier, leading a group of dogs into the park. Are you a professional walker?”
The inquisitive man had a great head of wavy brown hair, light blue eyes, and a killer set of teeth. He also reminded her a bit too much of Kevin McGowan, the creep of a lawyer who had used her to put the screws to a friend a couple of months back. “I am. Why? Do you need a walker?”
“Not exactly. It’s just that—Oh, hell, I can’t lie. I’m in a bit of a financial bind right now, and I’m looking to pick up a couple of bucks off the books. I’m willing to do just about anything, including dirty dog duty.”
He appeared embarrassed to admit he was ready to undertake such a demeaning profession, and that didn’t sit well
with Ellie. She was proud of her work, not ashamed. “I assume you know the going rate, and the rules.”
“Rules?”
“You need to be bonded and insured, so clients know they can trust you with keys to their apartments.”
“Oh, right. A friend of mine mentioned that, but she also told me it was an easy gig, so I thought I’d give it a try. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck finding a customer. You wouldn’t need a helper, by any chance, or maybe know of someone who does.”
“He’s a pass, Triple E,” Rudy advised from below. “Let him talk some schmuck into lending him a hand—not us.”
There were times when Ellie doubted her boy’s instincts, but this wasn’t one of them. Two women she recognized, each leading a group of six canines, buzzed past just then and she tossed her head in their direction. “The tall girl is Roxy and the shorter one is Jane. Why don’t you talk to them and see if they need help?”
“Sure. And thanks.”
He took off after Roxy and Jane, and Ellie sighed. She hadn’t heard from Anthony Rizzoli and no one else had called about the ad.
“Smart girl, gettin’ rid of that bum,” said Rudy.
“I wouldn’t call him a bum, but he seemed a little off to me,” she answered, going to the corner and crossing at the light. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“I thought you could tell. He’s a reporter.”
“A reporter? Really? How do you know?”
“Trust me, I know,” Rudy advised as they crossed Madison and headed for Park Avenue. “He was feedin’ you a line. Probably wanted to ask you about Rob and that murder.”
“What—how—why would he think I knew anything about that?”
“There’s no tellin’. Kronk might have put him on to you in his quest for money, or maybe he staked out the Davenport and saw you walkin’ Bitsy. Word spreads fast in this town. Far as I can tell, reporters are in the same category as lawyers.”
She found it difficult to imagine a reporter hunting her up for a story because of a dog, but it was a possibility. Either way, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her afternoon.
When they hit Third Avenue and hung a right, Rudy said, “Hey, here’s somethin’ that might cheer you up.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. It had been a while, so she knew it was coming. “Let me guess. Another lame lawyer joke, right?”
“Just go with it, okay? It’s pretty good. Why are lawyers buried twelve feet down instead of six feet under?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Why?”
“Because, deep down, they’re really nice guys.”
Mr. T snickered. “Good one, Rude.”
Suppressing a groan, she unlocked their building’s outer door and guided the boys inside. At Viv’s, she dropped off T, left a plastic Baggie holding a chunk of hot dog in the fridge, and wrote Viv a note about the Jack Russell’s dinner.
“Where are you getting the new material?” Ellie asked as she and Rudy climbed the stairs.
“Around. And I’ll be sure to pick up more at the judge’s party. The place’ll be crawlin’ with those empty suits.” He jumped at the door. “Any chance I can have a Dingo bone while I’m takin’ a rest? Pretty please?”
“We’ll see.” Ellie unlocked her unit. After she unclipped Rudy’s leash, she went to the cupboard, retrieved one of the mini-bones, and tossed it his way. She was a sucker for Rudy’s demands, especially when he asked so politely. “Have a good nap, because you might need it. I have no idea how long it will take to finish with Madame Orzo.”
Rudy trotted down the hall toward the bedroom. “Just stay out of the dopey dick’s way this afternoon. You got enough to worry about without him on your case.”
She locked the door and set out for the club. Rudy was right. She didn’t need Sam on her case, but she did want him in her life. She just hoped he would understand that her main goal was to help Bitsy, not Rob.
When Ellie arrived at the nightclub, she checked the street out front and canvassed the alley before making her way to the rear entrance. She knew Sam’s old Chevy by sight, and Vince’s vehicle, too, and she could certainly spot a black-and-white. But if another member of the investigative team was on-site, she was screwed.
When she got to the rear door, she found it locked. At just past noon, it was a bit early for the performers to show, but she’d had the impression that this door was kept open during the day for deliverymen and workers, or in case of an emergency. And that was the reason she was here . . . sort of.
After rattling the knob, she knocked. Receiving no answer, she knocked again, this time harder. She was about to give it one more try when the door swung open.
“Yeah?”
She threw back her shoulders and looked up . . . way up. The giant who answered wore a scowl. “I have business in the building.”
He stared at her through flinty gray eyes. “You’re a woman, right? A real woman?”
Oh, boy, as Rudy would say. This might be a tough one. “I am. May I come inside?”
He propped his burly shoulder against the doorframe, blocking the entrance like a two-ton boulder. “Sorry, but I got orders. No one comes in unless they’re part of the cast.”
“I’m a friend of Rob—er—Bobbi Doll’s. He—she asked me to pick up something from the dressing room.”
“The stage manager should be here around three.” He gave a too bad shrug. “Come back then.”
When he moved to close the door, Ellie dipped her body into the entryway. “I promise this won’t take long. Please?”
The man hoisted his low-slung belt and raised a bushy eyebrow. “I got orders from the stage manager. No one comes in this way unless they’re on the payroll, and that don’t sound like you.” He poked her in the collarbone with a sausage-sized finger. “Now beat it.”
“Ow! Hey, watch the hands.” She rubbed the injured spot. This guy had to be a bouncer hired because of the murder. And she’d cover a ten-dollar bet that the big jerk had left a bruise, too. Just then, a hand touched her shoulder. Prepared to use a tactic she’d learned in her self-defense classes, she readied her elbow for a jab. But before she made the move, someone kissed her cheek.
“Hey, baby. I’m glad you’re here. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
Ellie grinned at Bill Avery—or was she supposed to call him Eden Rose at the club? “Hi. I hoped I would find you here.”
“It’s okay, Reuben,” said Bill, eyeing the pushy bouncer. “She’s with me.”
Reuben stood like a mountain, giving Ellie another glare of suspicion. “I thought you said you were here picking up something for Bobbi Doll.”
“I am, but—”
“She’s also supposed to meet me, so be a nice boy and give us some room, okay?” Bill placed a palm on her lower back. “Go right in, honey bun. You’re an invited guest.”
The bouncer crossed his arms over his barrel chest and stepped back. Ellie passed him, breathing a sigh of relief. Thank God for Bill Avery. Mumbling a thank-you she walked straight ahead, until Bill again touched her shoulder.
“Hey, what’s your hurry? I thought maybe we could talk.”
Ellie turned. “I’m grateful for your help, but I don’t have time to chat. I really do have to get something from Rob’s makeup table.”
“So stop in after that.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the still-staring giant. “Wouldn’t want to make ol’ Reuben suspicious or anything.”
“I’ll try, but why is it so important we talk?” Unless . . . “Did you hear something that might help Rob?”
“Maybe. You can tell me if it’s relevant after we have a little heart-to-heart.” He nodded in the direction of his dressing room. “You know where to find me.”
She decided to give Bill a business card when she went to his dressing room. That way, he could phone in whatever he had to report, and she wouldn’t have to run the gauntlet to be allowed in the club again. After pressing herself against the wall to avoid a worker steering a costume rack do
wn the narrow hall, she slipped into Rob’s dressing room.
Hands on hips, she examined the space, relieved to find it devoid of dead drag queens and police tape, and back to normal. Gone was the scent of blood. Instead, the smell of perfume, hair spray, and cosmetics permeated the air. She checked the entryway to be sure she was alone, then closed the door. Table by table, she switched on the bulbs surrounding the makeup mirrors, and did the same to the overhead fixtures.
She didn’t have a great memory of the lighting in here on the night of the murder, but if the performers needed to come in and repair their makeup or change costumes, the room had probably been as bright as this. Next, she focused on the second chair to her left, which marked Bobbi Doll’s table.
Ellie pulled out Rob’s chair, crawled underneath the counter, and repositioned the chair. Closing her eyes, she crouched as she readied herself to be Bitsy. Over the past year, she’d done plenty of research on canines and learned that sight was the weakest of their senses, unless a dog belonged to a breed designated as sight hounds. That covered Borzois, Salukis, Greyhounds, Whippets, and a host of other beautiful dogs that depended on sight to chase and capture prey for their masters.
She also knew that contrary to popular belief, dogs were not color-blind. They didn’t see in the entire spectrum the way people could, but they did recognize a range of colors in blue and yellow. They also saw four times better than humans at night. And although it was thought that canines weren’t able to see the picture on a television screen, she knew of several dogs—Mr. T and Rudy, for instance—who loved to watch TV and could tell exactly what they were viewing.
Peering out from between the chair legs, she scanned the floor. Underneath the area directly across from her were a couple pairs of glitter-covered stilettos with open toes or slingbacks. One table housed a bag on wheels, the kind someone might take on an overnight trip. Under another was a Chanel bag, filled to the brim with what looked to be boas and scarves. If this was all Bitsy had to see to occupy herself during the show, she probably had been asleep during the performance, just as she’d said.