Begging for Trouble

by Judi McCoy

  “No problem. The toxicology screening came back clean and green. The victim was drug free, nothing in his system but the remains of an over-the-counter cold medication. Autopsy showed he was in good physical condition, just like Dr. Bridges thought. Death occurred as the result of a stab wound to the back of the neck between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. The victim went into immediate spinal shock, disconnecting the brain from the body. He probably didn’t feel a thing once he hit the floor.”

  “TOD?”

  “Time of death approximately ten p.m. Smack in line with when you found the body.”

  “And the scissors Rob Chesney was holding?”

  “Based on the width and depth of the wound, we believe the puncture was made by a weapon consistent with that type of object. We heard from forensics that they found tissue matching that of the deceased embedded between the blades. Gruesome, I know, but that’s the whole of it.”

  “So we definitely have our weapon. Problem is, the fingerprints on the scissors were smeared. All we have is one clear partial belonging to Chesney. It makes sense, considering we caught him with the weapon.” He leaned back in his chair. “Guess I’d better check the fax machine.”

  “You do that, and let me know if the reports don’t show up. Dr. Bridges said to let us know if you need anything else.”

  He disconnected the call and drummed his fingers on the desk. The investigation was rounding out perfectly, just as he’d expected. Trouble was, he never cared much for an easy case, because something always happened to fuck it up. And knowing that Ellie was sniffing around didn’t make it any better.

  What in the hell had she been doing last night that caused her to turn off her phone? And why had she skated around the answer when he asked about it? The fact that she hadn’t told him outright about her evening excursion could mean only one thing: She’d been snooping, and she didn’t want to let him in on it.

  Vince strolled in, tossed a handful of papers on Sam’s desk, and added a manila folder. “This ought to make your day.”

  Sam examined the stacked pages, skimming the paperwork Dr. Kingsgate had promised. Then he opened the file and scanned the data on Rob Chesney’s bank records. “Not exactly what we were hoping for,” he said after a moment. “I take it you talked to the lawyer handling his trust account before you got these?”

  “That’s who called me when the ME phoned you. When I got to the fax machine, everything was waiting. It’s all there in dingy black and white.”

  “The withdrawals from Chesney’s trust account for his mortgage and credit card payments and his self-imposed monthly allowance are clear, but there’s nothing that shows a regular withdrawal that comes close to the amount Pearson was raking in.” He bounced the eraser end of a pencil on his blotter. “You’re sure the trust attorney wasn’t hiding anything?”

  “Not so I could tell. He was open, sent me the paperwork as promised, told me if I needed to access the accounts on my own, he’d be happy to let me in. He just wanted to be careful, what with identity theft being so prevalent these days.”

  “You have to wonder, if there’s no record of our guy making monthly withdrawals of ten big ones, where did Pearson get the dough?”

  “You know the rule—follow the money. But it’s going to be tough, seeing as all the victim’s deposits were made in cash.”

  “And the attorney is certain Chesney had no other source of income?”

  “Claims he made a couple of thousand a month from the clubs he worked as a drag queen, but it was nowhere near the amount we’re looking for. He also said his client was a fanatic about living within his means. The only big money he spent was on specialty clothing, tax deductible because of his profession. Other than that, and a trip to Barneys a couple of times a year, Chesney never went through more than the usual living expenses. In fact, without counting the cash he needed for his bond, he’d never asked for any large amount.” Vince rounded his desk. “That means we have to make a decision.”

  “After we talk it over with the assistant DA.”

  “Not we. You. Remember that trip Natalie and I are scheduled to take today? We’re supposed to leave for south Jersey in the next”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty-seven minutes. Which means I’m outta here.” Vince stood. “I hate to dump it on you, but this weekend has been planned since Christmas. It’ll be the baby’s first visit to Nat’s grandparents’ home, though Mr. and Mrs. Nunzio have been up here every month since Angela’s been born. We have to leave now if we want to avoid that snowstorm they’re predicting.”

  “I know how bad traffic on the Jersey Turnpike can be, even without the storm warning, so don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “Besides, you had to put off your last three-day break for the Northway case. I understand.”

  “Don’t you have some big shindig set for tomorrow night? Something to do with Ellie’s stepfather, the judge?”

  Sam shrugged. “She got the invite, not me. I haven’t decided if I’m going.”

  “What would keep you away?”

  “Ellie didn’t say, but I’m fairly certain the dress is formal, for one thing. Then there’s the guest list. Lawyers, judges, city officials—no one I care to associate with.”

  “But you patched things up with Ellie, right?”

  “Some. Trouble is, I’m not sure she got the message.”

  Vince cleared his desk and turned off his computer. “The message?”

  “The same damn thing we’ve argued about since the day we met. Keeping her nose clean.”

  “I get the feeling that’s a useless argument,” said Vince, shaking his head. “Just learn to live with it. Your girl is stubborn and she loves to snoop. Those are traits I doubt she’ll ever outgrow.”

  “I almost lost it a couple of months back, when I walked into her apartment and found that nut job threatening to shoot her if she didn’t drink a poison-laced cup of tea.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Carolanne didn’t give a flying fuck about my job, complained, cheated, did everything she could to ruin our relationship. Ellie is the exact opposite . . . wants to know about my work, never gripes when I leave her for a case—” He heaved a sigh. “I just want to keep her safe.”

  “Why don’t the two of you make a deal? She promises to tell you whenever she plans to do some scouting and agrees to report back on what she finds. Then she doesn’t make another move without your okay. No going off half-cocked or putting herself in danger.”

  “We did that. I’m just not sure she’ll keep her word.”

  “Trust me. She’ll honor it,” Vince said, heading for the door. “Ellie’s as honest as they come. If you got her to promise, she’ll do it. Just give her a chance.”

  Sam tossed his pencil on the blotter. “If I didn’t care about her—”

  “Sounds to me like this is more serious than you’re willing to admit,” said Vince. “Don’t be stupid. Let her know how much she means to you, pal.”

  “Have a nice weekend, pal,” Sam shouted to his partner’s retreating back.

  He ground his molars. Vince was right. He was serious about Ellie. She was funny, sweet, caring . . . all the things his ex had never been. She was also high class, though she worked hard to give a different impression. How could he keep up with a woman who made more money than he did and stood to inherit a bundle more? And money or no money, he would never be able to support her the way she supported him.

  Maybe his mother was right. Maybe if he moved in with her, he’d be able to keep a better eye on her, get her to straighten up and fly right. Then he remembered her dog.

  Lately, he and the miserable mutt had come to some sort of understanding. Rudy hadn’t thrown him a single growl or snotty look for at least a month. Even slept in the guest room when he and Ellie shared her bed. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the dog actually approved of his being around.

  Sam spied the open folder and gazed at the financial information inside. He’d looked into Pearson’s record and gotten the dates an
d other basic info on the guy’s past arrests, but there were a couple of particulars he hadn’t checked, because he hadn’t thought they’d matter.

  He replayed the scene at Guess Who in his mind. Chesney had looked shocked, kneeling in that pool of blood with the scissors in his hand, but the guy was a showman, so there was a chance he’d been acting. His story was plausible, just barely. What dope would walk into a crime scene and remove the murder weapon? Was Chesney such a humane idiot that he would truly do something that stupid? Did he really have no idea of the rules about contaminating a crime scene?

  He snorted. Without a motive or the proof of a money exchange, there was a good chance the DA would drop the charges. Which meant he and Vince were back to square one. Who was paying Pearson and why?

  Sam checked his watch, then made a call to the records department to start the investigation rolling in another direction. If the weather report was right, traveling tomorrow was going to be a nightmare. There was a tuxedo rental shop in his neighborhood and a damn good Chinese restaurant near Ellie. He could surprise her with dinner and stay the night, then retrieve his info in the morning. That would give him and his girl the day to get ready for the judge’s party.

  He might not be able to say the words yet, but tonight was the perfect time to show her how much he cared.

  Chapter 14

  “Wow. Bobbi-Rob really told his sister where to go when she pushed you about workin’ on his case,” said Rudy as he and Ellie left the Davenport. “I got a feelin’ she won’t be pesterin’ you about it anymore.”

  “Good thing, too,” Ellie agreed, heading toward the nearest Joe to Go. Rob and Kayla’s discussion had been so single-minded, she hadn’t even been able to ask the woman about Eugene walking Bradley. She was almost sorry she’d left Bitsy in the middle of the fight. “I’m glad he understands my position.”

  “Sure sounds like he does.” He gazed up at the street sign. “It’s freezin’. Please tell me we’re goin’ someplace warm for lunch.”

  “Joe’s on Lexington. I want to hear what Sara said when he told her about my idea.”

  “Fine by me. We can huddle inside and get comfy. And didn’t you say Joe’s started serving sandwiches?”

  “Yep. His turkey on whole wheat is great. You’ll love it.”

  They arrived at the Joe to Go, where they found the owner standing behind the counter. Instead of taking orders or working the register, Joe had the same expression on his face that Bitsy’s had earlier: lost in a daydream. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked him when she got to the head of the line.

  “Huh?” He blinked, then focused on her. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

  “Because I thought maybe you were posing for one of Madame Tussauds’ wax creations.” She gave her order to the woman at the register and pulled out her wallet. “What’s up?”

  Head down, he hurried around the counter, grabbed her arm, and led her and Rudy to the only empty table in the room. “Wait here. Lunch is on me. I’ll be right back with your food.”

  “Yowza. He’s got it bad,” Rudy said, circling before he plopped on the floor under the table.

  She ducked her head. “Bad? Bad how? Do you think something happened to him after we left?”

  “Remember those raging pheromones I told you Detective Doofus always sends out when he’s near you? Well, Joe’s sending out the same dopey signal.”

  “Raging what?” She sat up straight. Was Rudy saying what she thought he was saying?

  “You talkin’ to me?” asked the man at the next table.

  “Uh, sorry, no. Just thinking out loud.”

  “Ri-i-ght.” The guy drew the single word out to three syllables, stood, and carried his trash to a bin.

  “Jeez! Some people,” Rudy groused.

  Before Ellie could comment, Joe arrived with her lunch. “You gonna order the same thing every time you come in here? Like the Caramel Bliss?”

  She lifted half of the turkey on whole wheat, picked out a shred of meat, and fed it to her boy. “I like your version of the drink better than the one Starbucks makes, and this is a great sandwich, so I guess I will.” She took a huge bite. Something was up with her friend and, thanks to Rudy, she had an idea what it was. After swallowing, she asked, “Did you get a chance to stop in the bakery next door?”

  Joe blushed, something Ellie hadn’t seen him do since college. “Uh, yeah.”

  “And?”

  He squared his shoulders. “And nothing.”

  “But you met Sara and her girls.”

  He sat down across from her. “How’s the sandwich?”

  “You’re avoiding my question.” She took another bite.

  “If this is how you act when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, it’s no wonder Ryder gets ticked.”

  Still chewing, she pulled off another clump of turkey and passed it to Rudy. After taking a sip of her coffee, she said, “How about you leave Sam out of this and answer my question. Did you meet Sara and her girls?”

  He blew out a long breath. “Yes, I met Sara and her gir—er—dogs.”

  “And she liked my idea?”

  “Yes, only . . .” He dropped his gaze to the tabletop.

  “You’re making me crazy,” she countered. “Just tell me what happened between the two of you.”

  Joe’s complexion washed from red to white in a nanosecond. Then he swallowed so hard Ellie thought he might toss his cookies right there in the shop.

  “I think I’m in love.” The words came out choppy but clear.

  As usual, Rudy was right, though it was a stretch to believe Joe was “in love.” “Considering you only met the woman yesterday, I think that’s rather a strong statement, don’t you?”

  His face bled red again. “I can’t help how I feel. It’s just . . . there.”

  Joe had dated about a thousand girls in college, each one dim-witted and, to a man’s way of thinking, sexy as hell. He’d made slightly better choices recently, but the women Ellie had met still had that dumb-as-a-stick, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful” attitude. She didn’t begrudge Joe love, but jeez, Sara couldn’t have been more opposite his usual type than beer was to champagne, and not the cheap kind either. Sara was more Cristal Rosé, one of the most expensive champagnes in the world.

  “Are you sure you’re talking about Sara Studebaker?”

  “No. I mean Sara Schizophrenia,” snapped Joe, slipping back into his usual teasing manner.

  “How long did the two of you talk?”

  “Ten, maybe twenty minutes.” He glanced at the front counter and stood. “I gotta go.”

  “What in the world was that all about?” Ellie muttered aloud to her boy.

  “He said he had to go,” answered a school principal- type woman sitting at the table the grumpy man had just vacated. “Pay attention when people talk to you.”

  “Er—yes, ma’am.” The woman had the perfect posture of a yoga instructor and the expression of a longsuffering saint. “Sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She tossed Rudy a look and smiled at the principal.

  “And why is your dog inside? This is a restaurant. I believe there’s a city ordinance that bars animals from entering places that serve food.”

  “Uh-oh. This I gotta hear.”

  “Rudy is a service dog,” Ellie began, crossing mental fingers. “That means he can go wherever I go.”

  The woman stared at her as if she belonged in a petri dish. “Oh, really? And why might you be needing a service dog?”

  “Tell her you hear voices, lots and lots of canine voices. That should shut her up.”

  “That question is a little too personal for me to answer.”

  “Yeah, it’s for you to know and her to find out, right?”

  “I can acknowledge your sentiment, but why isn’t he wearing his vest?”

  “Yeah, how come?”

  Ellie closed her eyes. She had known this day would come; she sh
ould have been better prepared for it. “Ah . . . his vest is at home.” Why hadn’t she practiced the answer months ago? “I forgot to put it on him this morning.”

  “Then I assume you’re carrying his card?”

  “I told you this might happen, but did you listen? No-o-o.”

  She made a production out of looking at her watch. “Oh, gee, sorry, but I’m late for an appointment.”

  Standing, she hoisted her tote bag onto her shoulder, dumped her trash in the container, and hustled out the door with Rudy trotting along behind. She really did need to look into getting him certified as a service dog. She just had to take the time to do it.

  Relieved to find herself in front of Sara’s store, she went inside. The workmen were gone, the bakery cases were in place, shelves decorated two walls, and pictures of dogs hung on all the remaining free space. Sara had even posted an advertisement for Best Friends, Ellie’s favorite animal charity, and the organization’s magazines sat in a rack near the door.

  “Hello! Anybody here?” she called, taking a seat at one of the four tables.

  The sound of excited barking came from the back room. Seconds later, Pooh and Tigger danced in, their snow-white tails wagging. “Hey, ladies. Where’s your mistress?”

  Pooh and Tigger had never answered her, but they had a good rapport with Rudy, who rubbed noses with each Westie, then said, “Sara’s in the back. She’ll be out in a couple.”

  Ellie scratched Tigger, who was a bit friendlier than Pooh, between the ears. “Have you been a good helper today?”

  Sara walked in smiling. “Ellie. I thought that might be you when the girls ran out. They’re not much in the way of watchdogs, but they do know a friendly voice.”

  Sara wore a bright red apron over snug jeans and a black ribbed turtleneck. Her dark blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail, a dash of cherry-colored lipstick covered her generous mouth, and a little mascara enhanced her bright green eyes.

  “You look great. Did anything happen today that you want to talk about?” asked Ellie.

  “I’m pumped. The ovens are in, and they work like a charm. I called the city, and the inspectors should be here by the end of next week.”