Heir of the Dog

by Judi McCoy

  Half a heartbeat passed, then he raised his head and saw Ellie in the doorway, her mouth open as if ready to scream. Fist to her bombshell chest, she heaved a breath, but she looked mad enough to chew nails. “Are you spying on me?”

  He lifted both hands in a motion of surrender. “Call off Cujo. I’m just looking for something to help me sleep.”

  She gave him a “yeah, right” glare, then crossed her arms and poked the dog with her toe. “I thought you were on your way to bed?”

  The grumpy mutt stared him up and down, growled one more time, and took off down the hall. Sam didn’t breathe again until the dog disappeared through the bedroom door. When he swung his head around, Ellie was gone, so he walked into the kitchen, where he found her having a second go at the microwave.

  Sitting at the table, he waited while she made another cup of tea and brought it to him. Then she pulled out a chair and took a seat. “You scared the crap out of me,” she chided. “Why didn’t you announce yourself?”

  “Jeez, you’re bossy. I’m here to help, remember.” He dunked the teabag a couple of times, then fished it out with a spoon and set it on a napkin. “I apologize if I frightened you.”

  She fiddled with the envelope, opened it, and removed the sheet of paper. “Are you sure this is the real thing?”

  “Looks real to me. Besides, if Gary was as nice as you say, why would he yank your chain about something so serious?”

  “I don’t know.” She sipped her tea, then took another look at the will. “I still can’t believe he had anything worthy of a safety-deposit box, let alone a will. And to leave whatever it is to a dog? I know Leona Helmsley willed a bundle to make sure her pooch was cared for, but this isn’t the same. Rudy is mine, and I care for him, so why did he do it? And can a dog really inherit anything?”

  “Beats me,” said Sam. “In my opinion, you need a lawyer.”

  She folded the will and returned it to the envelope. “Gary’s last name was Veridot. I didn’t know that.”

  “I’m sure Gruning does by now. Tell me again, what did the old guy—the man who gave you the envelope—say?”

  “Pops? Just that Gary gave it to him a couple of months ago and asked him to pass it to me if anything happened to him.” She leaned back in the chair. “Pops heard the commotion in the Ramble, arrived at the scene, and did what Gary asked.”

  “It would have been smarter to give it to you privately. That way, Gruning’s man wouldn’t have seen the transfer.”

  “I doubt Pops had any idea the police would demand a look.” She took another swallow of tea. “Now what?”

  “First off, if Gruning comes straight out and asks about the envelope, you have to decide what you’re going to tell him.”

  “You mean I can lie.”

  “You could say it was nothing and you tossed it. Or you could come right out and show him. There is a bright spot in all this. Because the will is in your possession, the police can’t take it from you without a court order, which means you’ll have time to get to the bank and check out that safety-deposit box first. I’m pretty sure, if you register the will with the Surrogate’s Court, you’ll be covered.”

  “I really do need a lawyer, don’t I?”

  “It’s a good idea.”

  She stared into her mug. “Any suggestions on the best way to handle Gruning?”

  “Act as if you know what you’re doing, and don’t let on that you’re scared shitless.” He smiled. “Sorry, that usually works for most people.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble, Sam.”

  He raised his shoulders in a “who cares?” motion. “I’ve been in hot water before. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Still, I appreciate what you did for me. I know staying here wasn’t the way you wanted to spend your evening. You probably had a date . . . or something.”

  He drained his cup and set it on the table. Why the hell not confess? Maybe she’d offer a little personal information of her own in return. “I haven’t been with a woman, not even out to dinner or a movie, since we celebrated putting the Albright murder to rest.”

  “Overworked?”

  “Always.”

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet you are.”

  Pursing her lips, she carried both cups to the sink, and he followed, positioning himself directly behind her, so close he could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo.

  She turned and almost smacked into him. Hand to her throat, she opened her eyes wide. “It’s really late. I have to get to be—sleep.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He wrapped one of her wayward curls around his finger. “You have terrific hair.”

  She drew away and the curl unfurled, then sprang back in place. “It’s hard to manage, especially in this humidity.”

  “Looks good to me,” he continued, edging closer.“The color is . . . interesting.” His breath fluttered the tendrils spiraling across her forehead. “Red, gold, brown, all at one time. Is there a name for that color?”

  She inched to her right, and he followed. “The kids in school used to call me ‘carrot top.’ It’s calmed down to a dull copper now that I’m an adult.”

  He raised a brow and lowered his gaze to her lips. “The name doesn’t do it justice. I know women who’d kill to have hair that shade.”

  “I found a gray one the other morning,” she said with a pout. “Talk about a downer.”

  Sam smiled at her honesty. How many women would admit to such a thing? “You don’t need to worry.” Again, he caught a curl, but this time he used it to tug her near. “It doesn’t show, and you’d be attractive even if it did.”

  Before he could stop himself, his eyelids lowered, and he bent forward, hungry for the taste of her mouth.

  Instead of welcoming his kiss, she splayed her fingers against his chest, moved sideways, and stumbled toward the door. “I’m exhausted. I—I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She hurried from the room, and he propped his butt against the counter. Closing his eyes, he muttered a silent curse. So much for his good intentions. And so much for keeping his hands to himself. He was in this too far to step back now, even if he wanted to. Ellie needed him. He’d be a fool to let her down.

  Chapter 3

  Ellie awoke in a fog, showered, dressed in jeans and a lemon yellow T-shirt, and tiptoed out the door at seven to walk Rudy and Mr. T. Thanks to her upcoming morning with the police, the two dogs were doomed to spend the day inside, because she had no idea when she’d return. Of course, if Gruning arrested her, she’d have a bigger problem. There’d be dozens of dogs going walk-less today, which would translate to angry customers and a heck of a lot of cleanup.

  She definitely needed an assistant.

  Her midnight encounter with Sam had kept her awake for too long. Every time she drifted to sleep, his sexy dimples, cocky smile, and coffee-dark eyes popped into view. Then she’d envision his naked chest and the open snap on the waistband of his snug-fitting jeans, and her heart would trip to jackhammer speed. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried to erase the tempting features, they kept returning to haunt her. In fact, if she lingered on any one thing long enough, she’d swear she felt his mouth, firm and demanding, covering her lips, his tongue tasting hers, his hands cupping her—

  “This is gonna cost you,” Rudy yipped from below, breaking into her daydream.

  Talk about dropping to reality like a popped balloon. “What if we take a long walk after dinner tonight? If Viv has a date, we’ll even bring Mr. T.”

  “It better be to the dog park at Carl Schurz, fool,” Viv’s Jack Russell groused, “or Mr. T won’t be a happy camper.”

  Though Carl Schurz Park was a hike from their building, Ellie and her best human friend sometimes walked the dogs there on evenings when Vivian didn’t have a prior commitment. Since she hadn’t spoken to Viv about this current mess, tonight would probably be a good time to sort through it all.

  Minutes later, she open
ed Viv’s apartment door, heard the shower running, and left a note on the kitchen table suggesting the evening walk. It was the best she could do until tonight—if she was still a free woman.

  When she returned to her unit, coffee was brewing. In the kitchen, she found her houseguest fresh from a shower and dressed in a clean shirt and chinos, setting out mugs. “Thanks,” she told him. Walking to the kibble cupboard, Ellie took down a container and poured Rudy his morning nibble. “Here you go.” She set his breakfast on the placemat. Then she gave him fresh water, aware of Sam’s eyes on her all the while.

  “Did you decide what you’re going to say to Gruning?” he asked after she dropped two slices of cinnamon swirl breakfast bread in the toaster.

  She poured milk in her mug and added artificial sweetener, anything to avoid meeting his gaze. “I decided to leave the will at home. If he wants to see it, I’ll tell him to get a court order. I just have to figure out a time to go to the bank with that key. If they won’t let me in the safety-deposit box, I’ll call Stanley.”

  “Stanley?”

  “My mother’s latest husband. He’s a retired judge, so he’ll give me good advice.” When the toast popped, she walked to the counter, buttered it, and passed him a slice. “Sorry there’s no time for a better breakfast.”

  He finished the toast in three bites. “Not a problem. I don’t usually eat in the morning.”

  Ellie tried to nibble daintily, but she was a breakfast person. Heck, she was a lunch and dinner person, too. After swallowing her coffee, she dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin and brought their empty cups to the sink. Then she tucked the key into her front pocket, just in case she had time to visit First Trust today. “Okay. Guess we’re ready to go.”

  Sam nodded and let her walk ahead of him out the door. When they got to the car, she spotted a sheet of paper tacked to his windshield and burst out laughing. “Still collecting those tickets, I see.”

  He unlocked her door, then marched around the car and tossed his duffel in the backseat. After snatching the parking violation from the windshield, he slid behind the wheel. “There’s too damn many cars in this city. Don’t people know about mass transit?” Leaning over, he shoved the paper in the stuffed-to-overflowing glove box, then started the car. “I’ll take care of them—one of these days.”

  “You aren’t supposed to park in front of a fire hydrant. As an officer of the law, I assume you know that.”

  “It was late. I didn’t see it.” He pulled into traffic and stepped on the gas. “So sue me.”

  “One of these days, someone is going to check the records. Then you’ll be in real trouble.”

  “You sound like my mother,” he griped, his tone that of a five-year-old. “I can handle it.”

  They shot south while Ellie continued to badger him about his refusal to find legal parking or own up to the fines. After turning into the police lot, he took her elbow and escorted her into the station.

  “As soon as we step inside, I’ve done my duty. I’ll hang out in the bull pen in case you need me.”

  Ellie walked to the reception desk. “Hi. I’m Ellie Engleman. I’m here to see—”

  “Detective Gruning. He’s waiting for you,” said the clerk. “I’ll buzz him.”

  A minute later, a female officer showed her to the interrogation room, a useless effort because Ellie figured she could get there blindfolded by now. If this murder business kept up, she could probably demand a free pass into the bull pen, as Sam called it. The officer nodded to a chair, and she sat at the gray metal table. It matched the depressingly gray tile floor, gray walls, and three gray plastic chairs situated around the perimeter.

  The door opened and Gruning walked in with her bag. “Good to see you’re on time,” he said, slamming down her tote. He popped a mint and chewed.

  “There’s no need to be surly. I’m here, as promised.”

  He continued to stare. “I see you decided against bringing an attorney.”

  “I don’t have anything to hide, Detective Gruning.” Before he responded, another officer came in carrying the standard recorder. Gruning turned it on and began his spiel, giving the date, time, and names of those present. Then he reached inside and began taking her bag apart, item by item.

  “Brown leather date book—”

  “It’s espresso—”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The color. It’s not brown, but it isn’t black either. The tag called it espresso.”

  He huffed out a breath. “One espresso date book containing”—he flipped through the pages—“a calendar, address list, and blank paper.” He set the book aside and continued. “One package of tissues, one lipstick labeled”—he squinted at the bottom of the tube—“Apricot Delight. A folding mirror, a bag of dog biscuits, one red dog leash, a plastic folding cup, a container of sandwich bags—”

  “For my business,” she explained. “You know, pet cleanup.”

  He crunched the mint, then swallowed. “Three pens, one pencil, one hair brush, one black—”

  “Uh, no,” she interrupted.

  “One espresso leather credit card case, one can of Mace.” He tossed each item onto a pile. “One copy of Best Friends magazine, two bottles of water.” He stood the bottles upright next to the growing mound and dug deeper. “One cylindrical container.”

  Heat rose to Ellie’s cheeks.

  Gruning snorted. “Containing feminine hygiene products. A tube of lip balm, a box of throat lozenges, one bottle of Advil, a package of sugarless chewing gum, a palm-sized spiral notebook, and . . .” Upending the purse, he counted out the change after it clattered to the table. “Sixty-eight cents.”

  Finished with the inventory, he took a seat across from her, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his sweaty brow. Since the temperature in the station was just a couple of degrees warmer than a meat locker, she guessed it was the absence of the envelope that had him so hot and bothered.

  “Leave the recorder running, Murphy,” Gruning ordered. “You’re excused.” The patrolman left, and the detective leaned into the table. “It came to my attention last evening, after we did a preliminary search of your bag, that you were approached while waiting at the crime scene by a hot dog vendor who goes by the name of Pops. Pops handed you an envelope. Is this correct, Ms. Engleman?”

  “Do you mind if I collect my things while we talk? I have to get to work.”

  Gruning nodded.

  “Yes, Pops gave me an envelope.” She gathered her stuff into the tote, then added her wallet, cell, and keys.

  “Mind telling me what was in it?”

  “I would have shown it to you last night, if you’d asked.” So there, you jerk. “But you didn’t.”

  “I’ll only pose the question one more time. What was in the envelope?”

  “A . . . piece of paper from the deceased.”

  “From Gary Veridot?” The detective’s eyes bugged. “And you didn’t think it was relevant to the murder?”

  “Of course it wasn’t. It was something personal, left to me by Gary. How did you find out his last name?”

  “We ran his prints.”

  “He had a police record?” No, not Gary.

  “They were on file for a reason.”

  “A reason? What sort of reason?”

  “Let’s stay on topic, Ms. Engleman. The envelope.”

  “Oh, well. It’s at home.”

  “You didn’t think to bring it?”

  “Nuh-uh. Of course, if you’d come right out and said that’s what you wanted—”

  “Ms. Engleman, I have a right to inspect the contents of that envelope. If you refuse, I’ll get the court order you claim I need.”

  “Sure thing. Just let me know when you have it.” She stood and hoisted the bag over her shoulder. “Now, if you aren’t going to arrest me, I have dogs to walk.”

  He popped a second mint.

  “Okay, then.” She waggled her fingers. “See ya.”

  Ellie sta
rted her round of walks only a few minutes late. Since all of her charges were safely housebroken, she didn’t think she’d have a problem. She hit the Beaumont, said hello to Natter, the agreeable doorman, and took care of her charges without incident. When she arrived at the Davenport, Randall greeted her and asked how her life was going. Ellie couldn’t resist telling him about Gary’s death and Rudy’s inheritance, ending with, “Gary was so not Leona Helmsley. I can’t imagine what he left to my dog.”

  “Mrs. Helmsley isn’t the only wealthy woman who bequeathed money to her dog,” confided the dapper doorman. “There was a tenant who lived here a few years ago, a Mrs. Levine. Had family money by the truckload, and she absolutely adored her little white poodle, Coco. She owned homes in England, Florida, Hawaii, and California, but she lived here most of the year. Her country house was in the Hamptons, where she stayed on weekends during the summer.”

  “Wow. What happened to her?”

  “She passed on a few years back, but her housekeeper, Elsie Hogarth, still lives in the building. Elsie was given complete charge of Coco, and both she and the poodle have a very healthy allowance.”

  “Um . . . how healthy? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I heard tell two million for Coco’s upkeep, and that money is handled by an attorney, but Elsie gets seven hundred dollars a week and the right to live in the apartment with the poodle. I’ll have to introduce you sometime. Who knows, Elsie might decide Coco needs a professional walker.”

  “Even though Rudy will probably get a couple of dollars and change, I’d like to talk to her sometime. So keep that in mind.”

  “Will do,” said Randall. A tenant walked to the counter and he went back to business while Ellie waved good-bye. After taking care of the pooches in the Davenport, she finished her morning rounds and planned to go to the bank, but every time she thought about it she just couldn’t do it.

  To Ellie, running to First Trust to see what she and her dog inherited was tantamount to stealing from a man sitting in a wheelchair and selling pencils to passersby. So she decided to take it easy, get her second round of walks done early, and go home to think.