by Judi McCoy
Joe opened and closed his mouth—no wisecrack this time. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. And when the police find out Rudy and I are the ones who will benefit from the man’s death—”
“Ellie, Rudy’s a dog.”
She raised her nose in the air. “I know he’s a dog.”
“People don’t leave cash to a dog.”
“Normal people don’t. Gary is . . . was—different.”
“You mean whacko, like a lot of homeless people?”
She swallowed down more coffee. At least Gary wasn’t a mean-spirited whacko. “He was lonely, confused, and maybe a little frightened. Rudy and I treated him like a normal person, and he appreciated it.”
“Interesting.” Joe grinned, his complexion dark against his perfect white teeth. “And that’s the reason you need a lawyer.”
“I have no idea what my legal duties are with a will. Do I have to pay an inheritance tax? Does Rudy? Does the will need to go through probate? That sort of stuff.” She took a final slug of coffee. “I can’t afford to do anything that would make the police suspicious, and I certainly don’t want to break the law.”
“Don’t worry. Uncle Sal’s a good enough attorney to put your mind at ease.” He returned to the entrance of his shop. “Let me know what happens, okay? And tell Uncle Sal I said to treat you right.”
Ellie arrived home and headed up the steps just as the sky opened and rain splattered the sidewalk. Certain Rudy would be waiting for her with his knees crossed, as would Cheech and Chong, she got ready to pull her umbrella off the hook next to the door.
“What took you so long? I’ve been worried sick. If you weren’t here in the next ten minutes, I was going to call your cell,” Rudy chimed when she tromped into the apartment.
She grinned. “You are such a knucklehead. Since when did you learn to wrap those doggie paws around a phone?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sorry, it’s been an enlightening afternoon. I suppose you and the boys need to go out.”
“First off, tell me what Gary left me. Is it big? Does it have a mouth-watering aroma? Is it full of tasty flavor?”
She walked to the kitchen and sat on a chair. “No such luck. The safety-deposit box was full of money. Over eight hundred thousand, according to the banker.” She stared into space. “I still can’t believe it.”
Rudy was silent for a beat; then he rolled on his back, wriggled his legs in the air, and yipped out a raucous laugh. “Eight hundred thousand smackers,” he wheezed. “Hah! That’s a good one.”
“According to the will, it’s yours now. I’m only the executor. But Sam says it doesn’t matter, the cops will still think I did it for the cash.”
Rudy snapped to attention in a straight-up sitting position. “Leaving that much cash to a dog only proves Gary was a nut job.”
“Maybe so, but there was a note.” She pulled the folded paper from her bag and read it out loud. “Isn’t that the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? We were his only friends.” She sniffed. “The poor guy.”
“What makes him think you’d be able to find his brother? You don’t even know what the guy looks like.”
She shrugged. “Sam says Gary was crazy and I should ignore that part of it.”
Rudy put his nose on her knee. “I hate to admit it, but the dopey detective is right. So why are you cryin’? Because Gary didn’t leave the moolah to you?”
“I simply can’t understand why Gary didn’t use the money for himself. He shopped in Dumpsters, ate whatever he could scam from restaurants or people. When I think of how he lived, alone in a cardboard box, when he could have had a decent life . . . Maybe I should have taken more of an interest in his past, asked him about his childhood, that kind of thing.”
“I remember you invited him here to cool off a couple of weeks ago, when the temperature was close to a hundred, and he turned you down.”
“I could have insisted, but I let it slide. If Gary had only asked, I would have told him to leave his money to Best Friends or some other animal rights charity. He just did what he wanted to do, and the police will believe we knew he was leaving us the money and we killed him for it.”
“But the money was locked away.”
“Maybe so, but we got the key and the will from Pops, and it appears Gary forged my signature on the official depositor’s card.” She scratched his ears. “Sam is certain I’ll be a prime suspect once Gruning finds out.”
“But what about Gary saying his brother was probably the killer?”
“Gruning will believe what he wants. He’s going to look for an easy out.”
“Gary left the fortune to me. Does that mean Gruning will think I was the hit man?”
“No, silly. I’m the trustee. That means I’m the one in control of the cash. I don’t know much about estates and the rights of inheritors, but I think as long as I follow the instructions listed, I can pretty much write my own ticket.”
“Are you saying you aren’t going to give me a cut?”
“Be serious. What would you do with all that money?”
“Plenty. Just think of the treats. Dingo Bones, Greenies, pigs’ ears . . . Heck, I could buy a butcher shop and get one of those big ol’ marrow bones to chew every day.”
“Maybe we should split it between Best Friends and the ASPCA where I found you. They can rescue a lot of helpless puppies and kittens with that amount of cash.”
“Say what?”
“You heard me. We don’t need it, at least not that badly. Besides, eating too much of the junky stuff is bad for you.”
Rudy grumped out a growl. “How about a party for the gang then, in Gary’s memory? I don’t think anyone but the dogs we care for are gonna miss him, do you?”
“That’s probably true.”
“Good. Now let’s take that walk. My back teeth are floatin’.”
“Fine. Get the boys, and we’ll leave.”
“You call ‘em. They never listen to me.”
“Where are they?”
“Last time I saw them they were in your bedroom, snooping in your closet.”
Ellie took off down the hall, fairly certain there wasn’t anything toxic in her closet, but she did have some very nice shoes she planned to wear in the fall. “Cheech! Chong! Come!”
Rudy’s nails clicked on the hardwood as he followed her. “They probably did their business in one of your leather purses.”
She swung around the corner of her bedroom, spotted the open closet door, and shot across the room. “Hey, get out of there, both of you!”
A second later she raced back to the kitchen with Cheech in her arms and Rudy and Chong skittering behind.
Chapter 7
“He’s not going to die, is he?” Ellie asked Dr. David Crane, veterinarian to many of the pampered pooches and cosseted cats on the Upper East Side.
Dr. Dave rose from in front of the sheepskin-lined doggie bed tucked in a corner of the kitchen. “Not today. But it’s a good thing you followed my directions when you pulled that shoelace out of his mouth.” He shook his head. “I could tell you horror stories about the things some dogs have ingested. Loose change, screws, antique keys, even razor blades. The items read like a shopping list for a hardware store.”
The last hour had passed in a haze of panic. All Ellie remembered was finding Cheech on her closet floor, limp as a boiled noodle, with the tip of a shoelace hanging from his muzzle. She’d called Dr. Dave, and he’d kept her on the line, calmly repeating instructions as he raced to her apartment in the driving rain.
She’d extracted the shoelace slowly, inch by inch, being careful to stop if she felt any resistance. Dr. Dave had charged through the door just as the final bit of string slipped from the Chihuahua’s lips.
“I never want to go through anything like that again,” she said, heaving a sigh. A round of thunder shook the building. “Now look at the little stinker.” She nodded toward a perky Cheech, who’d climbed out of his bed an
d was lapping water from his designer doggie bowl. “He acts as if nothing happened.”
“To him, it didn’t.” Dr. Dave sat across from her at the table. “Dogs live in the moment. Unless they’re constantly abused, they’re amazingly optimistic, always wanting to see the bright side.”
“I like to think that’s true. Then I read frightening articles about pit bulls and other bad-blood breeds getting put down for harming a human. Most of the time, the human was the one who taught the animal to be ferocious. Instead of putting down the dog, I’d lock the trainer in a crate for a couple of months without food or water and see how he likes it.”
Dr. Dave smiled. “Canine mouth-to-mouth is sort of disgusting. Can I be a mooch and beg a drink? Cold water will be fine.“
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” She stood and opened her fridge. “I’ve got Diet Coke, soda water, wine, a couple of Bud Lights . . .”
“Club soda’s fine.”
Ellie took down glasses, filled them with ice, poured the seltzer, and brought their drinks to the table. “I should have thought of this myself. I’m not usually such a poor hostess.”
The vet swallowed half his drink before saying, “This hits the spot. Saving lives is hard work.”
“I want to thank you again. I couldn’t have handled it by myself.”
He glanced at Rudy, who had hovered under the table during most of the action. “Your guy seems to be doing great since that incident in Queens. I take it he’s no longer in pain?”
“It only hurts when my home is under siege by illegal aliens,” Rudy grumped.
“He’s doing great. He doesn’t wince anymore when I give his sides a rub, so I guess his ribs are healed, and he’s back to jumping for joy in front of his kibble cupboard.”
“That’s what I want to hear. He’s a great dog, very loyal to his owner.”
Ellie sipped her soda water. Why, oh, why couldn’t she find a kind, caring dog lover like David Crane who was also able to make her insides melt and her heart dance to a rumba beat? The vet had warm brown eyes, a pleasant face, and a really nice butt. Though he was sweet and attractive in his own horizontally challenged way, he did absolutely nothing for her seriously parched libido.
“I just wish the judicial system had a way to punish animal abusers the same way they do those who take advantage of people. Maybe if they spent a few days without food and water, or locked in a tiny cage, they’d find out what it’s like.” A knock at the door kept Ellie from expounding further on her disapproval of people who mistreated animals. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She opened the door to a smiling Vivian, wearing designer rain gear and holding a leash attached to Mr. T. “I just got home from a dinner meeting.” She slipped into the foyer. “Did you find time to go to the bank today and check out that box?”
“I did, and you won’t believe what was in it.”
“So tell me,” Viv ordered, following Ellie to the kitchen.
“In a minute. There was a little mishap, and the doc’s still here.”
“Doc? You needed a doctor? Who’s sick?”
“Not me. It was Cheech.” She nodded toward the two Chihuahuas, now curled side by side in a single bed. When Viv didn’t respond, Ellie turned to find her best friend and the charming vet eyeing each other with expressions of unabashed interest.
“I don’t think you two have met. Dr. David Crane, this is my best friend Vivian McCready. Viv, this is Dr. Dave.”
The vet held out his hand, and Viv gave it a shake. “Ellie’s told me so much about you, I feel like we’re old friends,” she said in a silky tone.
“So you’re Mr. T’s mom. He’s a lucky dog,” the vet said.
“Say what, fool?” snapped the Jack Russell.
“Don’t look now, but the doctor’s makin’ a play for yo momma,” Rudy informed him. “Smell the testosterone wafting in the air.”
“I want to thank you for bringing T up to date on all his injections this past spring. Ellie is such a pal for making the appointment.”
Dr. Dave squatted and patted Mr. T’s head.
“Get your hands off me, fool!” T growled.
Viv yanked on the leash. “Hey, cranky pants. That’s not nice.”
Standing, the vet said to Ellie, “Guess I’d better be going.” He turned to Viv. “If you’re taking Mr. T for a walk, I’d be happy to come along.” He reached for the umbrella he’d tossed in a corner of the kitchen. “You’ll need this. It’s lousy out there.”
“We don’t want to be any trouble,” Viv said, batting her lashes. She arched a brow and gave Ellie a look. “Maybe you and the dogs want to join us?”
Ellie knew a false invitation when she heard one. It had been a while since she’d seen Viv so smitten—an old-fashioned word but the only one she could think of to describe her friend’s attitude. “Uh, not right now. I still have to make sure Cheech is okay. You two go without me.”
It was only after she’d said good-bye to her guests that she realized Dr. Dave hadn’t given her a bill.
When Ellie picked up Mr. T the next morning, she heard Viv’s shower running but didn’t see any sign of Dr. Dave. Had the four-alarm fire she’d sensed burning between them been a false blaze or a warm-up for things to come?
Either way, she was happy for her best friend and the good doctor. Viv had deep-sixed her last boyfriend a few months ago and, aside from some one-shot dating, hadn’t found anyone new. To her knowledge, Dr. Dave wasn’t attached, but he was definitely a nice guy. Though Viv was a head taller and seemed more sophisticated, it was possible the two would work well together.
She left a note on Viv’s kitchen table asking her for details, dropped the Chihuahuas and T at home, and, after making certain all the closet doors and kitchen cupboards were firmly shut, set out with Rudy. Once outside, she removed her cell and called Joe’s uncle, who agreed to meet her that afternoon.
“It’s about time you arrived,” said Randall when Ellie and her Yorkiepoo strolled into the Davenport. “You have an interview with a prospective client.” The doorman’s usually stoic face held the shadow of a smile. “They’re in 11-D.”
“Has Eugene gotten to them yet or am I the first?” asked Ellie, frowning as she spoke the name of her archrival.
“I haven’t recommended him, if that’s what you’re asking, but I’ll probably have to if you don’t meet this person’s needs.”
“And they’re home now?” she asked, striding toward the elevator.
“The last name is Chesney. And give them a second to answer the door, as they keep very . . . unconventional hours.”
She waggled her fingers as the car door closed. Her old friend Randall had been instrumental in growing her business, not to mention offering support when her life slid into chaos faster than a one-man luge. They had yet to discuss the contents of the safety-deposit box, but he was sure to have practical advice when he heard. If this gig panned out, she’d owe him two herbal teas per week instead of one. The dog in 11-D would bring her count to eight in the building; any more customers and she’d have to walk her Davenport charges in two groups.
She hit the button for the eleventh floor, straightened the sleeves on her aquamarine linen shirt, and inspected her face in the back wall mirror. Before she left home, she’d swiped mascara on her lashes, blush on her cheeks, and dressed a step-up from her usual T-shirt and shorts. The fact that the makeup and shirt color brought out the blue in her eyes and the gold in her curls was a bonus. She had to look her best for Joe’s uncle Sal at their after-lunch appointment.
“Okay, we’re here.” She glanced at Rudy when they reached the apartment. “Remember, best behavior,” she reminded him, knocking on the door.
“Who is it?” warbled a voice from behind the panel.
“Ellie Engleman. The doorman said you were looking for a dog walker.”
A series of dead bolts rattled; then the door swung open. She looked up . . . way up . . . and locked gazes with an attractive woman wearing perfect m
akeup, a pale pink peignoir, and matching satin mules. The tiny cream-and-black dog in her arms squirmed joyfully at the sight of a new friend.
The woman stepped aside, allowing Ellie to enter. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The deep musical voice, almost lyrical in tone, made her think the woman was a singer or maybe an actress. “Thanks for going to Randall for a recommendation. I hope you’ll give me a chance to take care of your dog.”
“Uh . . . Ellie?” Rudy interrupted. “There’s something you should know.”
“Randall’s a sweetie,” the woman said, holding out a manicured hand. “I’m Bobbi Chesney. Come into the living room and we’ll talk.”
A dancer, Ellie decided, following in the blonde’s wake. With legs that long, the woman had to be in the entertainment field. Sitting across from Bobbi on a buff-colored leather sofa, she gave the pooch a once-over and decided it was probably a Yorkie-Chihuahua mix. “What’s your dog’s name?”
Bobbi smiled, showing perfect white teeth, and tossed her head, causing her long blond locks to swing behind her shoulders. “This is Bitsy, the most precious thing in the world to me.” She nuzzled the dog’s head. “Aren’t you, baby doll?”
“Oh, boy,” muttered Rudy. “We have to talk, Triple E.”
Ellie passed the woman a card. “I walk several dogs in the Davenport. Feel free to ask their owners about my quality of service.”
“I’ve already done that,” Bobbi said. “Besides Randall, everyone gave you an A plus. They said you’re dependable and caring, exactly what I want for Bitsy.”
“Then maybe we should discuss my rates?”
“No need, honey. I want the best for my baby, and money is no object. When can you start?”
“That depends. How many walks per day does Bitsy need? I’m here by nine each morning, and I stop again at four to do a second round.”
Bobbi leaned back and crossed a shapely leg over her knee, showing off a fresh pedicure and toenails painted the color of a ripe plum. “Two is perfect. Due to my current job, I’m never awake before noon, but I made an exception this morning when Randall told me you’d be by. I’m usually up and about at four, running errands or getting ready for my job, sometimes even making plans for the evening.” She gave her head another toss. “A working girl’s entitled to some fun, don’t you agree?”