by Judi McCoy
“I’ll tell you a little of what I need, and if you think you can work with me, we can arrange a meeting.” And not at my apartment, she reminded herself. “First and most important, I’m looking for someone who enjoys working with dogs.”
“That would be me,” Cindy said in a little girl voice.
“Next, you’d have to allow yourself to be bonded and insured.”
“Like, would I have to pay for that?”
“Nope. I’d pick up the charges. Next, you have to be available early in the morning and late in the afternoon.”
“Like, how early is early?” Cindy asked.
“Like, uh, say eight a.m. five mornings a week, and around four each afternoon.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m a night owl. I never get up before, like, ten. It took me weeks to arrange my schedule for the afternoons. I’m, like, still in class at four.”
Ellie frowned. So much for Ms. Like Cindy. “Well, then, I guess we won’t be able to arrange things. But you can call me again if your schedule changes.”
“Okay,” Cindy said, only her voice wasn’t quite so perky. “Thanks for the chance.”
After disconnecting the call, Ellie ran a hand through her hair. This finding-an-assistant business was a lot harder than she thought it would be. Maybe she needed to put an ad in the newspaper or—
Unable to process it all, she took a bite of hot dog and gazed down to find Rudy glaring at her. “Give me a break. It’s been a rough morning.”
“Another dope looking for a job?”
“Not a dope, exactly, just a girl with a schedule that won’t mesh with ours. What really frosts my buns is Kevin McGowan, the big ass.”
“I wouldn’t give that sleazy lawyer another minute of brain pain. We have more important stuff to take care of, if you’ll recall.”
“That ‘sleazy lawyer’ used me to screw a friend. I want to confront him, but I need help figuring out the best way to do it. Maybe Vivian—”
“Vivian will know how to get him by the balls, but right now we have a killer to catch. And we still don’t know where to store Gary.”
“I called Mr. Blackman,” she said, defending herself.
“How about talking to Gruning and getting the skinny on that toxicology report? While you’re at it, ask him if there’s anything new on Veridot.”
“Gruning might give me the drug results, but I doubt he’d share info on Veridot. Besides, Sam told me to let him take care of it. He can get information from the police files I’m not entitled to, remember?”
Rudy sprang to his hind legs and put his paws next to her on the bench. “Ryder has cases to solve. He’s gonna let you down on this, the same way he let you down after your one date.”
“No, he won’t. At least, not on finding Thompson Veridot. He’s worried about me.” She took a bite of hot dog and washed it down with Diet Coke. “If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have paid for those self-defense classes.”
Jumping up, Rudy parked his bottom beside her. “He planned those lessons to weaken you. The next time he makes a pass, you’ll be too sore to fight back. Before you know it, he’ll have you in the—”
“You are so full of it.” Refusing to argue further, she offered him a chunk of the extra wiener, which he swallowed in two bites. “I know you want to protect me from dangerous men—”
“You mean unscrupulous cops and vicious murderers?”
She wrapped an arm around him, and he laid his head on her lap. “Them, too, but that’s not Sam.”
“Humph.” He snuggled closer.
Ellie finished her lunch, then crumpled the paper sleeve and tossed everything into the trash. “Time to call Gruning. If he won’t give me the report, I’ll phone Sam and ask him to get it. He also needs to hear what Viv said about the guy in the laundry room. If I know Sam, he’s already retrieved info on Stefan and Adrianne Burns.”
Gruning wasn’t in, so she left her number, but not the reason for the call. Then she tried Sam, but hung up before his voice mail kicked in. She’d promised to phone him tonight, and they could discuss things then.
Checking her watch, she saw that it was just about time to begin her second series of walks at the Beaumont. “Let’s get moving.” She stood, and Rudy hopped to the sidewalk. “Our next round awaits. If we hurry, we can be home early tonight.”
“Let’s stop at Joe’s,” Ellie said to Rudy when they left their final building. “He’s usually at the Lexington store this time of day, and it’s on our way home.”
“I’m starvin’, so hurry up. I’m lookin’ forward to an early dinner and one of those gourmet biscuits for dessert.”
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the coffeehouse, and she hooked Rudy’s leash to an outside table leg, as usual. “I’ll just be a couple of minutes. Don’t move.”
“Very funny. How about sneaking me inside, so I can say hello to Joe?”
“You know I can’t do that, but if he’s not busy I’ll bring him out. Okay?” She moved to go inside, and he scuttled in front of her.
“What say you leave me something to drink? This miserable heat’s turnin’ me into a raisin.”
Ellie swiped at the perspiration dotting her forehead. Rudy was right, the little stinker. She should have thought about his comfort before her own. She removed a small plastic dish and bottle of water from her bag, filled it, and set the bowl in front of him. He slurped, and she smiled. “Go slow. I don’t want you to get sick.”
He gazed at her with water dripping from his fuzzy muzzle. “If you don’t make it snappy, I’ll be sick from hunger.”
“Be patient. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hurry it up.”
Striding inside, she spotted Joe behind the counter. The line was long, as was usual for this time of day, but she needed the caffeine. A caramel bliss would give her just enough zip to stay awake through tonight’s walk with Viv and T.
Joe saw her in line and grinned when she arrived at the counter. “Haven’t seen you since the night you stopped in with that cop.”
“I’ve been busy,” Ellie explained, hoping he’d lay off the topic of Sam.
He gave his barista Ellie’s order and, like a dog with a bone, continued to gnaw. “So, are you and that guy . . . Ryder is it? Are you two an item?”
“Uh, no, of course not.”
Accepting her payment, he passed her change and gazed at her frequent buyer card. “It looks like you’ve racked up another free cup of my joe.” He punched the card and returned it to her. “Tell you what, next time you and Ryder are together, bring the detective around. I’ll see to it you both get a cup on the house.”
She tucked the money and card in her tote. “I don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon. We’re not involved or anything.”
“Really? Didn’t look that way to me.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Sam’s only on my case because of Gary’s death—and a couple of other things.” Still trying to change the subject, she said, “Rudy wants to see you.”
Joe set her coffee on the counter. “Let me guess. The little guy told you that himself.”
“As a matter of fact, he did.” She sipped the strong, sweet brew and sighed in ecstasy. “Come outside and say hello.”
“Okay, but only for a couple of sec—”
They jumped at a commotion somewhere on the sidewalk.
“What the hell?” Joe peered out the store’s front window.
Ellie gasped at the sound of a familiar bark. “That’s Rudy!” Dropping her coffee, she raced to the door.
Pedestrians speed walked past at their usual rush-hour pace. Staring openmouthed at the overturned chair and upended water dish, Ellie’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.
“My dog,” she said to a woman and her young son, sitting at the next station. “Did you see what happened to him?”
The boy gawked while his mother spoke. “Some guy walked over
and put that envelope on the table, then dropped a sack over the dog’s head and scooped him up. I screamed at him to stop, but he ignored me and took off that way.” She pointed over her shoulder.
Joe grabbed the envelope and handed it to her. “Here. Want me to call the cops?”
Ellie couldn’t think. She crumpled the paper to her chest and ran down the sidewalk, pushing pedestrians out of her way as she shouted Rudy’s name.
Chapter 21
Gasping for air, Ellie stopped running, bent at the waist, and stared at the sidewalk. She’d focused all her energy on catching the dognapper while listening for Rudy’s SOS, but she hadn’t heard a thing above the sound of traffic on the busy street. In the last ten blocks she’d dodged, passed, or pushed about a thousand pedestrians, many of whom looked suspicious but none of whom had her dog.
She stood upright and, still heaving for breath, scanned the area around Lexington and Seventy-eighth. When she spotted a Pastrami Queen, one of Rudy’s favorite quick-stop restaurants, her tears began to flow. Angry and confused, she swallowed the sobs and concentrated on what had happened.
Only an idiot would kidnap her dog. Rudy wasn’t a champion like the canines she’d rescued a few months back. He didn’t compete in shows, couldn’t even father a pup. He wasn’t worth a penny beyond the joy he’d bring to those he lived with, so why steal him? Anyone who wanted a pet could adopt from the ASPCA or other local shelters, and it was easy, safe, and legal.
For the first time, she looked at the envelope clutched in her hand—the one the thief had left on Joe’s table. Her name was scrawled across the front, the penciled letters smeared. That meant whoever had taken her dog knew her and had probably followed her to the coffee shop, where he’d waited until she was busy inside before doing the despicable deed.
Ripping open the envelope, she read:If you want to see your mutt alive, bring my money to Carl Schurz Park at ten tonight. Come alone, or your boy is a goner. Same for your friend Vivian and that cop, Ryder, too. And don’t try to cheat me out of the cash. It belongs to me.
The note had no signature, but it wasn’t necessary. Thompson Veridot had made himself clear.
Her body trembling, Ellie imagined Rudy in the hands of a man who had murdered his family in cold blood. Veridot’s threat to kill her pal wasn’t bravado.
It was real.
And though Rudy talked as if he could take over the world, he wasn’t a Rottweiler or Doberman or any breed of attack dog. He was just a twelve-pound Yorkie mix, a sweet pooch with the sass of a shock jock, the guts of a high-wire artist, and a heart the size of Texas. He’d never be able to defend himself from a monster like Veridot.
To make matters worse, Veridot wasn’t even giving her enough time to collect the money. It was close to six, when most financial institutions closed. What if First Trust was finished doing business for the day? Then what should she do?
Sidling between two parked cars, she stepped into the street next to a pair of older women dressed in Prada and pearls. After she caught a cab, she’d phone the bank to make sure she’d be allowed inside. If not . . . well, she’d cross that bridge when she got to it.
Taxis roared by at NASCAR speed, confirming the horrific rush-hour traffic. When a cab stopped, she arm wrestled one of the seniors jostling her for ownership, then slid inside and slammed the door before the women made a scene. As the car took off, she tossed every bill in her wallet, about sixty dollars, onto the front seat.
“It’s all yours if you get me to Fifth and Forty-eighth in five minutes.”
The turbaned driver glanced over his shoulder, a smile on his dark, wrinkled face. “We go. You see.”
Ellie grabbed the back of the front passenger seat when the cab shot across two lanes amidst a blare of horns. Gripping the strap hanging near the window, she held her breath as they weaved between delivery vans, cars, taxis, and buses, running yellow lights in the process.
About six blocks from the bank, she realized she hadn’t called for their hours. Now stuck in hellish gridlock, she dialed 411, asked for the number, and let the phone company connect her. “You’ve reached First Trust, where your financial future is our main concern,” a recording stated. “Our hours are seven a.m. to six p.m. Monday through Friday and—”
Closing the cell, she checked her watch again. There was still time to get to the bank, but if the traffic snarl didn’t clear in the next minute, she’d hop out and start running. A second later, as if in answer to her prayer, the gridlock broke, and they sped ahead.
Arriving in front of First Trust, she stumbled to the street before the taxi stopped and charged into the building. Racing to the back, where the private viewing area for those handling safety-deposit boxes was located, she pulled out her ID and key, was approved, and followed the service rep to a room.
“We’re about to close, Miss. You’re welcome to take your time, but all customers must vacate the premises by six thirty, unless cleared with a bank official.”
“I won’t be long,” Ellie promised.
A moment later, the rep hauled the box into the room and left. She opened the lock and removed Sam’s red canvas duffel bag. Glaring at the huge pile of banded bills, she wished the money hadn’t been left to her and Rudy. Wished even more that she’d given it away, as she’d first thought to do, and had the magnanimous gift from Gary make the newspapers. That way, Veridot wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the cash; he’d know it was gone for good.
She finished stuffing the money inside, hoisted the duffel over her shoulder, and groaned. The ibuprofen from this morning had worn off, and the darned bag weighed a ton. Lucky for her she was in decent shape, or she wouldn’t get far carrying the load in this heat. Leaving the private room, she strode from the bank and stepped onto the sidewalk. Now what?
Think, Ellie. Think. Think. Think.
When nothing specific came to mind, she scanned the area, saw Rockefeller Center in the distance, and gave herself a pep talk as she walked. She was clever. There was plenty of time before she was due at Carl Schurz. She’d sit at a table, take stock of her predicament, and come up with a plan. Trudging the two blocks, she climbed the short flight of steps into the bar area and wended her way through groups of laughing tourists, most of whom were there to visit the Manhattan landmark.
Ordering a club soda with lime, she waited until the server left before opening the note a second time. The words “your dog is a goner” leapt out at her, and she swallowed a sob. If anything happened to her little pal . . .
She swiped away a round of tears with her paper napkin. No. Rudy would be fine. She’d make sure of it. But she couldn’t call Vivian or Sam for help. She couldn’t call anyone. She had no choice but to do what the letter said, and she had to do it on her own.
The waiter brought her drink, and she chugged half the cool liquid before setting the glass down. Blotting her still-damp forehead with another napkin, she told herself to be calm. Rational. Figure the problem out instead of diving in, as she’d done the last time a dog was in trouble.
Scanning the note again, she realized Veridot knew Vivian by name, and Sam, too. She and Sam had gone quite a few places together the last couple of days: the bank, the park, they’d even walked the dogs. And since he knew Sam was an officer, Veridot probably had checked out the precinct, too.
But what about Vivian?
When had they been out together in the past week, and who had they spoken to?
Ellie propped her chin in her hands and thought back to the morning she’d been in the basement of her building. She was the one who’d held a conversation with the tattooed guy in the laundry room, but Viv had talked to Stefan Burns the next day.
What if the man Viv met wasn’t Burns, but the man who’d called himself Thompson? Viv hadn’t described him, nor had she repeated her dialogue with Burns word for word, but Ellie was certain Viv would have introduced herself. If that was the case, the guy might have lied and just said he was Burns, when in fact he was really Veridot.
But how did he know she and Vivian were friends?
It only took a second for her to recall their dialogue. “Do you know the tenant in 2-B? The gorgeous brunette? The name above her mailbox just says V. McCready. Is she Virginia? Valerie? Vanessa?”
“Her name is Vivian.”
Oh, God. She was such a sap, offering Viv’s name as if she were a brand of ice cream or type of laundry detergent. When was she going to be more careful and not blab personal information to everyone she met?
Ellie finished her drink and asked the waiter for another. Then, tapping her fingers on the table, she reaf- firmed her first decision. She couldn’t let Viv or Sam know about any of this because they’d insist on trying to help. And if they did, they might be killed.
Rescuing Rudy was her job alone.
Standing in the bullpen, Sam glanced at the wall clock across the room. He’d done paperwork for the past hour, killing time while he waited for Ellie’s call. She’d promised to phone him when she got home, and that was usually around six thirty. It was almost seven. What the hell was taking her so long? He pulled out his cell, began to dial, then snapped it closed. Dumb move, asshole. He’d told Ellie he wouldn’t push, that he would trust her. If he called now, she’d take it the wrong way and accuse him of not honoring his promise. Then she’d slam the phone in his ear and ignore him for the next six months. Six months he didn’t plan to spend without her.
Gruning chose that moment to walk in the room. Sam inhaled a breath and ambled in his direction. If he played his cards right, he might be able to get some information and find out about Ellie, too.
“Detective Gruning,” he said, forcing a smile. “Do you have time to talk?”
Scowling, Gruning pulled a mint from the side pocket of his rumpled, drab brown suit and popped it into his mouth. “I’ve got two minutes. Hurry it up.”
Though it pissed him off, Sam continued to make nice. “Is the toxicology report back on Gary Veridot?”
The detective raised a brow. “Any special reason why you want to know?”