Hounding the Pavement

by MCCOY, JUDI

  “And if I find Buddy?”

  He studied the ceiling, then focused on her face. “Let me know if you locate the mutt.”

  Annoyed that he still insisted on calling the bichon a crude name, she squared her shoulders. “As I’ve already explained, Buddy is not a mutt. He’s a champion. And I’ve been thinking”—unlike you, she almost added—“have you ever considered that finding him might lead you to the killer . . . if there is one?”

  She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth, because it gave credence to his idea that she knew more than she’d admitted to. “I’ve already given you permission to search my condo, though common sense would tell you I didn’t have time to murder the professor, hide Buddy, and come back to the building, where I then pretended to find the body.”

  “People have accomplices.”

  Ellie’s lips thinned. Not only did Ryder have a low opinion of canines, he had a low opinion of her, which meant he wasn’t worth a second more of her worry. Contrary to his Mr. Perfect looks, the guy was a jerk, and she’d interacted with enough of them to last a lifetime.

  “Can I go now?” she asked in a forced tone.

  He folded his arms and nodded.

  Instead of shaking his hand or spewing insincere words of farewell, she raised her nose and strode out the door with all the chutzpah she could muster.

  On the street, she headed for the corner. Since the precinct was a long way from the Davenport, she’d have to run at lightening speed or catch a cab, a near impossibility at this hour. Not only was she exhausted—she hadn’t eaten a thing since that chocolate ice-cream bar and a tuna sandwich on cracker-dry whole wheat that the detective had tossed her way around two.

  After ten minutes of frantic waving, she spotted a free taxi. Racing toward it, she reached the door at the same moment a blue-haired grandmotherly type elbowed past pedestrians and arrived at her side. When the woman grabbed the cab door, Ellie arm wrestled her to a standstill, slid into the backseat, and shouted, “Sorry. It’s an emergency,” as she slammed the door.

  The furious granny whacked her umbrella on the taxi trunk, and the driver steered into traffic, asking, “Where to?” without a backward glance.

  Ellie gave him the Davenport address and leaned back. With only twenty minutes left to cover the blocks between here and her destination, there was a good possibility she’d be late. And if she was late, Eugene or Bibi might get to Hazel Blackberg before she did and secure a client she had a right to, which would give her two main competitors a reason to do the happy dance for scamming her out of a client.

  The taxi pulled in front of the complex at six-o-five. Ellie tossed the fare into the front seat, raced to the sidewalk, and frowned when the evening doorman, a glowering giant named Kronkovitz, welcomed her into the building.

  “Hey, Kronk,” she called, hoping to pass without a hassle.

  Kronk stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “El-ee. I hear we have great tragedy this morning,” he said in heavily accented English. “Professor Albright, a very nice man, is no longer with us.”

  “Sad but true,” she agreed, trying to edge around him. “Did Randall tell you to watch for his dog?”

  “I look, but see nothing,” he confessed. “You theenk there is ree-ward for person who finds lee-til white dog?”

  She imagined the giant’s salivary glands working exactly like Rudy’s did when he smelled a burger sizzling on the grill. “I don’t know for certain, but probably. It depends on the professor’s relatives.”

  “You can feex, no? Tell them I am hero when I rescue lee-til pup.”

  She’d heard that the Russian mafia had infiltrated the doorman’s union but, until now, hadn’t taken the rumor seriously. Kronk’s greedy leer was an eye opener.

  “Provided it happens, yes. I’m hoping that tonight, after things quiet down, Buddy will come out from wherever he’s been hiding and find his way here.” She spotted a man and two women entering the building and followed them to the elevator with Kronk on her heels. “Most of the tenants get home about now. Can you ask them to be on the lookout for him?” It was possible someone had seen something this morning, and the police had yet to reach them.

  “I ask,” said the doorman. Throwing out his barrel chest, he raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “But I collect ree-ward, no matter what. Yes?”

  “Um, sure, if you find him, and if they offer one,” she said, waiting for another man to enter the car. “I’ll do my best to see you get what you deserve.” Which amounted to a kick in the head, if she had anything to say about it. “Of course, it’ll be up to whoever inherits Buddy to hand over the cash.”

  With his mud brown eyes narrowed to slits, Kronk folded his arms. “Is good.”

  Standing in front of 3-G, Ellie inhaled a calming breath, plastered a smile on her face, and pressed the buzzer. Her day wasn’t over yet. She still had to charm her way into Ms. Blackberg’s heart and sign her on as a customer; then she owed Sweetie Pie her second walk of the day. Only afterward could she head home to Rudy and a decent dinner.

  The door opened almost immediately, and a short, rotund woman dressed in a full-length, boldly patterned gown that could have doubled as wallpaper stood before her.

  “Hazel Blackberg?”

  “That’s me,” said the portly prospective client.

  It was then Ellie noticed the small black dog tucked against the woman’s massive bosom. “Randall said you might be interested in my services—for your dog.”

  The woman took a drag on the cigarette in her other hand. “You’re late.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Like a scientist examining culture in a Petri dish, Ms. Blackberg’s eyes roamed over Ellie. “Come on in,” she said, taking a step back.

  Ellie walked into a foyer much like the professor’s, cluttered floor to ceiling with furniture, boxes, and towers of books. The woman waved her down the hall. “Excuse the mess. We’ll be right with you.”

  Dodging the collection of cartons and mismatched tables, Ellie entered the living room and admired the view from the sliding plate-glass door that led to a narrow terrace.

  “I take it you’re bonded and insured?” Ms. Blackberg asked when she toddled in from the kitchen at the opposite end of the sitting area.

  Well, crap. “Of course.” She pulled a business card from her bag and passed it over. “Here’s my information.”

  Ms. Blackberg gave the card a mad-scientist inspection. “There aren’t any license numbers on here.”

  “What? No.” Ellie brought out another card and stared with wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, gee. I guess I have to go to the printer and complain, then demand a new batch for free.” Demanding anything in this city always seemed to garner respect for the demandee.

  “I’d ask for a double order.” Her potential client stuffed the card in her pocket. “It’s Hazel, by the way.”

  “I assume that’s Buckley?”

  “My baby,” Hazel replied. Her stern gaze softening, she nuzzled the pup with her chin. “Does Buckley-wuckly want to meet the nice way-dee?”

  Ellie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I talk to my dog, too,” she confessed.

  “How could I not? Look at that little face.”

  Nearing the dog, Ellie held out her hand and let Buckley sniff her fingers, then moved to gather him in her arms. When the pooch growled, she backed away in surprise.

  “Oh, hush,” Hazel ordered the pup. After taking another drag on her cigarette, she blew the smoke cloud toward the ceiling. “He does that all the time. Madam Orzo says it’s a self-defense mechanism. He’s small, and the growl is all he has for protection.”

  “Madam Orzo?”

  “Jeanette is a wonderful woman. Her specialty is communing with our four-legged loved ones, no matter if they’re alive or have passed to that big doggie park in the sky.”

  A pet psychic? Thinking it might be a good career move if this profession failed, Ellie
raised a brow. “Does Buckley bite?”

  “Goodness no, but he is a bit of a grump. Here.” She thrust the Maltipoo at Ellie, and the dog settled comfortably in the crook of her arm. “See what I mean? He likes you.”

  “Uh-huh,” she answered, a tad unsure of the petite canine. “When did you visit a psychic?”

  “We go every month, just to stay connected. Take him on the terrace if you like, and see if you get along.”

  Ellie walked onto the terrace and sat in one of the two wicker chairs arranged around a matching table. When the dog gazed up at her as if she were a Godzilla-sized flea, she said, “So, Buckley, hello. I’m Ellie, and I want to be your new caregiver, if you’ll let me.”

  The dog opened his tiny mouth and yawned, showing a pink tongue and a row of small but sharp teeth. She set him on the table, where he continued to eye her with suspicion.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think,” the words echoed clearly in her brain, “you’re a whole lot better at communicating than that nosy psychic who has no idea what’s on my mind.”

  She grinned at his enthusiasm. “Then you can hear me?”

  “Of course.”

  “And it doesn’t frighten you?”

  “There’s not a human born who scares me. But I’ll tell you what does crank my chain,” he responded, his voice sounding very much like a grousing Pee Wee Herman.

  “What?”

  “The fact that I’m gettin’ freakin’ lung cancer from the secondhand smoke I suck down shacking up with Hazel. It really frosts my buns.”

  “And that’s why you growl?”

  “Yep. Convince her to stop, and I’ll be your pal for life.”

  “I’m not promising anything, but—”

  The sliding door opened, and Hazel stuck out her head. “You’re talking to him.” She smiled. “That is so wonderful.”

  “I speak to all my charges. You never can tell what they do and don’t understand.” She carried Buckley inside and passed him over. “Ms. Blackberg—”

  “Hazel, please,” the woman cooed. “When can you start walking my baby?”

  “Tomorrow morning? I usually get here around nine.”

  “Perfect. Randall said you charge twenty dollars for a half hour walk, and I want my darling to have two a day.”

  After working out the details, including a price break for the second walk, Ellie accepted a check for the balance of the month. At the door, she turned and shook her new client’s bejeweled hand. “There’s just one more thing.”

  “Oh, and what might that be?”

  “Do you realize that cigarette smoke is as bad for dogs as it is for humans? It might be causing Buckley harm.”

  Tears filled Hazel’s eyes as her hand fluttered to her bosom. “I’ve tried to quit so many times but . . . you’re sure dogs react identically to smoke?”

  “I’ve read articles and done a bit of research, and trust me, it’s a fact.”

  “I had no idea,” the woman said with a moan.

  “Think about it. And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Buckley when he’s in my charge.”

  She raced to Sweetie Pie’s apartment, hooked her to the lead, and headed downstairs, where she dodged a group of people surrounding Kronk, and headed for the park. After the Westie did her business and she and the dog exchanged a few words, Ellie escorted her home and stopped in the lobby, where she hoped to question Kronk further. But the doorman was occupied with apartment dwellers, so she took off for her brownstone.

  Earlier, Officer Burroughs had allowed her to take Twink to his apartment before she’d dropped Rudy at home, and Vivian had more than likely already given the Jack Russell a walk. But her best friend knew nothing of her dilemma, so Viv wouldn’t have thought to take Rudy out with Twink.

  Arriving at her building, she collected her mail, ran the two flights to her apartment, and opened the door. Before she hung her coat, Rudy was dancing around her feet.

  “Outside, outside, outside,” he commanded. “Then it’s dinnertime.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” she agreed as she snapped his leash to his leather collar. They skipped down the steps and onto the street, where Rudy watered the side of the building, a sure sign he’d been in need of relief.

  After two more leg lifts, he dragged her to the complex’s front door, his chant of Dinner, dinner, dinner ringing in her brain. “You sound like a foodaholic. Don’t you ever think of anything else?” she teased, stooping to give him a pat.

  “You mean there’s more to life than a decent dinner?”

  “You know there is,” she told him as they took the staircase up to their floor. When they arrived in the kitchen, she filled his bowl and added a few extra kibble. “Sorry I had to leave you today, but we’ll go for a nice long walk before bed, okay? We have to search for Buddy.”

  Rudy buried his nose in his dish, and she hoped he’d talk to her about the missing bichon after he ate. He was as spoiled as all the dogs she walked, most of which ate gourmet meals, got regular exercise, and spent time in a variety of shops in business to pamper pets. There were at least six on this side of town including Canine Styles Uptown on Lexington, Finishing Touches on Seventy-fourth, and Dogs, Cats & Company on Eighty-second. Well-to-do owners cared for their four-legged pals like children, and made sure they had every advantage. And since her surprise mental connection, she realized that once they had experienced it, most dogs looked forward to the special treatment.

  She threw a Lean Cuisine in the microwave, walked to her bedroom, and changed into a more comfortable oversized T-shirt and leggings. As she glanced around the recently redecorated room, a wave of contentment filled her. She’d hand-painted a border of pink flowers over the serene green walls, and added several photos of herself and her father, plus one of her with Georgette and a few paintings she’d kept after she’d sold the pieces the D hadn’t wanted. With the simple yet elegant furniture, the room was completely devoid of her ex’s ratty presence. With her business off to a good start, she’d repay her mother for the new furniture and borrowed mortgage payments well within their agreed-upon time frame.

  Back in the kitchen, she removed the heated dinner from the nuker and wolfed it down, then took a pint of Haagen-Dazs from the freezer. Still thinking about the professor, she dug out a spoonful and let the creamy blend of caramel, chocolate, and vanilla slide down her throat.

  Finished with his own dinner, Rudy gazed at her from his empty dish. “Caramel Cone, my favorite,” he said with longing.

  “Please don’t let’s have this conversation again. You know chocolate isn’t good for dogs.”

  “A little of the caramel wouldn’t hurt.”

  Careful to avoid the chocolate swirls, she scraped up a bit of the ice cream, squatted, and gave him a taste.

  “That’s my girl,” Rudy said after licking the spoon clean. “Now what was that you mentioned earlier? Something about a long walk?”

  “I think we should go back to the Davenport. It wouldn’t hurt to check the alley and a few of the side streets or, much as I don’t want to, speak to Kronk again. He might have learned something from a resident or found Buddy in the building.”

  “How about we stop at Bread and Bones on the way?”

  The gourmet bakery was one of Rudy’s favorites, especially since they made a batch of tasty dog treats every day. “If they’re open, sure. I’ll even buy an extra biscuit as a lure. Maybe Buddy will come out if he smells it.”

  The Yorkiepoo’s ears twitched, and he headed for the door. “So what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Outside Bread and Bones, Ellie broke the homemade carob-filled cookie in two and tossed Rudy a piece. After she stuffed the other half into her fanny pack, along with the biscuit for Buddy, they continued walking toward the Davenport while she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of the bichon.

  Turning north on Fifth, she stopped to speak to the doormen she’d met when she’d dropped off Paws in Motion business cards. Sadly, not one
of them had seen a lone fluffy white dog on the streets. When she arrived at the Davenport, she prepared herself to go another round with Kronk.

  The giant doorman, hunched over a newspaper spread out on the registration desk, raised his shaggy gray head as she and Rudy approached.

  “El-ee. This is surprise. Since when you are walking clients at night?”

  “I’m here to check on the hunt for Buddy, Kronk. Any sign of him?”

  Kronk heaved a sigh. “No.”

  Not used to getting such a terse answer from him, she raised a brow. “Have you spoken to any of the tenants?”

  The Russian shrugged. “A couple.”

  Weird alert. “How many is a couple, and who were they?”

  “I only remember faces, not names.” Dismissing her, he returned his gaze to the paper.

  Ellie smacked a palm on the countertop. “Kronk, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Leave the man be, Engleman,” said a voice she recognized.

  She turned and Rudy lunged on the lead, growling as if he’d cornered a rat. “Eugene. What are you doing here?”

  “Hey! Hey! Hey! Control your mutt, or I’ll use my Taser on him.” With that, he knocked on the counter as a good-bye to the doorman and headed outside.

  It was then she realized that Kronk hadn’t told her what he knew because one of her prime competitors, a gay dog walker who apparently had no last name, was in the vicinity. Taking control of Rudy, she followed Eugene onto the sidewalk, practically jogging to catch him.

  Eugene was the undisputed king of dog walkers, at least in the Davenport and a few of the surrounding buildings, and when she’d traded words with him the first morning she’d taken Buddy out, the man had been over-the-top rude. That was the moment she came to grips with the rumors she’d heard of cutthroat dog walkers and the lengths they took to keep the clients they had and corral new ones.

  Until Eugene, she hadn’t conversed with anyone who matched the D in nasty banter. She could only imagine the oily sneer on his thin lips when he’d heard about the professor’s demise.

  Catching up to him, she worked her way to his front and walked backward as she spoke. “Eugene, stop for a second. I want to talk to you.”