by Judi McCoy
“Where you going?”
“You don’t need to—”
“Can we come?”
“I don’t think—”
“Hey, that’s not fair.”
Ellie heaved a sigh. She tried her best to treat each dog equally and not play favorites, but every once in a while, like now, it was impossible. “I’m taking her to someone who might be able to help her remember what happened the night of the murder. None of you has that problem, so you don’t need to tag along.”
“Who you goin’ to see?” asked Jett.
Noting the temperature had dropped with the encroaching darkness, Ellie zipped her parka, pulled on her gloves, and stepped out onto Fifth Avenue. The wind gusted and she thought about her visions of an early spring. Even though there were clusters of crocuses and daffodils lining the edge of the park, the nippy air was a reminder that her second-favorite season was still four weeks away.
“Madame Orzo, if you must know,” she said as they crossed the avenue. “Now hurry up and finish your business.”
“You weren’t kidding when you asked Hazel for her card? You’re really takin’ her there?” Buckley shouted over the rumble of rush-hour traffic. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“No kidding. Bitsy needs help remembering, and I’ve run out of ideas. A dog psychic seems like the next logical step.” After leading the pack to their favorite drop spot, she let them sniff for a few minutes before encouraging action.
Buckley hoisted a leg so high she thought he’d topple over. “Don’t be surprised if it don’t work,” he warned. “The woman is all blab and no brains.”
“Believe me, I’ve heard everything you said about Madame Orzo, but I never did understand what it was that made you think so poorly of her. Care to clue me in?”
The maltipoo scratched his hind legs into the ground, throwing up a shower of dirt, a sure sign he was perturbed. “She said I was a grouch because Hazel treated me like a baby instead of top dog. She also said I was spoiled.” He gave the ground one more strike. “Can you believe that? Me? Spoiled.”
“Oh, no. Really?” Ellie bit back a grin. “How dare she say such a terrible thing.”
“It’s not funny. Just ’cause I’m the little guy doesn’t mean I’m not in charge.”
“You? In charge?” She shook her head, taking in the seven-pound ball of fur with legs. “You’re joking, right?”
Rudy sneezed. “Go easy, Triple E. Buck is dead serious. After Twink, he’s the badass in the group. I wouldn’t want to cross him.” He ended the statement with an eye roll, as if to say “play along.”
“Now, Buckley, think a minute. I spoil all the dogs I walk, and their moms and dads do the same. It’s only natural for Hazel to baby you. She loves you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sing me another sad song,” the maltipoo said with a snort of derision.
“Okay, fine, whatever. Now move it along. We have to give Bradley and Bitsy their walk and get to the Village in an hour.”
After the gang did as asked, Ellie and Rudy took them home, passed out biscuits, and left progress reports. A few minutes later, she and her boy were on the poohuahua’s floor, listening to Bradley’s snurffles from under the door.
“We’re here, so be quiet,” she ordered Rudy. “I have to talk to Kayla about Eugene, remember.”
“You’re gonna stretch the truth again, I take it.”
“No. Well, sort of. We’ll see.”
She knocked, heard Kayla yell, “Come in,” and used her key. When she opened the door, Bitsy was again jumping under Bradley like one of those windup dogs the toy store sold to little kids. Ignoring the Great Dane’s disapproving glare, she forged into the apartment with Bitsy on her heels.
“Hang on a second, you two, while I talk to Kayla.”
“Kayla’s in the big room, but I wouldn’t bother her if I were you,” the poohuahua told her. “She’s working.”
Ellie recalled what Viv had said about Kayla Janz being an author. Sure enough, when she turned the corner into the living room, the woman was sitting at a laptop, squinting at the screen in concentration. “Uh, Kayla. Can you spare a minute?”
Kayla’s eyes never left the screen. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s about Bitsy. And Bradley.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I saw Rob at the club a little while ago, and he said I could take Bitsy home for the night. Is that okay with you?”
Kayla waved a hand. “Uh-huh.”
Ellie frowned. At this rate, there was no point in talking to her about Eugene. She’d get the same deadpan answer, which really was no answer at all. “I’m taking them out now, but only Bradley will be back. I’ll . . . um . . . see you in the morning?”
Another “uh-huh,” accompanied by a second wave, was all Kayla had to say. Ellie turned and bumped into Bradley, who was standing close behind her. “Okay, big guy, let’s get going.”
When the Dane backed up a step and trotted to the hall, Ellie smiled. She specialized in walking mini-canines because she feared the larger ones might be too difficult to handle. She’d seen plenty of professional walkers stumbling across the avenue with eager charges rushing to get to the park. She’d even heard a frightening story about one girl who broke an ankle falling off a curb while she tried to control a pair of Mastiffs. At least Bradley did what he was told.
After clipping leads onto both dogs, she headed to the lobby with them and walked out the door. Once they crossed the street, Bradley wasted no time doing his business. Refusing to comment on his usual smirk, she ignored him, cleaned up his mess, and deposited everything in the trash.
When they returned to the Davenport, the lobby was clogged with tenants badgering Kronk en masse about something. Hoping to avoid attention, she hurried to the elevator. If the doorman was busy, he couldn’t pester her about that letter to the management company or anything else.
“There they are,” a man said above the noise of the crowd.
Ellie kept on truckin’ when an inner voice told her she was part of the “they” the man was talking about.
“That enormous hound doesn’t belong here, either,” carped a woman. “I thought there was a rule about the size of dog a tenant was allowed to have in this building.”
The elevator door closed and Ellie rested her backside against the wall. It didn’t matter how much money some people had. Rude was rude. It sounded like the tenants were going to take their unhappiness with Rob’s tenancy to a more personal level: his dogs.
“That group is nuttier than a jar of Skippy,” Rudy pronounced.
“Yeah—some people,” Bitsy added.
Studying the floor, Bradley stayed mum, which Ellie found sad. “It’s okay, big guy,” she said as they left the elevator. “Those people have no manners. Ignore them.”
Knowing Kayla was busy, she unlocked the door and escorted Bradley inside. Then she removed the Great Dane’s leash and hung it on the wall hook. She left after giving the king-sized canine two biscuits and a grin. “See you in the morning. Be a good dog.”
“Where you takin’ me?” asked Bitsy when they returned to the elevator.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Oh, boy,” snarked Rudy.
“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” she warned him. “Unless you want me to drop you at home.”
“What kind of surprise?” the poohuahua pleaded, a sliver of worry creeping into her tone.
“It’s an experiment. I’m hoping it will help you remember everything that happened the last time you were at the club. You’d tell me if you recalled what you saw, correct?”
“Sure—and I haven’t.”
They passed the mob still harassing Kronk and arrived on Fifth Avenue, where Ellie hailed a cab. After giving the driver Madame Orzo’s address, she pulled out her notepad and began compiling a list of questions for the psychic. Both dogs were quiet, and the ride passed without an exchange of words.
Madame Orzo lived on Grove Street, an area of neat and trendy br
ownstones a short walk from the entertainment and bustle of the Village. New York was one of the most expensive places to live in the United States, and the Upper East Side was at the top of the list when it came to rent and condo prices, but she’d heard this section of the city was comparable. Her neighborhood had the beauty and amenities of Central Park and Museum Mile, but the West Village had quaint shops, interesting architecture, Washington Square, and NYU.
After paying the cabdriver, she stepped onto the pavement with the dogs. Gazing up at the five-story building with its neat brick construction, wide front porch, and concrete planters, Ellie was impressed. If Madame Orzo had an apartment in this building, the canine psychic business had to be booming.
The trio climbed the stairs and entered the front lobby. Checking the mailboxes, she saw that there were two units to a floor and Madame Orzo’s apartment was located on the third. Preparing herself, she pressed the buzzer under the mailbox.
A moment later, a woman’s voice said, “Allo.”
“Madame Orzo? It’s Ellie Engleman, your seven o’clock appointment. Can we come up?”
Instead of an answer, another buzzer sounded, and she pushed open the interior door. “You two ready?” she asked her companions.
“As we’ll ever be,” said Rudy.
They began their climb and Ellie noticed it was quiet. Very quiet. There was no noise from a television or sound system, not even an undercurrent of human voices. Odder still were the missing aromas of cooking food. The city was a melting pot of cultures, and in most of the smaller buildings it was rare not to smell Indian, Thai, Italian, or another type of ethnic cuisine wafting through the air.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Rudy whispered.
“I don’t think I want to do this,” said Bitsy, stopping in the middle of the second flight of stairs.
“Don’t be silly,” Ellie told them, mostly for her own peace of mind. “You’re both just used to bigger buildings with more tenants.”
“Don’t you mean live tenants?” Rudy muttered.
They reached the top of the stairs and Ellie looked to the right, where she saw a neatly lettered sign tacked to the cream-colored wall.
MADAME ORZO
ANIMAL PSYCHIC
PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING
She raised her hand to follow the directions and Bitsy gave a whimper. “You okay, little girl?”
“Sort of.”
“I thought Buck was lookin’ for attention when he told me this place was a mausoleum,” Rudy pronounced. “Next time, I’ll believe him.”
Ellie lowered her fist. “He said what?”
“He said this place reminded him of a crypt. You know, where they bury people. I thought he was being a pain, but now I see he was calling it true.”
She dropped to her knees. “Well, now’s a fine time to tell me. If I’d known—”
A rush of air fluttered the curls on her forehead. Looking over her shoulder, her gaze wandered upward from a pair of tiny black shoes, past a full-length black skirt shot with silver thread, over a long-sleeved black blouse, to a smiling, pleasant face.
“Uh, hi.” Ellie stumbled to her feet.
“Allo,” said the doll-like woman.
Towering over Madame Orzo, she imagined this was how Kronk felt, or the giant bouncer she’d met at Guess Who. If not for her funeral-appropriate clothing, the woman could pass for an upscale jewelry salesperson at Bergdorf’s. With her closely cropped brown hair and bright hazel eyes, she appeared ready to tackle anything life threw at her.
“I’m Ellie. You must be Madame Orzo.”
“Come een, come een,” the woman said, stepping back to give them room. “You are on time. That is good.”
Ellie and the dogs entered and she noted that the interior of the apartment was painted in muted colors of umber, peach, and orange. Glancing down, she smiled at a pair of Italian Greyhounds gazing at her from around a doorjamb.
Madame Orzo waggled a hand as she made her way down the hall. “Come, come. We must begin.”
Chapter 12
Once Ellie arrived in the living room, the elegant dogs took no notice of her, choosing instead to give a typical canine greeting to Rudy and Bitsy. When her boy didn’t make a snarky comment after he sniffed and play-bowed with the new canines, she figured the Greyhounds had his stamp of approval.
So far, so good.
“Beautiful dogs,” she said, hoping to get off on the right foot with the psychic. And she meant it. Italian Greyhounds were fine-boned, loyal companions with happy dispositions. Though she’d never had one as a client, she had always admired them.
“Thank you,” Madame Orzo said, smiling. “Mees-tee and Spar-kee are my cheel-dren, so much more dependable than a man.”
Ellie translated the psychic’s odd pronunciation of the dogs’ names to “Misty” and “Sparky.” Madame Orzo’s accent was a bit like Kronk’s but seemed to include a touch of France, Spain, and Hungary for good measure. Asking the woman her country of origin might be construed as an insult, though. Even worse, the psychic’s affected speech, as well as her talent, could be a sham.
“And this is my boy, Rudy. He’s a pound puppy, but they thought he was a yorkiepoo, and he’s worth more to me than any purebred,” Ellie said. “I wouldn’t call him my child, but he is my best friend.”
“ ’Ee eez a very ’andsome fellow, no matter ’eez breed.” The psychic’s brown eyes twinkled as they latched on to Bitsy. “And who eez theez lee-til girl?”
“This is Bitsy. I was told by her owner that she’s a Poodle-Chihuahua mix, so I call her a poohuahua, but I doubt that’s a combination anyone would recognize.”
Madame Orzo’s gaze returned to Rudy. After studying him for a moment, she left the room. Ellie thought maybe they’d done something to offend the woman, but before she could ask her boy about the possibility the psychic returned.
“ ’Eer, eez for you.” She bent and offered Rudy a biscuit, which he quickly accepted. Standing, she said to Ellie, “Your boy was ’un-gree. I ’ope giving him treat was all right.” Then she passed biscuits to her own dogs, who took the goodies to their beds in a corner of the room.
Ellie opened and closed her mouth as she gazed at Rudy. He’d already scarfed down the cookie and was curled on a corner of the rug. The least he could have done was warn her that Madame Orzo had read his mind.
“Of course not,” she answered. “And he’s not usually a beggar—” She hadn’t seen him do a thing that would have been considered begging. “How did you know?”
Madame Orzo laughed. “I am good at reading their minds, no? Eez how I make my leev-ink.” Focusing on Bitsy, who was standing next to Ellie, she squatted. “And you, lee-til one. I did not forget about you.” She held out a smaller treat, luring the poohuahua near.
Bitsy sniffed daintily, then took the biscuit and began to chew. While she ate, the psychic lifted her up and stood. “She is troubled, yes?”
“Ah . . . yes,” said Ellie, swallowing her surprise. Had she told Madame Orzo Bitsy was the dog that needed help? She glanced at Rudy, saw that he appeared to be sound asleep, and shrugged. “Are we—er—you going to start the session?”
The psychic nodded to a chair near Rudy. “We ’ave already begun. Sit, please, and turn off cell phone, while Beet-zee and I continue in peace.”
Ellie took a seat and did as asked with her phone, still unsure of what was happening. The woman was downright spooky, interacting with the dogs as if she could read their thoughts without any kind of voodoo or magical gestures. Then a lightbulb flashed in Ellie’s brain and she swallowed her surprise. Madame Orzo’s technique was close to what she did when she and her dogs spoke, except that this woman, instead of hiding her ability, advertised it for all to see. And Madame Orzo wasn’t embarrassed or afraid of being ridiculed either.
Suck it up, Ellie told herself. She didn’t do the exact same thing, and she never claimed to be psychic. And though she actually did hear dogs’ voices in her head, she
couldn’t read their thoughts. Her charges simply chose to share them. She raised her gaze and watched Madame Orzo and Bitsy grow comfortable. If things kept going in a positive direction, the night might actually be a success.
Eyes closed, Madame Orzo cuddled the poohuahua in her arms. Bitsy appeared content, so Ellie relaxed. The last thing she wanted was to further traumatize the petite pooch.
“Ah, I see.” Without opening her eyes, Madame Orzo spoke. “Let go of your fears and all will come to you, lee-til one.”
Ellie tried to home in on Bitsy’s thoughts, but nothing registered. “Do you know why we’re here?” she asked the psychic.
“But of course. You already know that Beet-zee, she ’as seen something ’or-ee-ble. Even unspeakable. She cannot tell you about it because she has buried it deep in her mind.”
Uh-oh. Ellie heaved a breath. The jig, as they said, was up. “Then you know what we—what I can do?”
Eyes closed, the psychic said, “You are blessed. I often weesh I could hear my bay-beez talk, the way you do, but it was not to be. It is enough I can read their thoughts, and do what I can to ’elp other dogs.” Bitsy squirmed and Madame Orzo frowned, gazing at Ellie. “You write what I say, in case you do not remember later.”
Ellie reached into her tote bag and pulled out a pen and notepad. Time to stop talking and listen.
“I see what Beet-zee sees. That night, she was asleep, but she woke at the sound of angry voices. The voices grew louder, until one of the two humans standing in the room shoved the other. The next theeng she saw was a body dropping to the floor. And blood. So much blood.”
Ellie choked back a gasp. “Can you tell what the people looked like?”
Keeping her eyes closed, the psychic pressed her lips on the top of Bitsy’s head. After a second, she said, “No faces, only clothing from the legs down. The person who died wore a sparkling dress and shiny shoes. The other wore pants and shoes that were—” Madame Orzo stopped and looked at Ellie. “Shoes that belonged to a man.”
So the killer was male? “Can you garner a little more in the way of details? Say, the color or size of the shoes?”
