by Judi McCoy
“Stanley is the only person I know in the legal profession. Have you asked him about job opportunities?”
“I could never go back to work in a law office. Richard has so many connections in the field, I’d be sure to run into someone who knows him.” She crumpled her tissue and plucked another from a box on the coffee table. “I’m willing to do anything, short of selling myself on the street, to accrue a little spending money.”
“Well, as a matter of fact—”
“Uh-uh-ah.”
“I could use some help in my business.”
“Your business?” Hilary wrinkled her nose. “Are you suggesting I walk dogs for a living? And pick up their . . . their leavings?”
“Bad idea, very bad,” Rudy muttered.
“The job would only be part-time, but it’s off the books, and I’d pick up the charges for getting you bonded and insured. You’d receive a 1099 at the end of the year, and it would be your decision on how to handle the taxes.”
“Where exactly would the dogs come from?” She leaned back in her seat. “I wouldn’t have to go far, would I?”
“No. In fact, I have several clients in this building, and I contracted a new one this morning.” She mentioned Mariette Lowenstein and Sampson.
“I know Mariette. Her dog is rather . . . rowdy.”
“Not a good match, Triple E.”
“Sampson is a pug. That sort of dog can be rambunctious, but we’ll work on teaching him better manners. I’m sure you could walk him and the other two.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do not.”
“I’ll show you how,” Ellie offered. “But you have to fill out forms with my bonding and insurance companies. While you’re waiting for approval, you can accompany me on their morning walk. They get picked up at ten; we can take them together.”
“But you said I could make my own hours.”
“In a manner of speaking. Sampson, Millie, and Dilbert are scheduled to go out by nine, and you can bring Cuddles. And since he’ll accompany you, you’ll save that money, as well. I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own when I get the paperwork. There’s just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“If I have an emergency, you have to promise to cover for me on all my rounds.”
“All? How many would that be?”
“Four buildings in total, and about twenty-five additional dogs.”
Hilary’s eyes widened to saucers.
“But I’m a very healthy person. Haven’t gotten sick in years,” Ellie assured her.
“You mentioned emergencies.”
“I might have an appointment run late, but that rarely happens. It’s just that sometimes—”
“The cops run you in for murder?” Rudy suggested, sniggering.
“I need to take care of personal business.”
Hilary closed her eyes, and Ellie imagined the scenario rolling around in the woman’s brain: yapping dogs, entwined leashes, and the number one deterrent—thirty mounds of poop to scoop. When seen in such a glamorous manner, even she would shy away from the job.
She was about to rescind her offer when Hilary smiled. “I’ll do it.”
“Great. Freakin’ great,” Rudy yipped.
“That’s wonderful,” Ellie said. A pathetic-sounding whine echoed from the kitchen, prompting her to add, “Sounds like Cuddles is up and ready to go. Put on your sneakers—”
“Sneakers?”
“Or walking shoes. Whatever you wear to trek the city.”
“I haven’t trekked this city or any other in years.”
“Then now is a good time to start. Find your most comfortable flats and slip them on. I’ll get Cuddles, pick up the other dogs, and meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes.”
Hilary continued to stare as if Ellie had lost her mind.
“Ticktock,” groused Rudy.
“Go on, hurry up. If you want the job, think of this as your interview.”
Hilary jumped to her feet and skedaddled from the room.
“You’re unleashing an idiot on those poor canines. They’re gonna hate you for it.”
“Give Hilary a chance before you doom her to failure. And think of Cuddles. If her husband has his way, she could be forced to move, which means she might have to put Cuddles in a shelter. You don’t want to see them separated, do you?” Ellie walked to the kitchen and grinned at the white, four-pound toy poodle standing on his hind legs inside his crate. “Hey, baby boy. How are you today?”
“Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. I’m holding my wee like you told me, but I gotta go bad.”
She took him out of the cage. “I’ll carry you, just to keep you honest. We’ll be outside in a few minutes.”
“Rudy, you gonna let me walk next to you today? Are ya, huh? Are ya?”
“Only if you promise to keep your nose out of my privates.”
“Aw, gee. Do I haf’ta?”
Ellie hurried to the elevator, smiling as she listened to the canine squabbling. She had the best job on the planet and wouldn’t trade if for all the money in the world. Maybe if the cops knew she planned on giving anything of value she received from Gary to charity, they’d realize she didn’t care a fig about amassing wealth. But she never wanted to lose this unique ability she had with her pooch and the others. For whatever reason, the gift was hers to treasure . . . even if it drove her nutty once in a while.
Ellie’s phone rang right before she stopped for lunch. She’d been debating—eat a hot dog or make that bank run and check on the contents of Gary’s safety-deposit box?—for the past thirty minutes, with the wiener in the lead by a nose. She really didn’t want to see a bunch of junk Gary thought was valuable sitting in the bottom of a metal box. The items, whatever they were, would probably be too dirty to sift through, impossible to get rid of, and equally painful to keep.
“Hello.”
“Ellie, it’s me.”
“Sam?”
“You busy?”
“Sort of.” She plopped onto a bench. “What do you need?”
“I was wondering, have you gone to the bank yet?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, but I haven’t worked up the courage. Why?”
“Because I’m offering my services as your escort. I’ll come along and see what’s what. Besides, I found out a few things you need to know.”
“What ‘few things’?” She hated playing twenty questions, especially with Sam. “Do they have something do with Gary?”
“Yep, but I can’t talk about them here.”
She realized they had yet to discuss what she’d found on the Internet. Was that what he wanted to tell her? “If it’s about Gary’s family history, I already know what happened to him as a teenager.”
“That’s part of it. How did you find out?”
“I have a computer, remember? I just googled his name and the newspaper articles came up. I’m no psychologist, but my guess is he suffered some form of post-traumatic stress disorder after he witnessed his parents’ murder.”
“It’s possible,” Sam agreed. “But I can’t say any more about it right now.”
That meant he was going out on a limb for her again, sharing information she wasn’t supposed to know about. “I don’t want you to keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Putting your job in jeopardy for me. If Gruning wants to call me in and tell me about Gary’s past, that’s fine. You should stay out of it.”
“I’m already in too deep. Besides, I have info you need to know but Gruning probably won’t tell you. Ever since you pissed him off the other morning, he’s been threatening to get a court order on that envelope.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. You annoyed the hell out of him when you danced out of here without handing it over. Not knowing what’s in that envelope is practically giving him an ulcer.”
“You sound happy about it.”
“Let’s just say there’s no love lost between me and Gruning. It’s abo
ut time he snagged a case where he has to dig a little.” A moment passed before he added, “So, can I tag along?”
Ellie glanced at Rudy, who was gazing at her with a frown on his doggie lips. “Okay, but I have to take my dog home first. Meet me at the apartment in about twenty minutes.”
“You dumping me for that idiot detective?” Rudy asked when she hung up.
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s time I went to the bank. Sam just offered to come along for moral support.” She led him across Madison and headed toward home. “Besides, they only allow Seeing Eye dogs or service dogs in a bank.”
“So tell ’em I’m a service dog. I can do everything they can, and then some.”
“I’m sure you can. It’s just that no one would believe me if I listed your accomplishments. You know that.”
“It’s not my fault humans love a stereotype. And they lack imagination. Oh, and let’s not forget whimsy—today’s humans have absolutely no idea of fun.”
“Aren’t you being a bit hard on us?” She quick-stepped to Lexington and headed south.
“Gary understood. He was a champ.”
“I agree. And don’t worry, I’ll bring home everything in that box and let you have a look before we dispose of it. He did leave it to you, remember?”
“He did, didn’t he?” They jogged up the front steps of their building. “So hurry up and get back here. I wanna show those Mexican hairballs what I own.”
Sam spotted Ellie sitting on her front stoop from a block away. No doubt about it, the contrary woman had worked her way into his fantasies. He only wished there was an antidote, a cure for his addiction to Ellie Engleman.
She stood when she saw him. “Hey,” she said, not smiling.
He took in her curvy figure and tightened in all the right places. Good thing he’d made up his mind he had no business going back to where they’d left off three months ago. “Hey, yourself. You ready?”
She eyed the red canvas duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Planning another overnight stay?”
“This is for you, not me.”
“You’re sending me on a vacation?” She raised a brow. “Gee, thanks. It’s been a while since I had a couple days off.”
He clasped her elbow and steered her down the sidewalk. “This is for whatever we find in that safety-deposit box.”
They crossed Lexington and walked south. “I still don’t understand why Gary’s box is at this bank,” she said. “There are a dozen closer to where he lived.”
“Maybe First Trust offered a free toaster with every new account.”
“Come on, why do you think he used a bank so far from his stomping grounds?”
“It might have been the bank his parents used, so he just left everything the way it was when they died. Could be he didn’t want anyone he knew to see him doing business at a financial institution, or he figured it best that whatever he had was far away from where he lived. You said he sometimes acted a little paranoid. Maybe he thought he was being followed.”
“He mentioned that exact thing to me a time or two, but when I asked him about it he took off for home. If I’d known he had a reason to be afraid . . .”
Sam blew out a breath. “My guess is he could count.”
“Count?”
“The trial took place in 1979. His brother got thirty years.” They stopped at a crosswalk. “You do the math.”
Ellie sucked in a breath. “His brother is out of jail?”
“According to the records, he was released the beginning of May. I heard Gruning talking about it this morning.”
“That means—”
“He could be here in the city, right now. He might have been looking for his brother, hoping Gary would lead him to the family money. Or he could have found Gary and decided to go after him for the hell of it.”
“Anyone in their right mind would have seen that Gary didn’t have a penny to his name.”
“The key phrase is ‘in their right mind.’ Thompson was in the joint for thirty years, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t wrapped too tight when he got there. Thirty years is a hell of a long time to sit and think about a younger brother testifying against you in a trial.”
“So it’s possible Thompson came to the city to confront Gary and they argued? He wanted the family money, because he thinks he earned it by spending time in prison?”
Earlier, Sam had come to the same conclusion. It figured that Ellie, with her logical mind and penchant for trouble, would arrive there, too. “Stranger things have happened between family members. It’s something to think about.”
He slowed as they approached a Jamba Juice. “Did you eat?”
“I grabbed a hot dog and ate it on the way home. Why?”
“Because I didn’t have time.” He dragged her into the shop. “Come on, I’ll buy you a smoothie.”
Tripping beside him, she tsked. “I have to get back to work in less than”—she glanced at her watch—“two hours.”
“It’ll only take a minute. We can slurp while we walk.” He strode to the counter and ordered a peach-coconut smoothie for her and a strawberry-banana for himself. Ten minutes later, they were back on the sidewalk. He sucked down a swallow and let out a satisfied “ahh.” “That hits the spot.”
When Ellie wrapped her lips around her straw, he focused forward and asked, “Good?”
“Peach is my favorite. Thanks for remembering.”
Unfortunately, he remembered a lot more about her likes and dislikes than her favorite smoothie flavor. “No problem. Only three more blocks,” he said, looking at the street sign.
Minutes later, they stopped at a trash can and deposited their empty cups, then turned into the bank. The setup was typical for a staid financial institution: tellers along a far wall, a row of desks occupied by account executives, and a couple of freestanding counters holding pens, deposit and withdrawal slips, and information on the bank’s latest promotions and interest rates. Taking a fast glance around, he walked to a woman sitting at a desk marked RECEPTION.
“We’re here to open a safety-deposit box,” he said. “But first we need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“In charge? You can see any of the customer service reps to open a safety-deposit box.”
“I mean someone in charge of the bank. A manager.”
“But that’s really not—”
Sliding his ID case from his pocket, Sam snapped it open. “It’s important.”
The woman, a dark-haired fiftyish matron in a drab gray suit, puckered her lips. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
She took off at a gallop, and Ellie cocked a hip. “Do you always have to be so—so pushy, flashing that stupid badge wherever you go?”
“It gets things done,” he told her. “I don’t have the patience to play games.”
“I still say I could have done this myself.”
“Maybe so, but my being here should get them to move a little faster.”
The receptionist returned with a distinguished-looking man wearing a navy suit. He offered his hand. “I’m George Butterworth. I understand you have some questions regarding a safety-deposit box?”
Ellie shook his hand, then Sam did the same. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?” he asked.
“Ms. Hampton said you were here to open a safety-deposit box. We have account executives who can help you with that.”
“Not open, as in start a new account,” Sam explained. “We’re here to open a box we’ve never seen.”
Mr. Butterworth straightened. “And you’re from the police?”
“I am. Ms. Engleman is the box’s new owner.”
He focused on Ellie. “May I see the paperwork that makes you think you have a right to the contents of this box?”
Ellie pulled out the envelope and handed it to Butterworth. “A friend—a man—was killed. He left this for me.”
When Butterworth pulled out the will and took a long look, he smiled. “If you’ll come this way.”
Sam raised a brow at Ellie as they followed the banker, who led them to an office in a far corner of the lobby. Inside, he nodded toward two chairs opposite the massive desk. “Please, take a seat. I’ll be right back.”
“So far, so good,” she said, watching the door.
Mr. Butterworth returned with a card. After opening the envelope, he spread the will on his blotter, set the card beside it, and steepled his fingers. “Can you show me some identification, Ms. . . .” He took another look at the info. “Ms. Engleman?”
She pulled out her wallet and removed her driver’s license. “I also have a couple of credit cards and a social security card with my name on them.”
“This will be fine.” Butterworth lined the driver’s license up with the signature card and studied it. Raising his gaze, he said, “The signatures match.”
“Signatures? My signatures?” She furrowed her brow. “But I never—”
Sam squeezed her fingers and pulled her to her feet. “Great. Lead the way to Ms. Engleman’s box.”
Butterworth handed Ellie her paperwork. “If I may ask, how well did you know Mr. Veridot?”
“Is it necessary Ms. Engleman answer the question?” Sam interjected. “Or does she need a lawyer?”
“No, no. Her signature and identification are enough. It’s just that Mr. Veridot’s case is . . . was unusual. I heard about his mur—his passing—and expected someone would be here soon.”
“You knew Gary?” said Sam. “When did you last see him?”
“About five months ago, but I’ve known Mr. Veridot for three decades, possibly more.”
“Then he was a regular customer?” asked Sam.
“Not exactly, but he did drop in from time to time. He kept several different accounts open, but on that last visit he closed them all and rented this safety-deposit box. A few weeks later, he showed up with this fully executed signature card. He told me he was leaving everything to a friend he trusted completely. And here you are.”
“Then you know about his parents?”
“Tragic, wasn’t it? I met Mr. Veridot when his grandmother brought him here and introduced us. I was just a junior account executive back then, so it was quite an honor to assist one of First Trust’s biggest depositors. The family’s money has been sitting in accounts here, earning interest, for many years. From the day Mrs. Benedict brought Mr. Veridot in, he’s been welcome, even with his inappropriate mode of dress and unusual circumstances.”
