by Judi McCoy
Rudy’s snorts of laughter were music to her ears. If she ever met a man with a personality like her fuzzy pal, she’d marry him in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, she doubted that would happen. Very few men had Rudy’s sense of loyalty, his code of honor, and his deep-down love for the woman in his life.
“That’s a good one, big guy,” she praised. “I’ve been wondering, where do you get these jokes?” Surely he wasn’t making them up.
“Here and there. I listen to people talk, and every once in a while Stanley tells me a couple.”
“Stanley? Georgette’s Stanley?”
“He’s an ex-judge, and he’s still in touch with his old cronies, even though he’s condemned to that wheelchair. Trouble is, your mother doesn’t get the humor in the riddles, so he tells ’em to me. I try to chuckle, but I’m not certain he realizes it.”
Little did her stepfather know. “You’re easy to talk to, which is probably why the judge enjoys chatting with you. I don’t think Mother gives him the attention he deserves.”
“The only person Georgette pays attention to is herself. Does she know about you and Gary?”
“Mother? Of course not. Besides Viv, Randall, and Sam I haven’t told a soul. And Pops, of course.”
“Fat lot of good that did you. If Eugene knows, everybody knows. He’s such a putz.”
“Okay, enough of that. We only have a couple more dogs to walk. Then we have errands to run.”
“What kind of errands?”
They arrived at the last building and collected their charges while they talked. “I have to call the mortuary recommended by the coroner’s office and make arrangements for Gary to be cremated. Then I have to stop at a couple of places I found that have a lockbox service.”
“Sounds boring, if you ask me.”
“It probably will be, but I still have to do it. Especially since I found that key. It’s part of Gary’s estate . . . sort of.”
“Does that mean whatever you find will belong to me?”
“Good question. Maybe I should give Sal Cantiglia a call first. He should be able to help us figure it out.”
“Another lawyer? Jeez, this city is crawlin’ with ’em.”
“Uncle Sal helped me with the will, so cool it with the nasty cracks.” Especially since he had yet to send her a bill. “After all, he’s Joe’s relative, and you like Joe.”
“Joe, yes, but lawyers? No. Except for the judge, of course. Why don’t you just ask him for help?”
“Because Mother would give me a lecture. Besides, the less she knows about this business with Gary, the better. As for lawyers, they’re a necessary evil in today’s world.”
“You never said. Did Gary use one to write that will?”
“Nope. Sal said it looked like he bought one of those do-it-yourself forms at an office supply store and had it notarized at his bank. Pretty smart thing to do, don’t you think?”
“So you and Vivie could do the same thing for me and T, right? That way, we’d be covered, and it wouldn’t cost much.”
“Money is no object where you’re concerned. It’s just the time factor. And I haven’t ironed out the details with Viv yet, but I will. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, if you say so.” He lifted his leg on a trash container. “But can we stop for lunch before we go hunting? Cuz I’m starvin’.”
Chapter 13
Ellie called Uncle Sal while they ate lunch, just to make certain she had the right to the contents of whatever kind of box the key opened. After he assured her they did, she and Rudy visited six different shops before they arrived at Mail It or Store It, tucked between a secondhand jeweler and a consignment shop on Lexington. According to the date on the window, the business had been around for years, which gave her hope that this might be the place she was searching for.
The pimply-faced kid behind the register examined the key, then returned it to the counter. “It could be one of ours.” He narrowed his eyes. “But how come you got one of our keys if you don’t know what it’s for?”
Ellie snatched up the bit of metal and held it tight, in case the suspicious clerk decided to confiscate it. “It belongs—belonged—to a friend. He gave it to me, but he never got a chance to tell me exactly what it opened.”
“Is that right?” The boy scratched his acne-covered cheek. “If you don’t mind my asking, who are you?”
She hoisted her bag on the counter and fumbled for her driver’s license, which gave her time to formulate a half-truth. “Here’s my identification. The man who owned the key died, and I inherited everything he had, which, according to my lawyer, also includes the contents of the storage box the key fits.”
He stared at her ID as if it were the plans for a nuclear bomb. “I gotta talk to my manager before you do anything.”
“I don’t see why.” Ellie gave him her best sweet-and-innocent grin. “If I’d simply walked in off the street and used the key, you’d never know the box wasn’t mine, would you?”
The kid tugged on his scraggly beard as his brow furrowed in concentration. “I guess not.”
“Great. Pretend we’ve never met, and we’ll play a new game.” She set her bag on her shoulder and led Rudy outside. Then she walked back in and nodded. “Good morning. Nice day, isn’t it?”
The clerk wore a befuddled expression, as if he couldn’t wrap his dense brain around the scenario. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
Holding her breath, Ellie continued on her errand, perusing the boxes lining the walls until she found one that matched the number on the key in a row at the bottom. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered to Rudy as she squatted. “Keep your paws crossed.”
Opening the box, she peered inside. “Oh, my.”
“What! What?”
“Hang on a second.” She pulled out a stack of brittle, yellowed sheets and went back for another. In seconds, a ten-inch pile of newspapers and ragtag envelopes rested beside her on the floor.
“What is all that junk?”
She raised the top newspaper and read the headline, then scanned the next one in the stack. “It looks like a collection of articles on the Veridots’ murder,” she whispered. “Gary must have saved them during the trial.”
Gathering the documents, she tried sliding them into her tote, but there were too many. Luckily, she still had one of the shopping bags she’d brought to Gary’s shelter. Snapping it open, she stuffed everything inside, stood, and carried her bundles to the counter.
“Can you look up the records on this box? Tell me when it was first opened, and how it was paid for?”
Still gazing at her as if she were certifiable, the count erman said, “I need the name of the real owner.”
She spelled Gary’s last name.
He tapped on a computer keyboard. “Says here it was first taken out in 1983 and paid for a year at a time in cash. Your friend also has a PO Box here.”
“Really?” She reined in her excitement. “Can I have whatever’s in there, too?”
His snide grin turned to one of superiority. “Sorry, postal regulations say I can’t hand the mail over to just anybody . . . Unless you have that key, too?”
“Would I be asking you, if I did?” Ellie wanted to shout. Instead, she chewed her lower lip. She hadn’t found another key, but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. She simply wasn’t crazy about digging around Gary’s mucked up shelter again, even in broad daylight. “Without the key, what would I need to take possession of the mail?”
“I gotta ask my manager. Wait here.”
Acne boy disappeared through a door marked OFFICE, and Ellie gazed at Rudy. “Maybe I should talk to Sal again. There must be some type of legal document I can carry that will verify I’m entitled to Gary’s possessions before I get arrested for stealing.”
“Stealing, my butt. We own whatever you find. I say we call the cops and report this place for—for—robbin’ us blind.”
“I think another conversation with Sal is a better idea. I’ll make the call if the manager doesn
’t cooperate.”
Moments later, an older gentleman appeared, followed by the sales clerk. After she explained her predicament, the man was happy to give her what she wanted, including her own key to the postal box, while the sullen kid looked on with a scowl. She then cancelled the storage box, collected Gary’s mail and dumped it in the shopping bag, and left with a mental note to check the post office box in a month or so.
“Feels like we just tried breakin’ into freakin’ Fort Knox,” Rudy griped as she hailed a cab. “I’m worn out. If you don’t mind, I need a nap.”
They climbed in the taxi, and Ellie gave her home address, then said, “I’m dumping this stuff at the apartment, so you can stay in while I do afternoon rounds. How does that sound?”
“Fine by me. Can I take a look at those newspapers?”
“Take a look?” She glanced at the driver who was wearing an iPod and doing a lap dance to the beat. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you can read.”
“One of my many talents,” he answered with a doggie grin.
“Maybe you should come clean and tell me now if you have any other superpowers. These little revelations you keep dropping are something of a shock.”
“I can do lots of stuff humans can,” he continued. “If I had fingers, I’d be a regular Harry Houdini. You could enter me on Animal Planet’s Pet Star program, and I’d win, excuse the pun, paws down. There’s not another canine that can touch me in the talent department.”
Ten minutes later, she led her bragging buddy into the building, collecting her own mail on the way to their apartment. If she had Rudy’s confidence she’d be a star, too. Well, maybe not a star in the television or movie sense, and not an officer of the law or a private investigator star, either. But she did plan to find the person who murdered Gary. She owed the homeless man for leaving them his fortune, and for writing that sweet hope-filled letter charging her with avenging his murder.
It was Gruning’s fault she had to dig this deep. It didn’t sound as if he had any intention of finding Gary’s killer. She was positive he’d finagle a way to doom the case to an inactive file, which guaranteed the perpetrator would go free.
And Sam wasn’t much better. If he gave her credit for having some smarts when it came to crime solving, she might not be so determined. Once she knew for certain who’d done the deed, she’d hang up her sleuthing shoes for good. No more hunting for clues, unlocking secret boxes, or crawling into fallen-down, bug-laden shelters in the dark of night.
She set the shopping bag on her kitchen table and sifted through her mail, pleased to open a letter from the bonding company that gave Hilary full approval. Planning to share the good news on their next meeting, she left for the Beaumont and her second set of scheduled walks.
Sam spent a half hour chatting up the snooty doorman at the Davenport. Once Randall verified that Ellie was due soon for her afternoon rounds, he decided to wait instead of ringing her cell. A sneak attack made sense, especially after the way she’d avoided his calls the other night.
Ellie had been on his mind every other minute for the past twenty-four hours, and it was driving him crazy. He had a job to do, cases to solve, and a reputation to uphold. He was a good cop, a man who didn’t stop until he caught the bad guy, yet he’d spent more time worrying about a bossy, know-it-all bad penny than any criminal on his list.
He’d talked to Gruning earlier, and the incompetent fool still had no intention of putting out an APB on Thompson Veridot. As usual, the ass was more concerned about closing the file, not only because the victim was an indigent but also because there were no leads. He even hinted that, in light of the will and inheritance, he might charge Ellie with the crime. The attitude was typical Gruning, and annoying as hell to any decent detective.
On the bright side, Gruning made no bones about the fact that he thought Ellie a fluff-brained pain in the ass. If he knew the real Ellie Engleman, the man would run screaming into the night.
The idea that she was more than likely in the clear had taken a load off Sam’s mind. If not for the fact that he saw her whenever he spotted a dog walker, or his thoughts wandered, or he closed his eyes to sleep, things would have been perfect.
He checked his watch for the fiftieth time since his arrival, spurring the doorman to say, “She should be along any minute now, Detective Ryder, though I’m not usually here when she does her afternoon rounds. Ms. Engleman is efficient, prompt, and dependable.” He drew back his shoulders. “And, might I add, a woman of great personal character.”
He didn’t have to hear Randall twice. The aging doorman championed Ellie every chance he could. And knowing someone watched out for her when he couldn’t gave him an inner peace he found confusing and comforting at the same time.
“I’m sure she is,” he agreed. “I take it you’ve known the family for a while?”
Randall raised a brow. “Is that an official inquiry, or are you merely making conversation?”
“A bit of both, I guess.”
The doorman gazed at him for a full ten seconds before answering. “The Englemans moved here when Ellie was little more than a child. After her father passed away, she and her mother stayed on until Mrs. Engleman found the second of her many husbands.” He smiled. “Even back then, Ellie loved animals. She used to walk some of the tenants’ dogs for free, because her mother wouldn’t allow her to have a canine of her own.”
Ah, thought Sam, that explained a lot. “What was the reason she couldn’t have a pet?”
Randall’s expression turned to one of disapproval. “I don’t enjoy speaking badly of tenants, but Mrs. Engleman—or whatever her most recent name is—no longer lives here, so I’m free to say that she ruled the roost where her husband and daughter were concerned. I imagine it’s the reason she’s been married so many times.”
“How many is many?”
“According to Ellie five or six, but I never was crass enough to get the details.” He raised his nose in the air. “Bear in mind, I don’t approve of gossip.”
Five or six husbands? No wonder his bad penny didn’t have a lot to say about marriage. “It’s not really gossip if I’m asking questions as a law enforcement officer.”
“I can’t see how Ellie’s personal life has anything to do with an ongoing investigation,” the doorman added, giving a sniff of disdain.
Sam shrugged. “Okay, it’s more a need-to-know thing. I’m having a hard time figuring out what makes the woman tick.”
“A kind heart, for one, just like her father.” Randall considered before he spoke further. “I can only imagine how it must have been, growing up with a mother who judged her every move and being told she’d never meet the woman’s strict requirements. It pained me when they moved, as I’d tried to be an anchor after Mr. Engleman died.”
“That was a nice touch on your part.” And it gave him an inside look at Ellie’s fierce need to do the right thing. “I guess that’s why she depends on you now.”
“I’d like to think we’re friends. And friends take care of each other . . . even after they’re dead.”
Sam didn’t miss the veiled reference to Gary Veridot. “So she told you about her homeless pal and the inheritance?”
“Of course. And no one deserves the money more, though I know she plans to give most of it away as soon as things quiet down. Her mother collected settlement and alimony checks like a squirrel gathers nuts in September, and I’m certain everything she has will be her daughter’s some day. Thus Ellie’s willingness to donate to charity now.”
Sam cringed internally. Chalk up another reason why the two of them didn’t belong together. Ellie had been born to money and stood to inherit more. She deserved better than living off an NYC detective’s pathetic excuse for a salary. “I’m not handling the case, but I was wondering, have you heard any street talk about who might have killed Veridot?”
“Not a word. Then again, I don’t gossip,” Randall insisted, as if erasing the last fifteen minutes of their conversation.
Sam gazed up at the six-foot-six bear of a man about fifteen years Randall’s junior. “Not unless you know something I don’t.”
“I know only one theenk,” said Kronk. “Too much keel-ink make me lose slip at night.”
Randall waggled a finger at him. “It’s about time you got here, Kronk. There are parcels in the storage room that need to be distributed. Follow me, and I’ll show you what’s what.”
The Russian and Randall disappeared into a room behind the counter, and Ellie took that moment to stride through the door. Sam’s heart kicked up a beat at the sight of her, looking cool and collected even in the July heat. Tousled curls feathered her forehead. Her sun-kissed nose scrunched under her oversized sunglasses. A bright yellow T-shirt clung to her dynamite curves, while plain khaki shorts showed off her tanned and toned legs.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” he said, grinning. “Got a few minutes?”
“I’m running late, so make it short.” Randall came out from the storage area in civilian dress, and she asked him, “You’re here past time. Is there a problem?”
“Just waiting for Kronk.”
“Ah, I see.” She propped an elbow on the counter. “Has the detective been hassling you?”
“Not really. Though I must admit, the past half hour has been interesting,” he said, exaggerating the time.
She set a hand on her hip and gave Sam a once-over. “You’ve been here for thirty minutes? Am I under arrest?”
“No, but—”
“Good.” She headed for the elevator.
“Best of luck,” Randall called as he left the building.
Sam raced after her and slipped into the elevator just as the doors closed. Neither he nor Ellie said a word until they reached the fifteenth floor. There, she walked briskly into the hall and he followed.
“Earth to Ellie. Where are we going?”
