The question hung there for a second as my mind whirred with what to tell her. I knew in an instant who had put the poison in my backyard, and the fury of it formed a fist of hatred in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t very well tell Dr. Markland, however, that the Mafia had tried to kill my dog, so I said, “I had a jug of it in the basement, and I didn’t know the cap was loose. Eggy must have knocked it over, and I found him sniffing at it when I went downstairs. I wasn’t sure if he drank any or not, but I thought it was best to rush him here and make sure.”
Dr. Markland nodded, accepting my explanation, and said, “Lucky you found him so quickly. Once a dog drinks more than a capful there’s very little we can do.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks for your help, Dr. Markland.”
She squeezed my arm and turned to go back to her next patient.
I checked out with the receptionist, leaving the carrier behind so that I didn’t have to lug it there when I went to pick Eggy up in the morning. I walked out to my Mazda with a heavy heart and inserted the key. Just before I got behind the wheel I noticed a familiar sedan with smoked windows drive by, and the moment it passed me, my cell phone rang. As I watched the sedan ease down the street I flipped open the phone and said, “Hello?”
A thick voice impeded by an oversize tongue said, “Sorry about your dog,” and then the line went dead.
Chapter Eight
“Really, Abby, Eggy is fine. You can pick him up anytime this morning,” Dr. Markland reassured me.
I let go of the tightly held breath keeping me suspended in anxious worry. I’d been so concerned about Eggy that I hadn’t slept all night, and as I sank into the cushion of relief I could feel my brain dumb down a little, the fog of exhaustion and worry making my thoughts less coherent. “Thank you, Dr. Markland; I’ll be right over.”
As I hung up the phone, however, my gaze strayed out to the backyard, and apprehension began to buzz around inside my chest. I’d removed the dog dish and the surrounding leaves the night before, but that didn’t mean that Andros’s men couldn’t be successful next time. If Andros wanted to kill Eggy, I had no doubt he would find a way.
No, I thought. Eggy is too vulnerable here.
I could board him at the veterinary, but the problem was that I was in a cash crunch at the moment, and it would be expensive to keep him there. Plus I doubted Eggy would put up with that for long—he didn’t like being confined.
Thinking of an idea I quickly picked up the phone again and dialed. “Hello?” welcomed me on the second ring.
“Good morning, Dave; hope this isn’t too early to call?”
“Hey, there, Abby!” he said jovially. “No, this is fine. You need me to come back and finish your rafters?”
“Uh . . .” Oops—I’d forgotten I’d put Dave on hold. “No . . . I mean . . . not yet. I mean, yes, but probably not until next week. What I really need is a favor.”
“Sure. Whatcha need?”
“Well, I’m heading out of town for a couple of days—you know, to go visit my sister—and I was wondering if you could possibly take Eggy for me.”
There was a soft chuckle, then; “Sure, honey, no sweat. I don’t know how my old lady’s going to like it, but I really miss that little mutt. Did you want to bring him over?”
Left side, heavy feeling. Hmmm. My intuition was weighing in, and I didn’t know why that would be a problem. I hesitated for a moment, drifting over to my front window. “Uh, yeah . . .” I said stalling, but as I pulled back one of the blinds I saw a strange car just down the street. There were two men in the car, and both of them kept looking toward my house. Damn. Andros’s men were watching me. If I picked Eggy up from the vet and drove him over to Dave’s house, these guys would know not only how to get to Eggy, but also how to get to Dave. “Actually, Dave, my plane leaves right away. I had to take Eggy to the vet yesterday; do you think you could possibly do me a huge favor and pick him up from the Royal Oak Animal Hospital? It’s on Main and Lincoln.”
“Uh . . . sure . . . I guess. Is Eggy okay?”
I stepped away from the window and went back to my chair in the kitchen, pacing the floor in agitation as I tried to keep my voice light. “Yes, thank God. He gave me a little scare last night, but it was only a scare. Listen, this is really great of you. It shouldn’t be longer than a week or so. Is that okay?”
“Sure, that’s fine. Hey is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, of course,” I said, concentrating on making my voice sound reassuring. “I guess I’m just a little tired. I’ll give you a call next week and let you know when I’m coming back, cool?”
I hung up with Dave and quickly headed back upstairs. I had to be at the office by nine for my first appointment, and I also had to stop by the vet, pay the bill and leave instructions with them about who was picking Eggy up later. I’d have to hustle and get ready if I wanted to make it on time.
I quickly got dressed, slapped on some makeup and packed a small bag of food, toys and a baby blanket for Eggy. A lump formed in my throat as I gathered his things. I was really going to miss him while he was at Dave’s, but at least this way he’d be safe.
I walked outside and surveyed the street. The suspicious car I’d noticed earlier was gone. Curious.
I got in my Mazda and drove over to the vet. Once inside I paid my bill, left my instructions and visited with Eggy for all of two minutes. It was hard to leave him behind, but I was pushing the clock this morning.
I headed back out to my car, got in and pulled forward to the edge of the driveway, waiting for an opening in traffic. A white car eased into the middle lane and put on its turn signal, indicating that it wanted to turn into the vet. It also blocked my path north, so I waited for it to find an opening in traffic. When the traffic was clear, instead of turning the driver waved me forward first with a smile. I smiled at him and pulled forward and left, when all of the sudden he stepped on the gas which caused me to ram the side of his car.
I was so shocked by the impact that it took me a full minute to regain my senses. By the time I’d recovered, I noticed that the man in the white car now stood outside my door, screaming at me and waving his fist. “You crazy driver!” he yelled. “You drove right into me!”
Traffic was now limping around our jackknifed position, and belatedly I realized I needed to get out of the road. I backed up a little, away from the man shouting at me, and pulled into the driveway of a gas station right next to the vet. The driver of the white car followed me, still waving his fist and yelling obscenities. I had the thought of using my cell phone to call 911, but by that time a police officer was already on the scene.
The driver in the white car immediately pounced on the officer, waving his hands and yelling that I was a crazy woman who had rammed right into him. It was then that it struck me that his words carried a thick Greek accent. “I was minding my own business, waiting to turn into the vet, when this crazy lady rammed into my beautiful car! I think I got whiplash; I think I may be bleeding internally!”
I got out of my car, shaken and upset. Waiting until the officer was finished with the man in the white car, I walked around to my front bumper. It sat crumpled half on my car and half off. All I could think about was my five-hundred-dollar deductible.
After taking the other man’s statement, the officer looked at me with all the charm of a rodeo bull. I didn’t recognize him, but thought it might be prudent to drop a few names of some friends of mine at the Royal Oak PD. “So what happened here today?” The officer asked me.
I smiled winningly at him, beaming the full grille as I looked at his name tag and said, “Good morning, Officer Paddington; thank you so much for coming to the scene so quickly. You see, there’s been a simple misunderstanding between this gentleman and me. . . .”
“There’s no misunderstanding! You’re crazy! You’re a hazard! Your license should be revoked!” the man from the white car shouted.
Officer Paddington turned back to him and said, “S
ir, I have already taken your statement. You will need to step over there by your car until I’m finished with this young lady. Is that clear?”
The man shuffled off, and the officer turned back to me. “May I see your license, registration and proof of insurance, please?”
I quickly dug through my purse and handed him the items, trying to wait patiently as I noticed my watch already read nine o’clock.
Damn. I’d missed my first appointment.
After writing down all of my information in the police report, Paddington turned back to me and asked, “So you were saying something about a misunderstanding?”
“Yes, that’s correct. You see, I would have gladly waited for that gentleman to pull forward into the parking lot, but he waved me forward ahead of him, then he punched the gas and hit my car. . . .”
“He hit you?” the officer asked, clearly not believing me for a second.
“Yes. Yes, he did.” I nodded affirmatively. “Officer, I assure you I’m an upstanding member of the community who has no reason to lie about such things; you can even ask my friend Detective Milo Johnson about my reputation—”
The officer snorted derisively. “Yeah, everybody knows somebody at the station who can vouch for them. You’re still getting the ticket, Miss Cooper.”
“But—” I started to protest.
“Please get back in your car while I finish this paperwork,” he said dismissively, and turned his back on me.
I had no choice but to go back to my car and wait inside. Meanwhile the man in the white car made a huge production of rubbing his hand across the back of his neck and turning his head from side to side grimacing with every movement. He had also developed a pronounced limp as he paced in front of his car. This guy was going to sue me for as much insurance money as he could get. I was totally screwed.
The officer came back to my car and waited as I lowered my window. “Here’s a copy of the police report,” he said, tearing off a sheet and handing it to me. “And here’s your ticket. I wrote you up for failure to yield, but I could’ve gone for reckless driving. You need to be more careful, Miss Cooper.” Did he expect me to thank him? I nodded wordlessly as I took the paperwork, scanning the back of the ticket for the dollar amount of the fine. The 150-dollar price tag made me grind my teeth. I started my car as I watched the officer go over to the man in the white car and hand him a copy of the police report, and swore under my breath as the two men turned to look at me and shake their heads together. Bastards.
Lifting my chin in a last attempt to leave the scene with dignity, I waited until I had a tremendous hole in traffic and turned left onto Main, heading toward my office. Andros Kapordelis was such a son of a bitch.
I got only two blocks when I noticed my oil light come on. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I complained. “What now?” I made it to a corner gas station, where I purchased a couple quarts of oil and filled the tank back up. I noticed the time now read ten minutes to ten, and I groaned at all the morning delays. I needed to get to my office in a hurry so that I could call my first appointment, apologize profusely, and get ready for my second appointment.
Two more blocks into my commute my oil light came on again. “Shit!” I swore, banging the steering wheel. I went one more block and pulled into yet another gas station. This one had an on-site repair shop, and I parked in front of one of the large garage doors, waiting for someone inside to notice me. Quickly I got out my cell phone and dialed my office building’s management suite.
“Conrad Management, how may I help you?”
“Yvonne?” I said anxiously.
“Speaking,” my building manager answered.
“Good morning, it’s Abby Cooper calling.”
“Hi, Abby! How’s it going?”
“Terrible. Listen, I need a favor. I’ve had some car trouble this morning, and I’ve got clients showing up even as we speak. Could you possibly put a note on my door until I get to the office?”
“Sure. How long do you think you’ll be?”
Just then the bay doors in front of me began to roll upward, and a man in a greasy jumpsuit waved me forward. “I have no idea. Just make the sign say that I had an emergency, and that I will call each appointment to reschedule before the end of the day.”
“I’ll take care of it. See you in a little while.”
Two hours later I was getting yet another round of bad news. “Yeah,” said the greasy mechanic, “this is major damage.” He indicated what was once my oil pan in his hand. “See, the weird thing is this hole,” he said as he shoved his pinkie through a sizable hole in the bottom of the oil pan. “It’s too clean to have come from scarping the bottom of your car on something. There’s also this stuff,” he said, pointing to a chalky-looking substance on the edge of the hole. “This stuff looks a whole lot like wax to me, and if I didn’t know better I’d say that someone punctured your oil pan, then used wax to fill in the hole so that when your engine got warm the wax would melt and all your oil would leak out. . . .”
The longer he talked, the more I felt a chill creep along my spine. I couldn’t take my eyes off the oil pan.
“You got any enemies out there, ma’am?”
I forced my mouth into a smile and said, “Just a crazy ex-boyfriend.” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .
“Well, he could easily have cost you an engine, or worse, a whole new car.”
I nodded gravely as I handed over my debit card. The total cost would eat up the last 250 dollars I had to my name. The anxiety over my financial situation was wearing its own hole in the lining of my stomach.
The mechanic had also been kind enough to remove my bumper, which, he claimed, was hanging on only by a thread. My poor car now resembled something out of a demolition derby.
By twelve thirty I had finally made it to my office building. I parked in my usual space on the second floor and hurried across the street to the large brick building that was like a second home. I opted for the elevator today, completely wiped out by all the emotion, lack of sleep, and anxiety over the past several days. I had approximately half an hour to pull myself together for the next three readings scheduled for the afternoon, plus three additional phone calls to make to what I anticipated would be some pretty pissed-off clients.
After stepping off the elevator I hurried down the hall and around the corner, pulling my office keys out of my purse I came up short in front of my suite. I had expected to see a sign taped to the front of the door, as I’d instructed Yvonne on the subject. But there was no sign anywhere. “Shit!” I said under my breath.
I let myself into my office and stomped over to my desk. I yanked up the phone and dialed my landlord, concentrating on keeping my voice level until I found out why Yvonne hadn’t done what she said she’d do.
“Concord Management,” she sang.
“Yvonne?”
“Speaking.”
“Hey, it’s Abby. Listen, I just got in, and I thought you said you were going to help me out by hanging up a sign on my door. . . .”
“I did,” she said, a bit taken aback.
“Where did you hang it?” I asked, now confused.
“I taped a big white sign to your door indicating that you’d had a family emergency and at the last minute had to cancel your readings, but that you would call to apologize and reschedule everyone later in the day.”
“And you taped this to my door?” I asked, still accusing.
“Yes, not even five minutes after you called.”
My lie detector remained noticeably quiet. “Huh . . .” I said, reeling in my horns. “Well, I got here and it wasn’t up, so for a minute there I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Maybe one of your clients took it with them.”
Left side, heavy feeling. “Yeah, maybe. Listen, I’m sorry . . . I’ve just had a really bad morning. Yvonne, thanks so much for trying to help.”
“Anything I can do for you?” she asked kindly.
“No, thank you. Really, I’ve got it all under
control.” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . “I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again.”
I hung up with Yvonne and sat at my desk for a minute. What’d happened to the sign? It didn’t take long to figure out. Like everything else that had happened in the past two days, I had no doubt Andros and his goons were imposing their own version of persuasion. I sat down heavily and had to admit I was beginning to feel persuaded.
What I needed was a way out. Either I was going to work for Andros or I wasn’t, and if I wasn’t it was probably only a matter of time before I either moved to a distant state and changed my name, or something really, really bad happened.
I considered going to the police, but quickly dismissed that option. I had a sneaking suspicion that Andros had a pretty long reach, and that a complaint from me would be met with a whole lot of nonaction. Besides, what could do? I couldn’t prove that Andros had been responsible for any of the things that had happened to me, and even the accident from the morning had already been written up as my fault. No, I’d lose my credibility, as most conspiracy theorists do, and then where would I be?
The best option I had was to try to talk to Dutch about it. But even then I risked a lot; Dutch, after all, worked for the FBI, and if I wanted to go the distance and do something about Andros then I’d probably have to join some witness relocation program or something. And what about Cat? She was very much an Achilles’ heel for me. Luckily Andros hadn’t picked her up on his radar yet, but that was probably only a matter of time.
I shook my head and got up from my desk, walking into my reading room and setting out fresh candles and incense. I worked hard at pushing away all thoughts of Andros and the events of the day as I got the room ready. I figured I’d call my missed appointments later, at the end of the day.
At one o’clock I was as ready as I could be, given the fact that I was stressed out and now very hungry—as I’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. As my stomach growled I watched the clock on my credenza tick its way up to one o’clock, then move minute by minute past until it reached one fifteen. Great, a no-show. I waited an extra five minutes without my client showing up and sighed heavily. When it rained it poured.
Better Read Than Dead Page 17
