Begging for Trouble (6 page)

And Chesney was both.

Leaning back in his chair, Sam heaved another sigh. He could give orders, make demands, and set as many boundaries as he wanted, but it wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good. Vince had already told him he was a goner when it came to Ellie Engleman and he didn’t doubt it for a second.

 

Instead of saying good-bye to Sam, Ellie simply ended the call and headed for home. The man was so frustrating she wanted to scream. Then she remembered the hellacious wail that had erupted from backstage at Guess Who and thought better of it. She’d only hurt her voice if she raised it that many decibels, and the last thing she needed was laryngitis—not a good thing in her line of work.

“Didn’t sound like the deceptive dick was any help,”
Rudy offered, trotting beside her.

“He told me as much as he could, I guess. I’ll just have to get the rest of the details from Rob.”

They made it home in twenty minutes. After Ellie gave Bitsy a cuddle and a walk, they came back inside, and she was now studying Bitsy in silence. She planned to eat lunch and leave Rudy here babysitting while she completed her afternoon rounds. Right now, the poohuahua was huddled on a floor mat and trembling, exactly where she’d been when Ellie first came in the door. Best she could tell, the pup was still traumatized from the events of last night, but without verbal contact, she had no clue as to why.

She cocked an elbow and rested her cheek in her palm, still gazing at her houseguest. “Just take care of her. Stay close and give her a shoulder to cry on if she needs it. If she starts to talk, try to remember what she says so you can repeat it when I get home. Think you can follow instructions?”

“Then I’m out of here. I probably won’t be back until it’s time to go to Viv’s for dinner. I guess I’d better call Dr. Dave and ask him to meet us there so he can give Bitsy a once-over.”

Rudy settled on the mat, curling his body around the tiny pooch.
“Got it. And don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Bits?”

Bitsy snuggled closer to him and closed her eyes, which again tore at Ellie’s heart. As soon as she finished the afternoon runs, she’d visit Rob, get his version of what had happened in his dressing room, and see if there was anything she could do to help. She hated lying, but she had to tell Rob his dog needed a checkup, which meant she had to come up with a story that would convince him to leave Bitsy in her care for another night.

She left her apartment with Bitsy’s predicament in the forefront of her mind. The idea of the tiny dog so in tune with her owner that she could do nothing but shake and whimper at his misfortune brought tears to Ellie’s eyes. Anyone who believed that canines didn’t experience emotion was an idiot. The dogs she walked felt sorrow, joy, pity, love, and every emotion in between, and they were proud of it.

Heading west on Sixty-eighth, she crossed Lexington and passed Hunter College. Great. She’d been so enmeshed in Rob’s dilemma she’d forgotten all about dropping off Help Wanted flyers at the local colleges.
I’ll do it first thing tomorrow,
she told herself, striding across Park Avenue. She figured she might as well talk as she walked, so she pulled out her cell and rang Dr. Dave.

“Hi, David. It’s Ellie,” she said when he answered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“This is a twofold call. First, you’re invited to join me for dinner at Viv’s place around seven tonight. Think you can make it?”

“Barring a four-legged emergency, sure. What else?”

“Bitsy needs a checkup.”

“Bitsy? What’s wrong with the little girl?”

“I assume Viv told you I brought her home with me last night.”

“She did. But what happened that made you think she needs an exam?”

“The poor thing hasn’t stopped trembling since they pulled her carrier out from underneath Rob’s dressing table. And she hasn’t so much as touched a single bite of kibble either. She’s all of four pounds, and I’m pretty sure a dog that small can’t go too long without eating, right?”

“You’re absolutely correct. So, you’ll bring her to Vivian’s and I’ll look at her there?”

“Yep, and thanks. I appreciate it.”

Crossing Fifth, she dialed Viv’s office line and left a message about dinner. Then she dropped the phone in her bag and aimed for the Beaumont, after which she planned to skip the Davenport, take care of her two northernmost buildings, and swing back around. Keeping things tight, she took care of her charges and was at the Davenport in under two hours. Now that she was here, she would walk the dogs, bring them home, then go to Rob’s for a quick talk.

She entered the building to the sound of angry chatter and the booming voice of the evening doorman, Boris Kronkovitz.

“You must wait,” he told the crowd gathered around the front desk. “I need identification before you go up.”

Huh?
Ellie glanced at her watch as she skulked past the unruly tenants, praying she wouldn’t get caught. She didn’t have time to wait for the people who were complaining to get through.

She’d made it to the elevator and pushed the call button when Kronk’s voice, sounding much too close, chimed, “
Ell-ee,
my dar-
link
girl. Where are you go-
ink
?”

She turned to give the doorman a wave and bumped smack into him. Rubbing her nose, she took a step of retreat. “Stop sneaking up on me, Kronk. I have dogs to walk.”

He shook his leonine head. “Sorry, but no.
Ees
impossible.”

“What do you mean ‘
ees
impossible’? I have keys and you’re holding permission slips from each of my clients.” She peeked around the doorman’s beefy chest and found a dozen people glowering at her. “Uh, hi. I don’t suppose any of you need a dog walker?”

“If she’s allowed up, we’re all allowed up, Mr. Kronkovitz,” said a woman wearing Prada and pearls. “This business of having to be cleared before we go to our apartments is ridiculous. The police can’t keep us from our homes.”

Shouts of “Yeah,” “She’s right,” and “You tell him, Sharon,” rang out when she finished.

“What the heck is going on, Kronk?” Ellie asked, hoping the tenants would view her as a friend if she was able to get the crazy Russian to change his tune.

The doorman stretched his six-foot-four frame to an even more imposing height and scanned the crowd. “
Ees
not my idea.” Stepping into the elevator, he removed an enormous key ring from his pocket, chose a key, and fiddled with the control panel. Then he marched back to the desk, calling over his shoulder, “
Ell-ee-vay-tor
not work until I check you in.”

The tenants continued to grumble. A gentleman rushed to the stairway entrance, grabbed the door handle leading to the steps, and gave a tug. When the door failed to open, he swung around. “How dare you disable the elevator and lock the door to the stairs. I’m reporting you for a fire code violation.”

“
Ees
not me,” Kronk explained. “
Ees
management.”

“But we’re not criminals,” the woman named Sharon said.

“Management say police advise them to keep build-
ink
free of trespassers and news
pipple
. I only do-
ink
my job.” With that, Kronk raised a clipboard and waited.

The residents continued to argue, but it appeared they’d gotten the message. Ellie watched while the burly doorman did his thing, matching each person’s identification to a list of names on his clipboard. Finally, he walked to the elevator, again took out his key ring and fiddled with the control panel, and stepped into the foyer.

One by one, the tenants entered the waiting car, leaving her to get to the bottom of the story. “Okay, spill,” Ellie ordered, following Kronk to the front counter. “What’s this all about?”

“I am only obey-
ink
orders,” he said, his expression soulful. “Authorities say no one goes up unless they prove they
leeve
in build-
ink
or someone already here gives okay.”

“So the cops are trying to keep reporters and thrill seekers away from Rob Chesney? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, is what I’m say-
ink
.” He gave her a grin. “But
ees
not for you. I am sure you are approved.”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth. While she and Kronk had a decent relationship, she’d never found the man to be totally trustworthy, but every now and then he surprised her. “That’s nice of you, Kronk.”

“But I
haf
favor.”

She rolled her eyes. She should have known it was too good to be true. “And that would be . . .”

“You are great crime solver, yes?”

Fairly sure she knew where this was leading, she raised an eyebrow. “I have had some success at scoping out murderers.”

“And
eef
you find
geel-tee par-tee,
you go to police?”

“I definitely go to police—er—the police.”

“So, before you do, you tell Kronk who
ees keel-air.
I call reporter and get paid for news. You get credit for solv-
ink
crime.
Ees
what you call a win-win deal, yes?”

“Ah, no,” Ellie stated, heaving a sigh. She’d learned from past experience that the Russian was all about the cash, but this was too bold to be real. “And you should be ashamed for asking me.”

Kronk’s expression grew wounded. “
Ell-ee,
why you say such a
theenk
? I merely share in your wonderful luck.”

Luck? Now that was a real insult. She’d been tied to a chair and left for dead, had her dog stolen, and just four months ago had been held at gunpoint and threatened with poison. Getting out of those situations had taken a heck of a lot more than luck.

“We split
mon-ee
? I give you ten—no—
twen
-tee percent,” he continued.

She pivoted on her toes, walked to the elevator, and pushed the call button. The suggestion wasn’t even worth a second “no.” When the door opened, she stepped inside and punched the number for her first client’s floor.

 

Finished walking the Davenport pack, she managed to slip past Kronk, who was busy checking in more grumbling tenants, and back into the elevator. She probably should have phoned Rob and asked if he wanted visitors, but she assumed he would expect her to bring Bitsy home without a call. Which she would have done, except for the fact that the poohuahua was too traumatized to leave her condo.

But how to explain this to Rob?

After returning the dogs to their homes, she knocked on his door and waited, positive that someone was watching her through the peephole. When no one answered, she knocked again and heard the dead bolts slide open. Then the door swung inward.

“Ellie. Thank God it’s you.” Rob stepped back and allowed her inside. Then he slumped against the hallway wall and ran shaking fingers through his hair. Throwing her a mournful smile, he said, “I guess I don’t have to tell you about last night, do I? I mean, you were there and all, and—”

He headed down the hall, as if expecting her to follow, and she obliged.

“The first detective on the scene was your date, right? I figured that out when I met you outside the dressing room.” Now in the living room, he dropped onto a butter yellow leather sofa and crossed his legs. Wearing faded Levi’s and a claret red cashmere sweater, he looked sad yet determined. His disheveled hair only added to his pitiable expression. “So did Detective Ryder tell you anything? Is there any word on the real killer?”

She dropped into a matching wing chair across from him. “Yes, Sam was my date. We’ve gone out for a while now, but he won’t—I mean, he rarely discusses his cases with me. In fact, I probably know less about what happened than was reported in the papers.”

“But you’ve solved crimes, caught killers and all that. Doesn’t he ask for your help?”

My help?
She wanted to laugh, but knew it wouldn’t be appreciated by a guy who’d just been charged with murder. “He hasn’t approved of anything I’ve done to solve the murd—er—the cases I’ve been involved in. He thinks I’m inept and a danger to myself, so, no, he does not ask for my assistance.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, because the way Randall talks you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.” He leaned back on the couch. “I was hoping I could hire you to lend a hand in the investigation.”

Hire me?
“Rob, I’m not a PI or anything like one. To tell you the truth, I’m a nudge.” Great. She’d just slotted herself in the same category as Sam put his mother. “I really don’t know what I’m doing, but I push and push until I manage to stumble onto the facts.”

“But you’ve caught the guilty party.”

“Yes, but . . . How about I ask you some questions? Maybe if we talk it out, something will come to you that you haven’t thought of before. Then you can tell the cops and they’ll look into it.”

“Sure, fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hey, where’s my baby? Why didn’t you bring Bitsy home?”

Ellie swallowed hard, determined to tell a convincing story. “Bitsy is still at my place. I wasn’t sure you’d be here, so I thought it best she stay with me until I knew for certain.”

“I’m out on bail. It took the entire day to get that straightened out.” He started jiggling his leg in a twitchy, nervous kind of manner. “Little did I know there are some restrictions on my trust fund that don’t allow for a withdrawal of a large amount of cash unless I can prove to the attorney in charge that it’s necessary.”

“I heard bail was set at half a million. Isn’t putting up ten percent the norm?”

“Yes, but everything I have is invested. I didn’t trust myself to have that kind of money at my fingertips, so I put myself on a budget. My attorney pays the mortgage on this place, the tenant’s fees, all of it, and deposits a monthly allowance in my checking account. He had to liquidate some bonds to—” He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Listen to me, going on about money when I’m facing a murder charge. If my mother and father hadn’t already disowned me, this would have sealed the deal.”