Begging for Trouble (5 page)

“That’s possible, but—” Randall’s eyes lit up as if a lightbulb in his brain had suddenly switched on. “Are you telling me you once again stuck your nose in a crime scene?”

“I didn’t ‘stick my nose in,’ as you so nicely put it,” she said on a sigh. “When I went after Sam, I had no idea there’d been a murder.”

“Ellie,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. Stay out of trouble, mind my own business, blah, blah, blah. I was, I tell you. If I’d known what was going on, I’d have kept my bottom in my chair.”

“I understand. Still—” The doorman tipped his cap to a tenant leaving the building. “Please don’t get involved.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I had no idea that whatever was happening had to do with murder and would have to do with Rob.”

Randall glanced at the paper again. “The scenario certainly seems to incriminate Mr. Chesney.”

“Sam did find Rob with the weapon in his hand, but I think the rest is speculation on the reporter’s part. I simply can’t imagine Rob is capable of doing anything that horrible. And the ‘crime of passion’ thing doesn’t ring true.”

It hit her that except for Rob holding the scissors and Bitsy being under the dressing table during the murder, she knew virtually nothing about the crime scene. “Does the paper give the name of the victim?”

“I’m sure it does,” the doorman said, scanning the columns. “Yes, here it is. The dead man was Arthur Pearson, also known as Carmella Sunday. It says he—er—she had been arrested on several occasions for lurid acts and prostitution, but in the last several years she’d done a turnaround and gone into the entertainment business.”

“She had a part in the show. If I remember correctly, she was wearing a big dance-number costume when they found her, but she wasn’t one of the three headliners.”

“Mr. Chesney planned to take Bitsy to every performance. Do you know what happened to her?”

Ellie realized all this chitchat was making her late and headed toward the elevator. “Bitsy spent the night at our place. Rob asked me to keep her and I couldn’t say no.” She pressed the call button. “If he doesn’t get out on bail, I’ll stop in his apartment this afternoon and gather her things. Someone has to look after her. She’s too tiny to go to a shelter.” She waggled her fingers when the elevator door opened. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

On the ride up, she gazed at Rudy. “You’re too quiet. What are you thinking?”

“I got a lot on my brain. Who killed that Carmella person? Why was Bobbi-Rob holdin’ the weapon? What will happen to Bitsy if he gets convicted?”
He sneezed.
“We have to help them.”

“My thoughts exactly,” she said as they stepped onto Buckley’s floor.

She knocked, then used her key to get Buckley, a small black maltipoo with a cranky disposition. “Hey, Buck. How are things?” she asked when he trotted to the door from somewhere in the rear of the apartment.

Ellie stooped to hook his leash to his collar. “So why are you chewing?”

The trio aimed for the elevator. Ellie had four more dogs to retrieve. “What was her name again?”

No surprise there, thought Ellie. Buckley had a bad opinion of everyone and a complaint about everything. “Hmm, I can’t imagine why,” she said jokingly. “I haven’t seen your mistress in a while. Still off the cigarettes?”

“She knows you’re a smart little guy,” Ellie said. They arrived on Sweetie Pie’s floor, walked down the corridor, and opened the Westie’s door. “Hey, Sweetie. You ready for us?”

The adorable West Highland White Terrier greeted Rudy and Buckley in typical doggie fashion, prompting her yorkiepoo to say,
“You smell like you’ve been through the wash cycle. Mom using a new shampoo?”

The details on the Westie’s shampoo sent the dogs off on a tear about groomers that continued until the pack was outside and crossing Fifth Avenue. When they got nitpicky about telling one scent from another, Ellie’s mind went into overdrive. Was it possible Bitsy had smelled something during the murder that would identify the killer?

She’d never find out until she got the poohuahua to talk, and that might take time. Meanwhile, she still needed to know if Rob had been released. Until then, there wasn’t a thing she could do to help him or his dog.

Sam read the caller ID on his cell phone and leaned back in his chair. Paying attention to Ellie now would go a long way toward keeping the peace and deflecting invasive questions later. He had, in fact, expected her to call him before this, but then he remembered that she’d taken home a suspected killer’s dog, which might have caused a problem.

“Ryder,” he said, though Ellie had to know he’d be the only one on the other end of the line.

“Do you have time for a few questions?”

He smiled at the greeting, happy to know they’d grown so close over the past couple of months that Ellie didn’t feel it necessary to announce herself. Positive he knew the topic she wanted to discuss, he heaved a sigh. There was no use trying to pretend he didn’t have the answers, and after only four hours’ sleep last night, he didn’t have the energy to play the avoidance game or give her a lecture, something that never worked with his “bad penny” anyway.

“Can you keep it to five minutes? Because that’s about all the time I have right now.”

“I’m outside the station. Can I come in?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but no. Just ask what you have to and I’ll do my best to tell you”—
get off my case—
“what you need to know.”

“It’s about Rob Chesney.”

Well, duh. No surprise there. “I figured. Go ahead.”

“Where is he right now?”

“Probably in a holding cell.”

“Has he had a bail hearing?”

“And you need to know that because . . .”

Ellie blew out a breath. “Because I have his dog. I want to know if I should keep her with me or drop her at his apartment.”

“I believe Mr. Chesney’s attorney is in the process of amassing the funds needed to set him free.”

“How much did the DA ask for?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I fail to see what the amount of Mr. Chesney’s bail has to do with his dog.”

“Come on, Sam. Bend a little. Rob’s a friend and I want to help him if I can.”

“Why? Did he ask you for the money?” He’d heard Chesney was a trust fund baby and didn’t need a cent from anyone.

She waited a beat before saying, “You’re being difficult.”

He shrugged. “Unless you’re an attorney or an eyewitness to the murder, you don’t need to know anything about his finances or the state of his stay here.” Of course, he knew darn well that wouldn’t stop her from prying. After a long silence, he said, “Bail was set at half a million. I believe he’s made arrangements with a bondsman, but there’s paperwork to finish. With luck, he could be home by the end of the afternoon.”

“Okay, fine.” She exhaled another breath. “Would it be possible for me to see him?”

Sam gazed at the ceiling. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I would never kid about such a serious matter. I’d like to see him, and I know you can get me in.”

Okay, he could, but that would be a bad move for a couple of reasons. First off, just about everyone in the station knew he and Ellie were dating, and they’d consider it extending special privileges if he did what she asked. Second, they also knew she continually horned in on police business, which didn’t endear her to the cops. Third, she wasn’t a relative of the perp and therefore had no credible reason for a visit, which would steer them back to reason two. Fourth—well, hell—the list went on and on.

“Can’t it wait until he’s home?”

“I guess.” Another pause, then, “The papers are calling it a crime of passion. Any idea where they’d get that idea?”

That was his girl. If one direction took her nowhere, she’d head off in another. “Not from here. Must have been someone in the DA’s office.”

“And those scissors were the murder weapon?”

“We’re waiting for confirmation from forensics and the ME, but I’m guessing so.”

“Is there any other evidence?”

“Not much. The crowd that tromped in and out of the room obliterated any footprints, but forensics might come up with something.”

“What about—”

“Sorry, Nancy Drew, but that’s all I can say for now.”

Ellie’s
tsk
shot across the phone line. “But you have an opinion. I know you do.”

“All I have right now are the facts. Until the entire story comes to light, and that’s up to the evidence Vince and I gather, I don’t know anything for sure.”

“Okay. Be that way.”

The huge sigh she dropped onto the end of the sentence made him want to bang his head against a wall. “Are you really going to make me recite the list of reasons why I can’t discuss this with you?”

“You could discuss it if he was innocent.”

“You know better than to say that, and as far as I’m concerned, he isn’t.” Neither he nor Vince had bought Chesney’s story of walking into the dressing room, seeing the victim, and falling to his knees to offer assistance. Only an idiot would pull a weapon out of a body. “I have to go.”

“Can you stop by my place tonight? I want to talk to you about Bitsy.”

Sam closed his eyes. He recalled the fuss about the dog, but what the heck did it have to do with him? “Did something happen to the little mutt that I need to know about?”

“I think Dr. Dave has to make a house call.”

When the word “mutt” didn’t get a rise out of her, he said, “Why? Is it sick?”

“Not in the physical sense.”

Was she saying the dog had a mental problem? Did he really want to know? “And you need me there . . . Why?”

“Just to talk over a few things. Come on, I promise I won’t go overboard with the questions.”

Impossible. “I’ll drop by if I can, but I’m not making any promises. What time?”

“Anytime. In fact, if you’re free around seven you can stop by Viv’s place. She’s ordering dinner for me and Dr. Dave, and there’s always more food than we can eat.”

“It all depends on how the investigation goes. Vince and I are still questioning people who were allowed backstage last night, even if they were performing at the time of the murder. Vince is lead on this one, so he’s calling the shots.”

“Why Vince? You were the first officer on the scene.”

The answer to her question was the same as the list of reasons he had for not allowing her to visit Chesney in jail. They were personally involved; she’d been with him at the site; she knew the supposed killer. But if he told Ellie she was the reason he had to play second fiddle, she’d have a full-blown fit.

“It was Vince’s turn,” he stated simply. “He had no problem taking whatever I told him as fact and assuming command.”

“Is that the truth?” she asked, her tone rife with suspicion.

He crossed mental fingers. “Yes. Now hang up. I’ll call you later and let you know about dinner.”

The connection dropped and he tossed his phone on the blotter. He’d been waiting for Ellie’s call, knew what she would ask, was even prepared for her bossy attitude. So why did their dialogue bother him so much?

Get real, Ryder,
a voice in his brain growled.
You care about the woman. You don’t want to create hostility, especially since things have gone so well for the past four months.

Ellie had let him back into her bed. They enjoyed being together, verbal sparring included. She always knew what to say to ease his anger and make him laugh. She was a good person, a saint really, when compared to most of the people he had to deal with, including those in his own family.

More important, she knew the rules. She usually backed away when he asked her to, and made him smile when she did it. She was the bright spot in his day, the reason he now saw the good in people he used to write off as crackpots or fools. She complemented his contrary and disbelieving nature, made sense of the things he sometimes found it impossible to understand. To put it plainly, Ellie was the very best of his better half.

Except when a friend or a client was in trouble. Then all bets were off, and she fought as dirty as any street fighter.