Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) (9 page)

“I don’t think so,” he said, trying to get rid of me.

“I need to speak to Michael.”

Julen smiled with relief. “Of course. He comes on at midnight and gets off at eight in the morning.”

“Do you have his number? I don’t exactly work those hours.”

Julen shook his head. “Michael does not have a phone. You will have to see him at work.”

“He doesn’t have a phone?”

“No. He does not believe in them.” Julen, looking amused, smiled widely, showing off clean, charmingly crooked teeth.

“Doesn’t believe in them?”

“Michael is an artist,” Julen said in explanation.

“OK? Thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

I knocked on Mrs. Saperstein’s door. There was no response, so I let myself in. The house was empty. No Mrs. Saperstein and no Snaffles. The living room was neatly put together, the cushions on the couches puffed, the lamps dusted, and the floor vacuumed. In the kitchen, the dishes were washed, the sink spotless and the counters uncluttered. It did not look like the house of someone who had been brutally murdered.

The photographs in an album I found on their bookshelf showed the Sapersteins as a happy family. Joseph and Jackie at their wedding. She had long dark hair then. He had a bushy mustache. They had gone on vacation to somewhere tropical, when her hair was cut short and dyed blond. He had worn a Speedo. In the autumn of another year, they had gone to a bed-and-breakfast. Joseph had his arm wrapped tight around Jackie and she smiled with her whole body. Nothing foreshadowed that he would have his face blown away and she would be the prime suspect.

In the kitchen, there was leftover Chinese food in the fridge and three apples. In the closet, Joseph’s coat hung above his briefcase. I pulled out the obviously expensive brown leather case and opened it. A gold wedding band and a silver Rolex sat on top of a stack of papers with the letterhead Pilfner and Brown.

Someone was putting a key in the door. I snapped the briefcase shut and shoved it back into the closet. Mrs. Saperstein, wearing loose jeans and a pink T-shirt, walked through the door holding Snaffles on a leash. She jumped and screamed when she saw me. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” She held her hand over her heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to walk the dog, but he wasn’t here, so I figured I would wait a while to see if you came back so I could walk him,” I sort of lied.

“Oh. OK.” She took a breath. “I just gave him a walk, so I guess you don’t need to worry about it today.”

“Alright. Do you want me to come back for his evening walk?”

“No, I can do it.” She sighed and looked past me at something not in the room.

“I’ll get going then.”

“Sure.” I walked past her and out of the house. That was close. Why did I do that? Did those papers say something about life insurance?

Creepy

The next morning, on the subway, leaning over a man reading the
New York Times
, I learned that the police were looking for Charlene Miller. She was not a suspect. They just needed her to answer a couple of questions. The article also said that a search of the victim’s home had turned up some interesting leads.

The dog run was buzzing when I arrived. All the ladies came hurrying over to me. “Did you see the paper?” Fiona asked.

“Yeah. It’s crazy.”

“Do you know where Charlene is?” Marcia asked.

“I wish. I only met her right before I took over the route. I don’t know anything about her. Have you guys heard from her?” I asked.

“None of us were that close to her,” Marcia said. Fiona nodded. I turned to Elaine but she just shrugged.

“What’s her deal? Charlene’s I mean. None of you knew her at all?”

“She didn’t really hang out with the likes of us,” Fiona said.

“What do you mean?”

“All I’m going to say is that I guess membership in the Biltmore Club can’t protect you from everything.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“All I’m saying is that being the newest member of the Biltmore Club didn’t do her much good did it?”

“I didn’t know she was the ‘newest member.’ Are you a member?”

Fiona cast her eyes away. “I wouldn’t join them if they begged me. They are all snobs, think they run the city don’t they?”

“Oh stop it Fiona,” Marcia said.

“I’m really lost, what is the Biltmore Club?”

Fiona opened her mouth to answer, but Marcia cut her off. “It’s a private New York Club with some very influential members.”

“They only let women become members in the mid-90s,” Elaine said.

“Another reason I would never join,” Fiona interjected.

“You know that gorgeous townhouse in the Mews covered in ivy?” Elaine asked, her eyes wide with admiration.

I thought for a moment and remembered a townhouse right across from the park that was   coated in a large green vine. The plant looked like some giant green mumpet that was eating the roof and would eventually get at all the inhabitants. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Elaine asked.

“Easily impressed,” Fiona muttered.

“Charlene was a member. Isn’t it hard to join?”

Marcia answered me, “She must have some friends in some pretty high up places. You have to be sponsored by a member and then voted in or some such nonsense.”

I left the run, thoughts of the Biltmore Club floating in my mind.

The Sapersteins door flew open as soon as I knocked. “Where is Charlene, and what does she have to do with this?” Jackie demanded. Her hair looked like it had been slept on wet.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? How could you not know?”

“You’d be surprised how much I don’t know.” She glared at my attempt at a joke. I laughed uncomfortably. It echoed in the hall. “Would you like me to walk Snaffles?” I smiled.

“Come in.” She moved aside, and I walked into the apartment. The dark blue drapes were drawn, but the sunlight managed to shoot through creating shafts of bright light in the otherwise dark room. Mrs. Saperstein walked to the kitchen. Snaffles was curled up in a ball in the corner, asleep.

“He looks tired,” I said because I didn’t know what else to say.

“I’ve been walking him a lot. We’ve been walking a lot.” Her eyes shone through the half-light.

“Have you given him his lunch?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“OK, then I’ll take him out.”

“OK.”

“Come on, Snaffles. Come.” He didn’t move. I walked over to him. The corner was dark, and I stepped on a squeaky toy. The sound made me jump. Snaffles didn’t even twitch.

“Maybe you should just go,” Mrs. Saperstein said.

“Whatever you want.” I started to back away from Snaffles.

Mrs. Saperstein stood in the doorway of the kitchen silhouetted against the strange light of the living room. I walked toward her, but she didn’t move. “Tell your friend Charlene I’m on to her,” she hissed at me.

“She's not my friend,” I protested. A tense silence bulged in the space between us. Finally, she moved aside, and I squeezed past her.

What was the f was that, I wondered as the elevator took me back down to street level. Snaffles had looked really dead. I mean dead. Did she kill her dog? Excuse me—her cheating husband’s dog? As I stepped out into the warm light of the day I felt goose bumps rise on my flesh.

Oh, Toby

At the Maxims’ I gave Toby his lunch, and then we headed out for a walk. Halfway through the marble-encased lobby, a tall gentleman with jet-black hair and gray temples wearing a tailored pinstriped suit intercepted us.

“Ms. Joy?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“I am a friend of Marcia’s.”

This must be the famous Philip, I thought. “How do you do?”

“Marcia told me that you were wondering if anyone had seen anything on the early morning of your former employer’s departure from this world and his unpleasant ascent to the next.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“May I suggest that you talk to Gregory Chamers?  He works at Eighty-Eight East End Avenue.”

“Why?” Instead of answering me, he floated off to the front desk, where a woman in her early sixties wearing a pink velour jumpsuit and carrying a gold lamé purse was talking in increasingly higher-pitched tones to a distressed-looking bellboy. I watched Philip soothe the woman, place his hand on her elbow, and lead her to the elevator banks.

Toby and I left the building and turned uptown. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves caused Toby to turn. When he saw the giant beasts approaching, Toby ran to me and squeezed himself between my legs. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and looked up at Doyle and O’Conner. “Hello, officers.”

“Hello Ms. Humbolt,” they said in unison which I thought was pretty darn cute. Two strapping police officers on horseback was really quite a sight, I decided.

“How’s the investigation going?” I asked.

Doyle frowned. “I’m sorry I don’t know. Unfortunately, I knew the victim personally so have no access to the case.” He saw the look on my face and continued. “It’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t know him well. We just belong to the same social club.” He threw a glance at O’Conner who tipped his helmet at me and rode off down the street. Doyle shifted in his saddle and leaned down toward me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, no,” he smiled. “I just wanted to know if you’d be interested in going out with me some time.” He smiled with big white, straight teeth. “I’m not involved in the case in any way so there is no ethical reason why I shouldn’t ask you out.”

I laughed. Doyle leaned back and touched his hand to her heart. “She laughs at me?” he said in mock shock.

“No, I’m sorry. I just never had a guy mention ethics while asking me out.”

“Maybe the wrong kinda guy’s been asking you out.”

“Ouch.”

“Are you free Saturday night?”

I thought about fake checking my phone to see if I was booked but instead I laughed. “Yeah, I’m free.”

“Great,” he grinned at me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” I said. He trotted to catch up with his partner. I watched them as they turned toward the park, a huge grin on my face. What fun, I thought. Toby stayed cowering between my legs.

Night Walk

I did not give Snaffles his evening walk. I paced outside his building and decided the whole thing was too creepy. It was Friday, and Mrs. Saperstein owed me for the week. My other clients had paid—cash in white envelopes with my name on them—so I decided I was justified in waiting until Monday. But looking up at the 20-story building as the sun was just starting to slip down the west side of the world, I worried about Snaffles and his mistress.

A soft orange glow lit the building’s brick facade. Lamplight glowed from several apartments. In others, I could see the eerie blue flicker of the TV. A warm breeze blew my hair around my face. I left, walking toward the subway, feeling sick to my stomach and alone.

Blue waited for me on the other side of my door. He jumped around, desperate to be petted but too excited to stay still. I rubbed his back and he tapped his feet. I moved down the hall, and he followed, bumping his long snout into my hand. “No, Blue,” I said, and lifted my hand out of his reach. He whined, spun in a circle and sat. I laughed and couldn’t help but rub his ears. He leaned into me and looked up with eyes so filled with devotion it seemed unreasonable.

I ordered General Tso’s chicken and settled myself on what was left of my couch (I’d duct- taped it together as best as I could). I turned on the TV and watched 30 seconds of Seinfeld, then clicked over to Friends, click, Everybody Loves Raymond, click, Pastor Bill Tells It Like It Is. I watched my stepfather behind his podium, his hair big and full.

“Life’s trials,” Bill was saying, “especially poverty, are a result of sin.” He licked his lips and slapped the podium in front of him. “Do you hear me, Lord!” His voice quieted. “Can you hear me, Lord? Because, you know, He’s speaking to you every day.”

He moved from behind his podium and out onto the stage in front of his attentive choir. His voice rose up again. “The good man brings good things out of the good stored in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart, his mouth speaks. Luke 6:45.”

Bill nodded, and the camera showed an audience of hundreds nodding back at him. As the camera panned the crowd, I could see some of their faces wet with tears. Other people held their arms in the air, their eyes closed.

“Now, I want you all to make a vow.” Bill’s voice spoke over the image of all those people undulating, weeping, and shaking for salvation. “A vow to yourselves, to God, to Faith Foundation. A vow that you will not be poor anymore.” His voice rose. “That you will not be a sinner anymore. That you will give, from your own pocket, from your sinful earnings, $1,000."