Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs (7 page)

“Vince,” she cried, “come quick.”

He was already running, his steps keeping time with his pounding heart.
That bastard must have waited until he was out of the way to try to get to Sophie. “I’m two minutes away,” he yelled into the phone. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

“9-1-1? But they can’t—”

“Whatever you do, don’t let that bastard inside.”

“Vincent, he’s already inside. Oh, I must go to him. Hurry!”

The phone cut out, and he shut every distraction from his mind, focusing on only one goal. He had to save Sophie. She was alive, and somehow she’d been able to call him. She was smart and brave. If she could hold Gregory a couple more minutes, he’d be there. Sprinting up Eleventh Avenue, he bashed a few shoulders, leaped over a couple of dogs on leashes, and nearly lost an arm when he dodged around
 a mailbox and turned onto Forty-fourth at a dead run.

He was breathing hard when he entered his apartment building. He had a split second to decide between the elevator and pounding up seventeen flights of stairs when he noticed the elevator was empty and on the ground floor. He sprinted inside and cursed its slowness as he rode up, realizing he’d left his gun in his bedside drawer. Fool!

Well, he had his bare hands and hopefully surprise on his side. He’d make the best of them.

Once he reached his floor, he noted that the door wasn’t kicked in or damaged in any visible way. He used his key and slipped inside as quietly as he could. He didn’t have to search for Sophie; she was right there, bending down at the edge of his living room.

“Sophie,” he gasped. “Thank God you’re all right.”

She rose and turned to face him, looking pale and shaken. “But he is not.”

As she turned back to her previous pose, he saw a heaving heap of black-and-brown fur. It took his adrenaline-soaked brain a moment to register that her panic call had nothing to do with the chef who
 liked to take pot shots at his ex, but with the Doberman.

The dog’s flanks quivered, and Vince heard the rasp of labored breathing. He rushed closer and noticed that the dog was shaking all over.

“What happened?” Vince asked, dropping to his knees beside the prostrate animal.

“I don’t know. He threw up twice and then…” She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “And then he sort of fell to the ground.”

Sophie stared at him in appeal. Standing at the top of the Doberman’s head, Mimi gave him the same look. She leaned forward and licked the black trembling head.

“We’d better get him to the vet,” Vince decided, thinking the poor old Dob wasn’t looking good at all. “Let’s go.”

He hefted the not inconsiderable bulk of the Doberman in his arms. The dog whimpered a little, but otherwise made no complaint. He carried the dog down and walked the block to where he garaged his SUV, hoping they could make it in time.

Sophie sat in the back, and he laid the dog on the seat beside her, with its head pillowed on her lap. She murmured soothingly and stroked its head.

Fortunately, Vince had lived in this neighborhood long enough that he knew the immediate area intimately. Mimi’s fancy vet was in Chelsea, but too far. There was a vet only a few blocks away. He drove like a maniac, heavy on the horn, heavy on the gas, double parked outside the vet’s front entrance, and once more lifted his burden.

He wondered if they had a chance of saving the dog. Even in the short time it had taken to travel here, he could see the poor mutt’s condition had deteriorated. His eyes rolled in his head, and he was barely breathing.

“Hang on, buddy,” he said softly as he hefted the animal into the storefront clinic.

Fortunately, the vet on duty was a young Italian woman who didn’t waste any time. Vince walked the
 dog through to an examining room and laid him on the metal table. Dr. Amanti put the stethoscope to the dog’s barely moving chest; she pulled open the eyes, looked into his mouth, and spoke soothingly all the while. The dog vomited once more, a feeble effort at best, then lay back down exhausted.

“What did he last eat?”

“He had a bowl of dog food for breakfast,” Vince said. “He hadn’t had his dinner yet. Also, he hangs out in the kitchen and eats anything he can find. He got some bread and… ah, honey off the floor earlier.” He didn’t look at Sophie as he said it.

“Did you walk him today?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did he eat any garbage or anything suspicious?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“Well, I have to run a couple of tests, but I think he’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? But who would . . . ?”

“How did . . . ?”
”

Wait outside now,” the vet said. “We’ll do what we can for him. I’ll let you know.” Sophie held Mimi in her arms, and the dog whined softly as they turned away.

“You’re going to be fine,” Vince said softly to the Doberman, hoping fiercely he was telling the truth.
 The stubby tail wagged feebly, and Vince swallowed hard over a sudden lump in his throat.

“Do everything you can,” he said to the vet. “Money’s no object.”

She nodded and smiled, but she didn’t look hopeful.

He went out and parked the car, stuffing the ticket he found under the windshield wiper into his pocket, then came back and joined Sophie and Mimi on hard plastic red chairs in the small waiting area. A Siamese cat regarded them balefully, and a parrot in a cage asked What’s up? in a gravelly parrot voice about a hundred times.

He reached for Sophie’s hand, and she held on tight. Mimi lay curled in her lap, whining softly from time to time. They didn’t say much, but he had the oddest feeling that they were a family, taking comfort from each other in times of trouble.

Half an hour ticked painfully by, and he tried not to think about what was going on behind the sliding door. An hour, and he was losing hope. Instead of a pesky mutt who ate too much and had invaded his life, the Doberman was to Vince now a loyal guardian who’d done his best to protect Sophie and Mimi. Damn it, the dog was part of his household, and it didn’t even have a name.

Well, Sophie’s embarrassing girlie name.

Another half hour crawled by. The Siamese had been and gone, the parrot was asking someone somewhere else what was up, and still they sat there.

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He went up to the counter and asked the young receptionist, “Can you find out what’s going on back there with the Doberman?”

She glanced up, obviously ready to refuse, took one look at his face, and softened. “I can try.”

Ten minutes later the vet herself came out, stripping off a pair of latex gloves and looking tired. “Your
 dog was definitely poisoned. He’s stable now, and sleeping. We’ll keep him in overnight to keep an eye on him, but I think he’s going to make it.” She rolled her shoulders as though she’d been bent over for a long time. “The dog’s strong and healthy and big enough that he could fight the poison.”

She smiled suddenly and pointed to Mimi perched on Sophie’s lap. “Be glad it wasn’t that one who got
to the poison. She wouldn’t have had a chance.”

She turned away, so she didn’t see Vince’s expression.

The young receptionist came back out and said, “I’ll open a file for your dog. Then you can go home and pick him up in the morning.”

“Sure,” Vince said, reaching for his wallet.

“Family name?” she asked, tapping on her computer.

“Grange,” Vince said, and gave her the address and his phone numbers when she asked.

“Dog’s first name?”

The silence was so long, she glanced up from her computer screen. He looked at Sophie and smiled for the first time since he’d received her panic call. “His name’s Sir Galahad.”

The girl didn’t seem to find this a stupid, embarrassing name, merely typed it in. Then asked, “Are his shots up-to-date?”

“I doubt it. We just adopted him. He was a stray.”

“When he’s back on his feet, you and your wife will want to bring him in for a full physical, and we’ll update his shots.”

“Sure. Okay,” Vince said. Where a few days ago he’d been appalled at the addition of a second dog into his household, now he was happy that he was going to have the chance to come back for yearly physicals and shots.

And she’d called Sophie his wife, and he hadn’t said a word to correct her. In that moment, Vince realized that his life was never going to be the same.

He grinned like a fool.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, seeing him grin.

“They think Sir Galahad’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, Vince.” Tears filled her big blue eyes, and with Mimi tucked under one arm, she rose and threw the other arm around Vince’s neck, kissing him with warm, sweet lips that trembled.

“We can pick him up tomorrow.”

As Sophie and Mimi headed for the door, he turned back to the receptionist. “Tell the doctor I want to know what kind of poison the dog ingested. I’ll want copies of any lab reports and blood work.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“See if she can put a rush on it.”

The girl looked startled. “You think someone tried to kill your dog deliberately?”

He shook his head. “I think there was another intended victim.”

“Are you suggesting . . . ?”

“Put a rush on those reports. We’re talking attempted murder.”

When they got back home, the place seemed half empty without the Doberman. Mimi wandered the apartment, her sharp little nails tapping out her distress on the hardwood.

“She misses him,” Sophie said, watching the little dog.

Vince understood. The two dogs had somehow become a matched pair, as unlikely as they seemed together.

A bit like Vince and Sophie. He had a feeling he’d be tracking paths through the hardwood himself if he lost Sophie. The notion had him walking up behind her and pulling her to him for a long, hungry kiss.

She emerged breathless and surprised by his passion— he’d surprised himself. How had she become important to him so fast?

“I made a mistake, Sophie. A stupid-ass obvious mistake.”

She blinked. “You did?”

He nodded, kissed her again quickly because he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t think you were ever in danger.” He crouched low and tapped his knee. Mimi stopped her aimless wandering and raced toward him, ears flying, pink nails sparkling. He scooped her up and held her to his chest where she showed her affection by licking his chin. “Mimi was the target. You and the Doberman got in the way.”

Sophie blinked, and gave him the same look his mother used to right before she’d put her hand on his forehead to test for fever. “Mimi?”

“Yeah. You know how I said I’d inherited her?”

“Of course.”

“Well, she was also a beneficiary of my aunt’s will. To the tune of fourteen million bucks.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, and she glanced at Mimi as though she couldn’t believe anything so little could be so rich. “Mimi inherited?”

“Yeah. I inherited Mimi, and I’ll get her money when she passes on. But there was one stipulation. If Mimi doesn’t die of old age, the money goes to my cousins instead. My 
aunt was probably trying to make sure I looked after her dog really, really well. What she didn’t think of was that my charming cousins might do the job. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier. I was too busy thinking of you.”

“You have cousins who would murder a sweet little dog?”

“I wouldn’t have thought I did, but it’s the only explanation. Think about it. The Doberman didn’t eat anything but dog food until I threw him those cookies.  They came with Mimi’s stuff, in that stupid tin. Right after he ate them he got sick—I bet the cookies were poisoned. And the vet said Mimi would have died if she’d eaten them instead. It was his size that saved Sir Galahad.”

Sophie looked stunned. “But… where did the biscuits come from?”

“They were packed with a bunch of Mimi’s stuff that came when she moved in here. Every time I tried 
to give her one, she turned up her nose, so I shoved them in the cupboard. Why would my aunt stock cookies the dog doesn’t like? Doesn’t make sense.”

Sophie rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “So, you say your cousins planted a tin of poison biscuits and also tried to have the dog kidnapped and then shot? It seems a little . . .
incroyable
.”

“Yeah, I know.” He started to pace, Mimi bobbing along in his arms. “But think about it. The first day you were out, we thought you were being mugged because of her collar. Maybe it wasn’t the collar they were after, but the dog.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” she agreed, flopping to a chair and watching him.

“When you got shot at the next day, you were holding Mimi in your arms, weren’t you?”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure. Let me think.” She nodded. “Yes, yes, I was. She grew tired,
poor little thing, so I carried her the last part of the way. But how do you …” She gasped and touched her arm. “Oh, I see.”

He nodded. “They shot at the dog while she was in your arms. And missed. If the dog had been walking, you’d have a scab on your ankle. Or Mimi would be dead.”

“How could anyone do such a thing?”

“They’re not the brightest pair.” He sat beside Sophie on the couch, and the dog curled in his lap. “You said you never saw the supposed mugger?”

“No. It was a man, and he had a woolen cap pulled low on his head. Sir Galahad took a chunk of his
 blue jeans, though. I saved it.”

“Good. I’m betting Jonathon and Esme are trying to do this themselves. They wouldn’t want to hire anyone to do their dirty work since that would make them vulnerable to blackmail. Which is lucky for us. Let’s face it, a pro would have done a better job.”

“I am lucky to have been wounded by an amateur,” Sophie said with some bitterness.

He grinned at her. “A pro wouldn’t have tried to shoot the dog while you were holding it. You’d have come out of this uninjured, but I doubt Mimi would still be with us.”

“Ah, well, then.” The lift of her shoulders was as French as her perfume.

“I’m going to make certain my precious cousins are stopped in their tracks.” He patted Mimi’s curly head so she sighed in her sleep. She might be an embarrassment to the name dog, but she was his, and he’d developed a grudging affection for her.

“But how will you stop them?” Sophie asked.

He let out a breath. “We’ll have to lay a trap.”

***

“But surely this Esme and Jonathon will suspect a trap?” Sophie felt nervous and flustered. She was good with children and animals. She was a marvelous cook. But an entrapper of criminals?
Mais, non
.

“Relax,” Vince said, looking as though he was having far too much fun for her peace of mind. “We’ll do great.”

“I don’t think Sir Galahad is well enough yet for visitors,” she said hopefully, though in truth the dog had recovered remarkably in the two days he’d been home.

“Forget it. He wants a piece of them, don’t you, boy?” Vince said, rubbing the dog’s head so he rolled to his back and waved all four paws in the air in obvious invitation. With a low chuckle, Vince squatted and rubbed the dog’s belly. If there could be anything good to come out of a dog poisoning, it was that Vince had come to appreciate Sir Galahad. He called him by his name now and had clearly come to realize the dog belonged in his household.

Vince was so big and gruff, but she wondered if he even realized what a soft heart he hid under all his tough-guy bluster. He was sweet with the dogs, by turns tender and raunchy with her. She shook herself as she caught herself smiling like a simpleton while Mimi trotted over to share in Sir Galahad’s attention. When big, tough Vince picked Mimi up and laid her over his shoulder, where she draped herself like a fluffy white stole, Sophie fell in love with the man.

No, she thought as the realization pumped through her, she hadn’t fallen in love that second, she’d only just let herself accept her feelings.

Love. And with an American! As she waited for the panic and horror of her situation to sink in her stomach like an emotional Titanic, her feelings continued buoyant. In fact, she couldn’t keep the smile
 off her face.  This time, her heart had chosen well.

And if the man she loved wanted to play detective in order to protect the dogs he’d grown fond of, then she supposed she was going to have to pull herself together and help him.

“All right,” she said. “What is the plan?”

“We invite them for lunch.”

Her eyes widened so suddenly she felt her eyelashes scrape her lids. “Am I supposed to poison them?”

Vince laughed. “Tempting. But I have something else in mind. I’ve got a few calls to make to set things up.”

***

“Pooh,” she said, when Vince returned from taking Sir Galahad across the hall to 17B. He’d hired the neighbor’s boy to look after the dog for a few hours while the sting operation went down in 17A.

She ran her hands down the front of her short black skirt on her way to check on the lunch. The food at least would be good. Everything else made her nervous. “Why did you have to invite them for lunch?” she asked as she stirred soup. “I hate these people.”

“Stop fidgeting. You’ll do fine.” He hoisted Mimi to his shoulder, where she perched like a fluffy angel.

“I wish I could hide next door.”

“I need you here. My partner in crime busting,” he said and kissed her swiftly. Then he raised his head and with one hand touched her cheek. “My partner in—”

The doorbell chimed, so she jumped with nerves, and Vince stopped in mid-sentence to kiss her once again. Hard and swift. “Here’s something to take your mind off the charade,” he said, his eyes crinkling as he stared into her eyes the way he did sometimes when he was deep inside her body and moving toward climax. “I love you.”

While her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, he grinned at her once more and kissed her open mouth. Then he went for the door.

It was all right for him, addling her brains and making love to her mouth, then telling her he loved her. All right for him to tell her to relax; she had the pivotal role in this farce.

He loved her.

Oh, she wished he’d chosen a better time for his declaration. Given her time to assure him in the most obvious way that she returned his sentiments.

She glanced at a million dollars an ounce Mimi, yapping from Vince’s shoulder, thought of Sir Galahad next door, who was still moving slowly.

She watched Vince’s strong, broad back as he opened the door. The man she loved. The man who loved her. She wouldn’t let them down. She wouldn’t let any of them down.

She was smiling and calm when Vince ushered in two similar-looking, expensively dressed and groomed cousins. Jonathon did his best to look down her shirt when he was introduced and held her hand a little too long. Esme didn’t stoop to shake hands with the staff, merely nodded, gazing at her with cold eyes.

So the woman was a snob and her brother a lech. Just a couple more counts to add to their rap sheet along with attempted murder.

Vince poured them all a glass of dry white wine, and Sophie brought out a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and they sat sipping and munching for a few awkward minutes.

“Really, Vince, I can’t believe you’re still in this dismal apartment now you’re a multimillionaire,” Esme said by way of an opening conversational gambit.

“Not me,” he replied with a smile. “Mimi’s the multimillionaire.”

She laughed. “You’ll hardly let an insane old woman’s will stop you from spending a fortune.”

“We’ll see,” he replied noncommittally, but Sophie saw the flare of anger in his eyes. He didn’t talk about Aunt Marjorie much, but she could tell he’d been fond of the woman.

“As flattered as we are to be invited for a family reunion,” Jonathon drawled, “what’s up?”

“It’s Mimi.” The dog, who’d jumped on Sophie’s lap the minute she sat down, raised her head when she heard her name. “I was wondering if you’d take her while Sophie and I go away for a few days.”

Esme put her glass down with a decided snap. “You’re sleeping with the housekeeper? Oh, Vince.”

“
Salope
,” Sophie whispered into Mimi’s ear, and she could have sworn Mimi nodded agreement. Before Vince called his cousin something worse in her own language, which she could see he was about to do, Sophie spoke up. “I’m not the housekeeper. I’m Mimi’s nanny.”

The superior smirk the woman sent her had her gritting her teeth. “Sure, you are.”

She rose, knowing they had to get this horror show moving. It was no longer herself she was worried about blowing the operation, but Vince. He looked as if he wanted to toss both of his cousins out. And from the look on his face, he’d send them through the seventeenth-floor window.

While Vince and his cousins worked out arrangements for the supposed dog-sitting assignment, she
 played her part in the kitchen. “Vince,” she called out. “What have you done with my tarragon?”

“Is that a spice?”

“
Bien sur
.”

“I put it on the top shelf in the cupboard beside the oven. It’s not like you ever need them.”

“I do,” she snapped. “I like flavor in my food.” She dragged a kitchen chair to the cupboard in question and climbed onto it, revealing the maximum leg possible knowing that Jonathon, at least, would be watching. She retrieved the spice and then reached behind it. “Oh,” she said. “What’s this, Vince?”

“Hmm? Don’t know. Never seen it.” He was lying because he’d fed the poor Doberman from the tin she was now holding not three days ago.

She eased open the lid, careful not to look into the living area. “
Imbecile,
” she said. “It is cookies. Dog cookies.”

“Oh, probably from that stuff of Mimi’s. There was so much of that junk I put it away and probably forgot about it.”

She clambered down and placed the tin on the counter, then added the tarragon to her
Minestrone de Coques et Saint-Jaques
.

They managed to get through the lunch with more cordiality, and she couldn’t help but notice her “discovery” had caused Esme and Jonathon to drop the hostility. While they professed themselves delighted to dog sit Mimi for a few days, Sophie noticed how often Jonathon’s eyes strayed to the kitchen counter where she’d so casually left the tin with the cute hand-painted poodle design.

Vince had assured her his cousins wouldn’t put off their murderous intent until they were dog sitting Mimi because, if she died mysteriously under their care, it would be too obvious they’d killed her.

A private investigator friend of Vince’s had arranged for the original biscuits to be tested, and they were, as Vince had suspected, laced with poison. The same poison that nearly killed Sir Galahad. But there was no proof that Esme and Jonathon were to blame. At least, not yet.

She only hoped the trap they were setting caught the two thoroughly unlikable cousins.

After they’d finished eating, Sophie said, “I’ll put coffee on.” She was a little nervous now, since the next part of their plan involved getting themselves out of the main rooms without causing suspicion. It was the weakest part of their strategy as well as the most important.

She was about to deliver her oft-rehearsed line about running down to the corner store to get the coffee she’d supposedly run out of. When she reached the main entrance she’d have the doorman buzz Vince and tell him to come down and bring her some money. She had to play a spoilt princess and refuse to come back up. Neither of them liked the idea of leaving Mimi alone in the apartment with the cousins, though.