The Dog Who Knew Too Much (15 page)

“Why not?”

“It had all been spoiled,” he said. He looked back toward the street, but the little man with the crab was gone.

“But you still loved her,” I insisted.

“Yes,” he said. “She was …” He looked down, into his lap, the chopsticks still in his right hand. “I had hoped …”

He took off his glasses, placing them on the dashboard, and put his fingertips over his eyes. I don't know what got into me then. Maybe it was all the walking in Lisa's shoes. Once again, I reached over and slid my arms around his neck. But this time, it was different. When he moved his hands away and looked at me with those hurt, dark eyes, I leaned closer and kissed him. My lips gently brushed one cheek, then the other. When I kissed his eyes, I tasted the salt of a tear. Then I felt his chopsticks against my back as he embraced me, his other hand on my neck, his long fingers reaching into my hair. I felt a familiar heat starting and spreading quickly, as if someone had dropped a match in straw. Live in the now, Avi had said. So I did. I sank into it and let it happen.

That's when something caught my eye. Over Paul's shoulder, I could see them as they came out of Hong Fat and stood just across from where we were parked, kissing. They talked quietly for a moment, then Teddy's arm went up, for a taxi.

I pulled away from Paul and ducked.

He put his glasses on and turned.

“Why do I get the nagging feeling you're using me?”

“Because I am.”

“I thought as much. Follow that cab?” he said.

“Wait until they
get
one,” I told him.

You had to give him this. The man was a good sport.

Men like this don't grow on trees, my mother would have said.

But only if he were Jewish and a professional man.

A cab stopped. We took off after it. Ten minutes later, I knew where the blond lived. Had I been alone, I could have rushed in and told the concierge she'd dropped her pen on the street and gotten her name. Or I could have waited in the car for my brother-in-law to emerge.

And then what?

“Rachel?”

He touched my cheek with the back of one hand.

I had gone to Sea Gate to ask about my sister's situation, to find out if Ceil thought I should say something, or do something, to see if between us we could think up a way to prevent the shattering of my sister's marriage, of her life. Interfering, after all, was my family's stock-in-trade.

Leave them alone, Ceil would have said.

But, I would have said, in my usual articulate fashion.

Exactly, darling, she probably would have told me. Butt out. It's not your life. It's not your problem. Let it go.

What on earth had I been thinking?

“Let's go home,” I said.

“And where is that?” Paul asked, his voice as soft as the fur between Dashiell's round brown eyes.

“I've been staying at my cousin's,” I said.

“I thought so.”

“You did?”

“You don't have anything on that didn't belong to Lisa. All finished here?”

I nodded.

Paul drove to Lisa's and found a spot that was good for the next day. On our way across the street to Jimmy Walker Park, we pitched the Chinese food into a corner trash basket. Let some poor homeless person who didn't know Donny eat the crab. I certainly couldn't.

Leaning against the fence, watching as Dash left notes for the other neighborhood dogs,
I
was here, and here, and here
, I wished I were still a dog trainer and that the man whose shoulder was touching mine were really a date and not part of a criminal investigation.

I'm sorry. Lisa
.

When I'd told him about the note, he'd thought it had been written to him.

But why would Lisa have been the one apologizing?

Of course, if it had been the other way around, if he had done the asking and Lisa had been the one to refuse, then her note might have been an apology to Paul for turning him down.

Why had she?

She hadn't brought him home. Had she been worried about Daddy's disapproval? She was still dependent on him, still taking lots of his money so that she could live the way she wanted to.

The Village, the Village, David had said, so he'd bought her a condo. But at what price?

None of the ubiquitous concierges was at the desk, so I used my key to get into the lobby. I picked up Lisa's mail. There were still bills coming in, postcards and letters from real estate brokers asking her to call them should she want to sell, coupons for a free car wash or half-priced lunch, and the usual pile of mail-order catalogs. Upstairs, I unlocked Lisa's door and dumped the new pile of mail on the little blue table to the right of the door, right next to the old pile, which looked tall enough to topple over.

Paul took off his shoes and put them against the wall, under the coat hooks on the wall to the left, then went to give Dashiell some dog biscuits and make us tea. I hung my jacket and backpack on one of the hooks.

I could hear Dashiell crunching loudly, the hiss of the boiling water as it was poured into the teapot, water being poured into the sink. The first potful was to warm the pot. The second potful brewed the tea.

“Honey?”

“What?”

He poked his head into the living room, smiling.

“Honey in your tea?”

“Oh. Sure,” I told him.

I heard the spoon against one cup, then the other.

We sat on the black couch in the dark living room, neither of us touching the tea he had made us.

“Do you have a life of your own, Dog Paddle?”

“Not lately,” I said.

I heard Dashiell on the steps, then I heard the bed sigh as he climbed on, circled, and lay down to sleep.

“You look tired,” he said. “I should go.”

I turned and looked at him, his eyes shining in the light that came in from the window. One thing about New York City, it never really gets dark.

“I had fun tonight,” I told him.

“Me, too. You're”—he stopped and laughed—“you're not like anyone I know.”

“Not even … my cousin?”

“Especially not your cousin.”

“Well, we were—”

“
Distant
cousins,” he said, finishing my sentence.

He leaned in and kissed me, gently, on my lips.

Okay, he was completely adorable, but no way was I going to bed with this man. I hardly knew him.

“How are we different, me and Lisa?”

“You have a sense of humor,” he said, removing the lavender string from the little braid and undoing the braid with his long fingers. “Warped, but clearly evident.”

If I were
truly
walking in Lisa's shoes, shouldn't I reconsider?

The trouble with sex was where it might lead.

First I'd go to bed with him, next thing I knew, I'd be letting him touch the parts of my body that never got suntanned, then I might start necking with him in the car until all hours, I'd let him hold my hand in the movies, and who knows, one fine day after that, I might give him my phone number.

What kind of a girl did he think I was?

“Come on,” he said, pulling me up from the couch. He held my hand and walked me to the stairs. He led the way up and gently guided me to a spot near Dash. When he leaned down, my steely resolve took a powder. Even sitting, my knees felt weak. I closed my eyes. That funny brush fire had started up again and was spreading fast.

He picked up the pillow and fluffed it and then stood straight again.

“
Shuijiao hao
, Dog Paddle,” he whispered. “Don't let the bedbugs bite. Stay put,
xiao yue
. I'll see myself out.”

“What did you say?” I asked him.

“How would I know?”

He grinned, letting me see those cute dimples again.

“I better go,” he said.

“See,” I said in the dark, “it ain't so hard to be a good boy.”

“That's what you think,” he answered.

You had to love this man. Or was the delicious rush I was feeling just the
feng shui
of Lisa's apartment?

“Before you go …”

“You need?”

“Tea. That nice cup of tea you made me.”

“It'll be cold by now. I'll make you a fresh cup.”

I waited until I heard the water running before opening the nightstand drawer and feeling around in the dark for what I knew was there. When I heard him coming up the stairs, I quietly closed the drawer.

He put the tea on the nightstand.

I was waiting for him to kiss me again, but instead he just touched my cheek, turned, and headed down the wooden steps.

I ached to call him back.

I slid quickly off the bed and went to the top of the stairs, just in time to see Paul lean over the little blue table, pick up an envelope from the pile of Lisa's mail, and slip it into his jacket pocket. Then he put on his shoes, tied the laces, and reached for the door.

I heard the knob squeak. It needed oiling.

I watched the door open, then close.

Damn. Why hadn't I opened Lisa's mail? I had to see what he had taken.

At any cost.

I tore down the stairs, praying he'd still be in the hall. Not knowing what I'd do or say, only knowing I had to get that envelope, I pulled the door open. There he was, just standing there, facing me, his hands at his sides.

“I couldn't go,” he muttered.

“I know,” I said, my hands around his neck, pulling him back inside.

As I backed into the living room, he was kissing me, my eyes, my mouth, my neck. He took one of my hands from behind his head and pressed the palm to his lips. I could feel his heat on me, and my own, setting me on fire.

“We can't,” I moaned into his neck.

There had to be another way to get that letter back, I thought. Hell, I could just ask for it.

“Of course we can,” he said, “I'm a coach. I'll see us through.”

And then we were on that soft black couch.

Was it my grandmother Sonya, right before Hannukah, who had said, To receive everything, one must open one's hand and give? Or was it Taisen Deshimaru?

Either way, I opened one hand and held it up for Paul to see what was in it while I slipped the other hand into his pocket. He took the foil-wrapped condom I had taken from Lisa's nightstand and put it carefully on the floor next to the couch, where he could easily find it when he needed it. Then he took off his glasses, folded them, and placed them there, too. While he did that, I stuffed the envelope that had been in his pocket between two of the couch cushions. Then, the lamppost light shining in on us like moonlight, he began to take off my clothes.

Later we moved upstairs. Dashiell grunted as I slipped into bed next to him. Paul said he had to go, but apparently he didn't mean immediately. Once again I opened my arms to him, even though it was patently clear that this time there were no pockets to frisk in his outfit.

No one could ever accuse me of not giving my all to the job.

It was past eleven when he finally got up to leave. I strained to hear his bare feet on the stairs. As he got dressed, Lisa's place began to seem so lonely I could hardly stand it.

I slipped out of bed and went to the head of the stairs, figuring I'd snag one more good-night kiss. But the door was already closing.

I thought of tearing after him again, leaving myself not a shred of dignity in the bargain, but something else happened, something that made me freeze in place.

I heard a key slipping into the lock. Holding tight to the railing, I was barely breathing when the tumbler turned over.

I suddenly felt chilled. I went downstairs and pulled the velvet shawl from my backpack, slipping it around me as I walked into the dark living room.

I walked over to the couch and slid the envelope out from between the cushions.

Lisa and Paul had been lovers, I told myself, trying to stop my heart from pounding.

Of course
he'd have her apartment keys.

That didn't mean he had her work keys.

Did it?

19

She Rolled Her Eyes When She Read It

Sitting on Lisa's couch, I tore open the envelope I had retrieved from Paul's pocket and by the light of the lamppost coming in through the windows discovered what it was that Paul Wilcox had not wanted me to see. As soon as I had, I went through the rest of the mail, finding yet another real surprise.

I pushed the play button on Lisa's answering machine, listening to the lonely sound of the dial tone as I got dressed. Then I woke Dashiell, locked up, and took the stairs down to the lobby.

“Ms. Alexander?” the concierge said as soon as he saw me. “Wait up. I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't catch you on your way in. I must have been on my break. I see he's back,” he said, handing me a bouquet of roses. “These came this afternoon. I guess he wanted you to have them, you know, before.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking for a card and not finding one.

“The old boyfriend. I mean, Mr. Wilcox. I guess he wanted you to get those before he came over,” he said. Then he began shining up his brass name tag with the heel of his hand to distract me from the fact that, according to his job description, he was out of line in commenting on my personal life. Since I didn't raise my eyebrows or inhale sharply, he looked back up after a moment.

“You mean
Mr. Wilcox
sent these, Eddie? There's no card.”

“Wouldn't be the first time,” he said. He leaned over the high desk. “After he and Ms. Jacobs split,” he said, “he got pretty weird. Used to stand across the street, the other side of the ball field, so he'd like be out of the way, looking up at her window.” He shook his head. “He must of had it real bad for her, to do that. No chick's worth
that
, far as I'm concerned, but, hey, not everyone thinks the same, am I right?”