Overheated

hallway.

“You’ve spent some money on him?”

“A little bit,” she answered. “Just the essentials so far. We did rent a crate to fly him to Dover.”

“You took the dog to Dover?”

Crystal smiled as she remembered the trip. “He loved the seashore. Didn’t quite know what to do with the salt water, but he played fetch forever.” She brought herself back to the present. “I know I’m in an apartment, but there’s a wonderful park right behind us, with a pond. Rufus loves to walk, and he plays with my nephew when he comes over. He even sleeps at the foot of David’s bed.”

“David?”

“My nephew. He and my niece sleep over sometimes.” It seemed to Crystal that kids involved in Rufus’s life would be a good thing.

“And you’re not looking for any money to care for the dog?”

Crystal drew back, startled. “Money from who?”

“From Mr. Chandler’s estate.”

“No. Of course not. I never even met Mr. Chandler.” Then she had a thought. She leaned forward. “Would you like me to buy Rufus?”

Since Larry had sprung for the cell phone, Crystal could come up with some money for the dog. Not a lot. But then Rufus didn’t seem like a show animal or anything.

A smile grew on Fred’s face. “There’s no need to buy Aldo. Mr. Chandler’s express wishes were that I find a loving home for his best friend. I believe I’ve found that in you.”

Crystal’s chest tightened, and she was forced to blink back a couple of ridiculous tears. “Thank you,” she told him, stretching forward to clasp his hands in hers.

Fred shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “No need to thank me. It’s my job.”

“Thank you all the same.” She reached down to pat Rufus, or Aldo, or whoever he wanted to be.

Fred opened his briefcase and slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “There is a small matter of money.”

She nodded. “Okay.” Maybe there was a fee or something. No problem. She got to keep Rufus. That was all that mattered.

“Mr. Chandler left provisions for Rufus’s care and feeding.”

Crystal didn’t understand.

“In fact,” said Fred. “The bulk of his estate was set aside for that purpose.”

“You’re giving me money?”

“Yes.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Five million, six hundred and thirty-two thousand dollars.”

She stared at him, trying to turn his words into something that made sense inside her head.

“Aside from a few bequests to charitable and service organizations, Mr. Chandler left his estate to his dog. Or, rather, to the new owner of his dog.”

“That’s insane,” said Crystal. “I can’t take that money. Dog food is maybe twenty bucks a week.”

Fred gave her a wide smile. “Nevertheless, this will is a legal contract. You want the dog, you get the money.”

It was a ridiculous amount of money. “Why didn’t you keep him?”

Fred peered over the top of his glasses. “My task was to find him a good home, not to keep him. Besides, it would have been a blatant conflict of interest.”

Crystal subconsciously pulled back. “It’s a conflict of interest for me, too.”

“No, it’s not.”

The thought of that much money simply made her panic. She couldn’t spend it on herself. It would be wrong. And she’d never manage to spend it all on Rufus. Even if they chartered him his own plane to NASCAR races, she’d never spend it all. They’d have to rent him doggie VIP suites, with all you can eat goose-liver pate.

Which would be ridiculous.

“You said something about charities?” she tried. “Could I donate the money to Mr. Chandler’s favorite charities?”

Fred nodded. “You could. But you might want to consider setting up something in his name. A charitable foundation for abandoned pets, for example.”

What a great idea. “Could you help me do that?”

He closed his briefcase and replaced the glasses in his pocket. “I’d be very pleased to help you. But I want you to give this some thought. And remember, there’s nothing wrong in spending some or all of the money on yourself.”

Crystal shook her head.

“Mr. Chandler’s only wish was that Aldo have a loving home.” He glanced at the dog. “I’m delighted to know I’ve been able to arrange that.” He rose from his chair and handed her a business card. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” she said, numbly staring down at his name. Then she rose and looked up at him. “Thank you for Rufus.”

She couldn’t wrap her head around the five million dollars. And she didn’t have to. She’d let Fred take care of the details of a charitable trust. All she needed was enough money for dog food.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LARRY KNEW HE NEEDED TO GIVE Crystal some space. The question of whether to continue the relationship was easy from his side. She was a beautiful woman who made him happy, and he loved her.

From her side, it was considerably more complicated. Though he wasn’t anywhere near retirement at the moment, he’d certainly get there before she would. And he couldn’t give her children. Even if by some miracle of modern science, he could reverse the surgery, he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to become a new father at this stage. While he could still play catch, and do any other children’s physical activity, the same might not hold true in ten years.

“You look tense,” said Nash, handing Larry a cold can of beer as the sun set on Nash’s deck overlooking Myrtle Pond.

“I’m fine,” said Larry. He didn’t particularly want to get into a heart-to-heart with Nash.

They’d been working on the Victorian all day, and he’d been able to put everything else out of his mind. But now that work was stopped, he couldn’t help wondering about Crystal. Had she finished work for the day? Did she have the kids? Was Zane making a nuisance of himself? And how was Rufus?

Nash took a seat in one of the padded deck chairs, and Larry followed suit.

“I asked around about that Zane Crandell,” said Nash, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee.

Larry didn’t understand. “Asked around to whom?”

Nash shrugged, taking a sip of the beer. “Just some guys I know. He’s got a couple of assaults on his file in Atlanta.”

“You know Atlanta cops?”

Nash nodded. “Some. They were bar fights, nothing domestic. But the man doesn’t drink well.”

“I’d be surprised to learn he does anything well,” Larry put in. Zane had struck him as a loser with a capital L.

“Job as a night janitor. Low-rent apartment. A bit of a gambling issue, but nobody’s looking to break his kneecaps or anything.”

Larry gave a cold laugh. “Too bad.”

“He touched the sister?” asked Nash.

“She says not.”

“If he steps out of line, I can have somebody tune him up.”

Larry squinted at Nash. “Who exactly do you know in Atlanta?”

A shrewdness came into Nash’s eyes, something Larry didn’t remember seeing before.

“Just some guys, who know some guys.”