5 Deal Killer by Vicki Doudera

piece of paper upon which crudely made words spelled out a message.
    “Read it,” she whispered, her pretty young face wan. “I think you’ll agree the time for worrying has passed.”
    _____
    The poodle’s ribbon was red today, tied in a jaunty little bow at the top of its angular head. The animal sported a collar encrusted with sparkly red rhinestones, and Miranda would not have been surprised to see red polish on its pointy little claws. She took the dog’s leash from the maid, a skinny, pale thing who always looked petrified, and headed toward the elevator.
    The Coopers’ lab, Honey, was a gentle, mellow dog that seemed to enjoy the antics of the poodle. Today it was one of the nannies, Gina, who had handed Miranda the leash, while in the background a toddler shrieked.
    Together the lab and the poodle, Mimi, were easy to manage, but throwing her third client into the mix made it a challenge. Korbut, who lived in the rarified air of the top floor penthouse, was a young wolfhound eager to play rough with Honey, and he seemed to think that Mimi would make the perfect toy.
    Miranda headed back into the elevator, herding in the dogs before pushing the button. It was not an unpleasant job, and it did leave her free to use most of the day in other pursuits. And there were fringe benefits as well.
    The elevator glided up to the top floor.
    Miranda stepped out and approached the penthouse door. Beside her, the poodle let out a little bark of excitement and was quickly shushed. Miranda pushed the buzzer. Behind the door, the wolfhound was whining, anxious to join his canine companions in a walk.
    Miranda couldn’t help but smile as she watched Mimi dance on her little feet, cocking her head to the side and causing the ribbon to flip-flop. She knocked again, trying to ignore a rising feeling of irritation. What was it about rich people and their sense of time? No matter how clear you made it that you were on a schedule, that you actually worked for your living, they never seemed to get it. Whatever they were doing—even if it was a big fat nothing—was more important than somebody else trying to make a buck. She thought back to all of the excuses she’d heard over the years, including a few from Natalia Kazakova herself. Every lame thing from “I just ran to the Starbucks,” to “I forgot what time it was.” Ugh!
    This was why she’d insisted on having keys for all of her clients.
    “Guess I’ve got to root around in the backpack,” she said to the two leashed dogs. Stuck in the penthouse, the wolfhound gave a muffled snort of frustration. “Hang on, Korbut—we’re working on it.”
    Miranda took off her backpack and began searching through it when the elevator arrived and its doors slid open. A powerfully built man clutching a briefcase emerged. He wore a black vicuna coat, open over a polo shirt, and jeans. On his feet were tasseled leather loafers, no socks.
    “Miranda,” he said, striding toward her. She saw that his heavy-lidded eyes were bloodshot.
    Miranda stepped back, keeping the dogs between them.
    “Don’t come near me.”
    “That’s not the greeting I was hoping for.” He reached out over Honey’s broad back and tried to stroke Miranda’s dark skin. She flinched.
    “ Milaya , I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sweet-talking me. You blow me off without a word …” Her brown eyes flashed.
    “It was urgent business, but still, I should have let you know.”
    “Damn right.” Her tone softened. “You look like hell, Mikhail. Where have you been?”
    “I only just arrived. Something happened yesterday …” He paused . “Natalia’s fiancé was killed.”
    “Alec? How?”
    “Murdered. Up by 114th Street.”
    “God … how terrible. I liked him, at least I thought I did. I know you didn’t feel the same way.”
    “That’s not true! I arranged the marriage, for Chrissakes!”
    “You said your feelings had changed. Or don’t you remember?”
    “Of course I remember, Miranda. It’s