Page 87 of Hot Momosa

Dahlia grabbed the man’s hand. “What about last night around eight? Or this morning before six?”

He nodded again.

“Did you happen to see a large man on our deck last night? He probably jumped over from an adjacent rooftop.”

What the hell?

“He also came into the building this morning with a manilla envelope.” The desperation in her voice undid me.

I moved to her side and slid my arm around her.

“I saw a man with an envelope follow one of the residents in early this morning. He left empty handed a few minutes later. I thought it was odd because of the time. It was too early for a courier service. I should know, I put myself through college delivering—”

“That could be the guy.” I cut him off as politely as possible, but his babble and Dahlia’s line of questions had me ready to explode.

Artie stood a little taller. “Is that who you thought I was? Is he someone dangerous?”

“Yes,” Dahlia and I said in unison.

“What did he look like?” Gabe seated himself on a barstool.

“Tall, broad, dark hair.” Artie shrugged. “I didn’t see his face. He was wearing dark glasses. That’s why he stuck out to me. That and he looked like a hit man or bodyguard.”

“Dark hair?” I frowned and handed him the leashes.

Not Harrison then, but who?

As if she’d read my mind, Dahlia whispered, “Harry could have hired someone.”

While it was a possibility, everything she’d told me about the stalker’s tactics seemed far too personal to farm out to a hired hand.

Artie glanced at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I have to go. Mother always has dinner waiting at five.”

Gabe barked out a laugh. “I gave you almost a quarter of a million dollars over the last year and a half, and you’re living with your mom?”

Ignoring the comment, Artie clipped the leads on the dogs and headed to the door. “I’ll see you Sunday evening around six. Don’t forget to text me the dog food recipe.”

I bent down and gave the poodles goodbye scratches before standing and clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, but what made you decide to share?”

Artie gave me a sly grin. “Besides not wanting to take a little boy’s dogs away, I think they are good for you.”

His answer surprised me. “What makes you say that?”

Dahlia and Gabe laughed.

What am I missing?

“I never would have thought a mobster—uh, former mobster—could love them as much as I do. I was wrong.” With that, Artie Guzman and the Three Poodle-teers left my condo.

---