Pet in Peril

by Marie Celine

  ‘Yeah.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Think of the ratings boost!’

  ‘Julie, can’t you talk some sense into him?’

  Julie shrugged. ‘It’s never worked for me in the past.’

  ‘OK, folks, that’s all for now. Let’s get moving,’ interjected Steve. ‘Kitty’s got a cooking demonstration at ten o’clock.’

  ‘A cooking demonstration?’ gasped Kitty. ‘Are you crazy? I’m not prepared to do a cooking demonstration.’ Kitty pulled at her pajamas. She heard Fran mutter a muffled something about please getting all these people out of here followed by a string of curses that she might have picked up from Jamaican pirates. Even they might have blushed at some of her words.

  ‘Haven’t you looked at your itinerary?’ Greg asked.

  ‘Itinerary?’ Kitty’s brow furrowed.

  Greg snapped his fingers. ‘Somebody hand Kitty a shooting schedule.’

  The gofer grabbed a folded sheet from her purse and thrust it in Kitty’s fingers. Her eyes quickly scanned the typed paper. ‘I can’t possibly do all this.’ This schedule was packed. It barely gave her time to breathe. ‘I’m supposed to be here spending some quality time with my pets. Remember?’ She turned on Steve. ‘This was your idea.’

  Steve nodded. ‘I know.’ His finger thwacked the schedule in Kitty’s hand. ‘Look, you and the beasties are scheduled for a session with Doctor Newhart at nine.’

  ‘Doctor Newhart is here, too?’

  Steve tapped his Rolex. ‘Better get moving, Kitty.’

  ‘Did I hear someone call a Kitty?’ a voice boomed from the right.

  Kitty’s jaw dropped. ‘Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Hi-ya, Kitten.’ Her mother and father stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow doorway. In his left hand her father was clutching a dozen white roses. He never visited without bringing a dozen, always white. And he always called her Kitten. He and he alone. ‘Steve invited us.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Barnhard was gracious enough to ask us to come and we’ve been given such a lovely room. Thank you, again, Mr Barnhard.’ Kitty’s mom, Paula, was curvy and vivacious, with bouncy light brown hair that curled forward from her ears. She had an easy smile and rarely raised her voice.

  Paula Karlyle was the perfect person to run the front of house at Newport Bistro, her mother and father’s fine-dining establishment located in what was known as the dock and dine area of Newport Beach.

  Steve beamed. ‘My pleasure.’

  Kitty groaned. If she could get Steve alone somewhere dark and quiet – away from witnesses – she had some thanking she’d like to do to him herself.

  ‘Greg, I expect some great material out of this,’ Steve said. ‘We’re only here for a couple of days and the budget on this is astronomical, despite the spa’s generous comps. So I expect results. I’m off to brunch with Roger and the babies.’

  Oh, great. Steve had brought his smarmy French ami, Roger Matisse, with him. But who were the babies?

  Fran jumped from her bed, tugged her T-shirt down to protect her image and grabbed her suitcase from the corner near the window. She started yanking open dresser drawers and throwing clothes inside. Half of which weren’t even hers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Kitty.

  ‘Going home,’ cried Fran without stopping. ‘This is not the vacation I signed up for.’

  ‘Oh, no you don’t.’ Kitty slammed the drawer shut and locked her fingers around the handle of Fran’s suitcase. ‘If I’ve got to be here then so do you. After all, it’s your fault we’re here in the first place.’

  ‘My fault?’ Fran’s hands flew to her chest.

  ‘Yes, your fault. Who else’s fault could it be? You’re the one who insisted Fred and Barney were unhappy – that they needed some kind of therapy. And, Miss Big Mouth, you went and mentioned just that to Steve Barnhard of all people.’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘And look what you’ve gotten us into!’

  Fran took the opportunity to snatch back her suitcase. ‘Yeah, well. Tell me all about it when you get home. We’ll throw back a couple of margaritas and put this all behind us. Have a good laugh.’

  There was no reasoning with Fran when she was in a dither and not thinking rationally. Kitty had seen it before. It was time for her ace in the hole. ‘I don’t think the police would like it if we left.’ Kitty folded her arms across her chest. ‘Do I have to remind you what the police chief said?’

  Fran groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. Kitty smiled, knowing she’d won. ‘Mom, Dad, I’d like you to meet Fran Earhart. She’s the woman I told you about who’s my new roommate.’

  Her parents expressed their pleasure in meeting Fran. Kitty took the flowers her father brought and stuck them in the melted remains of the ice bucket. ‘Fran’s spending the weekend here with me and the pets, too.’

  Fran limply shook her parents’ proffered hands and flopped into a burgundy-colored pleated velvet wingback chair near the sliding door.

  ‘Come on down to Newport Bistro sometime. Lunch is on the house,’ said Mark Karlyle. Her father, despite having been a chef and restaurant owner, had managed to maintain a slim, wiry physique. He kept his walnut-brown hair never any longer than two inches and he was more comfortable in his chef’s clothes than anything else. He’d been known to wear his chef pants and jacket lounging around at home on his days off. While he was known to be temperamental in the kitchen, away from the heat of the ovens and grills he was a pussycat.

  The offer of a free meal seemed to have lifted Fran’s spirits.

  ‘Give me a few minutes to get dressed,’ Kitty said. ‘Then we can meet for coffee in the lobby.’

  Her parents agreed and waved goodbye. Kitty grabbed some fresh clothes and headed for the bathroom. ‘I need a shower,’ she said. ‘I need to wash the nightmare that was yesterday off me.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Greg. He motioned for the crew to follow. As a unit, Artie the sound engineer, the cameraman and the woman working the lights squeezed through the bathroom door behind her.

  ‘Get out!’ ordered Kitty, her voice echoing over the bathroom tiles as the three crew members spilled quickly back out the door as if the force of her voice had pushed them back like the wall of a category-two hurricane. ‘This is not a reality show!’

  SEVEN

  ‘Miss Karlyle?’

  Kitty turned. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

  A swarthy middle-aged man with a razor-sharp crew-cut circling his crown and an impeccable goldenrod brown suit had timidly tapped her on the shoulder. ‘I am Richard Ruggiero – Rick to my friends.’ He tugged at a checkered tie with the resort logo. ‘I am the manager of the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa.’

  Kitty smiled as she shook his hand. He seemed pleasant enough. All that hair that should have been on his shiny pate seemed to have relocated to his eyebrows. And though he had a bit of a paunch, it didn’t look like anything that a few pushups and a regular jog around the expansive grounds wouldn’t cure.

  ‘We hope you are enjoying your stay.’ He hesitated. ‘Despite the unpleasantness.’ His midnight-blue eyes darted side to side then stopped, honing in on her like the twin barrels of a Remington side-by-side shotgun.

  Unpleasantness? The first thing that came to Kitty’s mind was the invasion of her room that morning. Then she remembered. ‘Oh, you mean the murder.’

  The manager pumped his hands up and down. ‘Yes.’ He looked about nervously. The lobby was filled with guests. ‘The unpleasantness. I hope it won’t interfere in any way with your cooking program.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Kitty reassured him, her voice automatically lowering a notch. ‘We’re enjoying being here at your resort as a special location for The Pampered Pet. And while Mr Cornwall’s death is tragic, I don’t expect it to interfere with our plans.’ Truth be told, if Steve and Greg had their way it would become a key component. But Kitty was not about to let that happen.

  The manager nodded. ‘I’m happy to hear it, Miss Karlyle.
We are honored to have you. I and my staff shall do our best to see that you are allowed to film undisturbed.’

  Kitty shrugged and smiled lightly. ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘And we shall do our very best to keep the overly inquisitive press from disturbing you and your crew as well.’

  ‘I don’t expect any reporters will be bothering us. A cooking show for pets is hardly front-page reading.’

  ‘Of course. It’s just that with the dead man being somewhat of a minor celebrity himself, it seems the murder has taken on extra significance to the news hounds.’ He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. ‘I’ve instructed security to keep them out of the hotel and off the property completely.’

  ‘Minor celebrity?’

  ‘Didn’t you know, Miss Karlyle? Mr Cornwall was a speaker and author. He had written several financial and self-help books and starred in a number of infomercials some years ago.’ Mr Ruggiero frowned. ‘Until he went to prison, that is.’

  A light bulb slowly came to life in Kitty’s head. So that was why the name sounded familiar. Victor Cornwall. She remembered now. He had been one of those self-proclaimed financial and self-help gurus that dot the late night and early morning TV landscape. There had been some sort of scandal but she couldn’t remember the details.

  A young woman at the front desk called the manager’s name. He held up a finger. ‘I’m afraid I am needed.’ He clasped Kitty’s hands in his. ‘Please let me or my staff know if there is anything at all that we can do for you. We wish your stay here to be happy and successful.’

  Kitty promised she would. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Ruggiero,’ she said, ‘I’m sure the police will get the mystery of who killed Victor Cornwall wrapped up quickly. I don’t suppose they have made an arrest yet?’

  He shook his head in the negative as he dropped her hands and marched toward the front desk. ‘I’m afraid not. And please,’ he shouted over his retreating backside, ‘call me Rick.’

  ‘S’cuse me.’

  Somebody tugged at Kitty’s sleeve. She was tired and hungry and being pulled in so many directions at once that she felt like she was being drawn and quartered. After all, she’d had barely half a cup of coffee with her mom and dad at a small coffee shop off the lobby. The only other nourishment since the night before had been the cherry Danish she and her mom had shared in their few moments together.

  Low blood sugar sometimes made her irritable. Or it could be that her current simmering irritation stemmed from the fact that she had had no desire to be away from home in the first place, let alone dragging the crew of The Pampered Pet along with her on location. She turned, prepared to snap at whoever was bothering her now.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Good morning.’ It was the security guard who had caught Fran and Kitty standing over the dead Victor Cornwall in his suite the night before. He was dressed in the same uniform he had been in then.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  ‘Hi, Howie. I’m afraid I’m running late. I’m meeting my pets for a session at nine.’ She glanced at her watch; it was a minute or two till nine now.

  ‘I understand, ma’am.’

  ‘Call me Kitty.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He looked at his shoes.

  Kitty waited a moment longer, trying to hide her impatience, then said, ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  ‘Well,’ he stammered as his feet shuffled side-to-side across the plush wool carpet, ‘I saw you speaking to the manager, Mr Ruggiero, and I was wondering—’

  Now she understood. ‘No,’ she said with a broad smile, ‘don’t you worry. I did not tell your boss that you pulled your tranquilizer gun on me.’ She raised his chin with her forefinger. ‘I made a promise, after all. And I keep my promises.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he breathed.

  ‘No problem, Howie.’ Though looking back on last night, maybe she should have let him shoot her – begged him to shoot her. One good shot from a tranquilizer gun and she would have had a far better night’s sleep than she’d gotten without it. That was something to keep in mind for the next time. Shoot first, ask questions later.

  She turned to leave then put on the brakes. ‘Say, have you heard anything? About the murder, I mean?’

  Howie shook his head. ‘Nah. The police are stumped.’

  ‘No fingerprints?’

  ‘Bunch of them all around the room. Dog prints, too. But none they seem to be able to make heads or tails of.’

  Kitty ignored the unintended pun. ‘There were very pronounced red marks around his neck,’ Kitty replied. ‘As if he’d been strangled.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed that too. But Chief Mulisch says there was also a lot of dog slobber around his neck. So I guess that’s messed up their chances of getting any good DNA like you hear about on TV.’

  ‘Why do you suppose his dogs didn’t protect him?’ After all, Kitty would like to think that if she was being murdered good old Fred would come to her rescue.

  Howie shrugged. ‘It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe they knew the killer. They might not have realized that their master was being offed.’ He pulled an open pack of spearmint gum from his pocket and offered her a stick. She declined.

  ‘Besides,’ Howie said, peeling back the wrapper, ‘I’ve seen those dogs around the past few days now. They’re a couple of real pussycats,’ he said with a boyish grin. ‘They wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  She considered the security guard’s words for a moment. ‘Howie, do you think you could get me into Mr Cornwall’s room?’ She batted her eyelashes.

  He scrunched up his forehead. ‘Now, why would you want to do that?’

  She smiled as harmlessly as she could imagine. ‘I’d just like a look around. That’s all. See if I notice anything.’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss Karlyle—’

  ‘Kitty, remember?’

  He nodded and appeared to be caving. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Mind you, I’m not promising anything. It won’t be easy. Chief Mulisch and his team have got that suite locked down. Mr Ruggiero says it’s off limits to everybody else. Even the housekeeping staff has been ordered to stay out.’

  ‘Thanks, Howie.’ Kitty patted his arm. ‘You’re a sweetheart.’

  ‘You realize that being late to a therapy session with your pets is a sign of disrespect?’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Doctor Newhart. It’s been a difficult morning.’ She smiled and wiggled her fingers at Fred and Barney. Fred was ensconced on an overstuffed tan sofa against the window basking in the morning sunshine. Barney was snoozing on a small pillow in the inglenook that was bathed in equally warm light. Fred was pretty far gone himself. ‘A difficult night, to be honest.’

  Why did Dr Newhart always make her feel so defensive? Why did she always feel like she was having to apologize for the way she treated her pets? She was a good owner. Fred and Barney got love, warm beds and good food – great food. She had nothing to apologize for.

  ‘You should be apologizing to Barney and Fred, Miss Karlyle, not me.’ The doctor’s suite had a separate sitting area complete with a gray stone-faced gas-burning fireplace. Maybe she should ask for an upgrade. Everybody’s rooms seemed a tad nicer than hers.

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry.’ Kitty groaned and squeezed her hands like she was draining the very essence from a couple of Lisbon lemons. Ugh. She’d apologized again. She really couldn’t help herself.

  She spent the next thirty minutes playing with Fred and Barney on the floor while Dr Newhart directed the action and made occasional comments meant to be insightful and informative. Kitty tried not to roll her eyes, at least not in Dr Newhart’s line of sight.

  She and her pets were rescued by a knock at the door. It was the show’s gofer, Lucy something, announcing that it was time for her ten o’clock cooking demonstration and Fred and Barney’s grooming session. ‘Sorry, guys,’ Kitty said, giving them each a pat of farewell, ‘looks like we’ve all got busy days ahead of us.’

  Kitty raced after Lucy while a second young woman, a memb
er of the Little Switzerland staff, escorted Fred and Barney to their next appointment.

  ‘Wait up!’ Kitty cried as Lucy quickly turned the corner of the long hallway. The main building was a maze of corridors and easy to get lost in.

  Strong arms reached out and grabbed Kitty from behind, locking around her waist and pulling her back. She screamed and kicked.

  ‘Whoa!’

  The arms suddenly let go and Kitty dropped to the ground, prepared to run. ‘Jack!’

  He was grinning. ‘I’d ask if you were surprised to see me but that seems rather obvious.’ He leaned back and laughed.

  She punched him in the arm. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he snickered.

  ‘What are you doing here? Have you come to help?’

  Her fiancé rubbed his upper arm where she’d punched him. ‘I told you we might stop by on our way out of town, remember?’ Jack shook his head.

  That’s when Kitty noticed Elin Nordstrom standing to the right of Jack and a step behind. The annoyingly beautiful Elin Nordstrom could have been a runway model and, in fact, had apparently done some modelling in her early days. Not that she was old now. Probably no older than Kitty.

  Her teeth were too white, her hair too blonde. Her lips too full and pouty. What wasn’t there to hate about this sexy Swedish import?

  The lieutenant flashed her perfect white teeth and said hello. Eyes the color of blue topaz sparkled in smug amusement. She was Jack’s new boss, much to Kitty’s dismay. So the two of them were spending a lot of time together. Again, much to Kitty’s dismay. She’d thought that problem had been solved when Nordstrom started seeing one of Jack’s colleagues, but that had ended abruptly. Kitty had heard the guy had relocated to Portland. Was that to escape Nordstrom?

  ‘Of course,’ replied Kitty. Jack had said something about having to attend a law-enforcement conference in Sacramento. Had he added that Elin was driving up with him? She couldn’t remember and hid her frown. ‘What about Libby?’ Libby was Jack’s black Labrador Retriever.

  ‘Staying at my mom’s place.’ Jack squeezed her arm. ‘Boy, you really don’t listen to a thing I say, do you?’