One way or another, I would find a way to get this poor persecuted pup and his generous inheritance into Irma’s hands.
STILL, ON THE drive back to Darryl’s, I couldn’t hold out false hopes to Irma. “I didn’t like what I saw there,” I said.
“Of course not,” she sputtered, stopped at a light. “Those terrible people. They’re treating Ditch like a … dog!”
“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do all I can to fix things for the poor pup.”
“Thank you, Kendra,” Irma said, her words sounding so hopeful and heartfelt that I felt like a heel and a liar. Litigator or not, how could I create a winning case in this loser of a situation?
Back at Darryl’s, I lifted Lexie into my arms and gave my wriggling pup as big a hug as the one Irma and Ditch had indulged in.
I realized I was starting to miss the days when I’d spent more time pet-sitting, when law wasn’t so much on my mind. But to help Irma and Ditch, law had to stay centered in my stressed-out thoughts.
I was pleased, though, when on the drive toward my first dog client of the evening my cell phone sang out a call from a number familiar yet seldom heard from lately. It was Avvie Milton. She was an associate at the law firm where I’d once worked, and my onetime protégé. I’d long since forgiven her for her bad judgment in taking up with my former lover there, senior partner Bill “Drill Sergeant” Sergement. After all, I’d forgiven myself for the same bad judgment.
Kind of. I still had dire doubts about my terrible taste in men …
“Hi, Kendra,” Avvie said. “Are you okay? I mean, I’ve seen a lot in the news about the murders at Borden Yurick’s new law firm.” She was one of the many people at Marden & Sergement, formerly Marden, Sergement & Yurick, who hadn’t forgiven Borden’s defection with a substantial segment of the firm’s client base. As a result, I figured everyone who remained was ecstatic about Borden’s execrable publicity—the more lurid the better.
“I’m fine, though I’d love to have a little less excitement in my life.”
“I’ll bet. You weren’t the lawyer who was shot at, were you?”
“Not exactly,” I dissembled. “How are things at the old firm?”
“Great! In fact, Bill and I are going on a business trip to New York next week, and I’d love for you to watch Pansy for me. You are still pet-sitting, aren’t you?”
Partial translation: Bill and she were going on a trumped-up business trip-slash-tryst, which excluded Bill’s wife. Well, that was their business, not mine.
My business, though, did concern her last question. And I enjoyed Avvie’s pot-bellied pig a whole lot. “Yes, I’m still pet-sitting, though taking on fewer clients. But I’d be glad to watch Pansy for you.”
“Excellent! I’ll be in touch next week to make arrangements.”
We hung up, and Lexie insinuated herself onto my lap from the passenger’s seat. At least we were on surface streets, so she wasn’t too distracting.
In a while, I took my time walking and caring for my clients, letting Lexie accompany me inside every place I could. I hugged every pet possible, even the haughty kitties. “Just remember how good you have it, even with me in charge,” I told them, and described poor Ditch’s life.
When I was done, I realized I had a decision to make: to Jeff’s, or not to Jeff’s. I figured I’d call him first to assess our respective attitudes.
He answered his cell phone first thing. “Hello, Kendra,” he said in a tone most formal. Which made me figure I’d sleep alone that night.
I was ready to say something silly and ring off when he said, “Kendra, do you suppose you could call your friend Esther Ickes on my behalf?”
Esther was a simply superb attorney who specialized in criminal law. I’d considered referring Elaine to her after Ezra’s murder but fortunately hadn’t had to.
I drew in my breath now so sharply I felt it sting. “Why? Are you under arrest?”
“Imminently,” he admitted, and I heard a touch of trepidation in his tone. “It seems that my missing sport coat wasn’t gone after all. It was found on the ground near your office. And some of Corrie Montez’s blood was on it.”
Chapter Nineteen
“THANKS SO MUCH, Kendra,” said Esther Ickes over the phone.
I settled back onto my own apartment sofa. I’d called Esther the second I’d hung up with Jeff, notwithstanding the late hour. She hadn’t answered, but I left a sufficiently detailed message and she’d just phoned me back.
As an attorney specializing in such intense areas as bankruptcy and criminal defense, Esther was used to having clients call at all hours to weep on her sweet-little-old-lady shoulders—which weren’t far from her go-for-the-jugular fangs. I’d certainly done so when I’d been on the top of Noralles’s suspect list for two murders a few months ago.
“I really appreciate your referral of so many nice murder suspects to me,” she finished.
“You’re welcome,” I said, then paused. “Is there such a thing as a murder magnet?” I blurted. “I mean, there’ve been so many in my life lately. Even when I’m not an alleged killer, people I know keep dying violently, and others—friends and acquaintances—are the topmost suspects. Am I doing something wrong?”
“From the perspective of my firm’s pocketbook, dear, you’re doing something right.”
I laughed, and we chatted about what pleasantries I could manage for a few more minutes, and then I hung up.
Jeff was the primary suspect in the murders of Ezra Cossner and Corrie Montez. Partly because of his lost sports jacket. The one he’d asked me to locate in my office.
“What do you think, Lexie?” I asked my Cavalier, who’d curled up against me on the comfy cushions on the beige sectional couch. Her soulful brown eyes popped open immediately, and she gazed seriously up at me, her black-and-white tail hazarding a halfhearted wag. “I mean, let’s assume he did leave it there after wearing it at a meeting that included the top honchos on my suspect list. I figure that the person most likely to want Ezra dead would have been one of the VORPO folks—although I’ve partially written off Millie Franzel.”
Lexie gave a Cavalier snort, which told me she disagreed.
“I know. Her admission of driving innocently around the area when Corrie was killed, and just happening to have a gun along for the ride, should make her a key suspect, at least in that murder, but I’ve given her some credit for honesty. And I don’t know her alibi for when Ezra was assassinated … yet. Anyway, let’s assume the killer noticed Jeff’s jacket in our offices and knew whose it was. He or she might have leapt at the chance to enlist it to drag Jeff into deeper shit, since he was already soiled with suspicion in Ezra’s murder.”
The allusion to poop got Lexie’s attention. She leapt down to the floor and woofed.
“Is that a request to go out?”
Judging by her fervent circles, it was.
“Okay, let’s take a little walk. Maybe it’ll help me clear my head while you clear your innards.”
I clipped on her leash and we clomped down the stairs beside the garage. The evening was already late. The only overhead illumination was artificial, from my security lights and my neighbors’. It was sufficient to impart some sense of safety as we took a short walk up and down our slender, serpentine street in the Valley side of the Hollywood Hills.
While Lexie sniffed and squatted in the chilly evening air, I mused about the matters on my mind. I had to assume Corrie’s killing was related to Ezra’s. Had Corrie witnessed her boss’s murder? That was certainly a possible scenario.
But what if it had worked the other way? What if the paralegal was the projected prey in the first place, and Ezra was snuffed for being in the wrong place at a Corrie-less time?
By force of long-standing habit, I’d stuffed my cell phone in my slacks pocket. Impulsively, I pulled out my phone and pressed in a now-familiar number. Unlikely my target would be there so late, but—
“Hubbard Security,” responded the voice I�
�d been hoping for.
“Althea? It’s Kendra. Have you heard from Jeff?”
“Sure did. Damn that single-minded freak Noralles anyway. Just because Jeff bested him—how many years ago was it?”
“We’ll have to ask him,” I replied. “Did Jeff request that you do any digging for him?”
“Not specifically,” Althea said with a sigh.
I had to hang on, both to leash and phone, when Lexie spied a cat speeding across the street. “Just a second,” I said to Althea via the bouncing cellular apparatus. “I need to convince my dog her evening constitutional is complete.” Which I soon did. Lexie stayed at my side as we entered the wide front gate to my home. “Sorry,” I said to Althea. “Anyway, I’ve been considering who might be the most compelling suspects in both murders but I need some more background info. Can you help?”
“In a heartbeat. What do you want, and on whom?”
I’d come to really revere this woman as well as like her as a friend. Computer geek and consummate hacker? Middle-aged marvel? Heck, she was simply Althea.
“I’m still mulling over what I need,” I said. “But first thing, could you do a search on Corrie Montez? I want to know everything you can find about her. Could be she was killed only because of what she knew about Ezra’s death, but just in case …”
“Got it,” Althea said as I juggled the phone between shoulder and ear so I could insert the key into the lock on my apartment door. Yes, I was consciously staying more cautious about securing my stuff while dog-walking these days, thanks to the way Rachel had apparently maneuvered into my main house.
“Anything else?”
Yeah, there was. It was something I knew I needed to ask. Probably an angle Jeff was already pursuing, assuming he was able to do anything while under interrogation. But it was something I needed to know myself. Even if it might not provide him with the alibi he needed.
“Yes,” I said. “Could you give me Amanda Hubbard’s phone number?”
I HAD TO prepare myself for this phone call. Lexie bounced at my feet, begging for a biscuit, as I headed for the kitchen.
“Treat for you, bigger treat for me,” I told her. I dropped a doggie cookie and she caught it in her eager mouth.
I poured myself a glass of chardonnay. A small one, since I figured my driving might not be done for the day.
If it was, that would be the time to double my dose—for medicinal purposes, of course.
I glanced around to decide where I wanted to sit while I spoke on the phone. Over the bathroom commode, in case I needed to toss my chardonnay?
Courage, Kendra, I ordered myself.
I went back to the living room sofa and dug around in my pocket for Amanda’s number.
And stared at it for a second as I boosted my bravado. Now! I pushed in the numbers and pressed the “Send” button.
It rang only once before a breathy and all-too-familiar female voice responded, “Hello?”
“Hi, Amanda. This is Kendra Ballantyne.”
Silence. What did I expect? A wonderful welcome from my lover’s ex?
“Have you spoken to Jeff lately?” I asked swiftly to end the mounting silence. “I mean, within the last few hours?”
“No …” she said suspiciously. “Why?”
I thought the number Althea had supplied me was probably for Amanda’s cell phone. As a result, I couldn’t picture where she might be located, but I could definitely envision what she looked like in my mind’s envious eye. I’d still not gotten a wide-ranging report on the woman’s background, but my imagination had penciled in a few possibilities: a fading fashion model; a genuine Hollywood insider instead of a panting wannabe; a gorgeous heiress who’d enjoyed all the cosmetic surgery money could buy … I was feeling so catty that I might as well have me-owed an answer to her.
Instead, I said calmly, “He called me before to ask me to line up a criminal attorney for him. He’s apparently being held as a suspect in Corrie Montez’s murder.”
“I heard about that woman on the news. She worked at your office, too, like that man who was killed the other day, right?”
“Yes,” I said shortly. “I wanted to find out from you whether you would be of any help to Jeff.” I took a deep breath, swallowed a bunch of bile, and belted out, “Were you with him last night?”
“Why, yes,” she replied without hesitation in a voice so sweet that it suggested she relished rubbing my face in its saccharine. “I was all upset after hearing again from that awful Leon. I called, and Jeff came right over.”
“And what time was that?”
“He was with me from, oh, about ten P.M. to after one-thirty in the morning.”
So much for Jeff’s alleged outing for early-morning ice cream. I wasn’t sure where he’d claim to have found a cone at that hour anyway. Or maybe it had been Amanda who’d supplied it … along with whatever other treats she’d given him.
“What time do they think that woman was killed, Kendra?” Amanda asked.
“They’ve pinpointed the time, thanks to me,” I said. “I was shot at, too.” That was something I could suspect Amanda of doing, but she’d have had no reason to get rid of Ezra and Corrie first. Besides, just as she was supplying Jeff with an alibi, he would be able to do the same for her. “It was around eleven o’clock.”
“No problem, then,” Amanda all but cooed, and I wanted to kick her for it. “Jeff was definitely still at my place then. Shall I call the police and tell them?”
“I’ll let them know,” I told her. “But I’m sure they’ll get in touch with you.”
I didn’t bother to mention that she was hardly more credible a witness than I’d have been, had I elected to fake a false alibi for Jeff. We both had reasons to endeavor to exonerate Jeff.
Amanda would wish to keep her momentum moving to get him back.
And I would adore the enjoyment of telling him exactly where to take his sexy bod and shove it.
I’D BEEN RIGHT to limit my wine imbibing, since a short while later I found myself in my Beamer. Lexie accompanying me, we were on our way to Jeff’s.
I’d called Detective Noralles and notified him as to what I understood Amanda would testify. He didn’t sound surprised. Jeff had probably slipped him that absolving item of information before, and he’d elected to consider the source and discredit it, as I’d anticipated. He’d thanked me nevertheless and promised to look into it.
I likewise took the opportunity to tell him I’d been hunting for Jeff’s lost jacket earlier that evening, and my theory that the murderer bathed it in Corrie’s blood to implicate Jeff. Noralles seemed as unimpressed as he’d been with my proffering of Amanda as a witness. His single-mindedness had doubtless decreed that both women in Jeff’s life might lie to exonerate him.
As if I, an officer of the court, would do such a dire deed.
He hadn’t let me speak to Jeff—who now had his cell phone either off or confiscated, I couldn’t tell which. But I’d gathered that I shouldn’t expect his appearance anytime soon.
Odin shouldn’t have to suffer for his master’s mistakes or misfortunes, so Lexie and I headed there to administer comfort and company.
The Akita was perceptibly pleased about our presence. His breed isn’t always prone to gratuitous shows of emotion, but he engaged in a bout of doggy one-upmanship with Lexie and seemed utterly grateful when we joined him on a long jaunt to take care of his final concerns of the night.
Sitting on Jeff’s sofa, we tuned into the TV for a while—while I watched my watch. I tried one more useless time to reach Jeff on his cell, but only reached his voice mail again.
I was convinced of his innocence of murder, whether or not Amanda fabricated their assignation. As a lawyer—and one who’d once been a murder suspect herself—I was more than familiar with the basis of this country’s laudable legal system: a person is deemed innocent until proven guilty.
That was intended to apply in all instances, both for accusations of murder, and for lesser offense
s.
But I acknowledged to myself that I was prepared to convict Jeff of a less-than-innocent assignation with Amanda without further evidence otherwise.
Instead of all of us piling into Jeff’s bed, I herded the dogs to the guest room, where I’d resided when all I’d been was simply Jeff’s pet-sitter.
I lay in that cramped bed long into the night, listening in vain for Jeff to come home and attempt to persuade me against his presumed perfidy.
Chapter Twenty
STILL NO SIGN of Jeff the next morning, so I tended the two pups and departed, bringing Lexie along. Poor Odin. But I wasn’t sure whether I’d want to return if Jeff came home tonight. If I left Lexie and had to come back for her, I’d have to convince myself to converse calmly with Jeff and I wasn’t sure I could do that just yet.
We headed home so I could change clothes before facing the day. Outside the gate, I saw Rachel walking Beggar—or rather, the eager Irish setter towing his slower-striding owner.
“Hi,” I called, driving my Beamer up beside them. Then, recalling Rachel’s glam outing with her dad the day before, I asked, “How did you enjoy the audition?”
The waiflike teen, clad today in mundane jeans and a sweatshirt, seemed almost ready to cry. “So many people trying out for one part! I thought moving to Hollywood would make it easier to get into films, but—”
I’d no doubt her “but” was the battle cry of thousands of frustrated actors. It undoubtedly energized some to try all the harder. But others, forced to face reality, watched their designer-clad dreams of fame and fortune slip instead into the uniforms of underpaid restaurant servers and other unsung positions.
“Hey,” I said. “I have an idea. Lexie and I could use a little help this morning before I go to my law office. How would you like to be a pet-sitter’s assistant for the day?”
TO MY ASTONISHMENT and amusement, Rachel parlayed herself into a pet-sitter extraordinaire. Perhaps she was just acting but she appeared to enjoy it. She threw herself into ensuring that Alexander the pit bull had a bully time on his walk, plus plenty to eat and drink. She laughed over the snooty antics of Abra and Cadabra, the disappearing non-Cheshire cats. While we were in the car driving from client to client, she talked lots to Lexie, who lapped it up.
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