I stuck Bentley Barnett on my mental list of further candidates for Althea’s online research.
Chapter Thirteen
ON MY NICE, narrow, twisting residential road up in the Hollywood Hills, I aimed my Beamer toward my driveway and pushed the button to unfurl the security gate.
That was when I noticed motion from the corner of my eye, activity in one of the vehicles parked slightly uphill.
A big, black Escalade.
And in it? Jeff and Odin, of course.
Of course? Here, sitting uninvited on my street?
Who crowned you queen of the block, Ballantyne? scoffed a nasty inner voice.
Buzz off, my conscious thoughts shot back.
Lexie had no such conflict in her cute little mind. As soon as I’d parked beside our garage and we’d exited the Beamer, she noticed her pal Odin approaching and immediately started yanking on her leash and yapping. That encouraged an echoing barkfest from inside the big house—Rachel and Russ’s Irish setter. Neither father nor daughter quieted Beggar or watched through a window, so I assumed they weren’t home.
I’d no urge to bark at seeing Jeff approach, although my impulse was suddenly to bolt up the steps to my apartment and lock the door behind me. His promises and protestations notwithstanding, I had too much soul-searching to do about our relationship to know whether I wanted to spend time in Jeff’s company just then. Which was why Lexie and I left Odin at their home earlier and didn’t head there after our pet-sitters’ soiree.
“Hi, Kendra,” Jeff said solemnly as he neared me, while Odin and Lexie traded sniffs. Damn, but even when I was conflicted the guy was one good-looking dude, all six feet of him, a picture of craggy features and shadows beneath the motion-sensor light hanging from the garage. His muscle-hugging dark T-shirt tucked into snug jeans only added to the ambiance. “Odin and I were both hoping Lexie and you would be at our place tonight.”
“Oh, really? Well, we were just at a meeting of the coolest new organization for pet-sitters, and Amanda wanted me to check on her cats afterward, and it was getting late and I didn’t want to bother you, so we came home.” All that exited my mouth in a single, falsely cheerful string.
“It’s never a bother to see you two, no matter how late.” When I couldn’t quite think of a response to that and stayed silent, Jeff continued, “Could we come in for a while?”
“Of course. I’ve a busy day planned for tomorrow, though, so I can’t stay up too late.” At that moment, I didn’t know exactly what my next day’s plans happened to be, so I held my breath in the hopes he wouldn’t ask.
“That’s fine. We won’t stay long … unless you invite us.”
No way, I thought. Way, contradicted my incorrigible libido as I followed Jeff up the outside stairway, my view mostly of his firm, denim-encased butt.
As soon as dogs were inside with us in my tiny tiled entry and the door was closed, Jeff enfolded me in his arms and against his hard body. Lord, but that felt good. His hot lips and sexy kiss felt even better, getting parts of me sparking that clearly could squish down my good sense, if I let them.
I savored the moment along with Jeff’s searching tongue, but as his hands started roving to places that could drive me even crazier, I carefully stepped back.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I know. Later.”
“No, now.” I preceded him into my kitchen where I flicked on all the lights. There were times, like now, that I wished my teensy yet comfy rooms were instead the humongous and formal size of those in my great house. I wanted space between Jeff and me as we spoke. At least I got the round mini kitchen table to intercede, after I poured us each some ice water. I, for one, needed chilliness to inject perspective between us.
I did the next best thing—introduced his ex’s name even as our conversation started. “Do you know where Amanda is right now?” I asked.
“No, and I don’t care.”
Was he serious, or was he simply hoping to seduce me?
How could I think such nasty thoughts about the guy staring at me sincerely with his gorgeous blue eyes? The one who’d shared my bed often during the last few months, each time he was in town.
“She’s being questioned by your buddy Noralles at the North Hollywood Station, even as we speak.”
For someone who professed not to give a damn, he sure gave a fierce frown. He also recovered fast. “I assume her lawyer’s with her, so everything’s under control. Let’s talk about us.”
I wondered if he’d act so nonchalant if I contradicted him and said she’d chosen to represent herself. Well, lying wouldn’t get us anywhere, so I instead said, “What is there to say, Jeff?”
“A lot. When Amanda told me about your agreement with her, I wanted to dump you both for trying to arrange my life. But once I cooled down and considered it, I realized I hadn’t really made good on what I’d told you: my intention not to see her anymore. Of course I hadn’t considered something happening like Leon’s murder, but even so, I’m sorry.”
“No need. Since she’s a suspect, I’m sure she’s scared, so she’d turn to the one guy she thought she could trust.” Hey, whose side was I suddenly on? Besides, she’d followed Jeff to Chicago before the murder occurred.
Jeff’s solemn features relaxed into a smile. “I knew you’d understand. And I promise I won’t do much to help her out of this mess unless you ask me to do something. I know you’ve got Althea researching stuff on Amanda’s behalf, and that’s just fine.” He reached across my table—maybe its small size wasn’t so awfully bad—and took my nervously shaking hands in his strong and still ones. “Kendra, you know I love you. I still want us to live together when this is all over. I recognize this isn’t the best time to get into it,” he inserted hastily as I attempted to snatch my fingers back, “but once Amanda’s in the clear, we’ll talk about it again.”
Which could be never, of course. I didn’t believe she’d deleted Leon, but who knew how successful I, or anyone else, would be in discovering the honest-to-badness actual slayer? Or if no one else was unearthed, how long it would take for her to go to trial and be found, with luck, not guilty?
That train of thought made me smile. Not that I wished anything worse on Amanda than I already had, but I at least had a reprieve in talking to Jeff about too much togetherness.
Maybe I’d make up my mind how I really felt about him first.
“Okay,” I agreed seriously. “And you know I care about you, too. But I really need to get to bed, because—”
“Me, too,” Jeff agreed huskily, rising right across the table from me. He moved so fast that suddenly he was on my side. Pulling me again into his arms …
I could blame giving in to baser instincts that night on relief at having any decision delayed. But, hell, his sexiness was way too hard to resist—at least when we weren’t feuding.
So, after one final foray outside with the dogs—one filled with longing looks and tantalizing surreptitious touches, we hurried back upstairs and went to bed.
And, yes, I even, eventually, got a little sleep.
I WAS AWAKENED by a ringing. “Damn!” I whispered. “Did I accidentally push the button too far?”
Only I hadn’t set the alarm to ring if the sound of my clock radio failed to roust me out of bed. Ergo, what I heard was my landline phone.
I reached toward the table to answer, and rolled over Jeff.
Who grabbed me and rubbed some interesting body parts against some other ones of mine … and I almost decided to let my machine answer.
Almost. But when I said hello, I felt even more that my answering had been a great gaffe.
“Kendra? I just spent the most miserable night in the police station with that horrible detective, and even though Mitch did a good job objecting to questions and making sure I only answered what I was asked, I’m sure they’re convinced I killed Leon. Why didn’t you come after seeing to my cats? And tell Jeff he could have come, too. I know you’re together. I tried calling
his home and didn’t get any answer.”
“Good morning to you, too, Amanda.”
I watched Jeff’s eyes react as I spoke, widening, narrowing, blinking in clear concern.
Damn! I’d done it again. Last night, I had allowed my understandable and undeniable sexual attraction to Jeff overshadow my common sense.
“Why don’t you tell Jeff yourself?” I suggested sweetly and handed him the phone—even as I rolled off him and clambered toward my closet. I required an all-concealing robe to cover my sudden embarrassment at being caught clothesless.
Not, fortunately, that Amanda could see. But she was too smart to assume otherwise.
Ignoring my urge to eavesdrop, I allowed the dogs to follow me into the kitchen, where I started a pot of coffee. Then, I slunk into the bathroom, where I showered … after peeking in and seeing that Jeff was still on the phone.
I dressed and accompanied the pups on a short walk while Jeff showered. When I joined him for a quick breakfast of toast, jelly, and java, I attempted not to shout out my sudden remorse. Not that I had to. Jeff obviously sensed it.
“You didn’t have to hand me the phone, Kendra,” he said in a stilted voice. “Since you did, I had to talk to her.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I assented, my mouth conveniently full.
“Damn it, Kendra, you—”
“Sorry,” I said, swallowing my food. “Got to run. I’ll drop Lexie off at Darryl’s. Bye, Odin. Bye, Jeff.” I knelt and leashed Lexie, grabbed the coffee I’d conveniently poured into a portable plastic cup, then dashed out the door.
At least, since Jeff was a security expert, I could be sure he’d lock the door and set the alarm. But alarms were going off already in my head. I was really making a mess of this relationship. Or, rather, Jeff already had. Or—
“Hi, Kendra.”
No need to turn to see where the welcome distraction came from—especially since Beggar bounded up and began leaping around the delighted Lexie.
“Good morning, Rachel.”
My waiflike young tenant pranced up to us along the driveway with as much vigor as her adorable big pup, her open pink jacket almost flying behind her.
“You done good, kid.” I described the joys of attending the pet-sitters’ club last night without mentioning my doubts.
“Glad it worked out. Er, Kendra?” She suddenly stooped to start petting Lexie.
“Yes?” What was on her mind? Was she about to quit my part-time employ altogether? She certainly seemed uneasy. Those big brown eyes of hers had barely glanced into mine.
“How’s your murder investigation going?” she asked, still squatting on the ground. “I mean the one where the lady’s accused of killing her stalker. The one where you were mentioned in the paper.”
“Oh, that murder investigation. Well, I haven’t looked into it much, that miserable reporter notwithstanding.”
“Really? Oh, no!” Rachel rose fast, and those eyes of hers appeared aghast.
“Why do you care?” I queried, since she obviously did.
“Well …” Once again, she looked away, but this time only for an instant. “See, I’ve been bragging about knowing you at my initial readings for the new film. And … and …”
“What?” I encouraged, sure I’d be sorry.
Which I was.
“Well, I’ve bet a bunch of the others that the lady didn’t do it, and you’d find out who did, way before the cops.”
“Rachel, I’m not even a licensed investigator,” I admonished almost angrily.
“But your friend Jeff is, and you always work with him when you’re investigating, right?”
“That’s right,” said that very man, who’d snuck up behind me. “Good wager, kid. I’ll bet you’ll win.”
“Cut it out, you two,” I all but shouted, sprinting, with Lexie, for my car.
I grumbled the whole way to most of my pet-sitting clients that morning. Though I treated them all equally amicably, I was irritable enough to confront Meph’s owner, Maribelle Openheim, when I reached Stromboli’s and found the poor pup again—still—tethered alone and lonely in his backyard, but she wasn’t home.
I brought Lexie with me to my law office, needing the friendly company that day, and even managed amiable greetings to my cohorts at the Yurick office before slamming my door and sitting down at my desk.
I’d barely begun trying to settle down to my legal work when my cell phone sang. Ignoring Lexie’s baleful, fearful stare, I yanked the phone from the drawer and studied the caller ID.
I took a deep breath to conceal my miserable mood from the perceptive person at the other end.
“Good morning, Althea,” I managed to say cheerfully.
“What’s wrong, Kendra?” she responded. “No, wait, hold it a minute. I’ve got something that’ll make you feel better, whatever it is. Guess what I have for you on Leon Lucero.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE WOMAN WAS a whiz! But, of course, I’d learned that in multiple past interactions. “Got a pencil?” she asked.
“No, a pen.”
“Lord, you’re obviously a lawyer—so literal. Or should I say anal? Anyhow, take this down. Better yet, hold on a sec.” In a moment, she said, “Now, check your e-mail.”
Good old cyberspace. I immediately received Althea’s proffered lists. One contained Leon Lucero’s former employers. He might have been a painter and professional heart patient, but he’d also held jobs in retail, mostly as a manager in department stores. Another displayed names, dates, and court-case numbers for numerous TROs and even permanent restraining orders that other stalking victims had obtained against Leon all over Southern California, plus a few in Arizona. Althea had done her homework before, when Jeff assisted Amanda in hiring an attorney, and we already knew the guy was essentially a serial stalker. Now, I scrambled to absorb every chapter, verse, and potential villain—or vindicator, depending on how one looked at it.
“With all that wonderful info,” I said after I’d scanned it, “I don’t suppose you found some indication online that one or more of his victims happened to be in Amanda’s neighborhood the night Leon was offed? I mean, a parking ticket, use of a credit card in a nearby store, a murder confession in a blog … ?”
“What do you want, Kendra—for me to be the one to save Amanda’s butt? What would that do to your contract with the bitch?” If she learned you weren’t the one—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. She’d use that as yet another excuse to try to stay tied to Jeff’s hip.”
“And a nice hip it is, if I’m any judge,” she said suggestively. “Not that I’ve ever seen it except in his slacks. Care to deliver any details?”
“Hey, Althea, you’re his employee. Not to mention that—”
“I’m more than a decade older than him. That doesn’t mean I don’t notice such things. Wait until you’re my age.”
She had at least fifteen years on me. I shuddered. “I’ll do that. Wait, I mean …”
“It’s not so bad. In fact, you worry about a lot less stuff when you get older. Anyway, if there’s anything else you need from me that makes sense for an old computer hack to get—”
“That’s hacker.”
“Whatever.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Could you check whether any complaints of pet malpractice have been filed against a certain veterinarian?” I gave her the particulars on Dr. Thomas Venson. “Thanks,” I finished. “You’re a wonder, Althea.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” With that, she severed our connection.
I stared at a wall near my office door. There wasn’t much room above the multiple file cabinets comprising my sole decoration. But what if I started collecting genuine seascapes like Amanda … ?
Where was my mind? I moved my eyes back to the computer screen and printed the page.
Then I called Mitch. Amanda’s attorney had undoubtedly received the fruit of Althea’s prior Leon searches. Had he spoken with other attorneys who’d obtained TROs aga
inst the guy? If so, he hadn’t shared any tidbits to assist me in aiding his client. I called him.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t figure anyone would share something important to Amanda’s situation, thanks to attorney-client privilege with whoever they represented. Do you think one of them could have killed Leon and is now letting Amanda take the blame? Great job, Kendra.”
Good thing he’d have serious backup in any homicide case against Amanda.
I hadn’t exactly been fully focused on any of the other matters I’d attempted to do that day, such as delving even further into the Santa Barbara resort scandal for Borden’s clients the Shermans. Even Mae Sward’s Pom-neutering problems hadn’t stayed centered in my concentration.
So, without changing my current subject, I started calling suspects on Althea’s handy-dandy little list. Reaching voice mails, I left some vanilla messages about being an attorney researching an unspecified case.
The first genuine person I reached lived in Oxnard, nearly all the way west of the San Fernando Valley to Ventura. Her name was Betty Faust, and she unsurprisingly surmised immediately what case I happened to be researching. In fact, she seemed to know my name—courtesy of Corina Carey, I was certain.
“You’re calling about that horrible Leon Lucero, aren’t you?” Betty said so hoarsely that I could hardly hear her. “I wondered if anyone would remember what he did to me.”
With my monster of a mood that day, I had a sudden urge to get out of Dodge … er, Encino. “Betty, would you mind much if I came to see you? I could be there in about …” I checked my watch. “An hour, if traffic is on my side.”
“It never is, coming this way,” she said with a sigh, “but that would be fine.”
BETTY’S ADDRESS ACTUALLY led me to an exclusive community called Channel Islands Harbor, where small homes along a man-made waterway to the Pacific abutted boat-laden docks.
I made it there, as I’d aspired to, in a little over an hour—even with the detour I took to take Lexie to Darryl’s. Betty was waiting apparently not far from the entry. When I rang the bell I heard a scuffling, and then the wooden door swung open. “Ms. Ballantyne?”
Meow is for Murder Page 12