Meow is for Murder

by Johnston, Linda O.

  “Really?” She sounded startled.

  “Really,” I said, “although I can’t stay long.” Which gave us both an out if our conversation collapsed into crap.

  Showing me into her sparsely furnished and somewhat shabby home, she led me into a kitchen where cabinets had once been painted white. She let Meph in to join us. The wirehaired honey was so excited he couldn’t sit still. Instead, he boomeranged from slobbering on Maribelle, then me, then back again.

  Meantime, Maribelle fed me hot tea, and I fed her sympathy.

  “I never meant to take it out on Meph, you know,” she said when she was finished telling me how she’d been widowed eighteen months earlier, left with a sizable mortgage when her husband had been the main breadwinner. “Our kids are grown and live clear across the country, and I didn’t want to bother them. And I was … well, angry that Opie—that was my husband—died. Meph had been mainly his dog, so I guess I was taking it out on him. I didn’t mean to, but I’ve been working extra long hours as a hairstylist at one of those discount salons to try to hold on here. Opie didn’t carry life insurance, and we lived well while he was alive. I’m too young to collect his pension or Social Security, and I don’t want to sell this place if I can possibly hold on, so … well, I’m sorry, Meph.” She leaned down from where she sat to stroke the wagging-all-over pup. “I guess if I could find him a better home, I would.”

  I succumbed to shock. Toss out her sole housemate? “Wouldn’t that leave you lonely?”

  “Maybe, but if he’d be better off …”

  “Well, think about it,” I said. “Here.” I gave her my card—the pet-sitter sort—and said, “If you want to talk more, give me a call. Anytime. And I really appreciate how you’re handling Meph now.”

  “I guess he is, too,” she said with a somber smile, then saw me to the door.

  AFTER A SAD story like that, I had to give Lexie a whole lot of extra hugs when I retrieved her from Darryl’s. We headed home.

  For the first time in weeks, we wouldn’t see Odin. I told Lexie. Did she understand? Who knew? But she didn’t seem to, since when we got to our upstairs digs, she sat at the door for a short while as if in anticipation of my usual collection of evening gear and taking off.

  “Not tonight,” I told her, hearing some sadness in my own voice, too. But I needed a break to think. Especially after the sizzling-hot sex Jeff and I had shared last night. It kept me from cogitating clearly over my future, and where Jeff might or might not be within it. I fed Lexie, then considered my own dinner. I peeked into the fridge and freezer. Not much there, after I’d spent so little time here lately. Well, okay. I’d take a sojourn to the nearest supermarket, and—

  “It’s My Life” reverberated through my apartment. I grabbed for my purse to retrieve my cell phone.

  And saw the caller ID. Jeff.

  I straightened my shoulders in preparation for an invitation, followed by an argument.

  Only … Jeff said the one thing to get me to head to his place, at least for a while, that I simply couldn’t resist.

  “I’ve picked up takeout Thai, Kendra. Our favorites—Mee Krob and Pad Thai. Some sticky rice for the dogs, too. Come on over.”

  And so we did.

  WE’D BARELY BEGUN to bite into our Thai delights when the dogs began barking. They barreled out of Jeff’s kitchen and toward the front of the house. That’s when the doorbell rang.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Jeff.

  “You got me,” he responded as he hurried from the room to find out.

  Hustling along the hardwood floor of the hall behind him, I caught up in a jiffy—just in time for Amanda to stride haughtily inside.

  The good thing about that was that she apparently had ceded Jeff’s key back to him.

  The bad thing was that she was here. And clearly unhappy.

  Me, too.

  She didn’t allow me the opportunity to say something profound and pointed.

  “You two are supposed to be helping me,” she shouted. “Instead, everyone in the world is going to know I’m a murder suspect. You have to do something. Fast.”

  “Calm down, will you?” Jeff chided, grabbing her shoulder clad in a soft, white sweater.

  “I will not.” She slid her fiery gaze up his arm and into his face. He flushed and rapidly released her.

  Far be it for me to suddenly step in as the voice of reason, but that’s what I did. “Please tell us what’s happened, Amanda.” For I could only assume from her impulsive anger and erratic behavior that something new had triggered it.

  She glanced at her watch, then grimaced. “Tell you? I’ll show you.” She stalked down the step into Jeff’s sunken living room and made herself at home, sinking onto his sofa and aiming the remote toward his big-screen TV.

  In a moment, the set was on, and she changed the channel.

  Suddenly, the room was filled with a familiar too-glib voice, and the picture showed someone I never wanted to talk to again: Corina Carey.

  “Tell me, Detective Noralles,” the abhorrent reporter was saying, “are you looking into any suspects in the murder of Leon Lucero besides his alleged stalking victim, Amanda Hubbard?”

  I stood petrified by shock as Corina shoved the microphone away. The camera followed it to the equally familiar face of my own personal police nemesis, Ned Noralles. “I cannot comment on that at this time,” he said.

  “Of course you can’t, Detective,” Corina responded in soft sarcasm as she drew the microphone back toward her own mouth. “But we will. This reporter has been conducting an investigation of her own, and I can say at this time that there are no other contenders for prime suspect as good as Ms. Hubbard. If it was her, was it self-defense or something else? Stay tuned, and we’ll let you know what we’ve found out.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  OKAY, SO CORINA’S words turned out to be more enticement than a herald of a show of substance. In fact, despite acres of innuendoes that she’d developed a slew of suspects yet Amanda remained best, her show mostly castigated the cops who refused to confirm that the cutting-edge reporter was on the right track.

  Afterward, I turned to Amanda. By then, I’d somehow sunk onto the couch beside her, and Jeff was at her other side, as if somehow we’d tacitly agreed to flank her as fortification against what we viewed. The dogs lay protectively on the floor by our feet. Amanda’s sweater drooped over her stooped shoulders, and her blond hair strung limply around her sad face. Even so, she managed to look sorrowfully lovely.

  Since I’d anticipated facing my ambivalence about Jeff again that evening, I’d come in loose jeans and a sweatshirt. Really sexy stuff.

  Sigh.

  “How did you know that was going to be on?” I asked Amanda once the blare of the follow-up commercials was muted.

  “There’ve been teasers about it for hours,” she said, her big gray eyes filled with tears. “‘Death of a stalker. Who did it and why?’ ‘Who was Leon Lucero, and did he deserve to die?’ ‘Did the victim suddenly become the stalker?’ That kind of stuff. I could have screamed!”

  “You did scream,” Jeff countered dryly. “The instant you walked in my door.” He’d dressed down similarly to me. Was he equally ambivalent? But even if his loose brown T-shirt and tight, threadbare jeans made a statement of indecision, he still managed to look yummy in them.

  “What did you expect?” Amanda shot back snidely. “If you’d done your best private eye and security stuff in the first place, maybe Leon wouldn’t have kept on stalking me. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Shove a sock in it, Amanda,” I snapped. “Jeff did help you find the resources you needed—like a lawyer to get the TRO, and another P.I. to work with you, and—”

  “And you?” she said, standing to stare down at me. “You signed a contract promising to help me clear myself in Leon’s murder, and I’m still the main suspect. Even if the police have other people in mind, that TV show will make sure no one else in the world will believe someone else co
uld have killed him.”

  “I’m still working on my side of the bargain,” I said, also rising to face the frosty female. “But here you are at Jeff’s. And—”

  “I only promised to stay away if you got me off the hook in Leon’s murder,” she spat.

  “I want you to stay away anyhow,” Jeff said. He was on his feet by now, too, and at his six-foot altitude he seemed a lot more authoritative than either of us ladies. Odin, his Akita, stood at his side, as if seconding everything his master said.

  Lexie sat beside me, looking a slight bit scared, obviously rendered uncertain by the vicious vibes circulating around the humans in this room.

  “And if I don’t?” Amanda demanded.

  “Maybe I can help the cops show you did do it,” he shot back.

  She gasped and paled and looked so shocked that I considered illuminating a lightbulb from the hands she raised to ward off his awful words.

  Good thing? He apparently seemed serious about averting further contact with Amanda.

  Bad thing? Well, heck. Murder magnet that I am, I abhor seeing others accused of killings they didn’t commit. And despite how I despised Amanda, I still doubted she was guilty.

  Even though Leon had been found dead in her house. And she’d been his main stalker subject at the time. And—

  Okay, if I kept that up, I might convince myself she had done it.

  Would that be such a bad thing?

  At that precise second, I was too confused to say.

  But I was determined to dig out the truth, whatever it was. And not because of our farce of a contract. I’d do it for me. To meet and beat the formidable challenge. Yet I wanted Amanda to stay out of my way.

  Endeavoring to sound utterly reasonable, I sublimated my ongoing irritation and said, “I understand how upset that Corina Carey and her tabloidlike reporting can make anyone. I’ll make allowances for that, Amanda. I’ll even delve deeper into your case tomorrow and talk to some of the people I didn’t reach before. But enough’s enough. Get out of our faces right now, or forget any further assistance from either of us.”

  I tossed a glance toward Jeff, who nodded his assent.

  “Thanks, Kendra.” Her tone tingled with ice. “Give me a call about whatever you find, and if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.” She stormed out without even looking again at Jeff, slamming the front door behind her.

  Which should have made me feel great.

  But it wasn’t just the fact that she’d narrowly missed catching poor Lexie’s muzzle in the door that instead made me steam. Maybe, like my pup, I was traumatized by the negative atmosphere in this abode.

  Jeff, after staying silent for several seconds, said, “I already knew she could be a bitch. That’s why we got divorced in the first place. But blaming me—us—for not figuring out how to get her out of her own mess …”

  “You said it,” I agreed. I suddenly felt exhausted. “Come on, Lexie. Let’s go home.”

  Jeff stood in front of me, his large hands clasped on my shaking shoulders. “Please stay, Kendra.” His amazing blue eyes stared down into mine, sapping my resolve.

  But after all the argument and emotion of the last hour, I needed space. Time to think. And perhaps a good solitary session of sipping something strong.

  “I’m planning a big day of investigating on Amanda’s behalf tomorrow,” I told him. “I don’t want to be distracted by exhaustion from staying up too much tonight.” I did stretch up on my tiptoes and give him one hot and sexy kiss good night. Then I headed to the kitchen, retrieved Lexie’s leash, and left.

  GOOD THING WE’D slept at home, I informed myself the next morning after the conversation Lexie and I had with Rachel and Beggar.

  My pet-sitting assistant, full of excitement, notified me that her next long days required for her movie shoot would start in less than a week.

  “Can you believe it, Kendra?” the waiflike late-teen trumpeted. “I have to visit the filming location in Canada and stay there for a few weeks, while the first scenes I’ll be in are shot. There’ll be more later, too. I don’t understand how they schedule things, but maybe I’ll learn on the job.”

  “Sounds educational,” I said, trying not to shadow her exuberance by my lack of enthusiasm.

  “Oh, Kendra, I’m so sorry … but the people you met at that pet-sitters group will be able to help you, won’t they?”

  “Of course. We traded information and promised to backstop each other. It’ll be fine.” I figuratively crossed all my fingers. And made a mental note to call my new best pet-sitting friends Tracy Owens and Wanda Villareal today.

  But recalling the conversation I’d eavesdropped on at the group meeting, I sighed at the idea I could wind up casting some of my client list to the competition.

  I DROPPED LEXIE off at Darryl’s before heading for my first client of the morning. That happened to be Piglet the pug, whom I’d known for about as long as I’d been a pet-sitter. Not that I’d commenced being Piglet’s sometime caretaker immediately, but he’d been the beneficiary of my first attempt at animal dispute resolution. I’d helped to ensure his continued ownership by Fran Korwald, who’d evinced eternal gratitude and now hired me to care for Piglet when she was out of town. She’d sent other customers my way, too—both for sitting and for ADR-ing. Even with my abbreviated sitting schedule now that I was practicing law again, Fran was one of those clients I catered to myself, whether or not I had an assistant available.

  And Piglet? A pug-load of fun as he waddled alongside me on our long walk.

  Fortunately, Fran’s home wasn’t far from Dana Maroni and Stromboli’s in Burbank, where I headed next.

  I sucked in my breath in irritation when I noticed poor Meph alone and leashed once more in Maribelle’s backyard. I’d thought she’d undertaken an improvement in her pup’s situation, but apparently I was mistaken. I did my usual enjoyable routine with Stromboli, then hugged him and locked him inside.

  From Stromboli’s yard, I slipped next door to treat Meph to a biscuit and, more important, some attention—which was when I noticed the note tied around the wiry and excited pup’s collar.

  It had my name on it.

  So, of course, I unlooped the string and scrutinized the surprisingly long missive of loopy letters squeezed onto a not-so-large piece of lined paper.

  It read, Kendra, I knew you’d see Stromboli so I left Meph out for fresh air. House unlocked. Please put Meph in, give treat, and pat head. I’ll pay when I see you. Thought of someone I can give him to who’ll love him? I’ll miss him awfully. M.

  I smiled and shook my head as I complied with M.’s wishes. More than one pat on the head, of course, and Meph wagged all over. But, no, I hadn’t thought of someone else to love this lovable mutt. At least not yet.

  I pondered that, Corina Carey, Amanda, and more as I finished up a couple more pet-sitting visits and headed to the office. My conclusion? It was way past time for more proactive probing into Leon’s death. Now.

  Well … as soon as I’d dealt with my other duties.

  First thing after exchanging hellos with chirpy Mignon at her reception desk, I noted Borden holding a conclave of firm attorneys in our bar-turned-conference room. I slid inside and gave my morning’s greetings to the group of them: Borden in an aloha shirt I’d seen before, curly-haired Geraldine Glass, plump William Fortier, and classy Elaine Aames, all products of Borden’s senior generation of attorneys.

  I’d spent time over the last months bonding with silver-haired estates and trusts attorney Elaine and the amazingly intelligent Blue and Gold Macaw she’d adopted—Gigi. Poor Gigi was previously owned by a former attorney at this firm, Ezra Cossner, who’d been slain by a killer right in his office down the hall. Hey, I said I was a murder magnet.

  “Borden, I’ll be working on one of my own matters most of today,” I said. “Okay?”

  “Is your question rhetorical?” he responded with a smile. “You’ll do it anyway, won’t you?”

  “Sure,�
� I said, “but figured this was a good time to let you know, so if you had something urgent to attend to, the gang would hear about it here, take pity on you, and volunteer. Right?” I scanned the room, but no one’s hands elevated. Lots of grins suddenly appeared, though. Gad, how I loved this group!

  “Does this have anything to do with that stalker slaying?” Elaine asked. She’d been smack-dab in the middle of Ezra’s murder investigation and knew how I operated—whether I liked it or not. “I read about it in the paper, and last night there was stuff on TV, too. That Corina Carey is some investigative reporter.”

  “You could say that,” I said.

  “I just did,” Elaine jabbed back.

  “She’s a reason I have to delve deeper into who could have killed Leon Lucero besides Amanda Hubbard. Okay, gang?”

  “I’ve got nothing pressing for you now since you’ve got the Sherman case under control,” Borden said. “Go to it, Kendra.” He was seconded by the rest. I smiled all the way down the open restaurant hallway to my office.

  Then I frowned as I tried to figure out how to approach my many possible suspects—literally or figuratively? I referred to the amazing list generated by Jeff’s computer guru, my pal Althea.

  The only prior stalking victim of Leon’s I’d spoken to in person was Betty Faust. She was still on my list, as was her sweetheart, the incredibly hulking Coprik.

  I considered calling some of Leon’s other victims again, but none had returned my earlier messages. Many lived far enough away that sitting on their doorsteps to ensure they couldn’t avoid me was simply too impractical. I chose a couple of locals, though, for follow-up.

  I referred to my notes, which suggested that I look further into the doctors and others at Amanda’s office. Might any of them have wanted to dispose of Leon at Amanda’s expense?

  Then there was Amanda’s brother, Bentley Barnett. And … hey, there could be a whole universe of suspects out there.

  Corina Carey had even suggested she had a growing list. Neither the cops nor she were likely to share their thinking with me, of course.