Meow is for Murder

by Johnston, Linda O.

  Amanda’s employer, Dr. Henry Grant, would know where she resided. Could he be watching over Amanda, to protect her—or to ensure all police fingers pointed toward her?

  Someone else at Amanda’s office?

  Someone else altogether, whom I hadn’t considered, yet had worried with my continued questions?

  Well, hell. Whoever it was had done one of the worst things I could imagine: threaten my little Lexie. I had to ensure her safety at all times.

  I toweled myself dry and put on my big, fluffy robe. I turbaned my deep brown hair, now stringy and wet, beneath another towel as I chose the top and slacks to don for my matchmaking shindig.

  Like tonight, I thought. I wouldn’t bring Lexie along on pet-sitting rounds, since that would mean leaving her alone in the car at some stops. Instead, she’d stay here, locked in our upstairs apartment behind our enhanced security system.

  Poor pup would spend Valentine’s evening alone. At least I’d make up for it later with an extra biscuit before bedtime.

  “I’m really sorry, Lexie,” I said, wishing I could explain better in a language she’d understand. She wagged her long white-and-black tail, obviously comprehending the loving spirit of what I said, if not the exact sense of my words.

  She’d also spend a lot more time, on weekdays while I worked, with Darryl and his Doggy Indulgence Day Resort, where I’d warn him to watch over her carefully. Which he would. And he’d ensure the same of his staff.

  Still, I’d worry.

  I selected a pale pink sweater from my closet, along with snazzy magenta slacks. I dried my essentially unstyled hair, then donned a light amount of makeup.

  I studied my face. Not too bad, even if it had never approached Amanda’s unquestionable beauty. Ordinary nose. Observant blue eyes. All a-okay … except, were there some wrinkles at the corners of those eyes that hadn’t been there before because of concern about Lexie?

  Well, hell. I’d already thought the same about Amanda’s suddenly aging face, and I hated the idea—regarding me, not her. If I didn’t fix the situation, I might stay worried indefinitely—and who knew how many new lines that might etch into my face?

  “Know what?” I told my ever-present pup, who sidled up against me as I sat at my makeup mirror on the desk in my den. “Whoever threatened you may never know it, but he or she has caused the exact opposite result from what they likely wanted. Instead of backing off, I have to figure this out all the faster. No way will I let whoever it is hurt you.”

  She stood on her hind legs, front paws on my legs as she stared searchingly into my face with her cute, huge brown eyes.

  “See those wrinkles?” I asked her, still obsessing. “No, don’t tell me. But I’ll insist they go away when this is behind us.”

  My cell phone started to sing before Lexie could react. I reached for it across my desk, and didn’t recognize the number as I answered.

  “Hi, Kendra? This is Tracy Owens. We met at the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal meeting.”

  “Sure. Good to hear from you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to give you a call.”

  “Did you mention at the meeting that you’ve had a snake as a client?”

  I looked down at the deep pink shade of my slacks, nearly one of the colors of the pretty blue-and-magenta Py. “Yes, a ball python.”

  “Great! I’ve just been asked to care for a California king snake while its owner’s out of town, and instead of totally cringing and saying no, I’ve said okay. But I need pointers. Maybe a pep talk. I never thought about caring for a snake before.”

  “I don’t know about king snakes, but ball pythons aren’t bad. In fact, Py and I are good buddies. He did me a big favor.”

  “How about if we get together for lunch one day this week so you can tell me about it?”

  “Great! And I need to talk to you about backup pet-sitting assistance.” We set a time, date, and place. “See you then,” I said, then hung up. I looked down at Lexie, who lay with her head on her paws regarding me solemnly from the floor. “Time for your dinner,” I said, which brought her fast to her feet. “Then I’ll need to leave.”

  I LEFT MY visit to Stromboli’s for last. Of course. My Valentine’s Day dinner would be next door.

  I met Baird Roehmann on the street, right after I’d finished walking and feeding Stromboli.

  “Then this is the right place,” said His Honor, the silver-haired judge with the roamin’ hands. “I wasn’t sure.” He paused. “You say the lady who lives there”—he pointed toward the house next door—“is the one with a really nice dog she can’t keep?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Did you bring dinner?”

  “The best from Georgio’s.” Which was a really good but underrated Italian place in a shopping center along Ventura Boulevard.

  “Great. I’ll help you carry it in.”

  Baird had dressed nicely for the night, although not in the usual black robes or business suits I was used to seeing him in. He wore a black sweater from which a white shirt collar peeked at the top. Below were black trousers and dressy top-stitched loafers with thick, shock-absorbing soles.

  Black, to meet a fuzzy, possibly shedding dog? At least Meph was more gray than white. Even so …

  Yes, my intended matchmaking that night was to introduce a judge who’d recently lost his beloved dog, to a dog whose owner couldn’t keep the one she had. Couldn’t … or wouldn’t. No matter. The result would be the same.

  I noticed, as I carried a plastic food bag and led Baird up the front walk, that Maribelle Openheim must have finally hired a gardener. Or mowed and trimmed the front yard herself. Even in the faint twilight, it appeared a whole lot better kept than it had before.

  As I reached the front door, I pivoted back toward Baird, who also toted a bag. “Now, remember, just say so if you don’t like Meph enough to adopt him. It won’t do the poor dog any good if you take him home and change your mind.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” The usual judicial boom was back in his voice, which almost made me smile … as long as I wasn’t arguing a matter before him.

  I rang the bell, and from inside we heard a dog bark. “He sounds good and spunky,” Baird said.

  Before I could comment, the door was pulled open. Maribelle with the wiry, wriggling terrier Meph beneath her arm, had also dressed for the occasion. Her yellow cotton shirt was belted into dark brown slacks. As always, her short hair looked meticulously styled, and she’d put on enough makeup to make her appear attractive, instead of baggy eyed and washed out.

  “Hi. Come in, please.”

  Once we’d complied, I introduced her to Baird. We followed her into the truly compact kitchen and set our bags on the butcher-block style table. She put Meph down on the mock-brick linoleum floor. Speaking to Baird, she said, “Kendra said that you recently lost your dog. I’m sorry.”

  “She told me that you lost your husband. My condolences on that.”

  Maribelle shook her head. “I didn’t mean to, but I’m afraid I took my loneliness out on his poor dog, Meph. Meph, come here and meet Judge Roehmann.”

  “Please call me Baird.”

  “Baird.” She drew out the name as if she took pleasure in its sound. “You have the most lovely silver hair. Only—”

  “Only what?” I’d expected Baird to get upset at any slight to his appearance. Instead, he sounded interested.

  “I don’t know if Kendra told you I’m a hairstylist. I’ve got a shampoo-conditioner that would make your hair shine even more. And if you wore it just a little longer at the top, tapered slightly more at the sides …”

  “Really? Where do you work? Maybe I could make an appointment.”

  “Sure.” I’d never before seen Maribelle smile so broadly.

  Baird dropped to his knees and let Meph sniff his hand. And then he started gently roughhousing with the game, friendly terrier.

  “He’s quite a bruiser, isn’t he?”

  “He does love to play,” Maribelle acknowledged. Taking a rubb
er dog toy from the counter, she, too, stooped.

  And smiled into Baird’s eyes when he took the toy and started playing terrier tug-of-war.

  This was going a whole lot better than I’d ever imagined.

  The judge sure seemed attracted to widowed Maribelle Openheim, and vice versa.

  Did they need me here to get better acquainted?

  Not likely, although I was reluctant to depart without ensuring my initial impressions weren’t false.

  And so, I joined them in a delightful dinner of antipasto, lasagna, and Chianti. At least the food was good. Me? I felt like the proverbial crowd, as in “two’s company.”

  Especially since Meph, the fourth in this cozy party, formed a common bond between them.

  Still, I waited for a while after dinner as the two humans talked. Seemed like they had more in common than a love of Meph and Baird’s silver hair.

  “I was a court reporter many years ago,” Maribelle said. “Before my kids were born. I got out of practice, though, and went into hairstyling instead of taking it up again.” She sighed. “Now that I’m alone, I was thinking of trying again, only I’m awfully old to start competing with all the young people who know all the new recording systems so much better.”

  “I could help you get started,” Baird said.

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose … only, I really did find the judicial process so fascinating. Maybe someday you could tell me about some of the most interesting trials you presided over. It must be so wonderful to be a judge.”

  “Most of the time.” Baird sounded a whole bunch more modest than I was used to. Meantime, he’d taken Meph onto his lap, and the pup looked absolutely ecstatic—though that could be because of all the delicious odors of food remains on the kitchen table.

  Time for me to talk, then exit. “Well, it looks as if Meph and you are getting along fine. Maribelle, are you willing to let Baird adopt him?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure he’ll take good care of him.” But Maribelle’s tone sounded sad.

  “Of course I would, but you don’t sound ready to give him up,” Baird said.

  “He did belong to my husband, and as Kendra convinced me, I’ve not taken the best care of him … because it hurt too much to see him. Before. But now that I realize I was hurting Meph, I’ve kept him with me more.”

  “Well, I really like him,” Baird said. “But I understand what you’re saying. Tell you what. You hang on to him for now, and I’ll visit you both. Then we’ll see.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Maribelle said.

  I suspected he’d be visiting not solely to see the happy Meph.

  When I left a few minutes later, Baird stayed there. How very odd, I thought. He was the judge who’d gone after every female who ever appeared in his courtroom—mostly those young enough to be his daughters. He’d not seemed at all interested in the many women nearer his own age.

  But there’d clearly been chemistry between Baird and Maribelle. Who could have guessed?

  I had a feeling that from now on, one way or another, Meph would be subject to all the human attention he could ever want.

  Chapter Twenty

  SO VALENTINE’S DAY was Valentine’s Day after all, although not for me.

  Even so, I held out hope I’d hear something from Jeff before the day was over. Maybe a phone call containing an immense apology for Amanda’s intrusion into our lives and an attestation of undying love?

  “Hah!” I said as I hugged Lexie upon my return to our comfy garage-top home. At least my puppy was safe. Under the circumstances of a threat hanging over our heads, I determined to let her romp in our fenced in yard, absolutely supervised, rather than taking a walk outside our grounds.

  No incidents overtook us, and although I heard Beggar barking within the big house, I didn’t see Rachel. Nineteen years old, she probably had a hot Valentine’s date of her own.

  Her dad, Russ, remained out of town, or I’d have invited him inside for a nightcap—in the unlikely event he was spending this evening alone. He was a redheaded hunk, and although he was a little old for me, I’d considered him for a fleeting flirtation.

  Which would have been especially nice on Valentine’s night.

  Okay, I was lonesome. “I admit it,” I told Lexie. Canine company, especially of the Cavalier kind, was delightful, but it didn’t make up for my lack of a real, human female-male relationship.

  Especially when I’d assumed, not long ago, that I had one.

  Although it wasn’t especially late, I considered heading to bed early with a good book, preferably a thriller that contained a lot more killings than kisses.

  That was my kind of mood.

  Only, just as I started stripping for the shower, my cell phone rang.

  Oh joy, I thought, sardonically scanning at the caller ID. I didn’t need a gloating good night from Amanda.

  And if she just happened to be with Jeff …

  Oh, hell. I answered anyway.

  “Kendra? Kendra, please call Mitch and come to the North Hollywood Police Station with him. I’m under arrest for murdering Leon!”

  I hadn’t a chance to speak before she hung up. Why had she called me? She should have phoned her attorney first.

  Despite feeling irritable, I couldn’t help a sense of sympathy. I’d nearly been in her situation, too. Fortunately, I’d figured out what happened while the multiple cases involving me were still under investigation, so I’d never been arrested.

  But I’d expected it at any moment.

  Consequently, I did as Amanda asked and called Mitch. He didn’t answer his phone at first, and as I was tossed into voice mail I shouted, “Mitch, if you can hear this, pick up. It’s an emergency.”

  He sounded miffed when he responded, and I thought I heard a female murmur in the background. Maybe he had a hot Valentine’s date. Well, good for him. But if I had to suffer by hearing from Amanda, so should he. He was, after all, her actual attorney. I was merely her surrogate investigator who also happened to have a law license.

  “I just heard from Amanda,” I told Mitch, then repeated what she’d said. “I’d rather not go to the police station, but—”

  “Me, too, but I’d appreciate it if you’d come. Obviously Amanda wants you there.”

  It wasn’t as if I had anything else exciting to do that night. “All right,” I said. “But I won’t stay long.”

  “Fine.”

  “There’s some stuff you should know.” I quickly ran down the extent of my recent investigation, including my visits to Kennedy McCaffrey and Nellie Zahn, plus meeting Amanda’s brother, Bentley, in person, and finishing with the threats to Lexie. “Nothing conclusive,” I admitted as I ended.

  “Well, something there might be helpful.” He sounded as doubtful as I felt.

  “Should you discuss it with Quentin Rush?”

  “I will as soon as I can,” Mitch agreed. “For now—well, I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Okay. I finally had my good excuse, although there were others I’d have latched on to, given a chance.

  I called Jeff.

  “Kendra,” he said, picking up immediately. Was that pleasure from hearing from me that I heard in his voice?

  Or was I engaging in some serious wishful thinking?

  Hell, I was the one who’d made it clear I didn’t want to see him tonight, that I had other plans.

  Yeah, like playing Cupid for Baird Roehmann, of all people. When all I’d intended was to throw the not-so-poor man a bone. Or, rather, introduce him to a possible pet.

  Anyway, I hesitated barely a moment before explaining to Jeff why I’d called. “I just heard from Amanda. She’s under arrest.”

  “What?” Any pleasure I might have previously imagined was now absolutely absent from his voice. “Where is she? Is Mitch there?”

  “North Hollywood station, and he’s on his way. Me, too.”

  “Me, three,” Jeff said.

  Hey. I was going to see my erstwhile lover on Valentine’s night afte
r all.

  At the same time he attempted to play knight racing to his ex-wife’s aid on the steed of his Cadillac Escalade.

  AS I’D ANTICIPATED, there wasn’t much I could do at the station. I got to say hi, lucky me, to Ned Noralles and his sidekicks Howard Wherlon and new-guy Detective Elliot Tidus. But not being Amanda’s attorney, I couldn’t see her.

  Mitch dashed in only minutes after I did. He was the one allowed to see to Amanda and get the details of her detainment.

  I got to sit in the neighborhood-friendly yet nevertheless chill-provoking reception area of the North Hollywood station, watching the uniformed officer behind the desk answering phone calls and greeting the scant additional visitors that night.

  Then Jeff arrived.

  “Where is she?” he demanded when he spotted me. He was dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. His light brown hair was mussy and begged to have fingers run through it to tame it. Damn him! Why was he looking so sexy tonight, when I wanted so badly to get over him?

  I’d not seen much of him since Amanda ran into him with her car. Yet here he was, dashing figuratively to her side to defend her.

  “Somewhere inside.” I gestured toward the door to the inner law-enforcement sanctum. “Mitch is with her.”

  He pulled me to the side of the room, shifting his head down so his mouth neared my ear. Time for a sexy nibble? No way.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Kendra,” he said softly. “And you’re wrong. I’m still mad as hell at Amanda for everything, including hurting me with her car. But she didn’t try to kill me. Whatever she is, she’s not a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “Then you’re a hundred percent sure she didn’t kill Leon?” I was stuck at about ninety-eight percent, but not absolutely positive.

  “Maybe in self-defense. That I could believe. But if that was what had happened, by now she’d have said so.”

  “I can’t disagree,” I said. “But—”

  I stopped speaking as Mitch came through the door. “I figured you both were here.”

  As he should have at least with me, since he’d insisted that I come.