“Kendra,” Dante said, “this is Lauren Vancouver. She’s the director here.” In other words, his hand-picked honcho to run this place. The equivalent here of Megan Zurich at HotWildlife. I enjoyed Megan and her magnificent treatment of the wild animals in her charge at the sanctuary. Would I like Lauren Vancouver?
She approached with her hand outstretched, and I shook it. Her grip was firm, and her smile surprisingly genuine.
“Hi, Lauren,” I said. “Good to meet you.” Yes, I’m adept at polite lies when it suits me.
“As I suggested on the phone, Kendra,” Dante said after we’d all sat down, “we may have a legal problem here, and there’s no one better than you to handle it.” I noticed with both relief and pleasure that he’d chosen to sit right beside me. Not Lauren. I started to chill out, at least a little.
“Tell me about it,” I said, “so I can figure out if your flattery is because you’re attempting to snow me.” Our gazes locked, and I saw both amusement and smoldering sensuality in his eyes. Did my teasing turn him on?
Hell, I hoped so.
Lauren laid out the details of their dilemma. “Here’s what happened, Kendra,” she said. “I may have screwed up.” Interesting, that although her words seemed apologetic, her green eyes glowed with what I read as self-satisfaction. I determined to listen even harder, try to discern the subtext as she spoke.
She briefly described HotRescues and how it operated. “We take in all kinds of pets—abandoned, abused, whatever. From wherever people find them. We clean them up, have our vets on call take care of their medical needs, and give them all the attention our staff and volunteers can provide. Mostly, what we want is to find each and every one a good home. We of course have a no-kill policy, and there’s always a danger of becoming overcrowded. Our main focus is to make sure that our charges are adopted, but only into the right situation.”
“So you research the homes you place them into,” I prompted when she slowed her speech a little. From what she’d said, I’d started wondering if her legal issue was an inappropriate adoption. Turned out I was right, but not for the reason I anticipated.
“Of course,” she agreed. “And the little pup at issue—he looks like a cocker spaniel-Jack Russell terrier mix—seemed perfect for the couple who adopted him. They just moved in together, love animals, and work in the entertainment industry. They have a nice yard behind their townhouse, and we thought it a perfect match. They’ve named him Quincy.”
“But?” I prompted, catching Dante’s eye. He wasn’t jumping in to comment, allowing Lauren to do all the talking. Which was probably fine, but when I’d heard her out, I’d want his insight on the situation, too.
“But I didn’t think to ask the vet to check this particular pup for an identification chip. Turns out, a guy in Pacoima claims to own him. He’s suing the new owners, HotRescues, Dante, and me to get him back, and for trumped-up damages like emotional distress and fraud.” For the first time, she looked less than gorgeous as concern crinkled her face. “I suppose I actually was a little negligent, though I’ll deny it if this thing gets to court. But other than this nasty fellow getting so upset, it was a win-win situation for the dog and his new people.”
Seeing a glimmer of something I couldn’t quite read on Dante’s face, I decided to follow up on this strange comment. “Why do you say that? It obviously wasn’t a winning situation for the guy who lost his dog. And didn’t Quincy miss his real master?”
“Hell, no,” Lauren all but exploded. “When one of our volunteers went to the park where Quincy had been spotted, she found him there, cringing every time anyone came close. He had open sores and bruising, and we definitely suspected all the damage hadn’t been done after he’d fled his home.”
Oh. Now I got it. The disappeared doggy had most likely left an abusive abode, and Lauren and staff might purposely have ignored any identifying assistance like a chip or tag. Better to get this puppy safely somewhere else.
Only, the original owner had somehow found this out. Learned of the connection to HotRescues. From that, it was only a short step to realize the connection to deep-pocketed Dante DeFrancisco.
“Okay, let’s say that, hypothetically, Quincy was in an abusive home and you’d learned about him without his running away. What would you have done then?”
“There are resources. Local agencies, for example, that follow up on animal abuse situations. But you generally have to be able to prove the abuse before they can do much. That sometimes takes time.”
“So you chose—er, forgot—to try to find Quincy’s original owner in an effort to help him?”
“If I did that—hypothetically—it was to save his life.” She glared angrily, as if daring me to dispute what she said.
“You get the gist of this, Kendra,” Dante broke in smoothly. “The guy has only threatened to sue, so far. If I were to offer him a lot of money, he might never file a claim. But I hate to pay him off for what he did to that poor dog.”
“This sounds like an interesting legal issue,” I said. “And as you know, Dante, I do a lot of animal law. I prefer to use ADR instead of courtrooms to resolve things. That generally stands for alternative dispute resolution, but to me it’s animal dispute resolution. I’d be glad to look further into this and see what I can do.” I was already pretty certain we could win some potential claims, but others were more troubling.
“Thanks, Kendra.” Dante stood as I still sat on the sofa.
“Yes, thanks,” Lauren echoed, sounding utterly relieved as she, too, rose.
I also got up, and Dante gently took my arm as we headed for the door. “We’ll talk soon, Lauren,” he said.
“And if you hear anything more about this claim,” I told her, “don’t say a word except to say you’ll refer it to your lawyer.”
“Got it,” she said with a smile.
“Now, can I go see some of your rescued pets?”
“Absolutely!”
She took us on a tour of the other part of the rescue facility. Well, she took me on a tour. Dante had obviously been there before.
I have to say I was impressed. Dogs and cats were kept in separate areas, each in an individual enclosure, like at other shelters. All habitats had tile floors that looked easy to clean, with areas at the rear set up as potty places. The animals had comfortable-looking pillow-beds and generous water bowls.
The nice amenities didn’t keep the poor creatures from obviously feeling lonely. Some slept, others lay on their beds looking morosely in my direction, and some came to the wire-mesh barrier where I stood, doggies wriggling eagerly and kitties appearing aloof as only felines can, yet needy nonetheless. A few dogs barked or whined for attention. The cats called out their meows.
I ached to adore all of them, right in my arms. I greeted them saying sweet things, happy at least that this was a no-kill shelter. All of them would eventually find homes … hopefully.
Dante took my hand somewhere along the line. I squeezed it hard, barely keeping my emotions in check.
Lauren stayed with us, too, and we soon turned and walked back along the other side of the enclosures. At the place where we’d begun, I turned to her. “This place is so wonderful, yet so sad. How do you stand it, day after day?”
“I keep thinking about all the excellent adoptions we’ve put together. It’s hard to see how sad some of these guys get while they’re here, and there are only so many of us who can give them attention. But it’s exciting to bring them here when they’re in bad shape, nurse them back to health, then make sure they’re placed with the best people possible.”
“You’re the greatest,” I exclaimed without thinking, tossing aside my earlier, ungenerous thoughts about Lauren and her possible relationship with Dante. “Do you ever have any pets here besides cats or dogs?” I asked her.
“They’re in the majority, but we’ll help any animal at all.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll definitely be in touch. If you say you couldn’t find Quincy’s original owner
and did your best for him by placing him in a loving home, who can argue with that?” Only that original owner and the lawyer he’d hired—in hopes of extorting lots of money from Dante—and maybe even some irascible judge. But I’d do my best to prevent Lauren, Dante, and HotRescues from losing this case.
“Thanks, Kendra.” Lauren’s hug seemed heartfelt. I admit I frowned a bit when she repeated the caring gesture with Dante—but, hey, hugging is an accepted means of showing gratitude.
In a short while, Dante and I stood together on the sidewalk as traffic slowly meandered along Rinaldi. “So,” he said, looking down at me with one of those expressions that I’d come to anticipate and adore. A sexy look that suggested we spend the night together. Who said he was withholding his attention? “Have any plans for tonight?”
Damned awful time for my cell phone to ring, but that’s what it did. “Hold that thought,” I said, then saw who the caller was: Althea.
“Hi,” I said eagerly as I answered. “Found anything interesting on Jon Doe?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dante’s expression freeze. An intriguing response, I thought.
“I sure did,” said Althea into my ear. “And I can tell you everything tonight, Kendra. Over dinner. With Jeff.”
“That’s the deal?”
“That’s the price of his approval of my helping you.”
“Got it.” We quickly decided where and when, and then I hung up.
I looked at Dante, to find his face now utterly unreadable.
“You know me,” I said. “I always try to get as much info as I can about the victim.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound especially pleased.
“I don’t suppose you could fill me in on Jon Doe’s background?” I inquired sweetly.
“I could have Megan show you his employee file.”
“That would be interesting,” I agreed. “But do you know anything else about him?”
“Of course not,” he said, his expression still so bland that I felt certain he was a great poker player.
“Anyway—about your question before, whether I have plans for tonight?”
“I gathered, from this end of the conversation, that you do now.”
“You gather right,” I said. “But after dinner, I might be available.”
“Sorry, Kendra, but I’ve got plans then. Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car. We’ll talk tomorrow. You can let me know what you find out about Jon Doe.”
“Sure,” I said.
He wasn’t the only fibber strolling the sidewalk toward my Escape.
Chapter Ten
WE MET AT a restaurant in Westwood, a quiet Italian café, and they were already at a table in the corner. The hostess pointed me in their direction the instant I entered.
Checkered tablecloths and dim lighting added to the place’s ambience, but the accoutrements did little to alleviate my nervousness. I really didn’t want to see Jeff, not now, but I’d been left little choice.
They stood as I crossed the dark carpet. Althea was a geek, a techy wonder, and I’d always found it astounding that she was also a grandma. She was slim and youthful-looking, with longish blond hair and a fashion sense that seemed more teenage than middle age. Tonight, she wore a shiny print top over tight blue jeans.
But mostly my eyes lit on Jeff. I’d always considered him one hell of a sexy dude. He still was, with his face full of angles and his body absolutely buff—shown off now by a snug blue knit shirt. That, of course, brought out the beautiful blue of his eyes as he stared straight at me. And smiled.
“Hi, Kendra,” he said in a deep, sexy tone that sent shivers through me even though I’d instructed my insides not to react to him at all. “Great to see you. Please, sit down.”
I obeyed, gave my greeting to the obviously amused Althea, and immediately snatched up the menu. Not seeing anything on it, naturally. I figured it listed some kind of Italian salad. That’s what I’d order.
Fortunately, this place served no Thai food, which had always served as an aphrodisiac for Jeff and me.
“Would you like some wine?” he asked. It sounded appealing, but I needed all my wits about me to stay soberly away from this sexy man whom I no longer wanted in my life as a lover.
Especially now that Dante was in it. Although …
Well, no reason to let myself wonder now about where that relationship was going. If it was going anywhere.
Or what Dante might have known about the now deceased Jon Doe and his untimely demise.
“No, thanks,” I said. A server came over and took our orders. And then I focused on the folder lying on the table between Jeff and Althea.
When we were alone once more, I asked, “Is that what you found about Jon Doe?” I gestured at the closed file.
“Some of it. What I printed out for you.” Althea glanced at Jeff as if for permission, and he nodded.
Which he of course should have done. Hadn’t I kept my end of this bargain—meeting them both for dinner?
Althea handed me the materials. “Let me give you a quick rundown,” she said.
“Absolutely,” I agreed in relief. That way, I could savor any delectable details later, but I’d have a better sense of what I was seeing.
“What I found about Jon Doe’s history is that he grew up in Burbank, got his high school diploma, then went into the Army. He became an animal care specialist, worked on several bases, assisting veterinarians with treating patrol dogs and ceremonial horses. Honorable discharge. He then worked at two zoos, doing animal care, followed by a career at two independent wildlife sanctuaries. He recently wound up at HotWildlife. End of his story.”
“Interesting,” I said, not entirely meaning it. Althea had said nothing that might lead to any clues about who offed the guy. An irate coyote who didn’t like the way his food had been prepared? Not with the way Jon Doe had died—by a stab from a sharp knife, not bites.
His history in the Army could have been at a time he’d have run into Dante and Brody while they were in the covert ops stuff I’d come to suspect, but who knew?
As our dinners were served, I took the opportunity to thumb through the printed pages. A cursory look suggested they supported what Althea had said.
Not necessarily useful, but probably enough to justify my evening with my former boyfriend and his illustrious and knowledgeable computer geek.
I started eating my salad, noticing the aromas of the chicken cacciatore that Jeff had ordered, as well as Althea’s cheese-smothered lasagna. Had I been too diligent in my calorie counting? I loved Italian food, after all.
Jeff noticed my gaze, and perhaps the watering of my mouth. “Want a taste?” His look suggested he remembered those days not long ago when we’d share Thai food as a prelude to some sexy alone time.
Still … I was too tempted to say no—to Italian food, that is. “Sure. Want some salad?”
We all took samples of each other’s food, which satisfied my palate a lot more than the green stuff.
When all that was done, Althea said, “So, Kendra, would you like to hear what I didn’t find about Jon Doe?”
Talk about being tantalized. “Sure,” I said, staring at her.
“Probably anything true,” she responded with a grim grin.
“What!?” I exclaimed.
“The thing is,” Jeff said, “Althea used resources on the Internet, plus some of our … less accessible usual sources. Sure, there were plenty of Jon Does for her to research, but she zeroed in on the one who worked at HotWildlife really fast. Well, you know how good Althea is.”
As I nodded in utter acknowledgment, the object of our verbal adoration pinkened a little and took another bite of lasagna.
“She did some additional digging,” said Jeff.
Althea’s turn to talk. “Yes. Deeper than the surface. And what I found was that … I found very little. None of the ordinary things usually out there concerning most people, like more military information than who he was and where he’d been.
High school classmates. Blogs and YouTube entries—although not everyone participates in that current-day stuff. Sure, Jon Doe was in his sixties, but there was nothing about his family, either. His military service was partly during the Vietnam era, but he didn’t go overseas, or nothing indicated he had. There were no photos of him on Web sites or otherwise at the animal facilities where he’d worked. Nothing definitive, you understand, but even so—”
“What are you saying?” I demanded.
“If you want my opinion,” Althea said, her young grandmother’s face scrunched into a gloomy frown, “Jon Doe’s background was entirely made up. A farce. Someone manufactured his history. And I didn’t find out who he really is.”
SURPRISINGLY, THAT NEWS didn’t completely dim my appetite. We talked some more over the next hour or so, brainstorming where else Althea could look—and what I would do with the possibly useless information she’d gathered.
On the other hand, if Jon Doe—or whoever he was—had been so careful about manufacturing a fake identity, that said something about him.
I just had to figure out what.
And learn, if I could, how much Dante really did, or did not, know.
Could he truly have killed Jon Doe? No, my frantic insides called out, even as I feared it was true.
And this wasn’t the first time I’d suspected him of murder. If he was innocent in this instance but stayed in my life, I might need to question what was it about him that made me think he was capable of such a crime.
When we finished eating, we wrangled over the check. I didn’t feel right letting Jeff pay, especially when I hadn’t contributed a penny toward the time and energy Althea put into finding out what was, and wasn’t, there about Jon Doe.
“Next time, it’s on you,” he said. And smiled. Knowing full well I’d feel obligated to meet with him again for a meal to satisfy this damned new debt.
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