Howl Deadly

by Linda O. Johnston

  A deputy more junior than Hura, not part of the Homicide Detail, zipped into the parking lot in less than half an hour. Meanwhile, since I figured they’d want possession of the piece of paper, I photographed it with my cell phone.

  Since I hadn’t any information to impart about who might have left the note, other than to say it could be whoever killed Jon Doe, we hadn’t a lot to talk about. The deputy indeed decided to keep the note, placing it into a plastic evidence bag and labeling it. He didn’t seem inclined to send a crime team to check my vehicle for fingerprints or anything else.

  As a result, Lexie and I were soon on the road back to L.A.—with me scrutinizing every other car on the road.

  WE GOT BACK in plenty of time for me to perform my pet-sitting perfectly after I dropped Lexie at home, behind the security gates. As I always liked to do, I spent a lot of time with each of my charges, ensuring that they ate their dinners. With the dogs, I enjoyed a walk or a game or both. The kitties were, of course, another issue—too adorably arrogant to enjoy playing with me.

  Eventually, I headed back home. My intent was to call Dante from there.

  But he’d already arrived and been let in by Rachel. He sat in his Mercedes, his cell phone against his cheek. He looked so cute and official sitting there in a white shirt. I assumed he’d headed straight here after his meetings, rather than going home to change clothes.

  I didn’t intend to bother him, since he seemed to be talking to someone in his professional capacity as a megamogul, so I just smiled and waved. But Dante joined me nearly immediately.

  Just inside my apartment door, he swept me into his arms and gave me one of his hottest Dante kisses as Lexie leaped around our feet. “Thank God you’re really okay,” he whispered against my lips. “At least—” He pulled away, and his gaze swept over my body. I’d worn a nice yellow blouse and beige slacks that day to look like a lawyer while confronting Warren Beell and Megan Zurich. His dark mahogany eyes started to smolder. “Yes, you’re more than okay.”

  Need I say that we satisfied one appetite before we headed out to dinner?

  Later, when we got back, Dante called Alfonse, his personal assistant at his Malibu house, to assure himself that Wagner would be well cared for that night before he allowed himself to fall asleep.

  And as I lay in bed after some more fantastic romance, I listened to his gentle breathing and considered putting myself in danger more often, if such excellence was a result.

  Not. Especially since I felt a bit frustrated. Oh, not about my love life.

  But with what I’d gone through that day, the couple of people I’d confronted. I still didn’t feel much closer to solving who’d killed Jon Doe.

  I EVENTUALLY DOZED off, and wakened with Dante still at my side. I snuggled up, but only for an instant. Didn’t want to get too suggestive—not at this moment.

  So what if it was Sunday? I had pet-sitting to do, and Dante needed to continue to clear his desk so he could head to HotWildlife during the upcoming week. We separated soon after a quick breakfast. I left a sorrowful-looking Lexie at home and got on the road.

  I wasn’t surprised to receive a phone call while parked outside gorgeous golden retriever Beauty’s northern Valley home. What did surprise me was where it came from—the Yurick law office.

  “Kendra, it’s Borden,” said my boss’s high voice when I answered. “Hope you don’t mind my bothering you today.”

  “It’s never a bother to talk to you, Borden,” I said with a smile that soon disappeared. My planned week of investigating Jon Doe’s death was about to become discombobulated.

  I explained it to Dante later that day, when he called to arrange to pick me up early the next morning. I was again at home, this time preparing to take Lexie on a walk to make up for leaving her alone earlier. “I have a couple of law clients who really need to meet with me on Monday,” I said, hoping I could schedule them on the same day. “Borden said they both had left him messages after our receptionist told them I’d be out of the office for a week.”

  “Business comes first,” Dante said, spouting what was presumably his philosophy. “But I’ve been able to make arrangements to get away, so I’ll head up to my place in the mountains and do a little snooping around HotWildlife, partly to look deeper into what happened to the mother wolf, and hopefully solve Doe’s murder while I’m at it.”

  “But I won’t be there to help you,” I grumbled.

  “Exactly,” he said, making me sure that this was at least partly to pay me back for ignoring his orders. “But you can join me whenever you’re able.”

  Sounded like a plan, or so I supposed.

  But I also knew how much I’d hate it if Dante solved everything without me.

  Chapter Twenty

  AT LEAST LUCK was on my side a little. I indeed was able to schedule both my meetings on Monday, one late morning and one early afternoon, so I could do my own pet-sitting that day without assistance. I dropped Lexie at Darryl’s so she could enjoy the day.

  I hadn’t spent the night with Dante. He needed to get home to Wagner, and to prepare for his trip. But I hadn’t liked how he rubbed it in that he was leaving without me.

  My first meeting was with Ellis Corcorian. We’d agreed to get together this time sans his mother and her youthful fiancé, on the off chance we could come up with a solution without the main players.

  He came to the Yurick firm’s offices, and we met in the former bar, which was too big for a meeting of two. But it still seemed more official than my somewhat messy digs.

  I got him some coffee, and we sat down at one end of the conference table in the middle of the room.

  I hadn’t seen Ellis for over a year. He’d always seemed to try too hard to appear like the perfect film star’s son—his hair, though mousy brown, was immaculately styled, without a hint of receding at his temples. His face, a bit too ordinary to hint of any genuine character, was always well shaved. The only thing exciting about him was the fuzziness of his straight brown brows. And of course he always wore a suit.

  “So, Kendra,” he began as we smiled confidently at each other in preparation to spar. “I’m not sure why we’re meeting, but I’m always ready to attempt a compromise, even when it concerns my own mother’s sanity.”

  “She’s a cougar, Ellis,” I informed him wryly. “That doesn’t make her insane. It makes her one amazing older lady.”

  “But taking up with a guy a third her age, who’s trying to become an actor, with no money of his own … doesn’t that strike you more like he’s a leech and she’s an innocent, if confused, lamb? I assume this is all off the record, by the way.”

  “Settlement negotiations generally are,” I confirmed. “And I won’t tell Alice you said anything nice about her, I promise.”

  His smile widened.

  “So tell me,” I continued. “Since you’re looking for a conservatorship over your mom’s estate, I have to assume you’re concerned as much about her assets as about her.”

  His sudden scowl suggested our moments of affability were about over. “I’m concerned about both,” he confirmed coldly. “I don’t want her hurt—either emotionally or financially. She needs to ensure she has enough to live on in her old age.”

  “And when she’s gone, you want to ensure you get her estate.” I could be equally cool, of course. I took a sip of coffee and continued to stare.

  “I don’t want some young punk to steal from her.”

  I leaned back and looked into his steely gaze. “What about a compromise?” I suggested. “Let your mother marry the guy she loves, perhaps even provide for him if she passes first, which is the most likely scenario. But she could also leave a substantial part of her estate to you. It would save your relationship with your mother, and you’d most likely inherit something eventually. If we go to court over this, you know your mother seems sane and possessed of all her marbles. You might lose everything.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but then his brain apparently caught
up with his need to assert control. “What do you propose?” he inquired.

  “I’ll have to talk to my client first, see if this kind of compromise works for her, and, if so, find out how she’d be willing to split things. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  “I’m for resolving things outside of court when possible,” he said slowly. “And it does sound somewhat logical.” Which might be why he hadn’t considered such an obvious solution before making his mother so mad. “So, yeah, let’s see what she’s willing to do.”

  He left soon afterward, and I headed for my office, where I called his mom. “Hi, Alice. I’d like to report the results of my meeting with Ellis.” I described it and said her son would consider backing off if she’d allocate her estate in a way he’d accept. Which is what she and I had discussed earlier, as I was setting up the meeting. Of course, she was amenable. “Now, I’d suggest you speak with your accountant and come up with some kind of way to divide things so you’d feel comfortable about what you’d leave to both Roberto and your son, assuming you don’t outlive them both—which you may just be ornery enough to do.”

  She laughed. “Great compromise, Kendra. I’ve already told Roberto this was a distinct possibility. And guess what?”

  Since she didn’t sound depressed, I assumed her guy was as sweet as he’d seemed. “He thought it would work.”

  “Exactly. Okay, I’ll come up with some way to split things, probably halves, if that sounds all right to you.”

  “Perfect, Alice. Oh, and I’ll probably be out of my office for the rest of the week, but I’ll always get back to you if you leave a message.”

  I WAS FEELING somewhat smug after that meeting. I might have resolved a potentially sticky situation with a win-win solution. It involved not animals but elder law, an interesting area and a part of my current practice that I was coming to love.

  But I’m a lawyer. I knew I wasn’t necessarily on a roll. The next situation on my agenda could be a whole lot stickier.

  For that meeting, I would be off my home turf. I’d agreed to go to the offices of attorney James Remseyer, who represented Efram Kiley of Pacoima, the former owner of Killer. Or Quincy, depending on how one looked at it. Killer/Quincy was the Jack Russell terrier-cocker spaniel mix re-homed by Lauren Vancouver at HotRescues, possibly because she simply hadn’t found his ID chip. More likely, because she hadn’t looked, since she had believed the dog had been abused.

  Fortunately, Remseyer’s office, in Northridge, wasn’t too far away. I’d scheduled this meeting with just attorneys since I didn’t want to disturb Lauren for no reason, and I knew the other individual defendant and representative of defendant HotRescues, Dante, wasn’t available today. But Remseyer had made it clear he wanted to talk about his case. Probably to threaten and attempt to intimidate, so we’d either come up with a high settlement number or go to trial on this potentially difficult case.

  But, hell, as a litigator, I’d eaten worse challenges for lunch.

  His office was in a commercial area, on the top floor of a three-story building. The penthouse, perhaps?

  I introduced myself at the reception desk in an attractive suite that obviously housed several law firms, or perhaps they were all sole practitioners who’d officed together to economize. I was shown into a compact conference room and served a cup of strong coffee in a small disposable cup.

  In a minute, a forty-something man with a shaved head and wearing a suit strode in and held out his hand. “Kendra? Hi, how are you?” He didn’t really give a damn, and continued his monologue. “I’m James Remseyer. Thanks for coming on such short notice, but I’m sure it’s in both our clients’ best interests for us to get some of the formalities out of the way.”

  I opened my mouth to convey a qualified agreement, but he went on before I could continue.

  “I mostly wanted to run some stuff by you so you’d know we have enough evidence to convince even the most skeptical jury of how your clients injured mine. The worst of emotional distress, for one thing. They stole his dog. Did it by fraud, too.” Of course, he’d throw that in, since it permitted him to claim punitive damages, which were multiples of any actual damages awarded. But their award was unlikely in cases like this, though I wasn’t about to say so just yet. “Not only HotRescues and its management, you understand, but even its board of directors and donors have some responsibility here. A lot of responsibility, in fact.” Which was why he had threatened to drag Dante into his spurious suit—because he aimed for the deepest pockets in his contrived claim.

  His mouth was still open to eject his next unsubstantiated statement when I tersely shook his hand and took a seat. I motioned for him to join me at the small, rectangular table that fit snugly into the room. And simply sat there till he complied, not even attempting to interject a word.

  “So here’s the thing,” he started to spout again, but I held up my hand and smiled.

  “Whoa, James,” I said right over his words. “Let’s keep this simple. Your client, Efram Kiley, claims he misses his dog, Killer. My clients say they didn’t know the dog they adopted out was Killer. They found an abused animal and got him a good new home. Period. Your client doesn’t want the dog. He wants money. My clients may be willing to pay something reasonable to your client so they don’t have to pay it to me. And you know courts generally consider pets to be property, so all those claims of emotional distress are spurious.” I generally despised that position, but at this moment it worked to my advantage. Still, there were other claims that could have merit. “Let’s try to settle this before you and I wind up with all the money and fun, shall we?”

  He had amazingly stayed quiet. Not so surprisingly, he scowled now. “Maybe,” he grumbled, when I knew he wanted to aim his fist at my face. Settle for something reasonable? That was probably not in his vocabulary. “My client denies abusing the dog, and I believe him.” Of course. “They liked to roughhouse, and that dog was always running away and coming back with bruises. Got into fights with bigger dogs in the neighborhood. So, settle? Depends on what you consider reasonable.” He smiled once more, so I knew multiple dollar signs paraded through his brain. “We were thinking in the neighborhood of”—he named a multimillion-dollar figure—“since your clients’ acts were so egregious, and we’ll still claim punies.”

  I laughed out loud. “Even assuming you could maintain your causes of action for trumped-up actual damages—which I seriously doubt—do you really believe a jury would award punitive damages once we skewer your client on the stand with all the evidence that Quincy—oh, right, your client called the poor little guy Killer—had been literally kicked around and probably starved?”

  “That’s not how it happened,” he said. “I just told you—”

  My turn to interrupt. “If you smear my clients with claims they stole a dog or committed fraud, or whatever, I’ll smear yours. Simple as that. Not that we believe a jury would award any damages at all. But to save us time and more uncomfortable meetings, I did come here with a figure.”

  The jerk had the temerity to look me up and down in a sexually suggestive manner. “You sure do, sweetheart.”

  “Okay, that lowers the amount by a few thousand …” Like to near nothing, at least in comparison. “Here.” I jotted a figure down on the pad of paper in front of me. “You’ll get a substantial percentage of it—I assume you’re working on contingency. I won’t get much, since I’m on an hourly rate, but, hey, there’s always value in keeping a client happy.”

  He looked at it and choked. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, but I am, sweetheart.” He opened his mouth as if preparing to interrupt me, but I knew how to play his game, and pressed on. “Now, it’s time for me to leave so you can run this by your client. Including how the media will adore this case, with the graphic before and after photos we have of a perfectly happy Quincy these days. And did I mention one of my dearest friends is a well-known TV tabloid reporter?” Okay, so I exaggerated a little. Corina Carey was becoming a
good buddy, even if not exactly a bff—best friend forever, in online speak. But she’d love a story with all the pathos of this one, though film stars weren’t involved. Dante DeFrancisco was. Even if he refused to be interviewed on camera, he’d undoubtedly let Lauren spill her guts about the poor, persecuted pup she rescued.

  But could James’s assertions be true—that Killer hadn’t actually been abused? That could shed a different light on this case—one that might not shine as brightly on my clients.

  “You’ll be hearing from me,” he finally interjected. “I’ve already filed a complaint, and will have it served on your clients soon. And then—”

  “Once you serve it, we’ll start discovery, with our clients present. If yours doesn’t have a really strong stomach, and friends and relations who’ll stick with him through anything, you may wind up without a penny when he runs screaming from the situation. If you want to make it easiest on him and yourself, let’s settle. If you’re nice about negotiating, I may even suggest to my clients that they come up with a little more money—but if you delay, it’ll be even less. See you soon, James.” I picked up my purse and briefcase, and sauntered out.

  And smiled. I wasn’t a litigator for nothing. Confrontations like this amused me.

  But I had to report to my clients, too. Starting with Dante. Which gave me a damned good excuse to call him at HotWildlife—and make sure he hadn’t received any threats there, as I had.

  BUT WHEN I’D returned to my office and was about to make some calls, I received one first, on my cell.

  It was Althea. “Got something for you,” she said, “although I’m only speculating that it’ll be useful.”

  “What’s that?” I grabbed for a notepad and pen. If Althea surmised something would be useful, it undoubtedly would be.