Feline Fatale

by Linda O. Johnston

  I glanced at the beaming human faces around us.

  “Anyone have any idea how she got in there?” I asked with a smile intended to be disarming and relieved, not accusatory. But no one admitted to knowing anything.

  I saw Kiki near the big front desk, greeting an owner who’d come in to retrieve his pet. That was part of her job. But she was definitely not expressing the joy and relief that the other staff members showered over Lexie and me.

  When she shot a gaze in our direction, she did smile, at least. Only … from that distance, it seemed more snide than joyous.

  Had she done this on purpose to make me squirm, in retaliation for whatever harm I’d allegedly done her by bringing Darryl and Wanda together? Or had she just snapped altogether?

  Just in case, I’d have to watch out for Kiki.

  A LITTLE WHILE later, Lexie and I were in my Escape, heading home. I had her blocked in the backseat for her safety, but I glanced often into the rearview mirror, reassuring myself that she was there and okay.

  It hadn’t really been a big deal, after all. All along, Lexie had been where she was supposed to be—kinda. But I still felt utterly frazzled.

  “I don’t suppose you’d explain, in Barklish, exactly how you wound up in the office, would you?” I asked when we stopped at a red light. “Like, who opened the door, why you headed in there, and who shut you inside?”

  My Cavalier just sat there looking cute, keeping it all to herself.

  “Was it Kiki, on purpose, with a key she’d stolen somehow?” I sounded as if I was playing a game of Clue.

  Still no response from Lexie, so I gave up.

  We soon headed up the narrow, twisty road in the Hollywood Hills that led to the lovely mini chateau I’d bought several years back when I was a high-paid associate at a major law firm. I adore that place.

  Lexie and I live in the apartment over the garage. I’d been renting out the main house for a while, ever since I lost my lucrative job because of being unjustly accused of an ethics violation. I’d cleared myself, but by then I was supporting Lexie and me by petsitting. And once I got my law license back, I kept up my new career and also became a partner at a small elder-law firm started by another escapee from my former employer, a senior attorney named Borden Yurick. I brought in some pet-law cases of my own, too. But I didn’t make as much money.

  Even so, I loved what I did now—most of it. Because my friends, acquaintances, and I have the unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’d also found myself in the middle of a lot of murder investigations, sometimes as the accused. And it seemed like an inordinate number of people I knew also became suspects in murders. Having been there myself once—twice, actually—I invariably assisted them. Even Dante, whom I’d recently helped to clear from a nasty situation that had partly resulted from his secret past …

  But being a murder magnet wasn’t an avocation I’d chosen. If it never happened again, I’d be more than happy.

  I stopped the Escape at the gate in the wrought-iron fence enclosing my property and pushed the button on the visor that opened it. As I drove in, I saw my tenant, Russ Preesinger, on the walkway that crossed the wellmowed lawn between the main house and the driveway. With him was his sweet Irish setter, Beggar—short for Begorrah.

  Russ’s daughter, Rachel, is my employee and assistant at Critter TLC, LLC. She is also a hostess on Animal Auditions, a TV reality show I’d helped to create, which was produced by Dante. It was between seasons now, though the next one was well into its planning stage.

  At this moment, Rachel was on rounds visiting the Critter TLC, LLC, clients that I’d assigned to her for the day.

  I parked in my spot beside the garage. The inside spaces were for my tenants. When I opened the driver’s side door, Lexie leaped over the seat and dashed out, running toward Beggar.

  I followed, but much more slowly. The two dogs started cavorting in a game of canine tag.

  “Hi, Russ,” I called.

  Russ, a Hollywood location scout, was usually on the road, so I saw him infrequently. He had dark reddish hair, similar in shade to his setter’s, and was a good-looking guy. At the moment, he was clad in a knit shirt as green as his eyes and snug blue jeans, and he looked up from studying some papers in his hands. “Kendra! Good to see you.”

  “Do you have some pictures there of film locations?” I asked, nodding toward the pages.

  He looked abashed as those paper-filled hands of his suddenly drooped to his sides. “No,” he said. “It’s—I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Kendra.”

  My heart had been happy about this day’s home-coming, as always. But now it shriveled and slowed. Those words, and that tone, boded something bad, I was sure.

  I pointed toward the steps beside the garage that led up to my apartment. “Should I sit down?”

  His laugh didn’t sound especially jovial. “Not necessarily. But … well, I’m thinking of ending my lease here.”

  Talk about my heart sinking. The Preesingers were my best tenants. Of course, they were only the second ones I’d had here. And I still remained friends with their predecessor, Charlotte LaVerne, a noted reality show star and advisor on Animal Auditions.

  “Mad at the landlady for some reason?” Joking was better than crying.

  “Not at all.” He reached over and squeezed my upper arm. “You know better. We both—Rachel and I—love you.” I knew he meant that platonically. He and I had never meshed that way. “But my job is changing somewhat, and I’m going to be in town more. I figured this is a good time for me to buy a house here in L.A. I’ll certainly help you look for another tenant, if you’d like.”

  Would I like that? Maybe. I certainly couldn’t keep my beloved mansion without having a tenant to help with the mortgage, even though I’d recently refinanced it at a lower interest rate.

  Yet I wished I could afford to move into the main house again. My home-sweet-garage was certainly adequate, but I hadn’t originally bought the place with living in the maid’s quarters in mind.

  I wasn’t going to achieve moving into the mansion by juggling part-time lawyering and petsitting, though.

  And though Dante would undoubtedly buy the place if I asked, and let me live there, I didn’t want to be obligated to him that way. It would smack too much of a serious commitment—something I doubted I was ready for.

  “Sure,” I said brightly. “Get the word out to your friends in the film industry about this place becoming available … any idea when?”

  “It’ll be a while, I’m sure.” His green eyes filled with soulfulness. “I’ll want to find the right place for Rachel and me first, and then it’ll take time to close the transaction and move.”

  Of course Rachel would be moving, too. I really liked the young lady. I’d gotten to know her well, and found her a bright and caring petsitting assistant, as well as a somewhat traditional Hollywood wannabe who was now developing her own small niche as a reality show hostess. Both of those vocations were partly thanks to me. But I wouldn’t hold that, or anything else, over her. Or her dad.

  “It’s been great living here, Kendra,” Russ said. “And we’ll definitely stay in close touch.”

  “Of course.” I stepped forward and gave him a hug.

  Then I called Lexie. I wanted to go inside my apartment and mull all this over. Maybe have a glass of wine to cry into.

  But as we got to the top of the stairs and I put my key into the lock, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse as Lexie sat on the doorstep, eagerly waiting to be let inside.

  It was Wanda calling. I propped my phone under my chin as I finished opening the door. “Hi,” I said. “How—”

  She interrupted immediately, sounding frantic. “Kendra, I don’t know what’s going on at Brigadoon, but I think you instigated a firestorm.”

  Chapter Four

  “WHAT DO YOU mean?” I asked. I hadn’t instigated anything at Brigadoon besides a hunt for an elusive kitten. I stepped into my apartmen
t, checked to see that Lexie was there, too, then closed the door behind me.

  “I’ve gotten phone messages from both Margaret Shiler—the bitch—and James Jerome. Margaret’s all pissed off that I gave a stranger—you—free access to our condos and blames it on the fact that Brigadoon allows pets. She’d already started campaigning against our liberal pet policy, and now she thinks she has an issue to hang it on. You didn’t steal anything, did you?”

  This last was said lightly, but it wasn’t such a good thing that I was still standing in my small entry, since my foot ached after I stamped the tile. Limping slightly, I walked into my compact living room and sat on one end of my beige sectional sofa.

  “No,” I finally said, “I haven’t added thieving to my multiple vocations. Although I might consider assault—like aiming a good swift kick at Margaret’s door when I’m there tomorrow morning.” Especially if she was standing there. If my foot stopped aching. “You might have warned me about her, like you did about Lady Cuddles’s elusiveness.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t run into her. Fortunately, I don’t see her often. But she seems to be getting worse.”

  Another thought occurred to me. “I assume you still want me to take care of the animals there tomorrow.”

  For Darryl’s sake, and hers, I hoped they weren’t ending their weekend abruptly and heading back on Sunday.

  I also hoped I’d avoid seeing Margaret and her pet-hating pals, the Bertinettis, on my upcoming visits.

  “Of course. James’s message was a warning about Margaret and the others, so I’ll call him back and see if he’ll be around tomorrow. Maybe he can hang with you and head off any claims that you’re uninvited and up to no good.”

  “That would be great,” I said in relief. “He seemed a nice enough fellow.”

  “Did he introduce you to his guinea pigs?” Wanda asked.

  “No, but I’d love to meet them. Go ahead and check with him, and if it’s okay, let me have his phone number. I’ll coordinate my comings and goings there with him.”

  “Sounds good.” I heard the inevitable murmur from the background. “Darryl says you should stop making trouble.”

  “Fine with me,” I responded. “And why don’t you go shut him up with a big kiss?”

  “Soon as I return James’s call.”

  I laughed as I hung up. I made a quick dinner for Lexie and me—hers, a gourmet combo of special kibble interspersed with luscious-looking canned beef canine food, and mine a less exciting frozen dinner, along with a small, pre-made salad. When we were both done, it was time to head outside for her evening constitutional.

  The new year had begun only a few days ago, and it got dark early now. I turned on the yard lights, then put Lexie’s leash on her. We’d take a short walk, and then I’d let her burn up any excess energy by romping in the yard.

  As I followed her down the steps, my cell phone rang again. I’d stuffed it into my jeans pocket, and had to move the tail of my hoodie out of the way to get to it.

  When I looked at the caller ID, I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

  Dante.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi, back. How’s L.A. tonight?”

  He was on a business trip to Denver, attending the grand opening of yet another HotPets pet supply store, the most successful such chain in the country. The world. Maybe the universe, if people on other planets had pets.

  “It got cold here today,” I said. “Sweatshirts and light jackets all around. How’s Denver?”

  “If I’d worn just a sweatshirt or light jacket, I’d probably be standing outside the store encased in ice.”

  I laughed. “How did the opening go?”

  “Crowded. The freebies didn’t hurt.”

  “I bet.”

  “And you? How was your petsitting?”

  “Very interesting. I’ll tell you about it when you get back.”

  “Which gives me a reason to make it as fast as possible.” I heard the teasing note in his tone. But he wasn’t scheduled to return for another few days.

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “How’s Wagner?” Wagner was Dante’s German shepherd, who’d stayed at home during his master’s recent travels. No, I didn’t pet-sit for him. Dante’s personal assistant at his Malibu house was at Wagner’s bark and call.

  “He’s fine. Do you and Lexie want to see him the evening I get back?” That was shorthand for, “Do you want to spend the night?”

  “We’d love to.” I glanced down at my Cavalier, who was patiently waiting at my feet. “Right now, though, Lexie needs her evening walk. So …”

  “Good night, Kendra,” Dante said softly. “I miss you.”

  “Ditto,” I whispered hoarsely, wondering if he was going to end this conversation with the L word. But he didn’t, and I certainly didn’t.

  But I’d told him so before. And I was feeling it more every day, with or without his being around. I was even considering the possibility of forever.

  With my history of unhappy relationships, was I simply deluding myself?

  BY THE TIME I got to Brigadoon the next day, Margaret and her cronies had been busy. I saw some signs in the lobby of the back building, after James let me in. I still had the keys Wanda had given to me, but I was glad to be under James’s auspices as I did the morning’s petsitting rounds.

  “I’m really offended by that,” I said.

  I pointed to a colorful poster on the door to the stairway that said, “Hate the smell? The noise? The unsanitary conditions? Come to the next meeting of the Brigadoon Board of Directors to hear a proposal to restrict pet ownership.”

  In the center was a photo of pet feces—most likely a dog’s, since it took up the entire center of a stair. A genuine picture, or staged? Probably didn’t matter to those here who hated pets.

  “You’re not the only one,” James said. “As a board member, I get all kinds of e-mail correspondence from our residents, and people are up in arms about this argument.” He wore a gold-colored sweatshirt on this chilly January day that seemed to bulk him up even more than the clothing he’d worn yesterday. It had a pair of cute and perky guinea pigs in its center. “I’ve contacted all the people I know here who have pets. I want to be sure they come to this meeting, too. It promises to get ugly.”

  Fortunately, it would be on the upcoming Thursday. Wanda would be home. Far as I knew, she wasn’t on this board. She remained active on our petsitter organization’s, though, and helped to manage it, so she probably didn’t have time to deal with squabbles among condo residents.

  But I felt certain she’d want to be at this meeting—especially if she intended to keep up her petsitting practice at Brigadoon.

  My first visit that day was to the unit belonging to Trudy and Jamiel Gustin—of course. They were the people who owned the cunning and slippery little Lady Cuddles.

  Fortunately, said ginger kitty was right where she belonged. She greeted me at the door, let me pick her up, and started purring in my arms. I cleaned her litter box, fed her, played with her a bit since she seemed amenable. I walked the perimeter of the apartment and checked all windows, vents, and other potential avenues that might allow her to get outside.

  Then, breathing a sigh of relief, I headed into the hall, where James waited for me, talking on his cell phone. “Hey!” he cried, pointing at a ginger streak fleeing down the hallway.

  The small scamp had slid past me as I’d exited the door!

  This time, I caught up with her soon after I rounded the first corner—mostly because she wasn’t alone in the corridor. Margaret Shiler stood there speaking with her pet-hating ally Teddy Bertinetti, and both had their arms crossed belligerently as they stared at the innocent-appearing kitty.

  “What’s that creature doing out here?” Margaret demanded. “And why are you back, Ms. Ballantyne? Didn’t I make it clear yesterday that intruders aren’t welcome?” Today, she had traded her knit top for a sweatshirt, too—and she must just have had it made. It had the same
feces photo in the center, with a big red line through it.

  “She’s my guest today,” said James, coming up behind me. “And that kitten’s an escape artist. She got out of the Gustins’ place accidentally, and we’re about to take her home. Let’s go, Kendra.” He paused as I scooped up a fortunately unprotesting Lady Cuddles. “Oh, by the way—I’ve been in contact with the other board members and a lot of residents, too. Don’t think you’ll have an easy fight on your hands. We’re all clear that the right to keep pets is grandfathered in. It was in the rules from the time this condo complex was built. You won’t be able to change that.”

  “Oh, but we can try.” Teddy ran a hand through his upswept graying hair and shot a look I couldn’t interpret at Margaret.

  “In any event, we’ll get the rules amended to be a lot more restrictive while we’re fighting the rest of it out.” Margaret seemed mightily pleased with herself, especially when Teddy aimed a conspiratorial smile at her.

  “Let’s talk about it, shall we?” said Teddy. They were standing outside his unit, which had a wreath on its door that was made of dried-out plants. He motioned to Margaret to follow. “Ruth’s inside, too, and she’ll be anxious to help.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a key. After an unsuccessful attempt to open the door, he located another key in his pocket and this time got the door open.

  I was absolutely glad of a couple of things as I trotted Lady Cuddles back to her abode. Number one: I didn’t live at Brigadoon.

  Number two: I’d hate to be in the fight Wanda was certain to have later in the week.

  I HAD ONE more round of visits to Brigadoon on Monday morning, since Wanda and Darryl were due back a little later. I wasn’t certain what James’s job was, but he wasn’t available. I held my breath as much as possible on my rounds, but fortunately didn’t see Margaret or the Bertinettis.