Feline Fatale

by Linda O. Johnston

  Besides, I counted the members of the crowd. There were only twelve people, though they felt like more in such close quarters. Even so, that meant that only a maximum of a dozen apartments containing occupants who were potentially pro-Margaret were represented here. And although he’d remained silent, Teddy Bertinetti was among them.

  “Go back where you were told to stay,” said the other cop, who looked younger but sounded more authoritative. Everyone except the Bertinettis bailed out of Wanda’s unit.

  Teddy Bertinetti finally found his voice. “Whether you killed Margaret or not, we’re going to carry on with what she started. And for now, unless you get your mutt to be quiet, we’re going to tell the remaining board members to fine you.”

  “But we won’t do it,” said a voice from the doorway. James Jerome edged into the room, saw the cops, and stopped. “I was on my way back to my unit when I heard the anti-pet people grumbling as they left here, and thought I should offer my support. It’s no wonder that Basil’s been barking, with all the commotion around here. No fines for you or for him.”

  “Go on to your apartment, sir,” said the more officious officer.

  “Okay, but don’t worry, Wanda,” James called over his shoulder. “Pets still rule here at Brigadoon.”

  Wanda’s apartment wasn’t in the mainstream of Brigadoon, yet it seemed like a whole lot of people were seeking her out—including these cops.

  I saw why they were there a minute later, after I’d gone to comfort Basil and returned to the living room with him in my arms.

  A woman in a dark suit stood there. A local police detective?

  She confirmed it in an instant. “I’m Detective Candace Melamed of the Burbank Police Department,” she said, slipping a badge from her pocket. She was the one Wanda had mentioned before. “Please identify yourselves and state what you’re doing here.”

  “These are my friends, Detective,” Wanda said defensively. “Darryl Nestler is my boyfriend, Kendra Ballantyne is a lawyer and a friend, and Dante DeFrancisco is—”

  “The owner of HotPets? Very good to meet you, sir.” The detective suddenly looked impressed, but only for a second. She was a woman of moderate height, with glasses and a slick, short haircut. “But I’m afraid you’re possibly interfering in a police investigation. Do you own a unit here?”

  “Just visiting,” Dante said mildly. “Offering moral support to our friend Wanda. It’s a terrible thing she’s gone through—finding the body of an apparent murder victim that way.”

  “Are you her attorney?” the detective asked me.

  “I’m not currently representing her,” I replied. “Is the situation such that she requires counsel?” Okay, I was sounding like a lawyer—intentionally. Not that I was dressed like one this evening. I’d donned an outfit intended to seduce Dante—snug black sweater over attractive charcoal slacks—and, since the January evening was chilly, I’d tossed a zippered sweatshirt over it. A shocking pink one.

  “That is entirely up to her.” Detective Melamed’s blue-eyed gaze narrowing cunningly. “She’s not being taken into custody at the moment, if that’s what you’re asking. Whether she’ll be deemed a person of interest in this case hasn’t yet been decided.”

  Translation: Wanda could indeed be considered a suspect, if not at the moment, then imminently—maybe.

  “Well, then, I’m cautioning her not to answer any more questions than she already has, not without her attorney present. Since my specialty is not criminal law, I’ll refer her to someone who can help her.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” Wanda wailed yet again.

  “That doesn’t always stop the police from suspecting someone perfectly innocent,” I cautioned, earning another glare from Detective Melamed.

  “Please leave these premises,” she insisted, “all of you except Ms. Villareal.”

  Wanda immediately turned and clung to Darryl. “I need for him to be with me,” she cried. I noticed some scratches on her arm as her gauzy sleeves slid up. Lady Cuddles’s work?

  The detective eyed Darryl up and down, then turned to Dante and me. “That will be all right for now,” she said, “if Mr. DeFrancisco and Ms.—Valentine, was it?—leave.”

  “Ballantyne,” I corrected, believing she had intentionally mangled my name. “And yes, we’ll go as long as Darryl can stay. But once again, Wanda—”

  “Yes, I won’t answer any more questions until I have a lawyer with me. Do you know someone I can hire?”

  “I do indeed,” I said.

  AS DANTE AND I headed for my Escape in the outer area of the condo parking lot, we ignored all media cries for attention. No Corina Carey, my main media contact, so ignoring them was easy. When the January sun rose later, the temperature would warm, but for now it remained chilly for California. I zipped up my sweatshirt again.

  Fortunately, since it was very early morning, the parking lot was well lighted. Pulling my cell phone from my purse, I called my good friend Esther Ickes, a lawyer whose expertise included criminal law. In fact, I recommended Esther to all my friends who needed criminal counsel.

  She’d been there to help me when I’d been in that awful situation myself.

  “Another one, Kendra?” she asked immediately. “If I gave you a commission on all your referrals, you might get as rich as your guy friend—not that my clients pay that well, you understand. I assume Dante’s still in your life?”

  I glanced beside me and beamed briefly. “For now. Anyway, I’ll give Wanda your contact information. And—well, as always, thanks, Esther.”

  I quickly called Wanda and gave her Esther’s info.

  “She’s the one you always recommend?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. She’s great.”

  “Good. I’ll call her right away.”

  We reached my Escape and I pressed the button on my key ring to unlock the doors. But as we started to get inside, Darryl came dashing up.

  “Is Wanda okay?” I inquired anxiously.

  My long, lanky friend drooped dejectedly. “She changed her mind. Decided she’d be better off alone for now, facing this, than having me around worrying about her.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry about all this, Darryl.” What I meant, of course, was that I regretted that my good friends were in the middle of such a mess.

  But Darryl seemed to take it a different way. “I figured you would be. But gee, Kendra, couldn’t you have, just this once … ? Never mind.”

  I stood utterly still as I saw Dante edge around the back of the Escape to watch us. “Do you think I somehow brought this on Wanda? You know better.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes, but instead stared at the ground through his wire-rims. “It’s not that. Not really. But—”

  “But what?”

  “But everyone you know who’s not murdered becomes a suspect in a killing. Even I was somewhat of a suspect once—enough that I had to hire one of your lawyer friends.”

  That had been Martin Skull, another good criminal lawyer of my acquaintance. But fortunately the police vibes against Darryl hadn’t reverberated very deeply.

  “I don’t understand it, either,” I told my longtime best bud sadly. “You know that. And I’m going to do everything I can to ensure that Wanda is cleared of all suspicion. I promise. And you also know that, as awful as it’s been for me to be a murder magnet, I’ve always been able to determine, and acquire evidence against, the genuinely guilty party.”

  An expression I interpreted as anguish distorted dear Darryl’s face. His puppy-dog eyes looked utterly sad as he said, “You said that like a lawyer, Kendra.”

  “I am a lawyer.”

  “I know. It’s okay. Sorry I said anything.” He pivoted on his heel and walked off.

  I simply stood there for a minute, watching him move farther away—and not just in distance.

  Only when Dante took me into his arms did I realize that I had tears in my eyes.

  I INSISTED ON driving my car anyway. It gave me something t
o concentrate on as I attempted to adjust my mood to something less than miserable.

  After all, the man I might actually love was still at my side, in the passenger seat. And he’d been a suspect in a couple of my murder situations lately, one more so than the other—the one that had resulted in his being stabbed.

  “I know it’s late, but will you take me to my house tonight, Kendra?” he asked as I pulled onto one of the major Burbank streets.

  “Sure,” I said, attempting to sound perky.

  “And will you stay there with me?”

  “Sure,” I said again, this time definitely more enthusiastically. “As long as we can stop at my place to pick up Lexie.” Which we did.

  The drive to Dante’s Malibu house did, in fact, help to lift my mood. He spoke lightly of the latest HotPets to open, the one in Colorado.

  “We held the usual parade of pets, where we encourage people who live around the new store to bring in whatever kind of animal they love best. We had mostly dogs, of course, but you’d enjoy the fact that a couple of people brought their potbellied pigs. And there, ferrets are legal as pets, so we had a bunch of them, too—in cages.”

  I’d of course told Dante of my own experiences with ferrets when the first tenants at my home had kept them as pets even though that was illegal in California. At that time, I was trying to keep my record spotless since I was attempting to get my law license back after those spurious allegations of ethics violations. And those cute but criminal ferrets had also been involved in a murder …

  I started to relax as we neared Malibu. Dante’s home was high in the mountains overlooking the Pacific. Despite the darkness along the twisting road that led to his abode, I easily found the opening in the tall hedge that edged his lot, and punched in the code on the mounted key pad to open the gate. Then I drove up the driveway to the circular part at the entry to his lovely stone mansion.

  “Just park here for tonight,” he said. He got his suitcase from the back of the Escape as I let the leashed Lexie wander around a little to take care of her final eliminations for the night.

  When we went inside, Wagner, Dante’s sweet and smart German shepherd, was there to greet us. Lexie and he were good buddies, and they immediately exchanged sniffs and wags.

  I smiled and yawned as I watched them, then let Dante lead me upstairs.

  To his bedroom.

  And, yes, I did have some articles there for my nighttime ablutions. As well as a change of clothes. Which had freaked me out when Dante had first suggested it. But, hey, it made sense since I came here often.

  Dante and I were soon ensconced in his delightfully decorated bedroom, with its firm, comfortable bed that had a regal, red plush headboard. The dogs were on special beds, too—from HotPets, of course—at the side of the room.

  Sure, I was exhausted. But before Dante crawled under the covers with me, I couldn’t help glimpsing his bare, sexy bod, including the slight scar from his stabbing … and, well, I woke up just enough to indulge.

  And then I slept like the proverbial log, nestled in Dante’s protective embrace. Somehow, his presence helped to ward off my sadness about Wanda’s situation and Darryl’s reaction—at least long enough to let me doze deeply.

  The dogs’ stirring woke us in the morning. I immediately stood, ready—prime petsitter that I am—to take them outside.

  “Just open the door,” Dante said drowsily. “Alfonse will put them out.”

  “Sure.” I guess I wasn’t awake enough to immediately think of that. Then again, I didn’t have a full-time personal assistant staying in my small apartment. “But I’d better get dressed. I’ve got my morning petsitting rounds to start on.” And they were many miles away, in the San Fernando Valley.

  “Why don’t you just move in here, Kendra?” Dante asked softly.

  Though halfway out of bed, I stopped moving. “Can’t,” I said airily, as if my heart hadn’t stopped. “Like I said, I have petsitting to do.”

  “But if you were—”

  “And lawyering. My office is in Encino. This is just too far a commute.” I kept my tone both light and firm. Moving in together was just too much of a commitment—wasn’t it?

  Besides, what I was saying was the truth. Even if I decided to go the next step with Dante—a big if—I wasn’t about to give up all that was important to me, like my double career. And this was L.A., land of lots of traffic. I didn’t want to get sucked into an awful commute.

  But the next thought that passed through my mind was the fact that my tenants, the Preesingers, were soon moving out. What if Dante took over my house payments as rent … and we both moved in there?

  Nah. I simply wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t even bring it up, although it kept sloshing through my mind as I showered.

  When I returned to the bedroom, the dogs were back. And Dante was on a cell phone. My cell phone.

  “It’s Darryl,” he said, handing the phone to me. I gathered that it had rung while still buried in my purse. Seemed a bit forward for Dante to have dug for it, but surely our relationship had gotten that far, at least.

  “Hi, Darryl,” I said eagerly. Had he reconsidered the way we left off yesterday, decided to call me so we could kiss and make up?

  “I thought you’d want to know,” he said in a sad voice. “The cops have called Wanda. They want her to come to the Burbank police station today for further questioning. She’s called the lawyer you recommended.” He paused. “That’s all. ’Bye, Kendra.”

  And then he hung up.

  Chapter Seven

  “TELL ME,” DANTE said as I closed my phone and carefully stuck it back into my bag.

  I attempted to keep my voice calm as I said, “Darryl just thought I should know that Wanda’s being questioned further today about Margaret’s murder.”

  “And he blamed you for it again.” It wasn’t a question emanating from Dante’s frowning mouth, but a statement.

  “Not overtly. He’s too kind for that. But I’m sure it’s what he was thinking.” Still in a terry bathrobe I’d left there, I headed for Dante’s huge closet, where I’d find stuff to change into for the day. It was across the bedroom, which was a good thing, since I didn’t want him to see me in tears again over this awful turn of events.

  I was suddenly in his strong arms. “This is just one situation too many, Kendra,” he said softly. “I know it hurts you to have Darryl acting this way, overtly or not. And I know you’ve promised to help. Let me help you. Please. I’d like to see you stay out of this, so you don’t get hurt in other ways, too. I’ll get Brody involved. You know he’s good at investigations.”

  Brody Avilla was a longtime friend of Dante’s. They’d been in covert government operations together years back, a fact which, unsurprisingly, they’d both hidden. I’d learned about it while investigating—yes, another murder.

  “He’s a star now,” I reminded Dante unnecessarily. “Plus he’s busy getting ready for the next season of Animal Auditions.” He had replaced its murdered judge last season—and I had been involved with solving that homicide as well.

  “I’ll help any way you say,” Dante said. He held my damp face in his big, warm hands, and his magnificent mahogany eyes bore deeply into mine. “I’ll even hire Jeff Hubbard to investigate.”

  Which was a huge concession and sacrifice. Since Jeff was my ex-significant other, no love was lost between the two men.

  “Just, please, Kendra, don’t get involved with this one.”

  “Too late,” I said as lightly as I could, reaching into my robe’s pocket for a tissue which I used to dry my face. “You know I’m involved, Dante. I really appreciate your offer. And I really wish this murder magnet stuff would stop. But it hasn’t yet. And you can help me just by being a shoulder for me to lean on if I need it. Okay?”

  “Well—”

  I leaned forward and gave him one long, hot kiss on his incredibly sexy lips.

  “You win,” he eventually said as our embrace eased a little. “But just be c
areful, Kendra. And keep me up on everything you’re doing, so I can help, if possible.”

  “I will,” I whispered. “And thanks.”

  We finished dressing and adjourned to the kitchen to eat the light breakfast that Alfonse had prepared for us. Alfonse, as always, stayed in the background—a fiftyish guy dressed in casual clothes, definitely more a personal assistant than a butler, but always deferential.

  The dogs dined at the same time—again, thanks to Alfonse’s ministrations.

  “Hey,” Dante said as he slathered raspberry jam on thick wheat toast, “I know how I can tempt you to join me tomorrow.”

  “How’s that?” I inquired with interest.

  “Lauren Vancouver is helping with a pet adoption event in your area—the Valley—tomorrow afternoon. I promised to be there with some HotPets stuff as prizes. Care to attend?”

  I’d met Lauren Vancouver during a legal issue she’d had recently. She ran HotRescues, the pet rescue organization funded by—who else?—Dante.

  “That sounds like fun,” I said, taking a sip of deliciously rich coffee. “Count me in.”

  LEXIE AND I left Dante’s digs soon afterward, hustling to the San Fernando Valley so we could start our petsitting schedule for that Saturday. Fortunately, since it wasn’t a weekday, traffic was relatively light.

  On the way, along twisty Malibu Canyon Road, I called Wanda. She was due to drop in at the Burbank Police Department that day, but I didn’t know what time. She wouldn’t answer her phone there, but I could leave a message making it clear I cared what happened to her—Darryl’s innuendos notwithstanding. Not that I’d mention them to poor Wanda.

  But she did answer. “Oh, Kendra, I’m so nervous. I already like your friend Esther, by the way. She called and got the cops to agree that we didn’t have to come in till this afternoon. She’s visiting my place first so she can see what Brigadoon condos are like, which might help her represent me.”

  “I agree.” I wished I could be at that conclave, too. But that could make what was said susceptible to discovery, since I wasn’t actually representing Wanda, and I would jeopardize attorney-client privilege.