“Okay,” I told them. “Wanda’s on her way, but I’d like to go upstairs and see if I can figure out how Lady Cuddles got out this time.”
Still grumbling, they at least let me in, and we climbed to the third floor. I meandered around the winding hallway past decorated doors till I got to the appropriate unit. The door was closed. And so were all the windows along the hallway that led to the outside of the building and the balconies between units, at least as far as I could see.
I hadn’t a clue.
I bent my head over and whispered into Lady Cuddles’s alert, pointed ears, “Won’t you tell me how you did it? Especially winding up in another building.”
But her only response was to start purring again in my arms. Adorable, of course, but utterly unhelpful.
Meantime, the Bertinettis still stood there, eyeing me as if they thought I might start tearing up the indoor-outdoor carpet on the floor or the wreaths, pennants, and other stuff off the doors and cram them in my pockets.
As we waited, I figured I might make a little conversation to use the time wisely. “So,” I said, “You both knew Margaret Shiler. Looked like you were good friends.”
“We certainly were,” Teddy said stiffly.
Ruth glanced at him, then back to me. “Yes,” she agreed, then cleared her throat. “What happened to her was terrible.”
The opening I’d hoped for. “Since you knew her so well, who do you think killed her?” Ruth had already accused Wanda to her face, so I suspected I knew the answer, but time had passed and maybe her opinion had shifted to someone else.
Both pairs of eyes opened wide, then narrowed angrily at me. Gee, these two had apparently been together long enough that they shared emotions and expressions, even though Teddy’s face seemed more open and Ruth’s more pinched.
“Everything we know or suspect, we’ve told the police,” Teddy said.
“But who’s your favorite person of interest?” I persisted.
“Any one of the people around here who didn’t like her position about pets,” Ruth responded. “I think the police believe it was Wanda, and I’d accept that. Second on my list would be James. Or any of the other board members.” Nothing new coming out here, at least not yet.
“How about anyone else, whether residents here or not?” I asked.
“We knew her mostly because of her living here and being on the board,” Ruth said. “We weren’t close enough to know much about her family or friends, other than that she’s divorced, I think.”
“Yes,” Teddy agreed.
Okay, talking to them was a definite dead end. I was delighted when Wanda finally appeared.
Once again, the window inside was open just a smidgen, but enough for this elusive little cat to climb out.
“But I checked it this morning,” Wanda wailed. “She can’t open it herself, and the Gustins assured me that they don’t know of anyone else who has a key. I don’t understand.”
Neither did I, but I hoped to find out.
I’d have to ponder this mystery … along with Margaret’s murder.
I STOPPED AT Doggy Indulgence to pick up Lexie before I hurried back to my office. When I got there, there were a few phone messages I needed to respond to, so I did, though it was late in the day and I’d have to leave soon to start my evening petsitting rounds.
One concerned the elder-law case for which I was soon due in court. I called back and had to leave a message for opposing counsel. No indication in his message of why he wanted to talk, but I hoped it was an opening for an opportunity to settle. As long as that meant a genuine intention to compromise, instead of an attempt to get me to back down on my client’s behalf.
Since this was a suit about an ill-maintained apartment building where many residents were seniors, any settlement less than fixing the nasty problems and at least a slight reimbursement for the times my client had to stay with her children because the place was too hot, cold, or damp, simply wouldn’t fly.
Then there was a call from Cornelius Eldt, who was representing the breeder against my client Joan Fieldmann in the French bulldog case. He wondered if I’d had time to read the contract, which I hadn’t, and whether we could meet next Tuesday to discuss the situation, which we could. I marked the time he suggested on my calendar and called back—also having to leave a message confirming our meeting after checking with Joan.
A couple more minor calls, a stop in Elaine Aames’s office to say hi to her and to Gigi, the Blue and Gold Macaw, as well as a stop to see our boss, Borden Yurick, and then Lexie and I were on our way.
On the way to my first petsitting stop, I called Brody. I had a good excuse, after all. I hadn’t yet told him to check out Julie Tradeau’s husband, Ivan.
“Glad to hear from you, Kendra,” he said. “I’ve got some information I’ll e-mail to you. Sounds like you may be in your car, considering the background noise, so I imagine you’re not in a good position to take notes.”
“Right you are,” I told him. “And I’ll look forward to that e-mail. But can you give me a rundown right now of who’s top of your suspect list?”
“Hard to tell,” he said. I listened carefully, glad I was stopped at a red light on Ventura Boulevard, as he went through a bunch of possibilities, from Margaret’s ex-husband, Paulino, to the nasty contractor Rutley Harris, through to the guy in the picture I thought least likely to have done it, James Jerome. He’d found lots on each, but nothing that shouted, “This is definitely the killer!”
I hoped that something in writing on the Internet, in his e-mail, would somehow speak to my mind as it concentrated on something other than driving.
I mentioned Ivan Tradeau and asked Brody to check him out.
Then Brody said, “Will you be in Malibu tonight? I’m meeting Dante to talk over where we are with Animal Auditions. I’ve discussed the start of next season with our animal folks and my co-judges, plus our hosts, Rachel Preesinger and Rick Longley. Since you’re a producer, too, we’ll need your input.”
“Oh,” I said slowly. “Well, I’m pretty busy, Brody, so I don’t think—” A beep sounded on my phone. “I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll check for your e-mail. Thanks.” I was stopped at another light, so it was easy enough to push buttons to end my call with him and answer the next.
“Kendra, it’s Dante.” The ID was unnecessary. His number was captured on my cell. More important, I knew that deep, resonant voice well.
“Hi,” I said, attempting to keep the chill and hurt engendered by my previous conversation out of my voice.
“I just realized that I’ve been assuming that you’re coming to my place tonight—only I’ve been so swamped I’m not sure I invited you. Can you make it? Brody’ll be there for a while to talk over some Animal Auditions stuff, so I’ll have Alfonse bring in pizza again, or something.” He paused. “Damn! I know it’s getting late and you have your petsitting to finish and I’m a jerk for not talking to you before. If you don’t want to come, it’s okay. I’ll come up to see you over the weekend. If that’s all right with you.”
The megabillionaire Dante DeFrancisco, powerful pet store mogul, sounded so contrite that I had to laugh. “I’ll be there,” I said, “as long as you have pepperoni and mushrooms on a nice, cheesy pizza.”
“Consider it done.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE PIZZA WAS good. The company was better.
I knew I’d need to get to bed early so I could head back over the hill to the Valley for my first petsitting rounds tomorrow, but Lexie wouldn’t mind a romp at dawn on the grounds of Dante’s delightful Malibu estate in the mountains, overlooking the ocean. She’d especially enjoy it in the company of her friend Wagner.
And I’d be there with Dante. After a night I could only anticipate eagerly just then.
But first things first. That consisted of pizza—delicious and decadent, with the toppings I’d asked for. We all sat in his lovely living room, Dante and I on his beige-on-beige sofa that rested on an exquisite Ori
ental rug on the floor. Brody faced us from the chair of contrasting rust color, across the stone-topped table.
Dante’s delightful, casually clad personal assistant Alfonse hovered nearby, ensuring that we didn’t lack for anything—including refreshers to our mugs of beer.
Our first topic of conversation: Animal Auditions. A new season was nearly set to begin. Last season we’d had two sessions, one featuring dogs and the other potbellied pigs. Both had done extraordinarily well in the ratings, which got us a lot more sponsors besides Dante’s HotPets—although, in keeping with his initial orders, no other pet-supply stores could advertise on the show. That didn’t preclude producers of pet foods and other compatible merchandise, and advertisers were clamoring to pay for commercials on Animal Auditions. A success? You bet!
The meeting that night was about how to put the scenario already chosen into effect. We’d decided on dogs again, since they were everyone’s trainable favorites. The scenario involved having owners teach their pups of all sizes to be service animals. We all felt that would both attract viewers and, equally important, call attention to the need for more doggy helpers and encourage others to engage in similar acts for real.
When we’d finished talking over Animal Auditions, our initial topic segued into the other subject on our minds: Margaret Shiler’s murder, and my investigation into it.
Dante was still awfully concerned that I was too involved, and therefore putting myself in danger. “But you’ve done this so much before, Kendra, that I know I can’t talk you out of it this time, either. So, best I can do is to offer my help.”
“And mine,” Brody added. “Did you see my e-mail?” Brody was one nice guy, never mind the secret past he had shared with Dante that I now knew about. Even better, he was great looking—definitely fit the role of movie and TV star with his sculptured facial features and gorgeous grin.
“Not yet,” I admitted, though I’d been eager to see its results. “I didn’t have much time at home before coming here, so I didn’t look at my computer.”
“Well, I already told you everything that could be important, except, of course, for the new guy you wanted me to research. And he turned out to be quite interesting. Ivan Tradeau is a stunt coordinator.”
I already knew he was involved with the film industry, so I wasn’t impressed.
“I hadn’t run into him or his company, so I didn’t know that,” Brody continued, although I didn’t need the reminder that he’d spent some time as a film hero himself. “And one more thing: my suspicions regarding the murder weapon in Margaret Shiler’s case.”
“The barbecue spit?”
Brody nodded. “Margaret did have a propane-fueled barbecue out on her balcony, so it came from there. But guess who was recently a stunt coordinator in a film where a spit was used as a murder weapon.”
No guess needed. “Ivan Tradeau, I assume,” I said.
He nodded. “That doesn’t mean he’s guilty, of course, but his hat’s in the ring for being Margaret’s killer, too.”
“His wife’s on the Brigadoon Condo Association board, isn’t she?” Dante asked me.
“She sure is,” I said. “She’s a pet-lover, like Wanda, so she and her husband could have had just as much motive for the murder. He left town that day, and his wife said he was gone before Margaret was murdered—though I wasn’t sure whether to believe her.” I’d let Esther know this new bit of info regarding the barbecue spit, but it was getting a bit late to call her. It would wait until tomorrow.
Especially since Brody was about to leave.
Before he did, though … “By the way, Brody,” I said, “have you done any background searches on Margaret Shiler herself? Her ex-husband told me she was an accountant, but not where she worked or much else about her.”
“Yep, she was an accountant,” Brody said. “With a major firm.” He named one of the biggies. I was impressed, but wondered how someone with her miserable disposition had gotten along with clients. Maybe she just sat in a back room crunching numbers.
“She also had a successful sideline selling things on eBay and other online sites,” Brody continued. “Looked as if used books were her specialty.”
But neither vocation immediately led to additional suspicions about who’d offed her.
Lexie and I did stay at Dante’s that night. Wagner and Lexie slept in their luxurious quarters, in special plush HotPets beds in the corner of the bedroom.
But Dante and I didn’t do much sleeping.
EARLY THE NEXT a.m. Lexie and I entered our Escape and headed back toward the San Fernando Valley for my first pet-sit visits of the day. We drove on narrow, twisty Malibu Canyon Road, heading north. It was still nearly dark out. Since the month was January, daylight hours were fairly short. Streetlights and my headlights did a fine job of lighting our way.
“I’ll bet I’m more tired than you, girl,” I said to Lexie over my shoulder, since I’d blocked her in the backseat, as usual, for her safety. “I heard your deep breathing last night.” Nearly snoring, actually, but I loved Lexie enough not to care. Wagner had slept more silently.
Dante’s deep breathing wasn’t snoring, but I’d listened to its rhythm, too, after our delicious lovemaking. He fell asleep much faster than me. I lay awake rehashing the delightful evening … and also wondering what might be next. He seemed to care deeply for me. Had even said he loved me, and I’d said it back.
I did love him. But where were we going with it? I was happy with the status quo, but felt sure Dante wanted more. If he asked, pushed for it, what would I say?
Hell if I knew.
Fortunately, as I was frazzling myself with these thoughts, my cell phone rang, and I answered.
“Kendra? It’s Esther.”
“Exactly the person I intended to call first thing,” I told her, “but I thought this was too early.”
“It would have been, except for the call I just got from Wanda.”
I immediately shifted in my seat, slowing a bit so I could pay attention as the road wound right over a tall hillside. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“The Burbank police want her back for further questioning this afternoon. I’ll try to get it delayed until Monday. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to help me set them on some different suspect by then, will you?”
“Nothing definite,” I said, “but that’s why I was going to call you.” I told her what Brody had learned about Ivan Tradeau. “It’s still flimsy, but I hope to find out more.”
“Flimsy is right, but at least it’s something.”
I promised I’d keep looking for something more meaty, then said good-bye and hung up.
And realized that I was hopping into this situation almost as if I was a licensed private investigator. But I couldn’t use Jeff Hubbard’s company as an alleged employer anymore.
Maybe I’d have to call him after all.
Or not. I was doing this not as a vocation, but to help a friend. No one had hired me, nor was anyone paying me. Besides, I was a lawyer. I could say I was assisting Wanda’s actual counsel in this matter. I was sure Esther would vouch for me.
Which made me feel lots better. I didn’t want my law license on the line for something unethical again—especially when, this time, there could be merit to the complaint.
There were other times I’d investigated murders, too, of course, but Jeff had been more ensconced in my life then—at least until the most recent cases. Oh, well.
I reached the Valley side of the hill and got onto the 101 Freeway heading south—east, rather. My phone rang again.
“Kendra, it’s Darryl.” He sounded frantic, and I knew why.
“I just heard from Esther,” I told him. “I know that the police want to question Wanda some more.”
“Can you help her?”
“I’m working on it.”
He didn’t press, a good thing. But he did hand the phone over to Wanda, which told me they’d spent the night together. I was glad for both of them. The mutual support
had to be at least somewhat helpful for their respective states of mind.
“I’m about to start on my petsitting for the day, Kendra,” Wanda told me. “Esther said she’d try to get my interview with the Burbank cops delayed till next week, but if I’m stuck—whenever I’m stuck—could you please help with my petsitting?”
“I sure will,” I told her. “Don’t you worry about it.”
When we hung up, I called my assistant, Rachel, who was also already on the road for her early assignments. I gave her a heads-up about possibly needing to take on additional pets to sit, depending on what happened with Wanda.
“Of course,” she said, young sweetheart that she was.
I’d nearly reached the freeway exit for my first visit of the day and used that as my excuse to myself not to question Rachel about the house hunting she and her dad were doing. I didn’t want to hear about it, at that moment, if they’d happened to have found the ideal situation and intended to move from my lovely main house immediately.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Thanks.”
As I hung up, I decided I’d talk to Wanda a little later about my taking on some of her existing petsitting, to ease some of the pressures on her.
And to make it easier for me to do my own snooping. The jobs I wanted were those caring for animals at the Brigadoon condos.
I needed to spend more time there, eliciting information from all possible suspects—even though my not-so-subtle loaded questions could irritate some of those on my list, like the Bertinettis.
Too bad.
I MET WANDA at noon for lunch at a family restaurant on Ventura Boulevard, after dropping Lexie off with an assistant I like at Doggy Indulgence. Her latest brouhaha with the Burbank police was now scheduled for three that afternoon. No extension today. She looked awful. I mean, she was still the attractive, petite person I knew, and as always she wore a flowing, gauzy blouse, this one a pale peach that only served to emphasize how wan she was. There were circles under her big brown eyes, and a resigned droop in her expression.
We slid into a booth across from one another, and she immediately ordered coffee. Me, too. I wasn’t exactly running on a full night’s sleep, but I wouldn’t have traded last night for anything.
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