Double Dog Dare (29 page)

“I had an undercover assignment,” he responded tersely, obviously preferring to keep the details to himself. “And they were former students of mine I hired to help out.”

Rachel shook her head admiringly. “I had no idea.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” I said dryly. “Oh, and by the way, that thumb drive I was asking about, the one that may have fallen out of that package—it was mailed here by Jeff. I don’t suppose you—”

“Found it? Hell, yes. I got to thinking that my dad was home around then and asked him about it. He’d found it on the floor, thought it was his, and stuck it into a drawer in his office. Wait here.”

“See!” I said in an I-told-you-so tone once she’d scooted from the room. “I never had it. I wasn’t conspiring against you, you jerk.”

“Hard to tell, the way you kept throwing yourself at that vet, Venson. All those visits to his clinic, and to The Clone Arranger while he was there. Romantic dinners, too. He was part of all this, and I figured that he’d convinced you to—”

Rachel reappeared then, before I could express my utter outrage to Jeff. She handed me a thumb drive, and I hung on to it while shooting daggers of antipathy at Jeff with my enraged gaze. The only way he could know when I’d seen Tom was if he’d followed me. And whether by ketamine-induced paranoia or pure miserable male jealousy, he’d elected to misinterpret it all.

When Jeff held out his hand, I managed to place the awful little object into it without throwing it—or shoving it up his tight and once beloved butt.

With a sense of relief, I soon sent a remorseful and definitely exhausted Jeff on his way back to his Sherman Oaks home. He took Odin, whom I’d absolutely miss. Lexie and I went upstairs to our garage apartment, where I got my act together, left Lexie there, and headed out for my evening pet-sitting. Unsurprisingly, it was uneventful.

The only phone call I got at home that night was from Lois, thanking me profusely. The cops were off her back, apparently forevermore. She’d spoken with Jeff, and he was coming out to see her over the weekend, to explain all that had happened to him, and why he’d hidden the way he had.

Too bad I wasn’t invited to hear that revelation.

I watched Corina’s astounding newscast on TV that night. She still seemed thrilled.

No word from Jeff, though. Our disagreements hadn’t all been resolved with the restoration of the thumb drive into his possession.

And I still felt hurt.

Oddly, though, the last thing that crept into my mind as I crawled into bed with only my dear, snuggly Lexie for company was a really offbeat question.

Did Beryl Leeds own a silver hybrid car? Something showier seemed a lot more her type.

Well, what did I know? Although everyone I’d run into in this situation had been on my suspect list, she’d hardly been near the top. Not till I’d realized the truth that day at The Clone Arranger, and she’d confirmed it by shrieking out her admission.

At least I had only pet-sitting and legal cases to care about for now.

THE NEXT DAY, Saturday, I got good news about one of those. Charley Sherman called and said, “Kendra, can you get some of those unhappy pet students and their owners together tomorrow at Show Biz Beasts? I talked to a few of my old studio cronies about your reality show idea, and they’re really interested.”

“Hot dog!” I cried.

“Yep, lots of hot dogs. Or so we hope. I’ve already contacted your friend Charlotte LaVerne. She’ll be there, too, with her staff that transforms reality show ideas into really cool TV, so I think we’re all rarin’ to go.”

And so, on Sunday afternoon, the whole group from the other day was back in the Show Biz Beasts soundstage-like setup, with additions. They included half a dozen dubious-looking humans huddled along one wall with their amazingly well-trained dogs, courtesy of classes at Show Biz Beasts. Oh, yes, and their attorney, a guy I’d heard of but had never met, George Lanskie. He’d been a lawyer about the same ten-odd years as I, and had earned a reputation as a hotshot plantiffs’ counsel who always put on amazing courtroom performances, much too often swaying juries more with showmanship than good law.

A pitfall of our otherwise generally okay legal system.

I headed over to the group with my hand outstretched, introducing myself to George. He was a chunky little guy, too dressed up for a doggy audition in a dark suit, white shirt, and red tie, with his thinning hair slicked back. Okay, I wasn’t inclined to find him appealing; he seemed utter sleaze to me. Even so, I acted the polite and professional attorney, greeting him in an effusive and utterly friendly manner.

I’d decided to leave Lexie home alone, since as much fun as I thought she’d have here, she would only be a distraction for me, and I most certainly didn’t want her showing up any of the other canines. That could utterly disrupt my proposed animal dispute resolution idea. Lexie could absolutely outsmart other trained animals if she was in the right mood.

But I had brought my pet-sitting assistant, Rachel. She had lots of experience with animals, staging them in settings like senior citizens’ homes, and especially with showbiz auditions, since that was her absolute dream.

George introduced me to his clients, whose names I recalled from the complaint that had been served. The rabble-rouser, whom I’d been told owned Bichons, clearly stood out from the rest with her fuzzy white friends.

I politely greeted them all, then headed to where my clients, Corbin and Shareen Hayhurst, stood with Charlotte LaVerne, Charley Sherman, and other folks I didn’t recognize but assumed were industry people. And then there were the camera operators circulating among all of us.

“Here we go,” Charley said.

Charlotte LaVerne led Rachel to the center of the horde as her assistant.

“Hi, everyone,” Charlotte cried, and the group grew quiet. “I’m Charlotte LaVerne—” As if most of them didn’t know. “And I’ve brought some of my favorite reality show execs here. And cameramen, too. Here’s what’s going to happen today.”

She proceeded to describe how this was going to go like a pilot for a new reality show that they would pitch to network and cable channels to see who would scarf it up. “That will determine what kind of prize will be offered to the winner, but everyone will get national television exposure. If someone buys it. In this business, there are never any guarantees.”

She glared tellingly in the direction of George Lanskie and his horde of prima donna plaintiffs, including the Bichon bitch-owner. George looked straight back, as did the awful agitator, but some of his other clients were clearly embarrassed. Good!

“What we want to do is put together a scenario for each show during a season, and trained animals—which could include others besides dogs, by the way, though not today— will be put into groups to stage that scenario the best they can in a short time. The winners each week will come back at the end to compete for the grand prize. Again assuming someone buys the show so we have a grand prize to offer.”

My turn to take this vast floor. “We’ve put this idea together to give you all a genuine shot at an on-screen role for your pets, courtesy of Show Biz Beasts. It’s still our contention that the Hayhursts have no obligation to do any of this, but we want to settle your lawsuit against them. I hope that Mr. Lanskie has explained that to participate, you’ll need to sign the settlement agreement he and I negotiated. ” Well, I negotiated it by drafting it and ramming it down Lanskie’s tight throat and mentioning my media connection, Corina Carey, who owed me and would therefore be delighted, I was sure, to put something on air about this exciting new concept. If Lanskie decided not to tell his clients about this potentially perfect way of getting them what they wanted without his being awarded exorbitant legal fees, or to recommend this settlement, his public persona would suffer.

To my delight, all the plaintiffs stepped up to the designated tables with their dogs at their sides. Some read through the document. Others didn’t bother, but asked what today’s scenario would be.

“We can’t tell you and give you an advantage over the others,” Rachel said, obviously getting into the act. She was excited that she would be one of the hosts of today’s filmed show, right at Charlotte’s side. And she’d told me she had managed to mention this potentially exciting break to the casting guy she had met at Methuselah Manor, who’d seemed suitably impressed.

Then we were ready. The scenario? Each dog on a team would take on the role of a skilled cop K-9 who’d smelled contraband drugs in a car driven onto the set.

K-9 cops? A couple were yappy little Bichons, and others included lazy-looking midsize mutts—cute in their own ways, of course, but official-looking and professional-acting animals? But happily, all seemed to rise to the occasion under their owners’ instructions.

And damned if the taping didn’t exceed my expectations. Charlotte’s and Charley’s, too.

At the end, they came to me with shining eyes after conclaving with the industry reps who’d come with them.

“They’re really happy with it,” Charley said.

“I’m pretty sure we can sell it,” Charlotte agreed.

Rachel, still at Charlotte’s side, said nothing, but her grin told me she was one happy pet-sitting actress. I only hoped she would still be around to help me with my Critter TLC, LLC, obligations for a long time, despite today’s potentially perfect outcome.

“Thank you so much, Kendra,” Shareen Hayhurst said as the others started to file out of Show Biz Beasts. She looked a whole lot more relaxed now than when I’d first arrived. Her usual frumpiness had segued into squared-shoulder, queen-of-her-realm satisfaction. She smiled at me fondly.

Corbin, too, appeared more relaxed and happier than I’d ever seen him. “A wonderful result. A wonderful idea. I’ll recommend you to all my friends if they ever have legal troubles, Kendra. Thanks so much.”

I beamed as I retrieved Rachel and headed for my rental car. My legal fees for this case would end abruptly, but I figured that, with whatever proceeds I finally wrested out of the tightfisted insurance company, it would soon be time for me to forget renting and buy myself another vehicle. At least I could test-drive ones I could arguably afford.

Things were suddenly going well. No more murders at the moment for this magnet. No men, either, but maybe that was okay, at least for the moment.

Life was good.

Until almost one week later. That was when I heard, first, that Beryl Leeds had gotten out of jail on bail, despite the charges against her, including first-degree murder.

And second, that someone had attempted to murder Beryl.

Chapter Twenty-four

THE CASE WASN’T my concern any longer. Was it?

I pondered this at home that Saturday night when I viewed the latest story on local TV news, Lexie sitting in my lap on my comfortably aging beige sofa.

“Did you see that?” I asked. She cocked her head in obvious interest but offered no other answer. I hugged her fuzzy body close.

Beryl Leeds. Not that I knew her well. And the news didn’t explain what had happened to her. She’d been attacked and nearly killed. But she
was
someone else I knew.

Someone related to the situation I’d recently finished investigating. A coincidence?

Sure, coincidences too often appeared to exist, but I wasn’t a huge believer.

Besides, as I’d thought about things over the past week, there had been a lot of loose threads that Beryl’s confession hadn’t completely cleared up.

Though I’d gotten only a hint of Beryl’s unquenchable temper when she’d confessed, I could see her killing Earl for spoiling her plans for her beloved Lab, Melville. Even more, after asking Althea to perform a plethora of research on the once-admired, now has-been actress, we’d learned—and so, independently, had the media—that a lot of her blatant Beverly Hills lifestyle was financed on a very skinny shoestring. She needed money, a mound of it, and had been promised primo payments for The Clone Arranger’s upcoming infomercials. Earl’s threat to the company and its bottom line—and therefore Beryl’s own extremely anticipated profits—seemed more than an adequate motive for murder to me. And to the screaming media.

But could I see her conniving with Earl to drug Jeff and drag him up to the aqueduct to drown him? Was she the one who’d been on the other end of the conversation Jeff asserted he’d heard?

Assuming, of course, that there had been such a discussion outside the realm of Jeff’s continuing confused consciousness.

Without all the facts, I couldn’t be sure of what Beryl had or hadn’t done. But one fact I now couldn’t ignore was that someone had apparently tried to off her. If so, who else did I now know who might have attempted to do this? And why?

Because she truly had killed Earl? Sure, I hadn’t discovered anyone who utterly adored the man before his untimely death, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t such a person around.

And if not a lover or friend, who else could it be?

Whoever had actually been speaking with Earl that night?

Well . . . I pondered for a while with the TV on mute and Lexie curled on my lap. For the past week I’d avoided taking calls from either Jeff or Tom. I’d also insisted to my psyche that I wasn’t going to get in touch with men who clearly hadn’t had my best interests in mind over the recent weeks. Jeff, especially, had hurt me badly.

I needed a break.

But I’d also previously suspected one or the other of these men could have had something to do with Earl Knox’s death. Now we knew that Beryl Leeds had been guilty—didn’t we?

Geez. My mind was spinning in eddies of confusion, and not just because of the awfully late hour.

But there was one person I could call, even though it was this late, who just might be available and have some information—though who knew if he’d share any with me? I gently lifted Lexie onto the couch cushions, where she immediately woke and leaped onto the floor, staying by my side as I went into the kitchen, where my cell phone was charging.