Double Dog Dare (30 page)

I called Detective Ned Noralles. After all, even though this was just an attempted homicide—at least so far—the news story had said that Beryl had been found slumped in her car somewhere in Studio City. Not only was it LAPD jurisdiction, but it was within Ned’s North Hollywood district.

He had to know about it. Maybe even be involved. If so, he’d still be awake and on duty.

If not, I’d either awaken him or have to leave a message that might, if I was lucky, get returned tomorrow. And I’m not that patient a person.

“Hello, Kendra,” he said nearly immediately in his smooth, wry voice. Was that a good thing—having an LAPD detective either recognize my number or have it programmed into his cell phone so caller ID would divulge who I was?

I didn’t stop to worry about it. “I just heard about Beryl Leeds, Ned. What happened?”

“Don’t you ever stop?” He sounded more amused than exasperated for a change. Gee, were we becoming friends instead of always adversaries? Maybe he’d even like me to butt in and help figure out what had happened to Beryl.

“Only when I can’t help it,” I answered. “Is what happened to Beryl related to Earl Knox’s murder? Something to do with The Clone Arranger?” And had he eventually interrogated Jeff to get the lowdown on his dunk in the aqueduct canal? Did he think that could relate to Beryl’s awful attack?

Whatever it was. The news hadn’t been overly specific.

“No comment,” Ned said. My turn to get exasperated.

“But, Ned, you know I poked my nose in a lot in that situation. Maybe I can even help you solve this. You’ve said I should join the LAPD. How about if I become an unofficial and occasional consultant?” I swallowed. “For free—at least this time.” Would he offer compensation? Maybe—when the California Aqueduct formed a waterfall into the sky.

“Back off, Ballanyne,” he responded, less amused now. “I’ve got work to do. And if you do happen to know something useful, you’d better let me know, or I’ll run you in for obstruction of justice. That won’t help your resurrected law license, will it?”

“Hmmm, must be an interesting situation,” I said, keeping my cool so well that I was sure it galled him. “Otherwise you wouldn’t threaten me. Well, I don’t actually know anything worthwhile to pass along . . . yet. But if I do, you’ll be first to hear from me—after I look into Beryl’s incident myself.”

“Keep your—!” was all the roar I heard before I clicked my cell phone shut.

Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day, if I figured out the best way to dive into the attack on Beryl Leeds.

FIRST THINGS FIRST. Lexie and I went pet-sitting, then I dropped her at Darryl’s. The good and bad thing was that it was once again Sunday, which meant I didn’t have to show up at my law office, but neither were many of my usual resources, like Althea, readily available.

Oh, I could always call Althea on her cell. But youthful grandma that she was, she had a family, and this was the weekend.

Besides, now that I was barely speaking to Jeff, I hadn’t tested whether I still had Althea as a resource for conducting computer searches, both legit and surreptitious.

So, how should I spend my snooping time?

Well, first, while sitting in Darryl’s parking lot, I called Lois.

“Oh, Kendra, have you heard about what happened to Beryl Leeds?” she asked me immediately.

“Yes, I have,” I said. “But we can’t be sure it’s a result of what happened before.”

“Get real,” she said. And then there was grumbling in the background that I couldn’t quite decipher. In a moment, Lois said, “I’m trying hard not to pass the phone to Jeff, though he’s grabbing for it. He wants to order you to butt out.”

“He has nothing to say about what I do with my butt these days,” I said primly, “and you can tell him so.”

I heard her do so, laughingly, and in a moment I heard Jeff’s voice. “Kendra, I really appreciate your helping Lois out before, when I felt I could only do it undercover. You did a great job getting Beryl to admit she was the one who killed Earl, and clearing Lois. I thank you. Lois thanks you. My mother thanks you. But there’s obviously more to what happened than even you suspected, and considering the fact that Beryl was drugged like me, although actually more like Earl, and—”

“Is that what happened to her? How do you know?”

“Damn!” Jeff exploded. “You know I have resources, but that’s beside the point. Stay out of it, Kendra. You’re not helping to clear anyone unjustly accused now. It’s not your concern. And it’s obviously dangerous.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” I said sweetly. “’Bye, Jeff. Hugs to Lois and your mother.” And then I hung up.

Hmmm. Interesting. I doubted Jeff had made this up. Why would he? To keep suspicion from settling on him in this latest attack? Beryl had apparently been set upon much as he had been. Only, his situation was unlikely to be proven, at least not easily. His car went into the canal. Presumably he did, too, then proceeded to disappear for a while, partly on purpose.

Or had he set it all up himself? And then killed Earl and gotten Beryl to confess and then shot her up with drugs, too? Yeah, right. But official eyes could settle on things that way.

I didn’t. Even if Jeff had been a bit nuts lately—a bit nuts? Correction:
way
, distressingly deluded—I didn’t see the scenario happening like that.

So . . . how did things really transpire? I considered what to do next to figure it out as I watched owners bring animals into Darryl’s while I sat in his parking lot.

And then, impulsively, I called Tom Venson’s veterinary clinic—and was connected with the vet himself almost immediately. Sure, it was a Sunday, but he had afternoon hours. Had he told his staff to put me through
tout de suite
if I ever decided to return one of his calls? If so, why? To attempt to throw off my suspicions against him?

Did I really suspect him of complicity in all this cloning chaos? If it hadn’t been for his hidden relationship with Debby Payne, probably not. But now . . .

“Have you heard the news about Beryl Leeds?” I asked after our hellos.

“Who hasn’t?” he asked rhetorically and somewhat sadly. “Doesn’t sound clear whether she’ll survive, and I still have one of her dogs here. The two yellow Labs went to a family I know who’ll take good care of them till Beryl can take them back—if ever, considering the circumstances. But I haven’t found the right situation for Melville, temporary or otherwise.”

That was the chocolate Lab with the protective streak. I had an idea. “I think I have a solution, but let me check.”

A phone call to Tracy Owens, a delay of a few minutes while she checked with her client who’d recently lost his Lab, a return call to me, and I got back to Tom. “Let me come get him now,” I said. I had one heck of an idea that could resolve the whole rest of this situation. Or not. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.

It also gave me a few minutes alone with Tom in one of his exam rooms. Well, not exactly alone. Melville joined us, and the poor dog paced the entire time. “He’s pretty high-strung for a Lab,” Tom told me unnecessarily. “He seems to have taken a liking to one of our lady vets, and tried to attack her boyfriend when he took her into his arms for a kiss. I think it’s a protective reaction, since when I told him to sit, he did.”

“Beryl knew how to handle him,” I said. I approached the uneasy pup, my hand extended so he could sniff and confirm who I was. “Friend, Melville.” He sat and started panting. “Good boy.” His long, silky tail swept the floor. “Okay, let’s go.” I looked first at Tom. “You knew that The Clone Arranger’s purported cloning practices had problems, didn’t you?”

He didn’t dare deny it now. “I indicated to you before that I had suspicions. And before you ask, Debby had nothing to do with my decision not to try to stop them or turn them over to the authorities. I did as they asked, and checked animal health. Sure, they might have been fooling their customers, but people walked away happy, thinking they had reproductions of their favorite pets. I considered it kind of a win-win situation.”

“Which could also give you legal liability, civil if not criminal. But I won’t do anything against you,” I interjected hurriedly when his expression soured and he took a step toward me. “As long as you didn’t do anything to Earl or Beryl.”

“Of course not,” he said, sounding utterly disgusted that I would dare suggest such a thing.

“Good, then. I’m gone. And I’ll let you know how things work out with Melville.”

MELVILLE’S NEW HOME was in Hollywood, but I didn’t head there. Not immediately. In all my musing about what had happened to Jeff, Earl, and Beryl, the common thread was, of course, The Clone Arranger. And at the moment, I had custody of one of their potential clonees. That, hopefully, would give me another entrée to the locale that was my current destination.

Yes, indeed, I headed for The Clone Arranger.

Why? Well, even though it was a weekend, they probably had some staff around, to care for the pets they were ostensibly preparing for their procedure.

Unless my little scene the other day had derailed their practices completely.

In any event, I hoped to see who was there. Perhaps get someone talking. Accusing me of defamation and preparing to prove me wrong.

As if they could.

Meantime, I’d ask subtle questions to see if I could figure out who had been on the phone with Earl while Jeff was under the influence. Beryl? I’d considered the possibility before. Didn’t rule it out completely now.

But Jeff’s story had been that he’d scared Earl into reluctant cooperation. Gotten him to hand over proof on that elusive thumb drive. Then been called back almost immediately for further information—allegedly. Instead, Earl had drugged and kidnapped him in his own car.

And spoken with whoever had convinced him to do that nearly the entire way—or at least as long as Jeff had been semiconscious.

To my way of thinking, that person had to be someone Earl worked with who suspected what he’d turned over to Jeff, threatened him, gotten him to buckle under and bring Jeff back for ultimate disposal.

And then disposed of Earl. And later, when some shenanigans taking place at The Clone Arranger were outed by me, it was time for whoever it was to take further action. Place apparent blame elsewhere. Deal with Beryl, who’d claimed to have killed Earl.

Why had she confessed? Had she done it? To protect someone in the organization? Who would she care about enough to do that for?

The person who’d paid her back by attempting to kill her?

All these thoughts leaped through my stimulated mind as I aimed my overcrowded rented auto toward The Clone Arranger’s facility. Poor Melville couldn’t quite get comfortable in the car’s passenger seat, but he’d whined and complained when I’d attempted to settle him in the back.

Fortunately, the freeway wasn’t extremely crowded, so we made fast progress. Soon, I headed up the off-ramp toward The Clone Arranger.

And slowed down on a nearby surface street when I noticed a silver hybrid car parked there, not far from my destination.

Well, hell, there were thousands of those things on the road now, with people attempting to beat the price of gasoline that was especially outrageous in Southern California. And this one wasn’t chasing me.

In fact, since my episode at The Clone Arranger and Beryl’s confession, I hadn’t seen my stalker anywhere, despite Jeff’s direst warnings of danger—thank heavens.

This one was highly unlikely to belong to whoever had been stalking me. Even so, I slowed enough to jot a license number in my notebook full of lists.

I drove into The Clone Arranger’s lot and easily found a spot to park. Hardly any cars were there. A couple of large vans, though. And a large door at the far end of the building appeared to be open.

Interesting. I grabbed Melville’s leash and headed that way—which was when I noticed someone, off in the bushes, watching what was happening.

And suddenly I suspected I knew what really had happened with all the attacks and everything else, although I still couldn’t quite imagine why.

Never a better time than now to find out. The open door and parked vans suggested I wouldn’t be alone here, so I surely wasn’t putting myself in danger.

Even so, in the interest of discretion, I placed phone calls to my usual backups.

I didn’t reach Ned. And Jeff started his latest bout of angry badgering, so I hung up. And walked forward—but only after making yet another call.

With Melville, I sidled up to the guy at the edge of the bushes. “Hi, Clark,” I said to the head of CW Ultra Technologies, who was obviously back in town. Assuming he had even left. “What brings you here? Have you come to see the possible demise of The Clone Arranger, thanks to my little game with them the other day?”

“Beryl Leeds told me about that,” he said. “I saw it on the news, too.” He stared at me through his geeky-looking black-rimmed glasses. Today, he was clad not in baggy blue pants but all in black. Which would have obscured him from visibility at night, but not on this nice sunny afternoon.

Still, when I glanced toward the building, I saw no activity. No one to see us out here talking.

Oops. Maybe I’d made an error in judgment. But one that was eminently curable, at least for now.

“Well, good seeing you again,” I said. “Come on, Melville.” The Lab had been tugging at the leash, as if eager to get into the building. He’d ignored Clark instead of confronting him the way I’d seen this dog do before. And this time, I couldn’t assure him that the person I spoke with was a friend.

On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t the fiend I’d suddenly considered him. Perhaps I had wronged him in my mind. Which meant I’d be better off inside, confronting The Clone Arranger people—as long as I had someone to watch my back.

Clark? Well, I’d feel a whole lot more comfortable with him if the men I’d already attempted to contact were around. Under the circumstances, hopefully one would be on his way. Maybe both.