Feline Fatale (16 page)

But I was starting to get irked. Why was I here?

Before I could inquire, I saw a sleek black form emerge from one of the bedrooms and pad indifferently in my direction—the cat I’d seen here before. “That’s Smouser, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s my baby,” Julie said in a baby-talk tone. Smouser slinked up to the sofa, levitated onto its back, and settled between the two of us, ignoring the humans who just happened to be there.

I laughed, reached out to stroke her soft back for a moment, then said, “Julie, I need to get back to my law firm soon, and then I have pet-sitting responsibilities. So—”

“Oh, yes, you’re a pet-sitter like Wanda, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Which makes me partial to the current board members, who like having pets around here. I want to hear what you want to talk to me about, but I also think I’d better not take on legal representation of the board, or even any of you as individuals. I could have a conflict of interest. But I have someone I can highly recommend to you, and I’ve already talked to her about the possible assignment.”

“That’s great, Kendra.”

“So,” I said, “why did you want me to come here today?”

As I’d suspected, she seemed eager to talk about everyone else around, and how they hadn’t liked Margaret. “I’ve heard that you solve murders,” she said, “so I wanted to let you know what I’ve been thinking. Not that I have any real evidence, like on those TV shows and all. But I know the people around here, and you probably don’t. Except Wanda, of course.”

She sounded utterly earnest. And serious. And innocent.

And I didn’t buy any of it. But I did listen.

“First, Wanda herself. You know Margaret and she were really fighting a lot about Margaret’s attempts to ban pets here at Brigadoon altogether.” She looked at me as if expecting an answer, and I nodded. “I’ve heard that the Burbank police seem to think Wanda killed Margaret, thanks to their fighting. I like Wanda, and I know she’s your friend. I’d hate to think she did it, but . . . well, I actually heard them arguing the very night that Margaret died. If you’re serious about learning the truth, Kendra, then don’t count her out yet.”

“Mmmhmm,” I responded noncommittally. “Interesting. Who else is on your suspect list?”

“Well, there’s James Jerome. Same motive, but maybe even stronger. He just loves his guinea pigs, and he’s been fighting with Margaret at board meetings since the day she was elected, midyear.”

Since this was January, I assumed Margaret had been on the board for about six months, and Julie confirmed it.

She next turned to the other three board members: John, Sheldon, and Rick. All pro-pet, and therefore Margaret haters.

By then, my mind was saying
yeah, yeah, yeah
. And
Why am I here
? And starting to tune out.

This lady was protesting too much, and quickly vaulting to the top of my suspect list. Nothing new. Nothing—

And then she said something that made my visit worthwhile.

“I only wish my husband, Ivan, was here to help me through this hard situation with the pets and Margaret and all. We both despised what that woman was doing. But he’s been gone for a week now. Won’t be back till Sunday afternoon.”

This was Thursday. Margaret had been dead for a week.

She had died last Thursday.

“Oh, was Ivan here to help you through the difficult time when Margaret was found dead?”

“No.” Julie stared straight at me in a manner that suggested she lied. “He left on his trip just before she died.”

 

HAD JULIE TOLD the truth about the timing, or was I reading things into her words and body language that weren’t there?

Okay, I didn’t know Ivan Tradeau. So what if he was on the pet-lovers’ side with Julie, and didn’t like Margaret? I didn’t know if he had any better motive to kill her than any other pet person around there.

But he immediately latched on to at least the end of my suspect list.

And gave me a good reason to call Brody. Soon.

Of course I didn’t mention my newly stirred suspicions to Julie. Instead, I thanked her for her hospitality and thoughts. And for her good wishes that I caught Margaret’s killer quickly—which of course could again have been an attempt to throw me off both her and her husband as substantial possibilities.

I handed Julie the contact info for Avvie Milton, reminding her that Avvie would be the better choice for attorney in the association’s legal matters regarding this pet stuff. Like me, Avvie thought like a litigator. That meant she, too, would attempt to settle disputes before they got too hot and heavy . . . if that was possible.

I gave Smouser a final pat good-bye, earning a soft purr and a glance from half-closed eyes. I smiled again. I liked this cat.

I was a lot less sure about his owners.

“Thanks for coming, Kendra,” Julie said as she saw me into the hall.

My mind was awash with what I needed to do next: Return to my car. Call Brody from there. Head back to my office, for at least a few minutes, to tend to some unfinished business that shouldn’t wait till tomorrow. Hurry off to do my pet-sitting.

Call Dante.

See if we were able to get together tonight. And—

Oh, hell. Just as I was about to enter the stairway, I saw a dash of golden-yellow fur. A ginger cat.

Lady Cuddles had done it again.

THIS SCENARIO WAS starting to feel much too familiar.

Especially when the anti-pet Bertinettis just happened to show up. They lived in another building toward the back, upstairs near James Jerome—as well as the unit Lady Cuddles called home. Why were they here, so close to Julie Tradeau’s digs?

“Look, it’s that creepy little cat again,” huffed Teddy.

“And look who’s after it . . . again.” Ruth glared straight into my face.

I glanced at her for only an instant as I continued my dash down the zigzagging hallway after the fast feline.

I caught up with Lady Cuddles just as she jumped onto the sill of a window leading out to yet another balcony. I grabbed her and stuck her beneath my arm. Good thing I was wearing a jacket atop a long-sleeved shirt on this chilly January day, since the annoyed, meowing kitty stuck out her claws and raked me with them. I wrapped her close, tucked into my arms, talking to her soothingly. She must have recognized me, since she quickly relaxed.

I headed down the nearest stairway, hoping I could avoid seeing the Bertinettis again. No such luck. They stood in the downstairs hall, apparently awaiting me.

“What are you going to do now with that creature, Kendra?” Ruth demanded.

“Take her home, of course,” I said sweetly.

“But you don’t belong here,” Teddy reminded me.

“Yes. What if you do something you shouldn’t, like steal the cat?” said Ruth.

I’m a professional pet-sitter as well as a lawyer
, I wanted to remind them. Plus, unlike them, I was a pet aficionado. And I was worried about this cute, elusive kitty. I wanted to ensure she got home safely and that every measure was taken to keep her enclosed there—for her sake and Wanda’s, as well as for mine.

Instead, I said, “You’re welcome to come along, of course. Supervise me on behalf of the residents of Brigadoon. Whatever.”

“I think we’ll do just that,” Ruth said.

So the three of us—four, if you counted Lady Cuddles, now nestling in my arms—exited this building and headed for the one in the middle rear, where her owners, the Gustins, had their unit.

“Since you’re here, would you mind opening the door?” I asked as we reached the entry to that building. Otherwise, I’d have to wait for Wanda.

I shifted Lady Cuddles while I reached into my large purse and pulled out my cell phone while the Bertinettis merely watched. Wanda was in charge of this wayward kitty, so she’d need to know anyway. Plus, she really should come back here both to let me into the unit, and to check with me to try to ensure that Lady Cuddles was enclosed in it securely this time.

I pressed in the number that called her automatically, and she answered right away. I quickly explained the situation.

“Oh, Kendra, no! Fortunately, I’m already in Burbank. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

Time I was afraid I’d have to spend with the Bertinettis hovering over me, but what choice did I have? Unless, of course, I wanted to turn Lady Cuddles over to their kind custody and care . . . not!

“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 pet-sitting 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 pet-sitting 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!”