Howl Deadly (11 page)

“Thanks, Kendra.” Lauren’s hug seemed heartfelt. I admit I frowned a bit when she repeated the caring gesture with Dante—but, hey, hugging is an accepted means of showing gratitude.

In a short while, Dante and I stood together on the sidewalk as traffic slowly meandered along Rinaldi. “So,” he said, looking down at me with one of those expressions that I’d come to anticipate and adore. A sexy look that suggested we spend the night together. Who said he was withholding his attention? “Have any plans for tonight?”

Damned awful time for my cell phone to ring, but that’s what it did. “Hold that thought,” I said, then saw who the caller was: Althea.

“Hi,” I said eagerly as I answered. “Found anything interesting on Jon Doe?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dante’s expression freeze. An intriguing response, I thought.

“I sure did,” said Althea into my ear. “And I can tell you everything tonight, Kendra. Over dinner. With Jeff.”

“That’s the deal?”

“That’s the price of his approval of my helping you.”

“Got it.” We quickly decided where and when, and then I hung up.

I looked at Dante, to find his face now utterly unreadable.

“You know me,” I said. “I always try to get as much info as I can about the victim.”

“I know.” He didn’t sound especially pleased.

“I don’t suppose you could fill me in on Jon Doe’s background?” I inquired sweetly.

“I could have Megan show you his employee file.”

“That would be interesting,” I agreed. “But do you know anything else about him?”

“Of course not,” he said, his expression still so bland that I felt certain he was a great poker player.

“Anyway—about your question before, whether I have plans for tonight?”

“I gathered, from this end of the conversation, that you do now.”

“You gather right,” I said. “But after dinner, I might be available.”

“Sorry, Kendra, but I’ve got plans then. Where’d you park? I’ll walk you to your car. We’ll talk tomorrow. You can let me know what you find out about Jon Doe.”

“Sure,” I said.

He wasn’t the only fibber strolling the sidewalk toward my Escape.

 

 

WE MET AT a restaurant in Westwood, a quiet Italian café, and they were already at a table in the corner. The hostess pointed me in their direction the instant I entered.

Checkered tablecloths and dim lighting added to the place’s ambience, but the accoutrements did little to alleviate my nervousness. I really didn’t want to see Jeff, not now, but I’d been left little choice.

They stood as I crossed the dark carpet. Althea was a geek, a techy wonder, and I’d always found it astounding that she was also a grandma. She was slim and youthful-looking, with longish blond hair and a fashion sense that seemed more teenage than middle age. Tonight, she wore a shiny print top over tight blue jeans.

But mostly my eyes lit on Jeff. I’d always considered him one hell of a sexy dude. He still was, with his face full of angles and his body absolutely buff—shown off now by a snug blue knit shirt. That, of course, brought out the beautiful blue of his eyes as he stared straight at me. And smiled.

“Hi, Kendra,” he said in a deep, sexy tone that sent shivers through me even though I’d instructed my insides not to react to him at all. “Great to see you. Please, sit down.”

I obeyed, gave my greeting to the obviously amused Althea, and immediately snatched up the menu. Not seeing anything on it, naturally. I figured it listed some kind of Italian salad. That’s what I’d order.

Fortunately, this place served no Thai food, which had always served as an aphrodisiac for Jeff and me.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked. It sounded appealing, but I needed all my wits about me to stay soberly away from this sexy man whom I no longer wanted in my life as a lover.

Especially now that Dante was in it. Although . . .

Well, no reason to let myself wonder now about where that relationship was going. If it was going anywhere.

Or what Dante might have known about the now deceased Jon Doe and his untimely demise.

“No, thanks,” I said. A server came over and took our orders. And then I focused on the folder lying on the table between Jeff and Althea.

When we were alone once more, I asked, “Is that what you found about Jon Doe?” I gestured at the closed file.

“Some of it. What I printed out for you.” Althea glanced at Jeff as if for permission, and he nodded.

Which he of course should have done. Hadn’t I kept my end of this bargain—meeting them both for dinner?

Althea handed me the materials. “Let me give you a quick rundown,” she said.

“Absolutely,” I agreed in relief. That way, I could savor any delectable details later, but I’d have a better sense of what I was seeing.

“What I found about Jon Doe’s history is that he grew up in Burbank, got his high school diploma, then went into the Army. He became an animal care specialist, worked on several bases, assisting veterinarians with treating patrol dogs and ceremonial horses. Honorable discharge. He then worked at two zoos, doing animal care, followed by a career at two independent wildlife sanctuaries. He recently wound up at HotWildlife. End of his story.”

“Interesting,” I said, not entirely meaning it. Althea had said nothing that might lead to any clues about who offed the guy. An irate coyote who didn’t like the way his food had been prepared? Not with the way Jon Doe had died—by a stab from a sharp knife, not bites.

His history in the Army could have been at a time he’d have run into Dante and Brody while they were in the covert ops stuff I’d come to suspect, but who knew?

As our dinners were served, I took the opportunity to thumb through the printed pages. A cursory look suggested they supported what Althea had said.

Not necessarily useful, but probably enough to justify my evening with my former boyfriend and his illustrious and knowledgeable computer geek.

I started eating my salad, noticing the aromas of the chicken cacciatore that Jeff had ordered, as well as Althea’s cheese-smothered lasagna. Had I been too diligent in my calorie counting? I loved Italian food, after all.

Jeff noticed my gaze, and perhaps the watering of my mouth. “Want a taste?” His look suggested he remembered those days not long ago when we’d share Thai food as a prelude to some sexy alone time.

Still . . . I was too tempted to say no—to Italian food, that is. “Sure. Want some salad?”

We all took samples of each other’s food, which satisfied my palate a lot more than the green stuff.

When all that was done, Althea said, “So, Kendra, would you like to hear what I
didn’t
find about Jon Doe?”

Talk about being tantalized. “Sure,” I said, staring at her.

“Probably anything true,” she responded with a grim grin.

“What!?” I exclaimed.

“The thing is,” Jeff said, “Althea used resources on the Internet, plus some of our . . . less accessible usual sources. Sure, there were plenty of Jon Does for her to research, but she zeroed in on the one who worked at HotWildlife really fast. Well, you know how good Althea is.”

As I nodded in utter acknowledgment, the object of our verbal adoration pinkened a little and took another bite of lasagna.

“She did some additional digging,” said Jeff.

Althea’s turn to talk. “Yes. Deeper than the surface. And what I found was that . . . I found very little. None of the ordinary things usually out there concerning most people, like more military information than who he was and where he’d been. High school classmates. Blogs and YouTube entries—although not everyone participates in that current-day stuff. Sure, Jon Doe was in his sixties, but there was nothing about his family, either. His military service was partly during the Vietnam era, but he didn’t go overseas, or nothing indicated he had. There were no photos of him on Web sites or otherwise at the animal facilities where he’d worked. Nothing definitive, you understand, but even so—”

“What are you saying?” I demanded.

“If you want my opinion,” Althea said, her young grandmother’s face scrunched into a gloomy frown, “Jon Doe’s background was entirely made up. A farce. Someone manufactured his history. And I didn’t find out who he really is.”

 

 

 

SURPRISINGLY, THAT NEWS didn’t completely dim my appetite. We talked some more over the next hour or so, brainstorming where else Althea could look—and what I would do with the possibly useless information she’d gathered.

On the other hand, if Jon Doe—or whoever he was—had been so careful about manufacturing a fake identity, that said something about him.

I just had to figure out what.

And learn, if I could, how much Dante really did, or did not, know.

Could he truly have killed Jon Doe? No, my frantic insides called out, even as I feared it was true.

And this wasn’t the first time I’d suspected him of murder. If he was innocent in this instance but stayed in my life, I might need to question what was it about him that made me think he was capable of such a crime.

When we finished eating, we wrangled over the check. I didn’t feel right letting Jeff pay, especially when I hadn’t contributed a penny toward the time and energy Althea put into finding out what was, and wasn’t, there about Jon Doe.

“Next time, it’s on you,” he said. And smiled. Knowing full well I’d feel obligated to meet with him again for a meal to satisfy this damned new debt.

Well, I could choose the time, at least. Not too soon.

We picked our way through the crowded, dim restaurant. Outside, we turned our tickets over to the valet and awaited delivery of our cars.

“Thanks,” I said. “To both of you. And if you happen to think of any other leads, Althea, please let me know.”

“I will, sweetie.” Her car was the first to come out, so she gave me a hug, tipped the attendant, and departed.

“You know what I think this may mean, don’t you, Kendra?” Jeff asked when she’d gone.

“No,” I said, although I was afraid I knew what he was about to say.

“It’s not just sour grapes,” he said. “You know that I still care about you.”
But you hadn’t believed in my innocence in a nasty situation a while back
, I thought silently. “And I know you’re now involved with Dante DeFrancisco. He’s got everything—including a ton of money. But . . . well, he also founded HotWildlife. I understand he was around when this Jon Doe was killed. Not that I’m accusing him of anything.” He lifted his hands in a gesture erasing any such accusation. “But . . . okay, I want him to be involved somehow. Like I did when your
Animal Auditions
judge Sebastian was killed. But this time feels different. He may not be someone you can trust. In any event, Kendra, be careful. And remember, I’m still around.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” I said, not revealing that I shared some of his concerns. I returned his quick kiss on the lips as my car was the next delivered.

I had a lot to think about as I drove toward the 405 Freeway and the San Fernando Valley.

And my mind continued to churn around our mutual questions about who Jon Doe really was and who might have killed him.

So, I decided to call the object of my concerns. I used my hands-free car device to place a call to Dante.

“Hi,” I said perkily when he answered. “I learned some interesting things about Jon Doe this evening from a friend who does computer research. Will you have any time tomorrow for us to get together so I can fill you in?”

“’Fraid not, Kendra.” His voice sounded unusually grim, which got me all the more worried. But only a fraction as worried as I became at his next words. “I have to go back to HotWildlife. The sheriff’s detectives are coming back to meet with me. Maybe even to arrest me. I have the feeling that I’m now their number one suspect in the murder.”

 

 

THOUGH IT WAS late, my next call from my car phone was to my dear friend and legal colleague, Esther Ickes.

Esther had represented me when I’d required a criminal law guru. Since then, I had referred her to my friends and acquaintances who’d become suspects in the killings I had investigated.

I’d mentioned her to Dante, and he seemed relieved at my potential referral. He had an attorney who represented him in business transactions, but no contacts in criminal defense. But one of the first things he’d asked me was “Is she discreet?”

Which led me to believe he’d have to confess some stuff to his counsel to get the best representation possible. That he’d actually committed the killing? Something more about the mysterious stuff in his past? Both?

And the lousy thing was that attorney-client privilege would prohibit Esther from telling all to me.

The last time I had suspected Dante capable of murder, hardly anyone else had—except Jeff, but he had motivation of his own. This time, the authorities appeared to agree. Did that make it true?

Not judging by my past investigation history, thank heavens. So maybe there was hope for Dante’s innocence after all.

“Hi, Esther,” I said when she answered. “Sorry to be calling outside business hours.”

“All hours are business hours for lawyers. You know that. Or maybe that mostly applies to criminal attorneys.” I could hear the grin in my good friend’s voice.

Esther did not resemble the stereotype of a brilliant and nearly always successful criminal counsel. She was a gray-haired little old lady, the kind the opposition could easily dismiss as elderly, incompetent, or confused. Till they came up against her.

Or saw her at the helm of her sporty Jaguar convertible.

We chatted cheerily for a couple of minutes, then I asked, “So, are you up for taking on a new client?”

“Depends.”