Authors: Linda O. Johnston

Meow is for Murder (21 page)

BOOK: Meow is for Murder

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“I can’t believe what I did,” she said, ending on a sob. “Okay, I promise I won’t see him anymore. I wanted everything—your help, and him, too. But he told me off, and I couldn’t take it. He’s yours, Kendra. But, please, let me apologize to him.”

Since I sensed his presence behind me, I couldn’t forcefully say no. When I turned, I saw that the expression on his bruise-blued face was hard. “Apology accepted,” he grumbled inamicably. “But don’t come in, not now or anytime.” Obviously he was as ambivalent about what was between them as I was about what was between him and me. Last night he’d sorta defended her. Today, he’d kicked her out.

Could I continue to attempt to clear this wild and miserable woman from a possible murder charge? Besides the challenge, all that was in it for me was her commitment to clear out of my lover’s—former lover’s?—life.

Did I care if he didn’t see her again?

“WHAT SHOULD I do, Darryl?” I asked out loud about an hour after the scene with Amanda. I’d taken Lexie and headed to Doggie Indulgence, needing the sage advice of my dearest human friend.

We sat in his office overlooking the rest of his resort, which he now kept open most weekends to accommodate his many customers in the entertainment industry. Fortunately. Although I’d have sought him out at home if I’d had to. Lexie was loose in the playroom, and last I’d seen her, she’d headed for the human furnishings area—probably needed a nap on the people sofa after our disquieting night.

I pushed some of the papers stacked on Darryl’s desk out of my way and folded my head in my arms on top of it.

“What would you like to do, honey?” Darryl asked me. “Do you want to dump the whole defend-Amanda idea?”

“I don’t know,” I said miserably.

“Do you think she killed Leon?”

“That’s the thing.” I lifted my head and looked beyond Darryl’s wire-rims into his sympathetic and omniscient brown eyes. “Whatever else she’s done, I think she’s being framed for Leon’s murder.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Who turned you into a shrink?” I demanded irascibly. Then I sighed and said, “Sorry. How do I feel, Doc Nestler? Shitty. I mean, I know what pressure the woman’s under, and she obviously can’t take it. And I’d feel a hell of a lot worse if I didn’t help to clear her and she was tried and found guilty.”

His smile was sympathetic. “Well then,” he said, “what’s your game plan for today?”

I’D ALREADY INTENDED to seek out some of Leon’s alternate stalking victims today. He’d selected several in Southern California besides Betty Faust, but all had resided in different areas.

One was in Redondo Beach, and after Lexie and I enjoyed our pet-sitting rounds, I decided to head that way, with a stop en route in Santa Monica.

At Kennedy McCaffrey’s office.

He was the patient of Dr. Henry Grant’s to whom Amanda had introduced me. The contractor who appeared athletically gorgeous but actually evinced some symptoms of heart disease.

The painter who’d had his palette piqued when Leon copied from him.

Did I know he’d be in? Sure did! I called first, using one of those cards with long distance minutes on it, in case he had caller ID. Not that I knew of any reason for him to avoid me, but I hated to drive all that distance and find that
he
knew of a reason.

His tiny office was many blocks from the beach, in a small complex of three-story buildings connected by a central courtyard. I skipped up the steps to the second floor, found “McCaffrey Contracting” on a door and walked in.

The first room I entered was small and empty but had a couple of doors leading out of it. I knew I’d found the right place since every wall had several seascapes on it, most resembling those I’d seen at Amanda’s.

Only—were hers Kennedy’s or Leon’s? They mostly looked alike to me.

I chose the door on the left, since I thought I heard a muffled voice from that direction. Sure enough, there he was, sitting behind a desk large enough to unroll blueprints on, chatting on a cell phone. He still looked well built, tanned, and handsome, but I remembered how he’d coughed and grown ashen at our last encounter. I’d try not to upset him—too much—today.

When he looked up at me, recognition dawned in his eyes, chased by a frown on his mouth. He said goodbye to whomever he conversed with and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” I replied. “I happened to be passing by and hoped to see some of your artwork, since you said Leon Lucero had stolen from you.”

“Copied me,” Kennedy grumbled. “Same thing, to an artist.”

“Right. I saw some of your work on the walls in the other room. They’re really nice! Did you give some of your paintings to Amanda? Or sell them to her?”

“Gave her a couple,” he said. “If she’s got more, then they’re his.”

“Oh.” Would that be motive enough for Kennedy to kill Leon? We’d gone over this once before, and I hadn’t thought so then. But now I was more eager to lay the blame on someone besides Amanda. Had I slipped this guy off the hook too easily?

“Like I told you before,” Kennedy continued, “yes, I hated the guy and his thievery. But no, I didn’t kill him. Is that what you’re here about today? I’ve got a potential customer coming in, so let’s talk and get it over with.”

“I’m that potential customer,” I admitted, sagging against his doorframe. “I just called to see if you’d be here.”

“Well, I am.” His scowl grew darker. “So what is it you really want?”

“Help,” I said. “I’m stuck. I’m still tracking down people Leon harassed, but some live outside this area. I’m not sure I can track everyone’s schedules to see which non-locals happened to be visiting when Leon was killed. There were simply too many people with motive to kill him—did you know the guy was a serial stalker?”

He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? He didn’t stalk me, though. And if I knew who had more than a motive to kill him—like, who really did it—I’d be glad to tell the cops.”

“Did he ever confront you?” I persisted. “Or did you ever confront him?”

“Yes to the latter,” Kennedy admitted. “But the guy was essentially a coward. I looked him up when I was seeing Amanda to tell him to lay off her. He did for a while, maybe because he figured I knew where he lived and I’d have no hesitation about beating him up. What he didn’t know, then, was that, appearances notwithstanding, I have to limit my exercise.” His sudden smile was sad. “He took up against Amanda again with a vengeance after he first saw me at her doctors’ offices as a patient.”

“Interesting,” I mused, eyeing a chair across Kennedy’s office. Did I want to sit there?

Not really. I’d left Lexie in the Beamer in the parking lot next door. And, despite Kennedy’s questionable health, I preferred being near enough to the door to escape, if necessary.

“So, did I tell you anything helpful?” Kennedy asked, obviously ready to dismiss me—a good thing, I thought.

“Maybe,” I said. “I admit I’m floundering. I’m just hoping something someone says will turn on a light and let me see Leon’s killer.”

“I specialize in foundations and walls,” Kennedy said. “But I’d be glad to refer you to an electrician.”

“Very funny,” I said. After handing him another of my cards and getting his concurrence to call if he thought of anything enlightening, I left.

LEXIE LISTENED SYMPATHETICALLY as I told her what a waste of time that had been. “But he was sort of on the way to our next stop,” I assured her.

Which was another beach community not many miles down the coast, still in Los Angeles County. There, at an address on Pacific Coast Highway, I’d be able to locate Nellie Zahn—or so Althea’s superb info said. The data indicated that Nellie had been stalked by Leon about four years ago, which was when she’d obtained a TRO.

I pulled into a parking space on the block containing Nellie’s address. When I regarded the single-story building, I blinked in surprise. The sign over the big front window read, “Nellie’s Super Self-Defense.” Which didn’t suggest a stalking victim to me. Especially a victim of Leon’s, whom Kennedy had suggested was a sort of wimp.

I tucked Lexie under my arm and headed inside.

There, a whole flock of women were dressed in a variety of gear, from sweats to white martial-arts wear. Shouts mixed with grunts as they kicked and punched in unison.

Facing them, at the front, was a lady whose fighting skills seemed excellent. I watched for a while, until the class ended, keeping a wriggling Lexie under control.

The crowd soon disbursed, and I headed toward the instructor as she likewise headed toward me. We met in the middle of the polished hardwood floor.

“Hi, are you interested in self-defense lessons?” she said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any available for dogs.”

“Oh, Lexie’s pretty good at knowing when to growl and when to run,” I said. “I’m looking for Nellie Zahn.”

“Look no longer,” she said. “That’s me.”

Somewhat shorter than my five-five, she wore a white canvas toga over loose white pants, and a black belt tied about her waist. Her blond hair was short and curly, and there was a pugnacious and proud set to her thick jaw.

Some of my puzzlement must have been written on my face, since she said, “You were expecting someone else?”

“It’s just that I came here to speak with one of Leon Lucero’s stalking victims,” I said, “and, frankly, you look less like a victim than nearly anyone I could imagine.”

Her face suddenly seemed cast in stone. “Come with me,” she insisted. I followed her from the workout area into a small office. “Sit.” She pointed to a green upholstered metal chair. As if I were Lexie, I obeyed. She took her place behind a small wooden table stacked with promotional brochures for this place. “Now, who the hell are you?” she demanded.

I handed her one of my law office cards. “I’m not here representing a client, exactly,” I admitted. “The police are investigating a . . .” What was Amanda to me? A friend? An acquaintance? A highly hated bitch I was attempting to boot out of lives including my own? “Er, let’s just say I’m looking into Leon Lucero’s murder for motives of my own.”

“The bastard got exactly what he deserved,” Nellie spat, contorting her face belligerently. “Whoever killed him did the world a humongous favor.”

“I can’t disagree,” I said, “but the reality is that he was unlawfully killed, and whoever did it will be tried for murder. I’m just hoping to ensure the wrong person isn’t railroaded.”

“I see your point.” She settled back in her seat. “I’d be glad to help with the legal expenses of the
right
person, though. What do you want to bet it was done in self-defense?”

“Maybe, but if so, why not come forward and admit it? And it was done in someone else’s house.”

“I’ve seen stuff about it on the news,” she admitted. “In fact, since hearing that Leon finally got his, I’ve been addicted to seeing what the media say about it. I recognize you now from some of the reports—the nosy lawyer who solves murders.”

I tried to swallow my irritated reaction and managed a weak smile instead. “That’s me.”

“So you think the main suspect, Amanda whatever, didn’t do it? She was one of his stalking victims, or so the reports say.”

“I know firsthand that she was a stalking victim,” I said, “but even though his body was found in her house, I doubt that she did it.”

“Maybe not,” Nellie said. “And I assume that, since you’re here, you wanted to find out if it was me. Well, Leon’s been out of my life for a long time, thank heavens. And in a way I have him to thank for all this.” She waved blunt-nailed fingers in an arc that seemed intended to encompass the whole gym. “I was an actress before. Got a lot of character roles—you know, the ingenue’s best friend. Then Leon decided he loved me, the bastard. I got damned tired of running away from him, hollering at the cops to stop him before he hurt me, and not just arrest him after. I realized real soon that no one was really going to help me but
me
. That’s when I started taking self-defense lessons. And did it ever feel fine to kick Leon’s butt the first time. And the second. There never was a third. I didn’t see him again after that.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“A couple of years,” Nellie said. “I might have murdered him before then, given an opportunity. Now, I’d take great pleasure in squashing his balls with my best karate kicks. But kill him? No, Kendra, it wasn’t me.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I BELIEVED HER,” I said to Lexie while we navigated the San Diego Freeway north on the way home. “How about you?”

As always, my cheerful Cavalier seemed to agree with me as she looked over and smiled—well, panted. She then stuck her nose back toward where the passenger window was cracked open a bit to let her enjoy all the scents we passed.

It was early evening, but the sky was darkening. We fast approached Saturday night with no social plans. Oh, well.

Worse, I realized, was that tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. We’d spend it together, but, undoubtedly, alone.

BOOK: Meow is for Murder

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