Never Say Sty (21 page)

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
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I realized immediately that, during the catnaps I’d managed that night, I must have dreamed about Dante, since images of him floated rampantly about my mind, and not all of them resulted from our wonderful evening. Or even from the times I’d seen him before, or
Animal Auditions
.
“I’m really interested in him, Lexie,” I said as I prepared to take my Cavalier for her morning outside constitutional. She wagged her long, furry tail in sympathy, and we both went down the steps.
I continued my partly one-sided conversation, alternately chastising Dante both for his absence and for his attempt to control me when he had absolutely no right—and feeling ecstatic that he gave a damn enough to tell me what to do. Consistent? Not hardly. But my state of mind kept skipping from one opinion to the other.
“Enough,” I finally said as Lexie and I piled into my rental car. I needed the company and intended to take her along on my pet-sitting assignments.
Which reminded me of my promise for tomorrow. I’d have to go pick up Princess, all the way out by Thousand Oaks, and bring her to Darryl’s day resort. Fine. I had a plan. But it was only a partial solution. I’d promised the Jeongs, and their pet-sitter Annie, that I’d find someone to be with Princess in the evening, after Darryl closed and before Annie returned from her late classes.
From my large purse I pulled my address book, in which I’d put all the information about my fellow sitters who belonged to the Pet-Sitters Club of Southern California, and scanned the entries. And as we sat in our driveway, I began making calls.
Tracy Owens, the PSCSC president, thought she still owed me since I’d done her a favor a few months ago. Plus, we’d become good friends who occasionally got together for fun. “I’m sorry, Kendra,” she told me. “I’m so booked up that I can’t stay even a few hours around Thousand Oaks tonight. Maybe another time.”
Lilia Zieglar, the club’s oldest member, simply didn’t want to do the long freeway drive, especially since at least one way would be in the dark. I didn’t immediately reach Frieda Shoreman, an elegant pet-sitter who’d once intended to be a movie star. But Wanda Villareal answered her phone right away.
“Oh, Kendra,” she said, sounding a smidgen out of breath. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“Really? To schedule a play date?” She owned a Cavalier, too, a pretty Blenheim—red-and-white—boy named Basil.
“Sure. Let’s do it soon. But what’s on your mind now?”
I explained my predicament and the promise I’d made about Princess. “Would you have time during a couple of evenings this week to help out?”
“For you? Absolutely. Give me the particulars.”
Which I did, including how to get hold of both the Jeongs, since she’d be visiting their home as well as their pup, and the sitter Annie, who’d have to work out getting Wanda inside. “I’ll let Darryl Nestler know you’re picking Princess up, starting tomorrow. He owns the Doggy Indulgence Day Resort in Studio City. Nice guy.”
“I’m sure,” she said.
“Thanks a lot, Wanda,” I finished, then hung up.
And wondered exactly why I had the impression that Wanda had sounded grateful to
me
. Was her pet-sitting business in trouble? I’d have to find out if she needed additional help.
 
 
THE REST OF my morning—pet-sitting, then taking Lexie to a premier dog park in the Hollywood Hills—all went fine. But even as I observed Lexie romping with other off-leash attendees, and exchanged greetings with their owners, my mind continued to spin around all that had happened the night before.
Dante. Desire. Caring . . . a lot.
And irritation at his controlling nature.
We stayed for three-quarters of an hour. Lexie seemed worn out by the time I decided we’d both had enough.
We’d already gotten home when I got a call on my cell from an unfamiliar number.
“Kendra?” shouted a high-pitch squeal. “I shouldn’t be calling you, but I figure you’ll know what to do. This is Dr. Hollins. Matilda.” Suddenly, she stopped talking. Said nothing at all.
To fill the silence, I prompted, “You know about our next
Animal Auditions
taping tomorrow?”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, much more softly—a good thing, since my ears were already ringing. “I’m not calling about that. Kendra—I need your help. I think. I—Never mind. Forget I even called.” She hung up.
And when I tried phoning her again, she didn’t respond. I left her a message.
Curious, I tried her again ten minutes later. She still didn’t answer, and I left yet another message.
What was going on with her?
I’d ask her tomorrow at the taping.
Assuming she showed up.
Chapter Eighteen
THAT EVENING, AFTER I again finished my perfectly fun pet-sitting rounds, I sat on my sofa with Lexie on my lap—remembering with whom I’d been the last time I’d simply sat here.
Actually, it hadn’t been so simple . . .
That’s when my cell phone sang.
I smiled, certain that karma was in control again. It would be Dante calling me. To apologize. To let me know he’d been wrong to attempt to tell me what to do.
Or, more likely, to check up on me, to make sure I wasn’t disobeying his final order to keep him informed.
If he’d called me every time I’d thought of him that day, I’d never have been off the phone. . . . And I’d have been even more confused—and irritated—than I was now.
But it wasn’t his number in my caller ID. It was Jeff Hubbard’s.
I took a deep, bracing breath before I answered. No sense avoiding him. But neither did I have to pretend I’d been waiting for
his
call.
“Hello, Jeff,” I said in a not entirely unwelcoming tone. After all, a plan was brewing in my mind, and I might need his cooperation.
“Hi, Kendra. How’ve you been? I’ve been thinking about you. I’ve been looking further into Sebastian Czykovski’s murder to help Ned, but need more than I’ve found so far to clear him.” Nita, too? But I didn’t inquire. “What’s new? Are you pursuing anything I should follow up on? Or do you need Althea’s input?”
Of course I’d cooperate with him—to a point. It wouldn’t hurt for me to have a P.I. I could still call on.
And wouldn’t that just piss Dante off?
“Attorneys always avoid compound or multiple questions.” I grinned sardonically but invisibly at Jeff, recollecting one of Dante’s criticisms designed to knock me off balance. “But no new direction to point you in, unfortunately, or Althea, either—not yet, at least. Have you spoken with Ned recently?”
“He sounds okay,” Jeff said. “That’s one reason I called. He’s coming to your potbellied pig taping tomorrow. I told him it wasn’t wise, but he figured Nita and he would look guiltier if they stayed away. He convinced me, but what do you think?”
Jeff Hubbard, excellent P.I. and security expert, actually asked me for an opinion? Wow! Was the sky about to fall?
Or did he think they all needed an attorney’s point of view?
“There’s definite merit in that,” I told him. “If I were the lawyer representing the Noralles siblings, I’d stress that acting normal was absolutely a good thing.”
“Got it. I agree.”
“And do you happen to be professionally representing them as a P.I.?” I finally asked.
“Sure am,” he confirmed. “Look, are you available for dinner tomorrow night after your taping? I’d like to strategize with you about how best to look into things. For Ned.”
I considered the invitation. Dante would be at the
Animal Auditions
filming. Just because we’d made marvelous love last night didn’t mean I would leap into a monogamous relationship with the man—especially since he hadn’t asked, and possibly had used sex to bribe me to see things his way. Well, it wouldn’t work.
Even if I wouldn’t mind the sex part again . . .
But, hell, I wasn’t the sort of woman who got off on making men miserable. If I said yes to dinner with Jeff, I’d be leading him on. And possibly turning Dante off, an even bigger issue, from my current perspective.
“I’m busy then, Jeff,” I said softly. “But maybe we could get together over coffee soon to brainstorm our strategies. I’d love to get the cops steered in a different direction from Ned, Nita, and their piggies.”
“Oh. Okay. We’ll talk about a time tomorrow.”
He sounded sad, which made me sorry. Partly because I didn’t intend to hurt him the way he’d recently hurt me. But also because I continued to need his help. Or at least Althea’s. We still had contacts in common—some we both cared about.
“How’s Odin?” I asked. Jeff’s sweet Akita had become a special friend to Lexie and me.
“He’s okay. I take him for more walks these days. And I’ve found another doggy day care center a little closer to me than Darryl’s, so I don’t have to leave him alone for long periods. And—well, I have a trip coming up in a few weeks. Maybe you could still pet-sit for me.” He sounded wistful and unsure of my response, so I quickly assured him I’d gladly watch Odin again.
As long as his owner wasn’t around.
“So . . .” I said, since he didn’t seem inclined to hang up, “from the way you phrased your question, it sounded like you’ve come up with at least a little in Ned’s and Nita’s defense. What have you got?”
“That’s something we should talk about in person,” he said, sounding utterly reasonable—and absolutely aggravating. “See ya tomorrow.” He hung up, leaving me glaring at my phone.
 
 
NEXT MORNING, LEXIE and I left bright and early to pick up Princess. Fortunately, she wasn’t crying when I arrived, though she seemed excited to see us.
I had no fun at all fitting both dogs into the backseat of my little rental car. But I was committed to staying a pet-sitter. I needed the ability to carry canines and other animals all over, if necessary. My dear old Beamer hadn’t been ideal, but it had been big enough to work with—unlike this small sedan.
It was way past time for me to pick out a new car. And face the fact that I’d have to go miserably into debt to buy one. I could choose a used one, of course. But if I was going to go for it, I was really going to go for it.
“What do you think, Lexie? Princess?” I asked the pups in the backseat. Their response was absolute interest, waggy tails, but no commitment to my making a choice.
I soon deposited the dogs at Darryl’s for a day of fun. He wasn’t available when I arrived, so I had no opportunity to push him further about who he was seeing.
Fortunately, most of my pet-sitting pals were as cooperative as usual. Not Stromboli, though. The sweet shepherd mix scooted his butt along the sidewalk as we headed home after our otherwise ordinary outing. “I need to tell your mama,” I told him as he rolled his eyes at me and panted. “You might need to be wormed or have your glands cleaned, so get ready for a vet visit.”
Stromboli’s owner, Dana Maroni, was due back in a few days. I had her phone number and let her know about this situation—not that it was a medical emergency, but she’d need to deal with it.
“Ugh,” she said into my cell phone as Stromboli and I started back into his house. “Thanks for letting me know. I guess.”
I grinned. “That’s what a pet-sitter’s for.”
Their next-door neighbor, Maribelle Openheim, popped her head out her door. She was a friend of mine, and so was Meph, her wiry terrier. Once I’d gotten Stromboli fed and settled down, I visited briefly with Maribelle, then headed for my law office.
Using my hands-free gadget in the car, I phoned Matilda Hollins. Twice. She didn’t respond or call back. Well, I’d see her that afternoon at the
Animal Auditions
taping. I hoped.
And then I thought again about the whole Sebastian situation. Jeff’s officially acting as a P.I. to help Ned and Nita didn’t matter. Neither did Dante’s attempts to get me to back off. Till the situation was resolved, I had to help the Noralles siblings. I’d promised.
But without a true memorial service for Sebastian, I was somewhat at a loss about who, besides the obvious possibilities connected with
Animal Auditions
, might have had it in for him. I needed to come up with a proactive plan—one that would land me additional suspects. If I didn’t, Dante might decide I’d tacitly agreed to follow his initial orders.
And that was something I definitely wouldn’t do.
 
 
I FIELDED A couple of legal emergencies that morning, one of which required a quick trip to court—Van Nuys, fortunately, and not downtown, which was farther away.
I finally escaped and headed for SFV Studios. Sure, I was in my producer role. But just because I intended to look for likely suspects away from
Animal Auditions
didn’t mean I wouldn’t continue to keep my eyes and ears open here.
In fact . . . well, I’m a listophile. A listaholic. Before I exited my car and went inside, I grabbed a pad of paper and started listing questions I needed answers to before I could get a better handle on who might have had it in for Sebastian.

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