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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
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At the top lay a circular driveway paved with really pretty stones. Beyond was an even more beautiful stone mansion at least two stories tall, its entry flanked by two long wings.
The front door was wide open, and Dante stood there, smiling. Wagner sat at his feet, utterly obedient as always.
I parked the Escape, and Lexie and I got out. “Nice place,” I commented as Dante approached. I felt pretty pleased to see the guy. Not that I’d admit it to him. But his welcoming kiss suggested he felt similarly.
“Come in and I’ll show you around,” he finally said.
Unsurprisingly, it was equally stunning inside, with a huge entry foyer from which a curved stairway rose to the second floor. I loved the look—but wondered what one man did with a place this large.
Then again, Dante sometimes seemed larger than life, at least in his public persona, so why not this?
Once we’d completed the tour through perfectly decorated rooms and a kitchen many top chefs would undoubtedly die to use, he led me back to the living room. On the beige-on-beige patterned sofa sat Brody Avilla.
“Where’d you come from?” I blurted.
“Just got here. You got the grand tour?”
“Sure did.” But before I could express how impressed I was, a guy who looked more like a personal assistant than a butler entered the room with a bottle of wine and some glasses on a tray. He seemed deferential in his actions but was clad in a plaid shirt and light slacks.
“This is Alfonse,” Dante said. Alfonse was apparently a real gem, since he darted in and out for the next hour or so but I hardly knew he was there. Even so, my wineglass on a stone-topped table beside me never got empty, and delicious, beefy sandwiches were soon served.
Meantime, Dante, Brody, and I talked. I told them what I’d learned at the agility trials about Sebastian.
“The woman who was so devastated that she apparently considered suicide was named Beth Black, but I couldn’t find the name of the guy who punched Sebastian out. Even so . . . well, I have an intuition that some of it’s related to what happened to Sebastian, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Give me till tomorrow to see what else I can find,” Brody said. And in a while, after we’d talked some more, he left.
Lexie was on the Oriental rug at my feet, nestled against Wagner. They’d become a pack of sorts, which I thought was cute.
Dante came close on the divan where I sat. “I know you’d need to leave early to do your Sunday morning pet-sitting, but will you stay the night with me, Kendra?” His kiss was soft and inquisitive at first, but soon grew so heated that I had to decide whether to sizzle or scamper away.
I chose the former.
 
 
I AWOKE THE next morning in Dante’s stately bedroom, on his firm and comfortable bed with the regal red plush headboard, snuggled up to his incredible body. He awoke at the same time.
“I need to get going,” I said sadly, already a little out of breath from recalling our exquisite acts of the night before.
“One for the road?” he asked softly before kissing me again.
It was therefore some time before Lexie and I piled back into my Escape and . . . escaped.
We enjoyed our pet-sitting rounds as always—especially a new client, a Greater Swiss Mountain Dog to whom Darryl had referred me. I’d visited his home a few weeks ago and gotten keys and instructions, but the owner had left just that day. The sweet Swissy’s name was Mountie, and he was a big, beautiful short-haired pup with flopped-over ears and coloration similar to my tricolor Cavalier Lexie’s.
But even as I concentrated on my canine and cat visits, in the back of my mind I kept thinking. About Dante? Absolutely. But also about Sebastian and agility and . . .
Well, hell! Did I honestly have an answer? It seemed fairly far-fetched, and I absolutely needed additional info, but just maybe . . .
I called Dante. What good was it to have a filthy rich lover without taking advantage? “I have an idea,” I told him. “Some of how it comes off may depend on what Brody finds in his search today, but I want to do something tomorrow to see if we can unearth our killer. It’ll work only if it’s one of our
Animal Auditions
regulars, of course. And as odd as it sounds, I remembered something as I was pet-sitting that I think tells me who it is. It’ll be interesting if Brody’s inquiry supports it.”
“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking?”
“Maybe later, if you humor me and have a little errand run for me . . .”
After I explained it, he laughed and asked, “Is it really necessary to go through all that?”
A bit affronted, I said, “Maybe not, but similar stuff has worked for me before when I’ve needed to ferret out a killer.”
“Both literally and figuratively,” he said, and he was right. He knew that ferrets had actually helped me in an investigation. “Well, okay. I want to see how this all comes together . . . or not.”
I wished I could make some guarantees—but I’m a lawyer. I know better than to make representations and warranties with no basis behind them besides a really intelligent hunch.
But I really hoped things would unfold tomorrow exactly as I wanted. And maybe even with the killer I anticipated.
Chapter Twenty-seven
DANTE CALLED ME back in the early afternoon while, although it was Sunday, I was at my law office.
“I miss you,” he said almost gruffly, as if that wasn’t exactly how he’d anticipated spending this day. Maybe he resented missing me. I didn’t exactly fit into his wealthy, ordered world, after all.
Any more than he fit into my scrimping, saving, pet-sitting, and lawyering life.
“Ditto,” I responded, probably as irritably as he’d been.
“Then how about coming back tonight?”
“We’ll see,” I said. No sense in inflating his ego any more than it already was.
A short silence, and then he said, “I actually called for a reason. Brody’s got some more information about the Sebastian stuff that he followed up on, thanks to your agility trial research yesterday.”
“Really?” That perked me up.
“Yes. I have a conference call this afternoon, or I’d join you, but I’ve set things up for the two of you to meet to discuss what he found, if you have time.”
“I’ll make time,” I said.
Unlike you.
But I only thought that. I was just as glad he wouldn’t be there, attempting to control what I did with whatever useful info Brody imparted to me. If any.
Even so, I felt a pang of regret, as I hung up my office phone, that I probably wouldn’t see Dante again today. But I would tomorrow, on the set of
Animal Auditions
. By then, he should have accomplished the act I’d requested of him. And I’d have a better idea of how to use the fruit of his work to figure out Sebastian’s killer.
 
 
OKAY, IT WAS neither the most private nor the most elegant location, but I had Brody meet me at an unofficial dog park near Universal City. I never liked letting Lexie run free, but she had a good time sniff-festing with the other hounds who were off their leashes and came over to meet her.
Brody came striding up to us at midafternoon. Maybe this wasn’t such a great choice. I wasn’t at all amazed, but most eyes—female human, at least—were on the nice-looking film star dressed down in jeans and snug T-shirt. He seemed not to let it swell his head any more than it was already.
As he reached me, he held out a file folder that appeared to be filled with papers. “Here are some copies for you of what I found. Interesting stuff regarding Sebastian and those agility folks—one thing in particular.”
When he told me what it was, I stared. “You’re kidding.”
But of course he wasn’t. And I realized, the more we discussed the who, what, where, when, and why of his findings—especially the who—that my speculations might be actual fact. But until I had done more checking—and played out the scenario I had in mind—I hesitated to make any assertions that might defame my new suspect.
All I said to Brody was, “This works right into the kind of game I’ve played before. And what I’ve asked Dante to do will only reinforce it.” I did, however, explain my scheme, and he laughed out loud.
“Excellent! Dante will love it, too. He’s in the middle of something this afternoon, though, so we can’t let him in on it immediately. But he’ll be there tomorrow, I’m sure.”
“Hope so.” We hung out together for a while longer while he played with Lexie and the other dogs who came over to romp—not to mention his offhand flirtation with some of the female owners.
When we left the dog park a little later, Brody walked Lexie and me to my new car.
“I don’t have time today, but one of these days I want a demonstration drive,” he said. “Dante told me all about your new wheels and the deal you struck to buy it.”
“I’d be glad to take you for a ride soon,” I said. “But let’s get tomorrow behind us first.”
As we left, my mind swirled even more around the stuff Brody had said about Sebastian Czykovski and its many implications. Surely, the person I suspected couldn’t be the killer.
But in a really offbeat way, I supposed it made sense.
I called my fellow production people later that afternoon, not to tell them my specific suspicions but to elicit their support the next day for the different piggy scenario I had in mind.
For this one week, we’d take time out from our usual pig contest. No one would be eliminated. Afterward, the game would go on.
But this special scenario, if it worked, would clear Ned and Nita Noralles—and net us Sebastian’s actual killer.
 
 
OKAY, I COULDN’T not call Dante. I tried him a while after Rachel left but before Lexie and I took off for our evening’s pet-sitting. All I got was his voice mail, so I left a general sort of message.
And got a return call a couple of hours later when I was again in my car. “Kendra? I haven’t talked to Brody yet, but was he of any help?”
“I’ll say,” I said. “And that little favor I asked you—will you be able to have it all together for tomorrow?”
“Of course.” He sounded slightly miffed that I even asked. “I’ve asked Brody to meet me this evening for a drink. Can you join us? We can make it somewhere near you.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Why not?” Such a meeting would allow us to make more plans for tomorrow’s possible showdown with the killer.
And if it led to yet another hot night with Dante . . . ? Worse things could happen.
 
 
WORSE THINGS DID happen. Oh, not in terms of sending us in a different direction for solving Sebastian’s murder.
But by the time I met Dante and Brody for drinks at a nice British-style pub near where I lived, my mind had gone even further in rehashing my earlier discussion with Brody.
One thing hadn’t made sense: How could Dante have discussed with him the deal I’d cut to acquire my Escape? I hadn’t talked it over with Dante. It wasn’t his business, only my own.
The pub was noisy, partly because it had a huge-screen TV at one side where a British football—soccer—game was being rebroadcast, and rooters for both sides were far from subdued.
We sat in a corner enjoying Guinness stout, fish and chips, and our discussion of what could occur tomorrow. Though I hadn’t fully described to the two of them how I’d solved other killings with the help of animals, including those ferrets who’d helped ferret out the truth, they knew enough about it, often thanks to the stories my buddy of sorts, tabloid journalist Corina Carey, broadcast about the results.
Even so . . . “This scenario you have in mind for tomorrow?” Dante said. “It has some flaws.” He wasn’t at all shy pointing them out, but I nevertheless stuck to my idea.
“Let’s see how it goes,” I said. “If it doesn’t work, we can go to Plan B.”
“Which is?” he yelled over some raucous shouting behind us.
“I’ll figure it out.” I hoped. I stared into his handsome face, waiting for this sexy but controlling guy to attempt to thwart my theory.
“How about—” he began.
“How about you tell me exactly how you knew the details of my deal to buy my Escape,” I inserted instead of letting him finish.
He shot a baleful glance toward Brody, who shrugged and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
When Dante looked back at me, I simply stared, waiting for his response while taking a healthy swig of stout. As good as it was, it didn’t obliterate the sudden bad taste in my mouth.
“I knew what kind of car you were after, Kendra,” Dante finally said. “I also knew it would be difficult for you to afford at normal financing rates. It wasn’t any problem for me to let drop to the Ford financing arm that I’d appreciate their fixing the loan to something a little easier for you.”
“That was all?” I was utterly skeptical, feeling certain that in some manner he had backstopped the loan.

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