Nothing to Fear But Ferrets (19 page)

“Thanks anyway,” I said. I dug into the bag and extracted a small box without checking its contents. Then, grabbing Lexie’s leash from the floor, I feinted left, then darted around Jeff to the right and headed out the front door.

 
I SWORE CEASELESSLY at the droves of other drivers who dared to weave into my path as I hurried the Beamer home. At least I forbore from hurtling hand signals at them, which in L.A. could only get one into hot water—or possibly an early grave.

Poor Lexie assumed I was angry with her, for she sat cowering on the passenger’s seat, her long black ears bent back on her head.

“It’s not you, pup,” I reassured her when we stopped for a light. I petted her comfortingly, but she didn’t seem convinced. Maybe that was because I spat out a stream of invectives when someone dared to make a left turn in front of me when the light finally turned green.

“I can’t complain too much about the timing,” I confided in Lexie. “I mean, I just might have told the slimy, secretive bastard tonight that I was considering moving in with him. Before I even knew that he’d already been there, done that, and walked away—from a wife, yet.”

Of course I didn’t know the circumstances. She could have walked away from him.

Did it matter?

Could I be overreacting?

So what if I was?

We finally reached our street. Fortunately, I slowed by habit when faced with the hills and turns. Otherwise, I might have slammed right into Lyle Urquard, who was barreling down as if he’d lost his bicycle brakes. As it was, he slid to a stop, but at least this time neither he nor his bike toppled over. I waved and kept going.

I didn’t need to use the electronic control when I reached our gate. It was already ajar.
Damn it all, Charlotte and Yul,
I yelled inside my skull.
Isn’t it about time you start paying attention to the terms of the lease?
I wasn’t sure I could stomach more parties and ferrets and open entries just now, even for the lucrative rent I received.

At least I had the presence of mind to wait before confronting them. Maybe I’d cool down first.

I slid the Beamer through the open gate and into its reserved spot beside our garage apartment.

When we got out, I realized why the gate wasn’t closed.

Charlotte and Yul were at the front door to my big, adored, rented-out abode.

With them was Charlotte’s lawyer and mine, Esther Ickes.

And accompanying them all was the unwelcome un-peace officer, Detective Ned Noralles.

 
NORALLES HAD BEEN leaving alone, which was a good thing.

Since I didn’t want to be alone just then, I sat with my tenants and attorney in the kitchen of my leased-out home for nearly an hour longer while they continued recapping the awful interrogation I had missed.

“How that terrible detective could imagine I could hurt anyone, let alone kill them by knocking them in the head, then slicing them open . . .” Charlotte still wailed as we all leaned on the large wooden table at the end of the room, sipping strawberry margaritas that Yul had made.

The man had some use after all.

“Not just anyone,” Esther reminded her. “Chad Chatsworth, the man who, by merely showing up on your doorstep one time too many, could have forced you to give up all your winnings. That could drive nearly anyone to take a stab at getting rid of the interloper.”

The sweet little old lady who was also my lawyer looked up at me, obviously pleased with her awful pun. I smiled back. Or tried to. Like Charlotte, I wasn’t exactly in a humorous mood.

“And I certainly wouldn’t then cover him with food to make it look as if the ferrets killed him,” Charlotte went on as if Esther hadn’t interrupted.

I gathered from all this that Chad’s official autopsy report was finally released to Noralles. Not that it was a huge surprise, after Noralles’s prior conversation with the coroner and the revelation about a knife. The report confirmed that Chad hadn’t died from ferret chews, but from a single slender knife slice to the carotid that caused the awful blood I’d seen all over, especially near his neck. First, though, he’d been knocked unconscious by a blow to the back of his head. A board from the wall of the den, knocked loose by the Hummer, had been the weapon. But he’d bled to death. No knife was found. The ferret frenzy was after the fact, though the body had been covered with food to encourage the little mammals to act. They were still mini-felons, as pets kept in California. Maybe even conspirators or abettors, obstructors of justice or the like. But they definitely hadn’t murdered Chad Chatsworth.

Maybe they’d be allowed to live, though eventually shipped to another state. Since I was a pet person, that should have made me feel good. But at that moment, I felt too bad to anticipate feeling better.

Damn Jeff Hubbard anyway. And Chad Chatsworth for getting himself murdered in my house. And myself, for not avoiding all this awful chaos. And Ike Janus, since, despite his promise, there was still all that Hummer damage to deal with—probably after a huge confrontation with the insurance vultures. And—

“Kendra, dear, are you all right?” Esther bent over the table and touched my arm.

Hard to believe that such a dear little old lady, a grand-motherly type who fussed over friends and clients alike, was such a go-for-the-jugular lawyer. But I thanked my lucky stars that she was.

“I’m fine,” I lied with a feigned laugh. “Though bloody murders tend to botch up my psyche a bit.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” muttered Yul. “But too bad it had to happen here.” He was obviously emotional to string two near-sentences together.

“Did Detective Noralles suggest you might have had something to do with it?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Yul said, swigging from his own stemmed glass.

“H-he said it was either one or both of us together,” Charlotte stuttered indignantly. “I can’t believe it, but he’s made it clear he has nearly enough evidence to arrest us. Especially after the papers mailed in that damned envelope. That was why he suggested that I have my attorney here when he came to see me tonight.”

“I’ll probably have to find someone else to represent Yul,” Esther said to me, shaking her gray-haired head. “Their interests are diverging.”

“I’ll say,” Charlotte snorted. “Noralles suggested that Yul rat on me to keep his own butt out of prison.” She lifted her head enough that her long black braid slid down her T-shirted back, and stared at Yul with huge blue eyes. “But of course he wouldn’t do it.”

But for a moment I saw something speculative in Yul’s dark stare. Was he considering turning against his meal ticket?

“Of course,” he said after a pause that was a bit too long. “We’re sticking together.”

But his attitude left me wondering. And the way Esther’s concerned gaze met mine, I felt certain she was wondering, too.

Chapter Twenty-one

I’D PEEKED INTO the container of Thai food before heading down to conclave with Charlotte, Esther, and Yul. Good thing it had only held rice. Though I’d stuck it on my kitchen table, Lexie had helped herself. Not a single grain remained, and even the box, on the floor beside the garbage container, had been chewed.

“Bad girl,” I scolded, but my heart wasn’t in it. How could it be, when it had been so wrongly wounded earlier that evening?

I forced myself to eat wheat toast with a slab of sliced cheese, though my stomach somersaulted with each bite. And then I took Lexie out for her last walk of the evening.

Later, my phone rang as I stepped from the shower. I considered ignoring it, since I had a pretty good idea who it was, but I didn’t want him to imagine I was moping over him. “Hello?” I answered, projecting perkiness into my tone.

My assumptions hit the bull’s-eye as Jeff began, “Kendra, we need to talk.”

“Oh, have you heard from a client who needs you to zip out of town? I figured you’d hang around to help Amanda sort out her stalker problem.”

“No, I’m not leaving town—not tonight. And yes, I’ll be helping Amanda. But you and I need to talk. About us.”

“We were, I thought. I’m Odin’s pet-sitter, remember?”

“Kendra . . .” His voice grew into his sexiest growl, which made me regret everything even more.

“Next time you’re planning a trip, be sure to call me,” I chirped. “Enjoy what’s left of your evening, Jeff. Of course, I’m sure you will.” I hung up. He might be planning a passionate interlude with Amanda or not. I didn’t care.

Or so I told myself as I lay sleepless and solo in my bed—except for the warm, snoring Lexie—till way late into the night.

 
DAYS PASSED. I’D like to say they sailed by gracefully while I had a great time with my pet-sitting, and nothing else on my mind. Not Jeff Hubbard and his poor, persecuted ex-wife whom he was trying to help—the one who’d slipped his mind during the multiple months of our acquaintance.

Nor the fact that I still had more than three weeks to wait before receiving the results of my ethics exam.

Nor even my concerns over Charlotte, who was certain she’d be arrested any moment by the diligent Detective Noralles. Her fears could have been well founded. The media thought so, for once again Chad Chatsworth’s murder topped the front page and news at eleven. And six, seven, ten . . . in fact, all day long.

The coroner’s report was the reason for the resumed frenzy. People found it fascinating that the ferrets were now proven not to be the real culprits in this killing. An assailant of the human kind had smashed and slashed Chad first, then tried to frame the ferrets.

Could it have been Charlotte? Sure, but I didn’t think so. Yul was a better bet as far as I was concerned.

And I
was
concerned, now that I’d become fond of my overly huggy tenant. Plus, there was my personal bias against people who framed others for their misdeeds.

So, I went into high gear trying to help Charlotte. If my actions cleared Yul, too, fine with me. I’d nothing against him. I simply didn’t like the strong, silent, and seemingly unintelligent type.

Of course, the type I did like hadn’t proven to be very wise, either . . .

A fact I couldn’t forget. Not with all the calls from Jeff I ducked. By Wednesday morning, he’d given up.

Which only made me feel worse.

Around ten A.M. on Wednesday, I stopped my Beamer in front of Avvie’s for the last time before her return and prepared to play with Pansy. Despite Lexie’s inherent friendliness, the little pig had seemed uncomfortable with her around, so I’d parked my displeased pup at home for the day. I hadn’t left food on the table or anywhere else she could easily get it—unless she figured out how to open the refrigerator or pantry door.

I’d never before imagined that pigs had personality. Pansy did. She cavorted around Avvie’s as energetically as if she were a puppy craving exercise. “Want to play ball?” I asked. I swear she understood and nodded her piggy noggin. I rolled a ball and she chased it, nosing it with her long, porcine snout. “Roll it here,” I encouraged, and she did, chasing it as it came toward me.

Cute little creature, I thought. No wonder pigs had become part of L.A.’s pet culture. And now I could say with a straight face that I knew the way to care for them—sans porkery or sty.

When I finally forced myself to leave, I sat outside in the Beamer and followed up on some calls I’d made on Monday and Tuesday that had never been returned.

The first was to Philipe Pellera. When I’d seen Philipe sneaking out the morning after one of Charlotte’s parties, I hadn’t gotten the singing and gyrating hip-grinder to divulge the security problems for which he’d hired Jeff. He’d acknowledged, though, knowing Chad Chatsworth. Had even admitted to having been fired by Chad from reality shows not yet in production. A motive for murder? Getting Philipe to talk intrigued me. Better yet, maybe he’d sing out what he knew, confession or not—complete with sexy dancing. Now that would be an interview worth waiting for.

But he still wasn’t answering his phone. I left another message without holding out much hope that he’d respond.

I’d counted on getting two for the price of one call when I phoned Dave Driscoll, but neither he nor Trudi Norman had answered, either. Even so, I called again.

A click. A female voice. A response! “Hello,” the woman said, sounding as if she was eager to hear from me.

“Hi, Trudi?”

“Yes?” She sounded more tentative now. Whoever she’d been expecting, I didn’t sound like him. I guessed it was a him—most likely Dave.

“This is Kendra Ballantyne. We met at Charlotte LaVerne’s party.”

She was probably deciding whether to be polite and say goodbye, or just hang up, so I thought fast.

“I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” I lied. “First, tell me if Dave is there.”

She hesitated, which worked well, too.

“Okay, you don’t have to say. But I know you’ve been seeing each other since Chad’s death.” I didn’t mention spying on them in Palms. Instead, I continued, “I saw you leave Charlotte’s together. The thing is, I know just what Charlotte is going through. Have you seen it on the news? The poor thing is getting desperate. I don’t think she killed Chad, but I don’t think Dave did either, do you? Anyway, to save herself, Charlotte is pointing fingers at a lot of people Chad knew, maybe to confuse the cops, or maybe because she has genuine knowledge. I met Dave. I doubt he did it, but the cops seem to be zeroing in on him as another viable suspect.”

“Oh, no!” Trudi wailed. “He’s not here, Kendra. What can I do?”

“Meet with me,” I said. “I can be at Dave’s in half an hour. We’ll talk, and then we’ll see. Okay?”

“Let’s meet somewhere else,” she said without asking how I knew where Dave’s place was. She suggested a location.

I didn’t give her time to change her mind. “See you soon.”

I hung up. And then I aimed the Beamer toward Palms.

 
WE MET AT a diner on Santa Monica Boulevard. It had been carved out of the bottom of a decrepit older building, and managed to resemble a quaint, fifties-type establishment notwithstanding its modern prices.