The Fright of the Iguana (5 page)
Read The Fright of the Iguana Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
“Sure. I’ve bought a bunch of those fitness waters with some really strong lemon flavor. You’ll pucker right up.”
“Lexie would like that.” I finally pulled that particular pup away from my now-wet chin and neck. “But I’d better go. I’ve already visited my pet clients twice today and want to do it again.”
“Any indication where the missing dog and iguana got to?” he asked, sympathy oozing from his already sweet face.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I’ve got both Ned Noralles and Jeff Hubbard on the case. There’s got to be a break soon.”
BUT WHEN LEXIE and I reached Jeff’s a couple of hours later—after my last call on my pet clients for the night plus a visit home to change from lawyerly clothes into casual—he’d learned nothing I didn’t already know.
It took a while for him to inform me of that. He greeted me at the door of his pseudo-Mexican hacienda in the wilds of Sherman Oaks, his sweet Akita, Odin, by his side. The two dogs exchanged happy sniffs. Concurrently, both Lexie’s long-haired white and black tail and Odin’s short-haired beige tail, curled up over his back, wagged amicably.
And Jeff and I? Well, the hunky and tall P.I., with a hard body that didn’t quit, held that very same hard body against mine and planted one heck of a kiss soundly on my lips, followed by some pretty sexy tongue action.
That was a whole lot more than amicable.
And made me consider tearing off his blue shirt and tight, sexy jeans. Better yet, turning my tail and running. But I did neither. I needed his P.I. expertise too much.
First things first. We walked Lexie and Odin along the flat streets of Jeff’s neighborhood, allowing them to do what came naturally in the twilight of near seven thirty P.M.
Then we entered Jeff’s house again, nuked our favorite take-out Thai dishes that he’d brought in—pad Thai and mee krob—and sat at the round, wood table in his small but functional kitchen.
I looked into his beautiful blue eyes, lowered my lids in my own attempt at sensuality, and said, “What do you have for me, Jeff?” I grinned at the smoldering stare that resulted, complete with his licking more than the taste of Thai off his lips, trying to ignore the melting of my own turned-on body. “About the missing pets,” I added.
Which iced that ogle immediately.
“Nothing yet,” he said in a tone so casual that I knew he was trying to torment me as much as I’d done to him. “I talked to Ned, got what little I could from him, and started my own investigation. I figured the police would have taken anything potentially useful from the crime scene, but I did a walk-through anyway. Nothing. I’ve got Althea”—that was his computer geek—“looking around online for anything helpful. And I’ve started canvassing the street, figuring some neighbor was bound to see someone who happened to have both a Shar-pei and a three-foot-long iguana with him, but so far I haven’t a clue.”
“No neighbor let anything loose with me, either,” I said. “Are you still joining me at the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal meeting tomorrow night to see if you can learn more about the other pet-nappings?”
“Are you going to stay here tonight?”
I still had half a plateful of Thai before me, but I stood and glared. “Is that an attempt at extortion?”
His grin was so charming, boyish—and damnably sexy—in that great, angular face that I nearly melted and prepared to promise him anything. “Sure,” he replied. “I’m not proud. I’ll try anything.” But then his expression grew so serious that every muscle in my terrifically tense body tightened even more. “Kendra, you know I love you. I want you to stay tonight. I want you to move in. You know that, too. I thought everything was resolved when Amanda finally promised to stay away. She’s kept that promise, by the way, in case you’re wondering.”
I kinda had been—maybe more because if she hadn’t, I would have a better excuse for keeping Jeff at arm’s length this way.
And I couldn’t exactly use my old standard excuse, that I was rotten at selecting men suitable for a relationship, any longer. Jeff really was a pretty good guy. Even if he had allowed his ex to insinuate herself back into his life. She’d had reason: A stalker had terrorized her, and she had turned to her onetime best protector and P.I., Jeff, for security advice and anti-stalker assistance.
The stalker was dead now. He’d been the one Amanda was accused of killing, and I’d uncovered the actual culprit. And she was apparently fulfilling her end of her bargain with me and avoiding her ex.
“I’m glad she’s not bothering you anymore,” I said simply to Jeff while looking down at the floor and feeding Lexie and Odin some of my unflavored white rice.
“But you’re not responding to the rest of what I said?” He sounded disappointed. He sounded hurt. And I felt like a flirtatious flake for doing this to him.
But at this moment, I wasn’t certain how I felt about him. Those few months fighting with and fixing things for Amanda took a whole lot out of me. And made me question the possibilities of a relationship with this hunk across the table.
Still, he deserved a response. I opened my mush-filled mouth—and I don’t mean the Thai delights—and prepared to give him one. Not that I’d any idea what to say.
But he beat me to it. “Forget it,” he said. “For now. But, Kendra, I’m giving you an ultimatum. And don’t glare those daggers, ’cause they’ll bounce right off me now. I need to know you’re with me, ready to see how things go with us, or I’ll move on. Soon. So you need to make up your mind.”
WHO, ME? HAVE trouble making up my mind? I always considered myself one of the most decisive people I knew.
But that mind of mine remained ambivalent and angst-ridden about Jeff a little later as I drove my Beamer through the security gate onto the property I own, and spotted my tenant and employee, Rachel Preesinger, playing with Begorra—better known as Beggar—the Irish setter owned by her dad, Russ, and her.
Good. Something else important to focus my frazzled brain on. Rachel and I needed to discuss the pet-napping even more than we had in our few frantic phone calls.
The patch of grass where Rachel and Beggar romped was surrounded by the lush, tropical garden of my well-loved front yard. Illumination surrounded them from lights from the big, beautiful pseudochateau behind them, and from smaller lights lining the walkway up to it.
I pulled the Beamer into its outdoor spot alongside the garage. The apartment I shared with Lexie was right upstairs.
So why did Lexie and I occupy the garage apartment and rent out the chateau to people who once were strangers? Because I’d bought the place when my career was on the rise at a major L.A. law firm. When my soaring career had taken its nosedive, I’d had to rent out the main house or lose it along with my job. Now that my law license was restored, my career was on a different flight path, one less lucrative but in most ways more fulfilling than before. The property remained mine, but the rent from Rachel’s dad, Russ, made sure I could make mortgage payments.
As soon as I opened the car door, Lexie bounded out and raced a lap around the yard with Beggar—a small, mostly black and white bundle of fur keeping pace with a larger, elegant red comrade in caninism. I joined Rachel on the footpath, where she opened her arms and surrounded me with a hug.
Though Rachel was just about to leave her teens behind, I suspected that when she turned twenty in a few months, she’d still look like a kid. She was small and waiflike and full of such youthful exuberance that I figured she’d even seem like a child at my age—sixteen years her senior.
“Oh, Kendra, it’s such a shame! Is there any word about where Zibble and Saurus are?” She pulled back and studied me with huge, sad brown eyes.
“No,” I said sorrowfully.
“Have you looked online to see if the kidnapper might have dropped them at a shelter?”
“No, but why would the snatcher do that? There hasn’t been a ransom demand, but after the note that was left I have to assume whoever did it is after money.”
“Probably,” she said, “but it never hurts to try.”
I didn’t disagree, so after we rounded up the pups, I followed the small brunette with the shaggy hair, and even shaggier cropped top over tight jeans, inside my chateau and around the downstairs. I had once used the room with the astoundingly vast fireplace as a den. Now, it was an office with a really admirable computer setup right in the center, occupying a corner of a massive oak desk.
I sat beside her at the big desk in a similar black chair to the one she occupied. Her computer was snoozing, so she woke it.
I watched as she Googled, Yahooed, Asked, and used a couple of search engines I’d never heard of. She started a new favorites list that included a bunch of national pet search sites, as well as local shelters. Then, she visited each one and looked around for a newly arrived Shar-pei and iguana.
Nothing at all resembled my missing charges.
“It’s been less than a day.” She pivoted her behind in her chair so she faced me.
“That I know about,” I inserted. “Whoever snatched them could have taken them as early as seven or eight last night, right after I last looked in on them.”
“Even so, at most it’s been twenty-four hours. I’ll keep looking online, and so should you. I’ll e-mail you the list.”
“Great,” I said. “Er . . . could I use your computer so I don’t have to boot up mine? There’s something I have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Check my e-mail to find out whether the Dorgans have responded to the message I sent them earlier. I also had to let the detectives on the case know how to find them, so I’d imagine they’ve heard from the authorities, too.”
Sure enough, they’d seen it and sounded as upset as I’d anticipated. At least one, Edmund or Hillary, would cut short their planned vacation and head home.
How could I ever face them?
I discussed continued sitting strategy with Rachel and how to best ensure the security of our clients. I’d have to talk about that with Jeff, too, when I saw him again tomorrow evening.
I didn’t sleep much that night. The pet-napping weighed heavily on my soul. Jeff’s ultimatum weighed heavily on my heart.
Would I have any possibility of lightening up the next day?
Not with so many things on my mind—and the meeting of the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal, and its definitely dreaded discussion of similar pet-snatchings, to look forward to.
Chapter Four
I WENT THROUGH all the right motions the next day. Visited pet clients and spent oodles of time with them, hugging the hounds and complimenting the cats. I considered bringing the lot of them to Darryl’s along with Lexie, but that would only mean they’d get super supervision during the day. I’d still have to tote them all home that night, since Darryl didn’t take in boarders—hence, his pushing me into pet-sitting. And if their owners had wanted days at a doggy resort, they would have said so. Plus, some were felines, not canines. No other iguanas just then, though. Or pythons or potbellied pigs.
I double-checked and rechecked the security systems my current charges’ owners had installed. Then I checked them again. Only then did I head for the office.
I shouldn’t worry so much, I told myself as I drove the Beamer carefully toward Encino. What was the likelihood that the pet-napper would nap again at one of my charges’ homes?
I informed one of my law partners, Elaine Aames, of the pet-thefts. I doubted the culprit would break in and steal Gigi, the blue and gold macaw Elaine inherited from a former partner who’d been murdered right here a few months back. And, yes, I’d helped to unmask the killer. Now, Elaine brought Gigi into the office nearly daily.
My lawyering day passed quickly, partly because Borden had called an administrative meeting of firm attorneys. We didn’t accomplish much, but it sure took up a lot of time. That left me scurrying to complete the actually worthwhile stuff I needed to achieve in the afternoon.
I called the detectives on the pet pilfering case yet again. Compared with my reception by the two who’d initially shown up at the scene yesterday, Ned Noralles almost sounded glad to hear from me. And my ears scorched something fierce after suffering his irritated assurances about continuing progress—with no real results so far.
Then, it was on to retrieve my eager Lexie from Doggy Indulgence, expend more than adequate time and intensity on my pet clients yet again, and pick up Rachel at our sort of shared homestead. We had decided last night that she needed an official intro to the pet-sitters’ organization. Never mind that she’d been the one to tell me about it in the first place, after she’d seen a snippet about it in a local throwaway newspaper. Now, she needed to hear what was said about the pet-stealings so she could guard against them while on duty for Critter TLC, LLC.
Rachel’s dad, Russ, was home, so after I said hi we left Beggar there with a clear conscience. Lexie? Well, she accompanied me often to club convenings, so she came along this night, too. I hurried my Beamer over the hill known as the Santa Monica Mountains to the pet-sitters’ conclave.
The meetings were held in West L.A., in the back of one of the area’s poshest puppy boutiques. As soon as Rachel, Lexie, and I entered, we could hear the buzz from behind the rear room, punctuated by peppy barks from the sitters’ own excited pups. Lexie leaped forward on her leash, but I held her back. “Patience,” I told her. “Even if your friend Basil is there, ladies need to learn to play hard to get.”
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