Double Dog Dare (17 page)

“Just fine,” I lied. Our buddyship remained more of a social acquaintance, so I didn’t intend to tell him about the awful stuff in my life just now.

“Have you met Juan?” he asked, nodding toward the gray-haired, stooped guy in the straw hat whom I’d seen poop-scooping before.

“Not officially, but I’ve seen him at work.” I stared at him, although Juan was clearly reluctant to meet my eye. There was something about him—something besides his smelly profession—that captured my attention. “My tenant has hired your company, Juan, although someone else was working here the other day.”

He nodded, shooting me a smile that showed stained teeth, then hurrying to open the back of his van.

“Maybe I’ll see you here,” I called out, wondering why I bothered to bother the guy.

“I don’t think he speaks much English,” Phil confided softly. “But he seems to do a good job.”

I nodded, said goodbye to Phil, and collected the excited dogs for our morning’s activities. But my distraction of the previous night had somehow been disturbed. Why? What kept bringing the missing Jeff to the forefront of my mind?

Okay
, I told my sarcastic self,
enough
. But that didn’t keep me from staring at nearly every driver or pedestrian I passed, just to see if there was any resemblance to my missing lover.

I gave Stromboli a whole lot of extra attention that morning. Piglet the pug, too. And I even played piggy games with Pansy, since I hadn’t turned the potbellied pig over to Rachel as one of her charges just yet. But even with Lexie and Odin along, my emotions kept swirling sadly.

As a result, I decided that human hugs were in order before facing my law clients at Show Biz Beasts with as few answers as I had, so after we completed our pet-sitting rounds, we headed for Doggy Indulgence.

Sure, it was Sunday. But several months ago my buddy Darryl had caved in to film industry pressure and started opening on weekends. After all, filming occurred all the time.

His staff was smaller on weekends, though, so my skinny buddy in the Doggy Indulgence shirt—one in bright red for a change—himself manned the front desk in the vast room with its multiple canine corners. “Kendra!” he cried as the dogs and I came through the door. “Good to see you . . . what are you doing here?”

“Damned if I know,” I said sadly, releasing the hounds so they could join the other doggies doing whatever they wished—within reason.

“Ah, that tells me a lot. Hold on.” Threading his way among doggy clients who surrounded his feet, he made his way out of the main area toward the kitchen. Soon, he emerged with a couple of employees who took his place near the entry. “Come into my office,” he said. And then, when we were seated, “You look even more awful than before. Kendra, you either have to find Jeff and figure out that murder fast, or forget them both.”

“Tell me about it,” I retorted dejectedly.

“I just did. Look, isn’t there anything else you can work on to take your mind off them?”

“That’s one reason I’m here. The first reason, by the way, was that I was seeking sympathy from my best friend.”

“You got it, kiddo.” He rose from behind his desk and held out his arms. I walked into them and was enfolded in a big and comfy bear hug.

“That helps,” I said to him as I backed off a bit. “The other reason I’m here is that I thought you might enjoy coming along to the law clients I need to visit now.”

“Who’s that?” he inquired, with frank curiosity shading his brown eyes behind wire-rimmed specs.

“You referred me to them: Show Biz Beasts. I’ll have to hold a confidential attorney-client session with them while we’re there,” I warned, “but—”

“Count me in,” Darryl exclaimed.

AS BEFORE ON her home training turf, semi-frumpy Shareen seemed almost elegant in slim jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt as she led a pack of dog owners in training their pets to pull loads. Prospective on-camera mushers and Iditarod hounds who would most likely never come in contact with the real ice-cold terrain of Alaska nevertheless took to harnesses and commands as if they truly raced along Arctic routes. Never mind that their trail was in fact one end of the large industrial soundstage-like building that housed Show Biz Beasts, and their turf was artificial grass hidden under mounds of fake scenery ice and snow.

I’d brought Lexie and Odin on their leashes, and, amazingly, my adorable Cavalier appeared to recall her lesson here the other day. When I signaled her to sit, she sat.

Odin, on the other hand, the true scholar the other day, appeared excited to join the class and pretend to be a strong sled dog. I first ran him fast through the paces he’d learned, to show Darryl his skills. Then he gave a few good yanks until Darryl showed him who the alpha dog was in their two-member pack, and shoved him gently back into the sitting position.

We watched the pseudo sledders slide through their paces, including Dorky, the dog who belonged here. Darryl’s grin appeared as large as mine felt. What an appealing display of doggy derring-do. Round and round the staging area they raced, their owners shouting and acting as if they were out to win the most renowned of all icy races.

Eventually the race ended, and only then did I realize that the musher at the head of the pack was Corbin Hayhurst himself, his short height and wide girth hidden beneath his costume of heavy parka, boots, and bulky slacks—not exactly de rigueur L.A. wear, even inside a mock soundstage.

He handed off his team of hounds to an attendant and approached me, as his wife Shareen did the same.

“This is fantastic!” Darryl exclaimed. “I knew you trained animals for all kinds of shows, but this . . . this beats everything I’ve ever seen on TV or otherwise.” He seemed so excited that Odin stood up on his hind legs and issued a shrill bark, not something the staid Akita generally did.

Lexie, still on the leash I held, looked askance at her companion, as if unsure how to take his reaction.

Soon, I left the dogs in Darryl’s capable care as I followed Shareen and Corbin out of the training room and into their office. Unsurprisingly, considering the kind of business it was, the walls were covered with photos from all kinds of films, from independents to big blockbusters. Each had animals involved, mostly dogs, but also cats and birds and even an iguana, which earned an extra smile from me as it reminded me of Saurus, a pet I’d sat for and who’d been the subject of a petnapping that was successfully resolved.

We discussed the latest salvo from some of their dissatisfied customers since Shareen and Corbin had been informed that a lawsuit complaint had been filed and would be served next week unless Show Biz Beasts anted up and got all their former students placed in films.

“Which isn’t going to happen,” Corbin exploded from behind his shiny black metal desk. He’d shed his outdoor outfit and looked more comfy, in loose blue jeans and a muscle shirt that revealed his flab.

“You know we always tell people in advance how fickle the industry is.” Shareen shook her head. Her frown emphasizing parallel wrinkles in her forehead, she sat in an uncomfortable gleaming metal chair that matched mine.

They said nothing new, and I’d no assurances to comfort them with. “We’ll just need to look at the complaint when it’s served,” I said, “unless you think of a way to appease them with film or TV appearances, or even just auditions. ”

Which was when the germ of an idea started to percolate deep within my mind. I wondered . . . well, I’d run the thought by my down-to-earth friend Darryl before I mentioned it to the Hayhursts, or followed it up by contacting other people I knew.

“That’s all?” Corbin sounded extremely miffed. Of course I knew why—or at least part of it.

I didn’t want to get his hopes aroused, but I did say, “Tell you what. Today’s visit here is on me, especially since I really enjoyed watching the end of your class. But I need to do some research regarding an idea I have about your case. Okay?”

“Okay,” Shareen said hastily, aiming an irritated glance at her husband, who was obviously about to protest.

“Just keep the billable time under control,” Corbin grumped, and I assured him I would.

A SHORT WHILE later, Darryl and I again occupied the front seat of my car, with the dogs settled in the back.

I told Darryl what had come to my mind, and he whistled. “I love it!” he all but shouted. “Not only that, I’ve got some suggestions, too.” And they were all extraordinarily good ones that encompassed an even greater solution than I’d imagined. One that could have far-reaching effects for a whole lot of people I knew.

“But like Shareen said, we all know how fickle the industry is,” I cautioned him after we’d brainstormed for a while.

“Yeah, but it helps to have contacts,” he reminded me. “And both of us do.”

I laughed, and for the rest of the ride back to Doggy Indulgence I felt a whole lot lighter in spirit than I had for many days.

But as I left Lexie and Odin off to spend a few hours enjoying themselves at the doggy resort, I realized that my now uncharacteristic cheerfulness was extremely fleeting. In fact, it fled as I returned alone to my rental car.

There was a potentially extremely unpleasant place I needed to go . . . right now.

Chapter Fourteen

OKAY,
NEEDED
TO go was a little strong.
Wanted
to go wasn’t exactly accurate, either.
Felt compelled to go
. . . that was most precise.

I had learned from Melba Slabach, head scientist at The Clone Arranger, about a couple of people who’d had it in for Earl Knox but had nothing to do with that company. One was Earl’s ex-wife, Edwina Horton, and the other was his ex-employer, Clark Weiss, owner of CW Ultra Technologies. I’d obtained information, including contact data, about both of them on the Internet, confirmed and enhanced by Althea.

Since it was Sunday, I didn’t anticipate the CW behind CW would be at his offices. That meant my visit would need to be to Edwina.

I forbore at first from calling her from my cell phone as I sat in my rental car in the Doggy Indulgence parking lot and pondered my moves. I was a whole lot uncertain how to play this particular interview. How to get the woman to confirm she was home. How to get her to talk to me, when I’d no genuine credentials beyond being an attorney and pet-sitter. The latter wouldn’t get me any kind of audience unless she had a pet that might require sitting. Even then, if I came on an ostensibly uninvited sales call, it wouldn’t necessarily get her to open her door, let alone open up about her relationship with her ex—and any remaining motive to dispose of him.

If I admitted I was an attorney? Then perhaps I’d have to profess to represent someone with an interest potentially adverse to her. Or an estates and trusts expert representing an estate from which she was likely to inherit?

Earl was deceased and could have left an estate. But I didn’t have enough info on him or his assets to make a credible, if fraudulent, claim of representing his heirs.

Before I came to any kind of conclusion, I called Althea.

She sounded more down than ever before. Afraid to ask, I did anyway. “Have you heard anything about Jeff?”

“No. Have you?”

“Unfortunately, no. But I’m not giving up, Althea, and neither should you.” I glared out my windshield at the cars slinking by on Ventura Boulevard. A big commercial cleaner’s van. An SUV as large as an Escalade but of a foreign make. A little silver hybrid—another one. Sedans of many makes and colors.

Nothing worth watching.

“Of course not,” Althea said a whole lot too heartily, so I knew that was the direction she was diving into. And if always upbeat Althea thought Jeff wasn’t coming home . . .

No! I still wasn’t about to go there. I wouldn’t make any assumptions about his whereabouts. I’d consider him gone forever only when—no,
if
—the authorities came up with an identifiable corpse. And that wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey, I called for advice and a favor,” I informed her. I explained my dilemma about Earl Knox’s ex. “I’ve acted as an apprentice private investigator before, under the aegis of Jeff’s license. Can I do that when the guy holding the credentials can’t vouch that I’m a student?”

“Sure,” Althea asserted. “A couple of the guys here were close enough to get their licenses, and Buzz Dulear has already applied.”

“Really?” He hadn’t mentioned it on our outing to see the drowned Escalade. “I thought his expertise was in security equipment.”

“It is, but he figured it would be a good thing to become an official P.I., so he’s been working on it. Now, it’s even more critical, so he’s started pushing. I’m sure he’d be willing to say you’re working for Hubbard Security on this investigation. Heck, the cops aren’t doing much good. We need all the help we can get to get our head honcho back in the fold again.”

“Amen.” I told her I’d keep in touch.

And then I placed my call to Edwina.

SHE LIVED IN a condo in Pasadena, near the bustling area of Old Town. When I was growing up in L.A., the area was old and run-down, but it had been restored and was now a really popular locale.

Which meant Edwina’s penthouse condo might have cost as much as my rented-out home. No matter. I wasn’t here to compare assets but to extract information.

The opulent lobby, complete with plush rug, silk-upholstered seating, and crystal chandeliers, had a security desk that must have been manned full-time. When I identified myself to the uniformed lady guard and gave the name of the resident I was there to see, she immediately placed a call. After a few words into the phone, she smiled and pointed me toward an elevator whose door was just opening—thanks to her control, I presumed.

I doubted it would stop at any floor but the top, which was where Edwina’s flat was located. I didn’t bother pushing any of the other buttons, since my curiosity was less intense than my need to talk to the woman.