Double Dog Dare (3 page)

It was a bustling place, as always, and smelled of disinfectant overlying the scent of doggy accidents. Some of his employees stood by the big front desk, checking pups out to their owners. Those dogs not yet checked out were all over the place, occupying each of the areas designed for their ongoing delight. One contained doggy toys for unending games. Lexie’s favorite area, over in the corner, was filled with human furniture and dogs lolling on sofas, chairs, and area rugs on the pinelook linoleum floor. I noticed the light-and-dark furry spot that was Lexie at the same time she saw me and started dashing toward the door.

“I’m doing okay,” I assured Darryl, albeit fibbingly. “And I’m a lot better now that I’m with you. And Lexie,” I added as that special pup all but leaped from the floor and into my arms. I bent to gather her up and let her wag her whole body, especially her tail, as she proceeded to cover my chin with wet doggy kisses. No matter what else was on my mind, I couldn’t help laughing. Who could, with a loving and cheering Cavalier hugged close?

“Come on into my office, and we’ll talk,” Darryl said.

“Okay, but where’s Odin?” I asked—but didn’t need to, since Jeff’s middle-size, fuzzy Akita emerged from behind some toys in the play area and strolled toward us, his tail curled over his back. I bent to put Lexie down and give Odin a big hug. As I stood again, I looked toward Darryl. “This is one of those times I’m glad they don’t understand English and I can’t speak Barklish. How could I tell Odin about what—” I hadn’t anticipated it, but my voice broke and I felt the tears start again. “Damn,” I whispered.

Darryl took my arm and led me into his office. The dogs stayed outside, where there were more things for them to get into.

I sat on a chair facing Darryl’s cluttered desk. He sat down in his own plush seat and stared solemnly at me through his wire-rimmed glasses. “You want to talk more about it?” he asked.

“Not. Really.” The words came out slowly and soggily, and I inhaled to catch some control. “Okay, yes. I can’t figure out how Jeff even got back here without telling me— assuming it really is his Escalade they found, and with the license and vehicle ID numbers, I have to assume the cops got at least that right. I thought . . . I thought we were an item now. And if it is him, and he had a good reason not to tell me . . . where is he?”

Darryl shook his head so sadly that I almost didn’t want to hear what he had to say. “I have no idea. And what reason could he have not to tell you? Or if not you, his employees? ” He peered at me over his eyeglass rims. “You’re sure you can trust them to be straight with you?”

“Yes,” I stated emphatically, then dropped my head. “I think. If Jeff told them to keep something from me, they would. Under most circumstances. But now . . . Well, surely they’d say something, at least hint they were aware of a secret. But Althea seems as baffled and upset as I am. I haven’t talked to any of the others, but I’ll probably be with Buzz tomorrow when we check out the site where the Escalade was located.”

“So you’re not just hanging around waiting for the cops to figure everything out? What a surprise. And just think of all the situations you’ve resolved lately, Kendra. You’re getting to be a master at solving puzzles. You’ll work this one out, too.”

“Right,” I responded brightly. “I have cleared a lot of wrongly accused people lately, haven’t I? Unlocked what actually occurred. Determined who . . . killed . . . someone else.” I sagged in my seat. “Does that mean Jeff has to be dead before I can discover what happened to him?” I looked at Darryl beseechingly, begging him to reassure me that my investigation prowess didn’t perpetually have to involve a body.

“Of course not,” he said, his brightness clearly feigned. Which made me sag all the more.

“Maybe this time I’d better just leave it to the authorities to figure out so I don’t jinx Jeff,” I said morosely.

Darryl’s brief laugh was genuine this time. “That’ll be the day—when Kendra Ballantyne sits back and lets someone else solve a mystery that’s important to her.”

I TOOK THE dogs and drove the car to my home-sweet-garage -top apartment for a few minutes, to collect my clothing for the next couple of days. There, behind the wrought iron gate, I ran into the daughter of the tenant of my big, beautiful, pseudo chateau, who also happened to be my pet-sitting assistant, Rachel Preesinger. Nineteen years old and a sassy aspiring actress, Rachel had followed her father, Russ, to L.A. when he had become a location scout for a major studio. With her was her beautiful Irish setter, Beggar—short for Begorra—who immediately led Lexie and Odin off to romp on the house’s sprawling, lush green front yard.

“Hi, Kendra, hope you don’t mind, but I was waiting for a check from that production company I worked for last month, so I sorted our mail and stuck yours in that pile where I usually . . . What’s wrong?” she demanded, her hands on slender hips covered by her usual uniform of jeans and film studio T-shirt—Sony this time. We stood on the driveway near the carport where I parked my car. Her huge brown eyes appraised me, and the cocking of her head knocked her short, dark curls askew. “You look
awful
.” I’d been hearing that assessment an awful lot that day, and didn’t particularly appreciate it.

I nevertheless filled her in.

“Oh, Kendra, not Jeff.” She looked almost as stricken as I felt. “I knew he was missing, but I just figured he was off on some supersecret case. He’s too young and hunky to die.”

I wanted to boot her in the butt for even suggesting he was dead, but heck, I was considering the possibility much too much myself. “Yeah,” I agreed instead.

She gave me a rundown on the clients of Critter TLC, LLC, my pet-sitting company, that she was caring for, as well as her upcoming schedule. She was always heading off to casting calls and occasionally wound up with a small movie walk-on here and there. Commercials, too. At this moment, though, all she had was a few roles behind her, a lot of hope, and zero pending productions.

I promised to keep her informed about Jeff, she promised to keep me informed about our pet-sitting customers, and I hurried off to collect clothes, then dogs.

I had decided we would spend our night at Jeff’s.

I DIDN’T SAY we would sleep at Jeff’s. At least the dogs would get their nighttime snoozes. Judging by the way they hovered around me before bedtime, I guessed that they sensed something was wrong. But I might not have explained it to these sensitive canine kids even if I’d believed they could understand. Which they couldn’t. And so, they slept.

I didn’t. At least not much.

I hadn’t decided to stay at Jeff’s house simply because I felt closer to him here. Sure, that was part of it, but I also figured it would give me more ability to snoop in his stuff.

Even though I’d had the opportunity to do so, I had not dived into his belongings before to try to figure out where he was. At least not much. I had checked the desktop computer in his office to look at the last websites he had accessed before he left. I’d also asked Althea to hack into his business e-mail to see if she could learn anything there; but if she had, she hadn’t spilled it to me. Nor had she enlightened me about his most recent office and cell phone calls, although I knew she was fully capable of hacking into the phone companies’ most secure systems.

Not that I’d ever blab on her, of course. She’s a friend. And very handy that way when I’m ensconsed in an investigation.

I sent Althea an e-mail asking her to send me copies of any pertinent credit card charges—another thing she could get with ease. Better yet, I asked her to give me instructions about how I could access all Jeff’s personal stuff myself.

I wouldn’t have invaded his space this way—at least not this deeply—under normal circumstances. For one thing, I wasn’t a licensed investigator, although I’d professed now and then to be a junior sleuth working under Jeff’s company’s license when that seemed appropriate, always with his prior okay.

Before.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. And if I could have asked Jeff about doing things this way, I would have. Of course, if I could do that, I wouldn’t need to pry at all.

Was I acting unethically as a lawyer? Well, Jeff wasn’t a client, at least not officially. And I wasn’t about to trumpet to the world any helpful information I unearthed—unless it helped to find, and to save, the real P.I. in this situation. Stealing information I wasn’t entitled to probably wasn’t the most principled thing to do, but I was doing it for the best of reasons.

Would that save me from another ethics inquiry by the California State Bar?

I hoped I’d never find out.

TO GET THE earliest start possible the next day, I decided to leave the dogs at Jeff’s. I walked them first in his nice neighborhood in the flats of Sherman Oaks, north of Ventura Boulevard. Jeff’s place was a charming pseudo-Mexican single-story home that resembled many of the others surrounding it.

I’d been here often enough that I’d gotten to know a few of the neighbors by sight, if not by name. I waved at the small woman who always walked a mellow Great Dane on the opposite sidewalk, and she waved back. Lexie and Odin acted as though they’d like to trade butt sniffs with the other dog, but there wasn’t time today.

Despite the early hour, a couple of dilapidated trucks indicated some gardeners were ready to start clipping, weeding, and mowing. One, a guy in a big straw hat, seemed to be instructing others who also were clad in work clothes. Another familiar neighbor, a habitual jogger, loped by and gasped a hello. Across the street, in a fully fenced yard where three mixed-breed dogs who appeared to have been rescued from shelters usually bounded about, another guy in grungy clothes had already begun his yard work. As we passed, someone I didn’t recognize loped by with a little Lhasa Apso trotting alongside, and I had to keep Lexie and Odin from lunging in that direction, both barking eagerly.

This was a typical May day in the San Fernando Valley. Spring, with jacaranda trees losing their pretty purple flowers. Warmish, without threatening stifling heat later in the day. A cloud-free, brilliant blue sky.

A cheerful day. Or it should have been.

I was often alone here walking the dogs, since I frequently stayed at Jeff’s to care for Odin while Jeff was out of town. It usually felt comfortable to be strolling his neighborhood with my two canine charges.

Today, it just reminded me more poignantly that I had no idea when Jeff would return. Or
if
he’d—

Nope, I’d promised myself not to let my mind go in that dire direction.

“Okay, gang,” I finally said after stooping to do poop patrol after Odin produced. Lexie had been the winner in that contest today. I’d picked up after her earlier. “Time to go back.”

I gave them each an extra treat before heading off to tend my morning’s pet-sitting clients: Piglet, Fran Korwald’s pug; Abra and Cadabra, Harold Reddingham’s cats; Widget, a terrier mix; and Stromboli, a shepherd mix; plus a wave at his human and canine next-door neighbors, Maribelle Openheim and her terrier mix, Mephistopheles. Not long ago, Maribelle had neglected Meph. Now they were best buds, and she and I kept in close touch.

And when I was done with my pet-tending—feeding, walking, cleaning, grooming, and a whole lot of hugging— I arranged to meet Buzz Dulear at a fast-food joint’s parking lot for our journey to the Antelope Valley.

BUZZ DULEAR WAS a guy with a long, long body and short, short hair, plus a receding hairline. He was more a security expert than an investigator, and I gathered that was because he was more technologically oriented than ingenious in extracting information from people.

I’d met him the first time I visited the offices of Hubbard Security. My initial impression was of a guy who was talking on the phone to someone he wasn’t overly fond of. In fact, he swore profusely at whoever was on the other end.

I hadn’t gotten to know Buzz well after that, although I was certain there was more to him than a prolifically censorable mouth. I still didn’t know him well. He seemed extremely reticent as he drove his hybrid SUV north toward Lancaster. Or maybe his vocabulary was mostly limited to swear words and he had nothing particularly nasty to say to me.

“How long have you worked for Jeff?” I asked.

“Coupla years.” He looked into the rearview mirror.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Pretty much.” He put on the turn signal and stayed slow until a few cars passed.

“How many security systems have you installed?”

“A bunch.”

No way was this going to get my mind off where we were going and why, so after he’d merged onto the 5 Freeway heading north, I asked, “So, do you think Jeff’s okay?”

No answer. I looked at him.

Buzz had an oval face except for a boxy jaw. That jaw was even tighter than usual now. His lower lip—was it trembling?

Damn! That told me even more than if he’d expressed it in words.

“We’ll find him, Buzz,” I said fiercely. “And he’s got to be okay, or I’ll wring his neck.”

Which finally got a grin from the guy.

He turned a news station on, and we listened to traffic reports and some food news for the next half hour or so. Then there were national news highlights at the top of the hour.

Nothing about the Escalade found in the aqueduct canal. And, thank heavens, nothing about a body found floating anywhere.

Eventually, we got onto the 14 Freeway north, and around Palmdale we exited and started cruising narrow avenues outside the town, heading west. Buzz had apparently printed some maps off the Internet, and referred to them now and then to see where we were heading.

The land was arid around here, and sparsely populated once we were out of town. The roadside businesses tended to be car shops and small restaurants. Then there was what appeared to be farmland. Here? Where it was so dry?

Oh, yeah. The aqueduct brought water to this locale.