Howl Deadly (10 page)

If she chose to be a cougar and fall in love with someone so much her junior, more power to her, in my puny opinion. But I might have to convince a judge not to change her legal status under the law, so we discussed ways of proving she remained of sound mind.

“I’ll do some further research,” I said as they stood to leave. “But for now, don’t do anything rash that could ultimately hurt your position.”

“Like elope?” Alice said with a laugh. “I’ve thought about it, but figured Ellis could use that against me somehow.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’ll get back to you soon, Alice, with how I suggest handling this. Be sure to get in touch with me if Ellis tries anything. You can talk to him as usual, of course, mother to son. Just don’t discuss Roberto or Ellis’s possible claims against you.”

We’d already discussed my rates and entered into a contract of representation, and I made sure Alice had an original as they left.

Then I went to see Borden. Of course, the firm’s sweet senior partner had the biggest office. He’d bought this building, after all. Its walls were paneled in oak, and he was surrounded by shelves of law books. He had a charming antique desk, but his chairs were so oddly assorted that I’d concluded a while back that they’d been bought with the restaurant.

“What an interesting situation,” I told him as I sat in one of his desk-facing chairs. “Alice is absolutely as sharp as a tack, and she’s not really at an advanced age. I suppose it’s just greed that made Ellis say he’d try to get conservatorship over her.”

“Maybe,” he said, “and maybe not. I wanted you on this, Kendra, since Alice asked for you and you, as the youngest lawyer at this firm, should be best suited to represent her.”

I soon left Borden’s office with my mind swimming around thoughts of the lovely, aging film star and her handsome young stud. Interesting scenario. Would I someday want something similar in my life? I doubted it. I had too much trouble with slightly older men.

I’d barely sat down at my desk when I heard my cell phone ring. It was deep in a drawer, at the bottom of my large purse, and I had to dig for it.

For the longest time, I’d had a self-selected ring tone, the Bon Jovi song “It’s My Life.” I’d recently gotten a new phone. I’d settled in and become more complacent with my life since the time I’d chosen that song, and figured I needed a new tone, too. But I hadn’t had time to choose one. As a result, my cell just sang in a generic tune that still caught my attention.

I finally found the phone and flipped it open eagerly, after seeing Dante’s number on the ID screen. My heart flipped as it did so often when this man was on my mind.

“Kendra? Hi. Look, I have a legal problem I’d like to talk to you about.”

That sank an ugly dagger into my suddenly fragile bubble of a mood. He wasn’t calling the way he usually did, to tell me he missed me or something of the sort. He had business to discuss.

And so, I said in a most businesslike tone in response, “What kind of legal problem?”

“I’d rather tell you about it in person. Can you come here? There are others involved, too.”

When he told me where “here” was, I became even more curious. Of course I promised to be there as soon as I could.

 

 

MY CURIOSITY CLIMBING by the minute, I entered my Escape and headed north up the 405 Freeway, toward Granada Hills.

I’d never visited HotRescues before, but I’d read about it online. Of course. From the moment I’d met Dante, I’d looked up a lot about his interests and pet projects on the Internet.

I wasn’t surprised, parking on Rinaldi, to see that the building bearing the organization’s sign was large, clean, modern, and absolutely inviting. I assumed the idea was to invite everyone with a proper home to enter, check out the rescued pets, fall in love, and leave hugging a new friend.

I smiled as I pushed open the glass door and walked in. An older woman smiled back from the short, uncluttered reception desk. “Can I help you?”

I explained who I was and who’d invited me there.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Ballantyne. They’re expecting you.” She showed me to a hallway to her right—though I heard all the animal noises I’d anticipated to her left. I figured the administrative offices weren’t in the middle of the sheltered pets, but I’d entered with an expectation of seeing some rescued pooches and kitties.
Later
, I promised myself.

For now, I entered the hall and made a nearly immediate right into the first office. It was sizable, with a conversation area where I walked in and the business part—desk, computer, and all—at the opposite end.

Dante sat on a sofa that appeared to have come from designer stock—beige upholstery on a deep brown leathery-looking frame, with matching brown and beige pillows, all resting on carved wooden legs. There was a matching table in the middle, too, and on it sat two coffee cups.

He rose as I came in, and so did the woman with him. No need to describe how Dante looked that day—well, not much, but of course I noticed. As always, he was one gorgeous, hot guy. He wore a yellow shirt and black slacks that suggested he’d donned a suit that day but forbore from wearing the tie and jacket, at least here and now.

The woman appeared to be in her forties, taller and thinner than me, with dark hair in a wispy bob that framed an attractive face. She had high cheekbones, and a wide mouth with a smile that revealed even white teeth. Her nose was a little long, and there was a hint of wrinkles at the edges of her large green eyes.

I wanted, immediately, to dislike her. She might be part of the reason for Dante’s overnight withdrawal of avid attention from me. Or not. But someone so pretty, despite being older than me, was definitely worthy of some suspicion before I made up my mind about her.

“Kendra,” Dante said, “this is Lauren Vancouver. She’s the director here.” In other words, his hand-picked honcho to run this place. The equivalent here of Megan Zurich at HotWildlife. I enjoyed Megan and her magnificent treatment of the wild animals in her charge at the sanctuary. Would I like Lauren Vancouver?

She approached with her hand outstretched, and I shook it. Her grip was firm, and her smile surprisingly genuine.

“Hi, Lauren,” I said. “Good to meet you.” Yes, I’m adept at polite lies when it suits me.

“As I suggested on the phone, Kendra,” Dante said after we’d all sat down, “we may have a legal problem here, and there’s no one better than you to handle it.” I noticed with both relief and pleasure that he’d chosen to sit right beside me. Not Lauren. I started to chill out, at least a little.

“Tell me about it,” I said, “so I can figure out if your flattery is because you’re attempting to snow me.” Our gazes locked, and I saw both amusement and smoldering sensuality in his eyes. Did my teasing turn him on?

Hell, I hoped so.

Lauren laid out the details of their dilemma. “Here’s what happened, Kendra,” she said. “I may have screwed up.” Interesting, that although her words seemed apologetic, her green eyes glowed with what I read as self-satisfaction. I determined to listen even harder, try to discern the subtext as she spoke.

She briefly described HotRescues and how it operated. “We take in all kinds of pets—abandoned, abused, whatever. From wherever people find them. We clean them up, have our vets on call take care of their medical needs, and give them all the attention our staff and volunteers can provide. Mostly, what we want is to find each and every one a good home. We of course have a no-kill policy, and there’s always a danger of becoming overcrowded. Our main focus is to make sure that our charges are adopted, but only into the right situation.”

“So you research the homes you place them into,” I prompted when she slowed her speech a little. From what she’d said, I’d started wondering if her legal issue was an inappropriate adoption. Turned out I was right, but not for the reason I anticipated.

“Of course,” she agreed. “And the little pup at issue—he looks like a cocker spaniel-Jack Russell terrier mix—seemed perfect for the couple who adopted him. They just moved in together, love animals, and work in the entertainment industry. They have a nice yard behind their townhouse, and we thought it a perfect match. They’ve named him Quincy.”

“But?” I prompted, catching Dante’s eye. He wasn’t jumping in to comment, allowing Lauren to do all the talking. Which was probably fine, but when I’d heard her out, I’d want his insight on the situation, too.

“But I didn’t think to ask the vet to check this particular pup for an identification chip. Turns out, a guy in Pacoima claims to own him. He’s suing the new owners, HotRescues, Dante, and me to get him back, and for trumped-up damages like emotional distress and fraud.” For the first time, she looked less than gorgeous as concern crinkled her face. “I suppose I actually was a little negligent, though I’ll deny it if this thing gets to court. But other than this nasty fellow getting so upset, it was a win-win situation for the dog and his new people.”

Seeing a glimmer of something I couldn’t quite read on Dante’s face, I decided to follow up on this strange comment. “Why do you say that? It obviously wasn’t a winning situation for the guy who lost his dog. And didn’t Quincy miss his real master?”

“Hell, no,” Lauren all but exploded. “When one of our volunteers went to the park where Quincy had been spotted, she found him there, cringing every time anyone came close. He had open sores and bruising, and we definitely suspected all the damage hadn’t been done after he’d fled his home.”

Oh. Now I got it. The disappeared doggy had most likely left an abusive abode, and Lauren and staff might purposely have ignored any identifying assistance like a chip or tag. Better to get this puppy safely somewhere else.

Only, the original owner had somehow found this out. Learned of the connection to HotRescues. From that, it was only a short step to realize the connection to deep-pocketed Dante DeFrancisco.

“Okay, let’s say that, hypothetically, Quincy was in an abusive home and you’d learned about him without his running away. What would you have done then?”

“There are resources. Local agencies, for example, that follow up on animal abuse situations. But you generally have to be able to prove the abuse before they can do much. That sometimes takes time.”

“So you chose—er, forgot—to try to find Quincy’s original owner in an effort to help him?”

“If I did that—
hypothetically
—it was to save his life.” She glared angrily, as if daring me to dispute what she said.

“You get the gist of this, Kendra,” Dante broke in smoothly. “The guy has only threatened to sue, so far. If I were to offer him a lot of money, he might never file a claim. But I hate to pay him off for what he did to that poor dog.”

“This sounds like an interesting legal issue,” I said. “And as you know, Dante, I do a lot of animal law. I prefer to use ADR instead of courtrooms to resolve things. That generally stands for alternative dispute resolution, but to me it’s animal dispute resolution. I’d be glad to look further into this and see what I can do.” I was already pretty certain we could win some potential claims, but others were more troubling.

“Thanks, Kendra.” Dante stood as I still sat on the sofa.

“Yes, thanks,” Lauren echoed, sounding utterly relieved as she, too, rose.

I also got up, and Dante gently took my arm as we headed for the door. “We’ll talk soon, Lauren,” he said.

“And if you hear anything more about this claim,” I told her, “don’t say a word except to say you’ll refer it to your lawyer.”

“Got it,” she said with a smile.

“Now, can I go see some of your rescued pets?”

“Absolutely!”

She took us on a tour of the other part of the rescue facility. Well, she took me on a tour. Dante had obviously been there before.

I have to say I was impressed. Dogs and cats were kept in separate areas, each in an individual enclosure, like at other shelters. All habitats had tile floors that looked easy to clean, with areas at the rear set up as potty places. The animals had comfortable-looking pillow-beds and generous water bowls.

The nice amenities didn’t keep the poor creatures from obviously feeling lonely. Some slept, others lay on their beds looking morosely in my direction, and some came to the wire-mesh barrier where I stood, doggies wriggling eagerly and kitties appearing aloof as only felines can, yet needy nonetheless. A few dogs barked or whined for attention. The cats called out their meows.

I ached to adore all of them, right in my arms. I greeted them saying sweet things, happy at least that this was a no-kill shelter. All of them would eventually find homes . . . hopefully.

Dante took my hand somewhere along the line. I squeezed it hard, barely keeping my emotions in check.

Lauren stayed with us, too, and we soon turned and walked back along the other side of the enclosures. At the place where we’d begun, I turned to her. “This place is so wonderful, yet so sad. How do you stand it, day after day?”

“I keep thinking about all the excellent adoptions we’ve put together. It’s hard to see how sad some of these guys get while they’re here, and there are only so many of us who can give them attention. But it’s exciting to bring them here when they’re in bad shape, nurse them back to health, then make sure they’re placed with the best people possible.”

“You’re the greatest,” I exclaimed without thinking, tossing aside my earlier, ungenerous thoughts about Lauren and her possible relationship with Dante. “Do you ever have any pets here besides cats or dogs?” I asked her.

“They’re in the majority, but we’ll help any animal at all.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll definitely be in touch. If you say you couldn’t find Quincy’s original owner and did your best for him by placing him in a loving home, who can argue with that?” Only that original owner and the lawyer he’d hired—in hopes of extorting lots of money from Dante—and maybe even some irascible judge. But I’d do my best to prevent Lauren, Dante, and HotRescues from losing this case.