Never Say Sty (13 page)

Read Never Say Sty Online

Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
6.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Thanks.” After placing rawhide dog chews on the floor, I took the seat I’d removed them from. It had a metal frame, and its back and seat were of leopard-patterned fabric.
I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to Eliza’s appearance at the
Animal Auditions
filmings. She had sat at the judges’ table but had been dwarfed in importance by Sebastian’s irritating gibes.
She appeared a decade older than me, which made her mid-forties. Although I hadn’t noticed glasses on her before, she now sported rimless ones. Perhaps she wore contacts oncamera, but presumably her appearance mattered less here on the radio. Her hair was long, brown, and pulled back into a pretty clip.
“As I told you on the phone,” I began, “I’m trying to find some answers for a law client whose dog has severe separation anxiety.” Which was absolutely the truth, but not the entirety. I also wanted to subtly quiz Eliza about her opinion of Sebastian Czykovski, and how he died.
And whether she might have had a hand in it.
“I suspect you’d have more luck getting information from Matilda Hollins than me,” she said. “She’s the pet shrink.”
“Have you interviewed people on your show who might be able to help?”
“Sure . . . and one was Matilda.” We both laughed. Then Eliza said, “If you’ve ever listened to my show, you know I attempt to find people who work with animals in all different ways. It’s hard to find the right interviewees for the radio and Internet, although at least on the Web I’m able to post segments that show the pets we talk about in action. That’s why I bring on people like the heads of rescue organizations and those who train service animals . . . not to mention people who own birds who say crazy things on the air, and controversial sorts who want people to stop treating their pets like family.”
“That,” I said fervently, “will never happen.”
“No, but it generates a whole lot of caller interest and Web site feedback.”
“Then you encourage controversy?” I asked it mildly, but inside eagerly awaited her answer. If she said yes, then she probably appreciated Sebastian and his nastiness. If she said no, then perhaps she wouldn’t want to be in the presence of someone so contentious. But would she kill him?
“I encourage whatever brings in advertising revenue, since that’s how my success is judged. Same thing on
Animal Auditions
, isn’t it?” She didn’t wait for my response. “I might have added a nasty edge to the judging there, if you hadn’t brought in that really controversial Sebastian. I interviewed him on my show last year, by the way. The guy had a real reputation in the dog agility community as a hard-nosed, difficult-to-please judge. Plus, he had guts. And a mouth that generated a lot of interest in my show, as it turned out. Can’t say that I liked him, but I’ll sure miss him. So will
Animal Auditions
, unless you find someone else who’s the same, only different. I’ve already taken a role there as somewhat of a peacekeeper, so it can’t be me. But I’m ready to help you find someone else, if you’d like. I like that show, and my own audience has increased over the last couple of weeks.”
I now surmised Eliza Post had nothing to do with Sebastian’s death. Unless, of course, this was an act designed to convince me of exactly that.
Call me cynical, but I’d learned, as a murder magnet, never to completely believe anything anyone said in the interest of exonerating him- or herself.
“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I’ll mention it to Charlotte and the others who are scrambling to replace Sebastian.” Like Dante.
Dante. Another interesting query sprang to my lips.
“I have to admit that I didn’t listen much to your show until lately,” I said with an expression on my face that I hoped appeared half hangdog. “Have you ever had our executive producer, Dante DeFrancisco, on it? With his interest in animals and sales of pet products, I’ll bet he’d be a natural.”
“I’d bet so, too,” she said sharply. “But the guy’s people claim he likes staying in the background. Doesn’t want to be interviewed or appear in any kind of medium, not radio or the Internet. They offered others from his home office, but I turned them down. I want the real thing.”
Interesting. The guy was well known in the pet industry. Didn’t hide his backing of
Animal Auditions
. Even sat in the audience . . . during filming? I’d have to check some of the footage that had been shot.
But he wouldn’t allow Corina to interview him oncamera, either. Was he hiding something—like himself? If so, why?
“Maybe he’s shy,” I said with a small shrug.
“More likely, he’s
sly
,” Eliza said. “Like a fox.”
This meeting was generating a whole lot more questions than answers, other than taking some suspicion in Sebastian’s death off Eliza.
“Could be,” I said noncommittally. Time to change the subject. “Anyway, if you think of any of your guests who might have ideas about canine separation anxiety, please let me know.” I reached into my purse and pulled out one of my Yurick law firm business cards. My interest in this was more legal than pet-sitting. “And certainly tell Charlotte if you have ideas for a replacement judge. I need to run. Thanks for your time.”
As I drove back toward the San Fernando Valley, my mind whirled. Had I eliminated one suspect in Sebastian’s death? Could be. But I’d learned nothing to help me fix the problems of poor Princess and her shrieking separation anxiety. Maybe I should have suggested Eliza’s recording her as a radio guest.
And now I wondered even more about Dante DeFrancisco. He certainly didn’t strike me as a shy guy.
I knew he didn’t want to be seen on TV, and now I’d learned he also didn’t want to be heard on the Web or the radio.
Why?
Chapter Eleven
I PONDERED THAT darned Dante and his devotion both to helping pets and to staying, somewhat, out of the limelight. In fact, I thought of little else on my way to Doggy Indulgence Day Resort to pick up my dearest canine friend, and to see my dearest human one.
Lexie gave me one of her most wonderfully exuberant greetings nearly the instant I stepped through the door, but my other buddy didn’t even say hi.
That could have been because I didn’t see him in the chaos of the facility filled with canines and their caretakers.
I asked his employee Kiki where he was. “He’s not here.” She dipped her head so her bleached hair all but obscured the little bichon in her arms.
“I figured. Do you know where he is?” If he’d just gone down the street to Starbucks, I’d catch up with him there.
“Yes,” was her curt response, and her blue eyes sneaked a sly glance toward me.
“Okay, let’s play Twenty Questions. Is Darryl out for just a short while?” I didn’t want to make the question compound, like, did he leave for the day instead. That might be too complicated for this irritating person to comprehend.
“Yes. And rather than prolonging this sillyness”—I felt my eyebrows elevate toward my hairline. “Prolonging” seemed too sophisticated a word for Kiki even to grasp, let alone use correctly in a sentence. Maybe she’d read it in a script somewhere.—“I don’t know where he is. But I know who he’s with.” Her smile grew a lot more snide, but I bit anyway.
“Okay, then. Who’s he with?” By this time, I’d lifted Lexie into my arms, and she squirmed to get down and resume playing with her pup peers. But I wanted to leave as soon as I’d learned what I was after. Which now consisted of satisfying my curiosity about Darryl’s companion. I suspected, judging by Kiki’s demeanor, that he was with his new girlfriend. And I was dying to learn who it was.
“His new girlfriend,” Kiki confirmed, and for once I joined in her grin.
“Great,” I said. “Who is she?”
“If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you himself.” She squatted to put the wiggly bichon on the floor.
I swallowed a stinging retort and said sweetly, “Is there a reason for him to keep it a secret?” Like, was she a serial killer? Or seriously ugly? Or an animal hater? He’d know that any of those would lower her in my estimation, although the ugly one was the most acceptable.
“Of course there is.” Kiki rose and shot a look up and down my bod as if assessing whether I was worthy of this conversation. I held my tongue between my teeth so as not to say something insulting . . . this time. Antagonizing her wouldn’t get me answers.
“Please, Kiki, tell me who it is.” If that didn’t stir her, I’d add a pretty please with sugar, spice, and everything nice.
“Can’t,” she responded brusquely. “I promised him.”
“But—” I began.
She waved a manicured hand to shush me. “But I didn’t promise not to give you a hint. It’s a big one—and the only one: You know her. Now, I need to get back to work. Have a good day.” She reached toward me in a manner that made me want to step back. I thought for an instant she was going to shove me out of her way. Instead, she gave Lexie a quick and gentle caress on the head. “See you soon, Lex, my friend.” And then she turned her back and hurried to the area of the room where the canines were cavorting, playing tug-of-war.
Leaving me there, staring at her back . . . and wondering. Darryl’s new girlfriend was someone I knew? I knew a lot of people, and approximately half were of the female persuasion.
Who was she?
 
 
I FOUND MYSELF refereeing another game of tug-of-war a short while later. One of my former ADR clients and now longtime pet-sitting customer, Fran Korwald, remained out of town, and her pug, Piglet, seemed even more lonesome than usual in her absence that evening. I’d brought Lexie inside while I tended to Piglet’s dinner—and wondered what this small, chunky dog who’d been named as if he were a potbelly would do if he actually was in the company of his namesakes. He was way smaller than the piggies who were
Animal Auditions
contestants, and he’d drawn Lexie into a game with a two-looped rubber toy. Both were pulling and growling and looking adorable. I watched for a long while, letting them have their fun till I really had to interrupt to take Lexie to our next client’s.
Eventually, our evening’s duties—hard to call them that when they were so darned fun—were over. With Lexie in the backseat of the rental car, I headed home.
When we reached the wrought iron fence outside our Hollywood Hills abode, I reached for the button attached to the visor to open the outside gate—and stopped. In the light of the early August evening, I observed two playful canines gallivanting on the lawn outside my rented-out house. One, unsurprisingly, was Beggar, Rachel and Russ’s lovely and loving Irish setter.
The other was a lithe and lively German shepherd. One that certainly resembled Dante’s dog, Wagner. Couldn’t be, though . . . could it?
I knew the truth as soon as I pulled inside the gate. Sitting on the steps beside the garage, the ones that led up to my second-story apartment, was Dante.
Why? Even more important, how had he gotten inside our super security gate? I’d had Jeff Hubbard upgrade the system after a murder had taken place in the large house a while back—one in which ferrets owned by Charlotte LaVerne’s former guyfriend had been sorta suspects. So had Charlotte.
Dante maneuvered toward the driver’s door as I parked. Lexie started leaping around inside the car, she was so excited to see him. “Cool it,” I told her—even though, somewhere inside, I was leaping around in a similar fashion.
As Dante, gentleman that he was, opened the door for me, I immediately demanded, “How did you get through the gate?”
“Rachel let us in before she ran off to pet-sit. She thought you’d be here earlier than this, but Wagner was having so much fun with Beggar, the time went fast.” Unasked was the implied question “Where the hell have you been, and why did it take so long?”
I didn’t respond to the undercurrent and instead said, “Got it. Next question: Why—”
“Are we here? That’s obvious, isn’t it? Waiting for you.”
“That’s half an answer. Why—”
“Are we waiting for you? I have things to discuss with you about
Animal Auditions
. I’ve already run some ideas about a new judge by Charlotte and Rachel, and wanted your input.”
Was that merely a magnanimous gesture—to give me a supposed say in something so important? Maybe not. I was, after all, also on the production staff of the show, even if not one whose deep pockets determined if the show would go on.
But had Dante already had a new judge up his sleeve—even before he disposed of Sebastian?
Okay, I assumed a lot here, but despite my initial inclination toward innocence, I really hadn’t ruled Dante out as an upper echelon suspect. More likely that he dunnit than Detective Ned Noralles, after all.
Dante was still speaking. “How about if we leave the dogs here and go out to dinner to discuss it? Have you eaten yet?”
At least he asked without presuming I’d do anything for an evening out with him, even pretend I was hungry. “No. I was going to grab something here.” I pondered his invitation. And his presence. Oh, what the hell?
And why the hell were my insides now doing additional flip-flops at the idea that I’d spend another hour or two in Dante’s presence?

Other books

Vanished by John Shepard, Danielle Cloakey
Almost a Lady by Jane Feather
Daybreak Zero by John Barnes
Good Sensations by S. L. Scott
Pricksongs & Descants by Robert Coover
Tremor of Intent by Anthony Burgess