Never Say Sty (22 page)

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Never Say Sty
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And with a call to Althea later, maybe I’d be able to aim my investigation in more productive directions.
I finally entered the building and went into the big soundstage area where porcine chaos was already in progress. The official piggy activities hadn’t yet started, but our animal stars were being exhorted by their owners to do excellent jobs in today’s scenting scenarios. Once again, the pigs were to pretend to be on the job as investigators smelling out contraband such as illicit drugs—in the form of some soapy stuff that really didn’t reek too badly, and also wasn’t actually illegal.
Okay, I admit it: I was fast becoming a pigaphile. I loved the porkers. They were utterly smart and personable, chuffing and oinking their little hearts out while attempting to ascertain what was going on around them. Most were chubby, and all waddled around their owners as if to assure they’d obey any command. Their broad and inquisitive snouts alternately were raised into the air to check its scents, then lowered toward the floor.
As I took it all in, I slunk up to the nearest pigs and knelt to hug their bristly and chunky carcasses. “Hi, guys,” I said, and received some satisfying grunts in exchange.
As I stood again, I looked beyond the crowd, toward where the audience sat. Once again, we hosted visiting cops, including detectives Howard Wherlon and Vickie Schwinglan. I assumed they were here watching us like hawks as they continued to conduct their official investigation into Sebastian’s demise, not just to cheer on Ned and Nita, nor Porker or Sty Guy.
With their resources, I’d be spending my investigative time elsewhere, questioning others in Sebastian’s life about why his death had occurred.
Well, heck, I could still do that. Would do that. Soon. But I felt frustrated for now. I needed to do something more to reach a resolution. Today, the best I could do was ponder possibilities, as I watched the people and pigs who’d been around here before Sebastian was killed.
Dante stood on the sidelines beyond where the cameras would point, Wagner sitting at attention at his side. The human of those two seemed to sense when I walked in and smiled sexily straight at me. I gave Dante a large smile right back and immediately looked away. If he wanted more than attempting to manipulate me, he’d have to ask.
I let my gaze wander from person to person. Charlotte was there in her producer’s capacity, taking charge of everything. Our hosts—my assistant Rachel and weatherman-on-hiatus Rick Longley—stood together, reviewing paperwork that I assumed contained their “ad-lib” lines. Trainers Charley Sherman and Corbin Hayhurst each worked with a couple of pigs and their people—Corbin’s people included Nita and Ned Noralles.
But my attention was quickly riveted on the table below our bleachers. That’s where the judges were to sit. And all three were there.
Eliza Post appeared composed as she initially assessed the competitors. No glasses on her today, and her makeup appeared perfect. She’d smoothed her long brown hair around her shoulders and appeared somewhat younger than the mid-forties I’d estimated before. Maybe someday I’d ask . . . as I assessed her more closely as a murder suspect.
Matilda Hollins was there, too. That relieved me, after my earlier doubts. On the other hand, she seemed somehow to have aged into her fifties since the last time I’d seen her. Yes, she was there—with reading glasses, perched on her nose, emphasizing the roundness of her cheeks. Her short hair underscored her wrinkles. Looked like the makeup gurus here hadn’t been extremely successful.
What was going on with her?
Of course, compared with the handsome Brody Avilla, neither lady judge could stand up. He stood in their center, also watching the goings-on along the soundstage.
I glanced at my cell phone to see the hour. We were to start taping in twenty minutes. That gave me a little time.
I edged up to Dante, who unobtrusively touched the small of my back. I liked the way it felt, but not the possessiveness it might have meant.
Especially since I saw Jeff Hubbard come through the soundstage door.
“What’s he doing here?” Dante asked irritably.
“Backstopping me,” I said too sweetly. “Looking for something to help Ned and Nita.”
“Then let
him
do it, Kendra,” Dante commanded. I shrugged as I edged past him, obviously intending to ignore his words.
Besides, there was someone I wanted to talk to right away. Maybe there was one person here with some answers—or at least she was causing me questions.
Matilda didn’t seem pleased to see me approach the judges’ table. She glanced around, as if seeking a spot for asylum.
Brody must have gotten the drift of what I was up to, and moved to block her way. “Hi, Kendra,” he said smoothly. “I enjoyed our dinner last night.”
Which statement got me stares from both Matilda and Eliza. “Strictly business, unfortunately,” I said with a shrug.
Eliza laughed. Matilda still seemed to search for a way out—and I wasn’t about to give it to her.
I directed my attention back to Brody. “Since you’ve started with us, I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any sense of someone who’s angry with our judges, have you? I mean, I want you all to stay safe and healthy, but I’m still hoping to figure out what happened to Sebastian. Since you’ve taken over his spot, I’m most concerned about you.”
Not entirely true. After all the innuendoes about his prior mysterious affiliations with Dante, I had a definite sense that Brody wasn’t just another pretty face. He could take care of himself, and then some.
“Thanks,” he said. “But if I get any hint of danger, I’ll go to the police right away. I’ve played law enforcement officers in some of my films, and have a healthy respect for what they do. How about you ladies? You’re not feeling spooked, are you? Whatever happened to Sebastian, surely it wasn’t a result of being a judge here . . . was it?”
Eliza smiled again. “Not to my knowledge. But I’ll be the first to warn both of you if I feel at all concerned.”
We all looked expectantly at Matilda, who stayed quiet.
“Did you get my phone messages?” I asked, deciding not to push her about her odd call to
me
. For now.
“Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you back,” she said, her expression hinting of sourness. “To fit in this taping this afternoon, my calendar became quite a mess, and there were pet patients I just had to see. No time for the phone.”
Not even on Sunday? I wanted to ask, but forbore.
“No problem,” I told her. “As long as everything’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” she said with a pseudo smile that seemed to turn her round face into a jack-o’-lantern lookalike.
“And you’re not feeling in any danger being a judge for this show, despite what happened to Sebastian?” That question blessedly came from Brody, who was backing me up on this inquiry.
“Absolutely not,” Matilda responded emphatically. But her attention seemed solely on the paperwork on the table in front of her, and not on any of the people, such as Brody or me.
Was she lying? I had the distinct impression she was.
At that moment, at least, I didn’t see her as Sebastian’s killer, any more than Ned. Or Nita. Of course, I could be absolutely wrong.
Was she simply afraid that what had happened to Sebastian could happen to her? I could certainly understand that.
But she was a psychologist—even though an animal shrink. I’d try to get her to talk about it soon.
And hopefully I’d get her to feel a lot better once I figured out who’d harmed her fellow judge.
Chapter Nineteen
BUT MURDER WASN’T on my mind as soon as the cameras started rolling. The piggy fest rocked!
All our remaining contestants appeared to be excellent sniffers. I was highly impressed when most discovered the hidden treasures that, if genuine instead of well-placed props, could have been terrorist equipment beneath the audience bleachers, hidden in judges’ notebooks, and in pockets of other pig owners. Everyone seemed to enjoy the scenario filmed for showing on the Nature Network that night, especially the porcine participants.
Even those in the audience whose inclusion oncamera might not have been anticipated acted like good sports—cops included. That surprised me. But detectives Wherlon and Schwinglan were apparently animal lovers even if they suspected the worst in all people.
At the top of our bleachers, I saw Corina Carey taking notes. She hadn’t brought her camera guy—possibly a good thing, especially since our
Animal Auditions
company held all rights to whatever went on here. But on the other hand, a reporter—even a sleazy one—had the legal okay, as fair use, to record snippets of our show for a newscast. And the extra piggy publicity could actually be good for us.
Of course, she was likely most interested because of Sebastian’s murder—something I absolutely understood.
Standing on the sidelines, I continued to take in the pig scenarios as I studied the people in attendance. After each entry came the time I’d come to dread before, when Sebastian was judging and cruelly criticized our contestants. Sure, some pigs were obvious showstoppers, others were average, and a couple were clearly out of it. But all deserved to be treated with at least some respect.
Eliza was critical in her evaluation, sure, but managed concurrent kindness. Brody was our unknown, and he tended to jest, even as he took jabs at the smart, scenting swine. Nervous Matilda was mostly uncharacteristically mellow, although she managed verbal swipes at some of our contestants—especially Porker and Sty Guy. Clearly Ned and Nita weren’t pleased with that, but both sucked it up and acted accepting, at least for the camera.
Afterward, we all milled in the middle of the sound stage. The judges had done as directed and met for an hour before the show to determine how to coordinate their responses—not necessarily in agreement, but at least somewhat sympatico, instead of à la Sebastian. They’d chosen their favorite piggy performers during the taping, but it would be up to the TV audience to phone in when the show was aired later and decide which sows or boars would be booted off next week.
“I have a feeling we’d better put Judge Hollins in protective custody,” Detective Wherlon said to me, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Dante and Jeff were both standing near me. All three of us turned toward the cop. “Why?” I asked—glad that Corina Carey appeared to be interviewing contestants across the stage. No need for her to include this in her story about the show.
“She dared to criticize the Noralles pigs,” Detective Schwinglan said, as if in concert with Howard Wherlon. The two glanced at each other and grinned almost maliciously. In unison, they turned toward the pig guardians in question. Ned and Nita stood nearby with some other contestants, all making a fuss over each other’s pets. With them was Rick Longley, smiling and chattering amiably, as a TV host should.
Judging from the sour expression on Ned’s face, he’d heard the detectives’ every word. He didn’t deign to comment, though. He also appeared to be holding Nita’s arm—and she looked royally peeved.
Was her temper the reason Ned suspected his sister? Maybe his instincts were correct. . . . Or not.
As I started to turn back toward the two detectives, considering giving them a tongue-lashing for their nastiness, I noticed Matilda Hollins standing at the periphery of the crowd. She’d gone decidedly gray.
Had she, too, heard Howard Wherlon’s inappropriate comment?
Was she in fact scared enough to consider protective custody? If so, why would she think herself especially at risk?
I edged in her direction, but she immediately bolted.
“You’ve spoken with her, haven’t you, Kendra?” Dante demanded softly.
“Not as much as I’d like,” I said. “I’ll try to learn more from her later.”
Dante’s eyes bored into mine as if he was about to issue another edict, but his expression softened resignedly. “Just keep me in the loop, okay?”
He sounded so concerned that I almost relented in my determination to do things my way. But I dropped that idea immediately.
Ned approached us, notwithstanding the nearby presence of his former cohorts—and the way his sister leveled irritated glares in his direction as she stayed with the piggies. I soon gathered it was Jeff that Ned wanted to speak with. But he didn’t insist on solitude. A good thing, since Rick Longley sauntered behind him.
“Those guys aren’t joking around.” Ned nodded toward Howard and Vickie. “They’re insisting that both Nita and I go in again tomorrow for further interrogation. I’ve called your attorney friend Esther Ickes to ask her availability.”
“Wow, are you really a suspect?” Rick asked. “They’ve talked to me, too.” The guy acted too innocent—and interested—to be for real. And was that a speculative and suspicious gleam in his eye, or was I simply hoping to broaden my suspect list?
Even so, I studied him as he sidled away. I’d look into his background a little more, just in case.
Meantime, Brody Avilla had joined us, obviously also tuned into the prior conversation. “Why you?” he asked, as inquisitively and innocently as if he was simply the movie star and judge he appeared to be.

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