Never Say Sty (27 page)
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
Imagine how surprised I was to find that the bottom line was well within the payment parameters I’d set for myself! Even so, I haggled a little, as one always does when buying a new car.
“Well . . . okay,” I eventually said to the salesman. “Write it up. I’ll take it.”
Of course it took some time, but a lot less than it might have, since I’d gone online in anticipation and fed in my financial situation. My credit, such as it was, was preapproved.
And when I was done, I was the proud owner of a new Escape! Me and the credit company.
I called my insurance carrier and got a commitment for a binder starting this very second—although the premium they quoted me made me shudder.
I needed some assistance after that—not to keep me from assuming I’d gone nuts for doing this, but because I had to dispose of my rental car. I considered who to call . . . and decided on Dante. It would give me a neutral excuse to see him—one unlikely to provoke any argument.
Unfortunately, he was unavailable. “I’m really sorry, Kendra,” he said. “I’m in the middle of a meeting that I can’t get out of for an hour or so. Can you wait till then?”
Possibly, but I wouldn’t. Rachel was in class that day. I considered calling Darryl. I felt certain my dearest friend would drop everything to get one of his employees to drop him at the car dealership.
Instead, I did something a lot more practical. I called the company from which I’d rented the little sedan. Turned out they were quite accommodating, and sent someone over with appropriate credentials and paperwork to permit me to hand their car back to them right there.
I was in business—ready to Escape!
I PICKED UP Lexie at Darryl’s. I called Wanda to ensure she was on schedule to take Princess home and sit for her there. All was well on that front. Then Lexie and I headed off for our pet-sitting. She spent time exploring the backseat of our nice new vehicle. I could put it down to create an entire platform for her, but thought she’d feel more secure with seats of her own. Plus, this way, when I braked, she hadn’t the entire area behind me to slide through.
Why wasn’t I surprised later, when we reached home, to see that Dante had beaten me there? I used the control I’d remembered to retrieve from the rental to open the wrought iron gate. I drove through and shut it behind us. Dante’s car was already inside, and he stood in the yard with Rachel, both of them observing Beggar and Wagner at play.
They came up to me as I parked at my usual spot near the steps to my apartment. “Nice wheels,” Dante observed, doing the guy thing of striding the length of my new car to study it. A Santa Ana wind had whipped up that day, and his dark hair wafted in the breeze.
“It’s really cool, Kendra,” said Rachel, staring inside. “What are all the gadgets?” Her snug T-shirt of the day was an orange one with piggy noses on the back. She was really into
Animal Auditions
in a big way.
Animal Auditions
in a big way.
“Heck if I know . . . yet. But I’ll learn. And I’ll give a demonstration when I figure them out.”
“I heard about Detective Noralles and his sister,” Rachel said in a low voice, apparently so Dante couldn’t hear. But he did anyway.
“Not a good situation,” he said. “I gather that the detectives on this case think they have it solved, so they’ve probably given up looking for the real killer.”
“Then you still think it’s someone besides one of the Noralles siblings, too?” I asked, watching his expression closely to see if he gave himself away.
If he was the killer, he was certainly cool about it. “I’m on your side,” he replied with an absolutely innocent smile.
Rachel had other plans, and Dante and I went out for dinner that night, in my new car. I even let him drive part of the way. He appeared to enjoy the gadgetry, and none of it intimidated him. He even showed me a trick or two.
Jeff called just after Dante and I returned to my place. “Damn detectives,” he fumed. “I always thought Wherlon was a fool, but I didn’t think Vickie Schwinglan was so bad.”
I could tell by Dante’s ironic expression that he guessed who was on my cell, so I sidled into the kitchen to continue the conversation. Lexie followed, as did Wagner.
“I can’t believe they really think that Nita could have killed that guy,” I told Jeff, which, as I pondered it, was in fact the truth.
“Whoever killed him hit him over the head before choking him with that leash. I don’t think Nita’s buff enough to do that, but apparently they do. Ned’s barely restraining himself from a false confession. I’m still on it, and so are Althea and the rest of my crew. Keep me informed about what you’re up to. With all of us working on it, we’re bound to save Ned’s butt—and his sister’s, too.”
“I hope so,” I said fervently, then hung up, fed the pups treats for the heck of it, and rejoined Dante in the living room. He’d turned on the TV and was watching CNBC market news—which made my eyes glaze over, but someone with as much money as he had probably had to keep up with where to put it to make more.
He stayed till morning once again. We talked a lot about all sorts of stuff, including his business and mine, locales where he’d traveled, and places I wanted to see someday. I really enjoyed his company . . . not to mention our steamy sex.
I was glad, when we parted ways first thing the next day, that I’d see him again that afternoon at the next
Animal Auditions
taping—a doggy scenario.
Animal Auditions
taping—a doggy scenario.
And I tried hard not to admit to myself just how much I was coming to care for Dante DeFrancisco.
NITA NORALLES CALLED me midmorning while I was busily drafting answers to a legal complaint at my law office. “It’s so horrible, Kendra,” she wailed into my ear.
“Where are you calling from?” I asked. Last I’d heard, she was incarcerated in North Hollywood.
“I’m home, out of jail—not really under arrest but not truly free, either. That nice attorney Martin Skull represents me now, and Esther Ickes is Ned’s lawyer. I hate that either of us needs legal representation, especially on something like this. And for both of us to be suspects . . .” I heard her soft sob.
“Where’s Ned?” I inquired with trepidation.
“He’s under further interrogation this morning. Honestly, Kendra, neither one of us knows where that potbellied pig harness came from, the one that’s supposedly an exact replica of the one used to strangle Sebastian. It’s unusual enough that there aren’t many around. In other circumstances, I might actually have wanted one just like it for Sty Guy. But certainly not now.”
“Where did the cops find the one they say is yours?”
“At my house, hidden under a stack of plastic bags in my garage. I didn’t put it there, and neither did Ned. And even if it was mine—which it’s not—that wouldn’t be enough proof that I owned another one and killed someone with it. That’s what Ned says, and I agree.”
So did I, but I was a civil litigator, and my knowledge of what constituted sufficient circumstantial evidence was scant.
“Of course I despised the guy,” Nita said. “And I was angry with him. But kill him? No way.” Okay, that was what I wanted to believe, so I’d keep on trying to find the actual culprit. Nita promised that Ned and she would stay in touch. “And you’ll let us know, won’t you, when you figure out who really killed that awful judge and why?”
“It’s a big assumption to think I’ll solve the case,” I warned her.
“Oh, Ned has talked about you before—not always in the nicest terms, I admit, Kendra. But one thing he says is that when you’re interested in a murder case, you seem to solve it right more often than anyone else he knows. Even him, although he didn’t exactly admit that.” And he surely wouldn’t have requested my help if he genuinely believed his sister could have done it.
But as I hung up and stared, unseeing, at the documents on my desk, I could only shake my head and hope this situation wouldn’t become the first I couldn’t unravel.
Those damned harnesses! How could I get more info about them? I’d already asked Dante, who was in the business, but if he’d learned anything so far, he hadn’t shared. So, I called Althea. She said Jeff already had her working on it, but she’d found nothing useful yet. She’d found nothing out of the ordinary on Nita Noralles, either, and was still working on Rick Longley.
Frustrated, I called Dante with the intent of being pushy. Instead, he responded right away. “Sure, my purchasing manager tracked it down.” he said. “Brody’s called and gotten the information you’re after.”
I phoned Brody, who gave me the contact data for the owner of the small eastern manufacturing company, Rosalian Products, that had unleashed those scary pig harnesses on the world. “But the lady didn’t want to talk much when I called,” he warned. “The LAPD’s already been in touch, and her local authorities, and the media, too. She’s upset, and all she’d tell me—so far—was that the type of harness in question is their most popular, that they sell by mail order and not retail in stores, and that there’ve been probably a few dozen sent to various locations in California in the last few months, all of the same design.”
“Thanks, Brody,” I said.
And then I made my own call to that harness seller. “I’m sorry.” Cora Rosalian sounded more exasperated than apologetic. “I can’t talk about this.”
“I understand.” I turned to stare out my window into the parking lot behind my law office. My Escape hadn’t yet escaped. It sat there, shimmering in the sunlight. “I’m an attorney who sometimes represents clients who are unjustly accused of wrongdoing, and I know this whole situation must seem really awful to you. You were just making the nicest and prettiest harnesses you could. It isn’t your fault that someone used one for a murder weapon.”
“Are you calling because you want to become my lawyer?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not at all,” I assured her. “It’s just that some friends of mine who might”—or might not—“have bought one of your harnesses—or so the cops allege, but not the one that was used to commit the crime—are under suspicion. I’m trying to help them out, so I need information.”
“I see,” she said. “I actually have talked to a lawyer here. He says I shouldn’t give out information without a search warrant.”
“I won’t ask for specifics,” I said—though I wished I could. “But have you sold your harnesses in bulk to any retailer either in this area or one large enough to distribute here?” Like HotPets, but I wouldn’t put words in her mouth.
“No, I sell only by mail order. And I checked my records. I sometimes send out more than one harness in an order, but I haven’t ever shipped more than one at a time to any address in Southern California.”
A dead end, then. Maybe.
“I know you’re not supposed to give out information, but if I were to e-mail you a list of names, could you tell me if you ever sent one of your products to any of them, and, if so, how recently?”
She hesitated. “I suppose . . . Who did you say you were?”
“My name is Kendra Ballantyne,” I said. “And I was once unjustly accused of murder myself, so I make it a point to help others I think are innocent.”
“I see. Well, send your list and I’ll look it over.” She gave me her e-mail address and we hung up.
I put together a list of my possible suspects, then forwarded it to her—along with a bunch of names I made up at random. If she said she’d sold to one of them, I’d figure she was just acting agreeable and not planning to assist me at all.
And I also didn’t necessarily want to libel all my other suspects by labeling them as such in writing.
But I hoped that Ms. Cora Rosalian would give me the lead I’d need to finger whoever had strangled Sebastian.
Chapter Twenty-four
NO RETURN E-MAIL from Cora by the time I finished drafting the court documents I’d been working on. I grabbed my lunch from a nearby fast-food place and brought it back to the office.
Still nothing.
I had to leave, since a new canine episode of
Animal Auditions
was on track for that afternoon. It was Friday, so I wished all the attorneys and support staff a great weekend. At least some might have an opportunity to relax.
Animal Auditions
was on track for that afternoon. It was Friday, so I wished all the attorneys and support staff a great weekend. At least some might have an opportunity to relax.
Not I. But, then, a pet-sitter’s job is never done.
Neither, it seems, is a murder magnet’s.
I drove my fun new Escape to the SFV Studios, keeping half an eye on the computer on my console to see when I was in hybrid mode and when I was gobbling up gas. When I arrived, I felt as if I’d been good at keeping the environment somewhat green.
The gang was all there, surrounded by doggies instead of potbellies. The scenario we’d set up to test for a new judge had gone so well that we’d decided to start shooting a new set of shows in tandem, starring dogs. Each week, a couple of canines would be eliminated, just like on the piggy shows, so that we’d wind up with one dog champion a few weeks later than our swine champion was crowned. Fortunately, the Nature Network folks had leaped at the opportunity to air the new shows, too.
Charlotte, Rachel, Charley Sherman, and Shareen and Corbin Hayhurst all hustled around the set. So did host Rick Longley, schmoozing with the canine contestants and their owners. Cute terri-poo Mooch was present, as were Corina Carey with her Puli, ZsaZsa, and others I’d seen onstage the last time we did a pup performance, when our scenario was doggy baseball. Some sat, others leaped at one another, and a couple barked eagerly.
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