Never Say Sty (7 page)
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
Unsurprisingly, another free-for-all ensued after filming ended, with contestants and production staff and even Dante, who’d gotten back to town, participating. Leading the very vocal charge against the judges were Nita and Ned.
This didn’t bode well for the success of our endeavor, despite Charlotte’s assumed cheerfulness about how audiences always appeared to love tough judges. What if our contestants all quit? Those who remained appeared ready to mutiny. Even the Nature Network attendees appeared frazzled.
All of us on the production staff, including Dante, agreed to meet the next day. But before we got together, I received an absolutely frantic phone call from our producer in charge.
“Kendra!” Charlotte sounded especially hysterical, even for someone as emotional as she. “It’s terrible. And I don’t know what it’ll mean for
Animal Auditions
.”
Animal Auditions
.”
“What’s terrible?” I asked soothingly, attempting to calm her down.
“It’s Sebastian Czykovski. He and I were scheduled to meet for lunch to talk over maybe toning down the way he comes across on the show, and how he acts with the contestants afterward. I got to the studio just after noon. I went into the judges’ office and . . . Oh, Kendra!”
She didn’t have to finish. Murder magnet that I was, I knew what I had to ask.
“Charlotte, did you find Sebastian—”
She interrupted with a shrieked exclamation: “He was dead!”
Chapter Five
I CONSIDERED REMAINING megamiles from the crime scene. I didn’t need another murder in my life.
But, heck, there
was
another murder in my life. My own involvement with
Animal Auditions
said so. Many of my friends and acquaintances had spent mucho time and money on this concept. And, in fact, it was mainly my brainstorm.
was
another murder in my life. My own involvement with
Animal Auditions
said so. Many of my friends and acquaintances had spent mucho time and money on this concept. And, in fact, it was mainly my brainstorm.
Maybe, because of some incomprehensible quirk in the universe, I was somehow to blame for what had occurred, murder magnet that I am.
Better yet, maybe that nasty Sebastian had brought this one on himself, without my involvement at all.
I was at my law office. Lexie was at Darryl’s. Fortunately, I had no court appearances that day, nor any pleadings that required immediate drafting.
Even so, as frazzled as I felt, I stuck my head into my senior partner’s office. “Borden, you’ll never guess what happened.”
I love his antique desk and the eclectic mix of client chairs facing it. I sat my butt down in one and stared sadly at the silver-haired man who’d been so sweet to take me in as a law partner some time ago. Never mind that he was quirky and always wore Hawaiian shirts. Today’s was black with yellow flowers.
“Don’t tell me there’s been another murder,” he said in his high voice, a frown of concern creasing his aging face even further.
“How’d you guess?” I asked in amazement.
“You get a certain look in your eyes.” He shook his head. “Murder just seems to follow you, Kendra. It’s amazing. You should write all this in a book someday. A series of books.”
“Who’d ever believe it? Borden, I’m afraid it’s dangerous to know me.”
He knew all about
Animal Auditions
. He’d loved the idea but hadn’t chosen to buy into it. I had kept him informed about the first filmings, and he’d helped me laugh, instead of cry, about Sebastian and his cruel criticisms.
Animal Auditions
. He’d loved the idea but hadn’t chosen to buy into it. I had kept him informed about the first filmings, and he’d helped me laugh, instead of cry, about Sebastian and his cruel criticisms.
When I told him who the victim was, he was anything but amazed.
“So you have to find out which of the people you know are suspects.” He nodded sagaciously.
“More like I have to figure out which ones
aren’t
suspects. Anyway, I’ve got to look into it.”
aren’t
suspects. Anyway, I’ve got to look into it.”
“Good luck,” he said, and I was on my way.
I DREW IN my breath before I opened the outer door to one of the rear SFV Studios buildings. I’d already had to show an ID to authorities to get onto the lot, and the main building where we shot our show was completely cordoned off. I’d been directed to come straight here. The place was, unsurprisingly, crawling with cops.
I wasn’t exactly surprised when, walking inside this building and directly onto a well-lighted stage area, I spotted Detective Ned Noralles in the midst of others in suits, whom I assumed were also cops.
“Hi, Ned,” I said, in a weak semblance of cheerfulness. “So now we have another murder case in common. You ready to solve this one for a change?” Okay, teasing the guy wasn’t especially tactful, but after all our history I couldn’t resist.
His face froze, and I could have bitten off my tongue as the two cops I recognized suddenly approached and stared at me.
“Hello, Ms. Ballantyne,” said Detective Howard Wherlon. He’d been Ned’s sidekick when I was a murder suspect and in some cases afterward. Seeing him in context reminded me I’d last seen him here, too—definitely not in detective mode. He had been among the cops in the
Animal Auditions
audience, observing his buddy Ned, Nita, and their adorable boars get lambasted by the current murder victim. I’d barely recognized him out of the typical gray suits he wore, like now.
Animal Auditions
audience, observing his buddy Ned, Nita, and their adorable boars get lambasted by the current murder victim. I’d barely recognized him out of the typical gray suits he wore, like now.
Some other people I thought appeared familiar in the grandstand were also cops. Ned had attracted his own fan club.
But Howard wasn’t simply observing at the moment. In his mid-forties, the detective had dark, bushy eyebrows, a receding hairline, and perpetual bags beneath his eyes. I’d gotten used to his decidedly glum expression, but this time he appeared determined. And inquisitive. And accusatory, although his next words weren’t especially nasty. “So you’ve done it again. Another murder within your sphere of influence. It’s got to be pretty tough on you—unless, of course, you’re guilty this time.” When I opened my mouth, he smiled. “Which you aren’t. I’ll assume that for now, unless the evidence starts pointing otherwise.”
“Thanks,” I said, certain that at least some relief spilled from my soft tone. “Do you have any suspects in mind yet?”
“Sure he does,” Ned said with a surly scowl. “At least a couple. Right, Howard?”
Wherlon shrugged his shoulders. “Could be.”
“And they are . . . ?” I asked, and had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who Ned meant.
“Nita,” Ned said. “And me.”
I should have known better, after all the times I’d been involved in murder investigations, but I heard myself giggle guilelessly. “Right. A police detective and his sister considered as possible killers of a nasty TV personality. Sounds like an episode from some silly comedy series.”
But I was the only one laughing even a little. And that stopped immediately, as I stared into Ned’s bleak brown eyes. Howard had, after all, most likely heard Ned shouting at Sebastian, leveling threats. But they were cop kinds of warnings, not murder alerts. Still . . .
“Okay.” I drew out the word to show it wasn’t okay at all. “I’m assuming you’re considering all our contestants as possible suspects—at least those who dared to yell at Sebastian for being such a nasty judge.”
“We’re still considering all possibilities,” Wherlon affirmed. “Contestants, staff . . . whoever.”
Meaning me? Maybe—notwithstanding his earlier comments to the contrary.
“Where’s Charlotte LaVerne?” I asked. “Is she still here? I need to speak with her.” And Rachel, and the Hayhursts, and everyone else involved with our show. We needed to compare notes. Protect our production—as long as no one obfuscated the truth, whatever it was.
“She’s being interrogated right now,” Wherlon said. “And before you speak with anyone, I want to talk to you.”
In other words, he intended to interrogate me, too. I supposed that was okay, as long as I was careful. I surely hadn’t any secrets . . . at least not pertaining to the demise of Sebastian Czykovski.
We went into one of the building’s small offices. The desk and chairs seemed to be generic, wood-grained vinyl. Around the room’s edges were video monitors and much other high-tech stuff I couldn’t identify.
“So,” Howard said, “I saw you around here last week when I came to watch what Ned was up to. Of course I prefer seeing trained dogs, but the pigs did okay. And you—what’s your connection with the
Animal Auditions
show?”
Animal Auditions
show?”
I hadn’t held an especially high opinion of Detective Wherlon when he’d been on murder cases where I’d investigated—er, snooped—to seek out the real killers. Not that he’d done anything especially stupid, but Ned had always been in charge.
For now, I’d give Howard the benefit of the doubt and assume he was an indomitable detective of Ned’s ilk—which meant that he was probably quite competent, yet egotistical enough to zero in on a suspect and be certain he was correct. He would work impressively hard to prove his case without, however, keeping an open enough mind to consider the genuine murderer. And he couldn’t be all bad if he loved dogs . . . could he? We’d see.
Did his suspects seriously include the Noralles siblings? Absurd, of course. And yet, I hadn’t sufficient facts to absolutely eliminate them from my personal suspect inventory.
In response to Howard’s question, I explained how the idea of the
Animal Auditions
show had originated, and why I’d stayed involved—partly because I’d helped to assemble the cast of characters who were now behind the production. I responded to his inquiries about the filmings I’d attended, my limited acquaintance with the ill-mannered victim, my obvious opinion that he’d most likely made more enemies than tolerant friends by his attitude—assuming he always acted, in real life, as he did in the role of animal judge.
Animal Auditions
show had originated, and why I’d stayed involved—partly because I’d helped to assemble the cast of characters who were now behind the production. I responded to his inquiries about the filmings I’d attended, my limited acquaintance with the ill-mannered victim, my obvious opinion that he’d most likely made more enemies than tolerant friends by his attitude—assuming he always acted, in real life, as he did in the role of animal judge.
“That Sebastian guy seemed to like giving people and their animals a hard time, but did you have any particular reason to harm him?” Howard’s bushy eyebrows were raised, and I assumed, especially after what he’d said before, that this wasn’t an entirely serious question. Or did he use those brows as props to put people off guard and obscure what he really thought?
“Nope,” I replied in all sincerity. “I might have thought him an utter ass, but his kind of general nastiness might actually help attract sympathetic audiences to reality shows. A lot of them have judges like him, after all.”
“So I’ve heard,” Howard said, “although I prefer to watch sports and game shows.”
“I like cop fiction,” I said somewhat snidely, pleased to notice his pained wince. And then I figured my interrogation was coming to an end, so I might as well take advantage of this contact. “So how was Sebastian killed?” I hoped I sounded more nonchalant than intrigued.
Wherlon peered at me with a sudden scowl. “Don’t get involved with this one, Ms. Ballantyne. Detective Noralles developed a tolerance for your interference, mostly because you had a run of luck in resolving difficult cases. And he’s the one who wound up being patted on the back by the department for successful case solution. But I’m not Ned. I won’t go after the wrong suspect. And I do not put up with any kind of meddling. Do you understand?”
I considered standing and saluting smartly. But that wouldn’t earn me tolerance from this cop who was obviously swellheaded about being in charge. “Yes,” was all I said. I swallowed the sarcasm that sped to my lips. “May I go now?” Oh, did I sound like the perfectly pliant and chastised interrogatee. Okay, so I couldn’t completely sublimate my sarcasm. But he seemed to buy it as genuine acquiescence to authority.
“Yes, as long as you understand, and I repeat: Don’t stick your nose in my case. Got it?”
What I got was that there was a whole lot of antipathy between Detective Wherlon and me. I simply nodded before I could say anything I might later regret, then slunk irritatedly out of that office.
Where I ran into a cop in casual clothes whom I’d seen at last week’s filming: Detective Vickie Schwinglan. I’d met her previously in a different situation I’d happened into as a murder magnet. She’d helped Ned investigate the killing of one of the lawyers at my new law firm, a guy with nearly as winning a personality as our current victim.
“Hello, Ms. Ballantyne,” she said with a sardonic half-smile turning up the corners of her narrow lips. She was at least a half-foot taller than my five-five, and it wasn’t just her navy suit that made her look a lot thinner, too. I recalled her nondescript light brown hair being tied behind her head before, but now it was cut in a short, layered style that wasn’t any more becoming to her ordinary appearance.
Okay, so I was being catty, but having yet another cop glare at me as anathema wasn’t doing much for my mood.
“Detective,” I responded with a nod, and started to walk past her, down the hall toward the open sound stage area.
“I’m sure Detective Wherlon made it clear to you,” she said, “that we will not accept any interference in this case.” Her glare could have punctured an entire parking lot full of tires.
Well, hell. I’m an attorney. A litigator. I’m used to swallowing all kinds of irritated responses generated by a judge staring down at me from the bench. But I’m paid to do that. And these repetitious orders to stay away were getting old.
No one was paying me to maintain my frazzled temper here. On the other hand, failing to do so could land my butt in jail as easily as a contempt of court citation. Maybe even easier, with this bunch of bullying cops.
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