Never Say Sty (8 page)
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
“I get it.” I attempted not to unleash my irritation. And then I eased past her and opened an obviously soundproof door, since as soon as I did, I was surrounded by noise.
The large stage area was filled with people. And pigs, all harnessed and leashed. Some screamed in dismay at being there with no exciting performances to execute.
There was to have been a general rehearsal today for all who wished to participate in an extra practice, without cameras or backstage people. I was told this area, not within the building containing the murder scene, had been cleared first by the crime scene techs. The decision had been made to allow all the contestants to come to this convenient locale to be questioned individually—and pigs were permitted to accompany them and let the rehearsal go on, at least for now.
I sidled toward where Charlotte and Rachel stood with other folks I’d gotten involved in all this. No Dante, though. I felt both relieved and sorry not to see him. Not that I considered him a suspect, but he was now an integral part of this reality show team. Maybe some moral, as well as financial, support from him would help us all survive this awful situation.
“Oh, Kendra!” Rachel moaned as I reached them. “This is so terrible! I know you’re used to it, but I’ve never been treated like a possible murder suspect before.”
“I can’t say I’m actually used to it,” I responded dryly.
“That makes two of us,” Charlotte said. I’d helped to find the real killer once when she and some ferrets had been accused of doing away with a guy she’d known from her first reality TV experience.
The Hayhursts, too, bemoaned their potential suspect status. Which was when Ned and Nita joined us, with Porker and Sty Guy waddling, leashed, by their sides.
“Okay,” I said softly, huddled among them. “Someone tell me how Sebastian was killed.”
Nita started crying softly. She limply lifted the loop of the brown leash she held, then let it sag once more.
“He was hit on the head,” Ned said, shaking his head. “And then supposedly strangled with a pig harness.”
Poetic justice, considering how nasty he’d been to our potbellied contestants? Perhaps.
“And before you ask,” Ned continued, “all of us have our harnesses accounted for.”
Maybe, but that harness had to come from somewhere. Not that I had to be the one to figure out where.
Unless that became the only way to protect
Animal Auditions
.
Animal Auditions
.
Chapter Six
AS I PONDERED the strangulation possibilities, my cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. Well, by the ring tone. Even though I was getting tired of the song, I still was serenaded by “It’s My Life” each time someone chose to call me.
Was it Dante at last? I’d left him a couple of voice mails after I’d heard about the awful event at the
Animal Auditions
set. Since he was an integral part of the show—at least his money was—I figured he should know.
Animal Auditions
set. Since he was an integral part of the show—at least his money was—I figured he should know.
But when I pulled the receiver from my pants pocket and glanced at the caller ID, it was someone else’s number. Someone I didn’t always want to talk to.
What the hell? She’d helped me a few times in difficult situations. For a price. Corina Carey was a reporter for the TV scandal show
National NewsShakers
. If I gave her scoops, she gave me leeway not to get mentioned in the media, at least by her, till I was ready. Which could not, unfortunately, be never.
National NewsShakers
. If I gave her scoops, she gave me leeway not to get mentioned in the media, at least by her, till I was ready. Which could not, unfortunately, be never.
I nodded my apology to Ned and hustled into a hallway where real pigs weren’t squealing and reputed pigs—cops—were only directing indoor pedestrian traffic, not demanding answers to unanswerable questions.
“Hi, Corina,” I said softly into my phone. “What’s up?”
“You tell me, Kendra,” she retorted. “Why didn’t you call me the instant you knew about this latest murder?”
In the world of nosy reporters, news travels faster than the speed of TV feeds. “Sorry,” I said somewhat sincerely. “I don’t honestly know much yet, but I’ll give you a little.”
“Good. I’m right outside on the street with my cameraman. The cops won’t let the media through. Come out and talk to me.”
“Only if I’m a ‘reliable source’ and not someone oncamera.”
“Done.”
But when I headed for the door, my way was immediately blocked . . . by Dante. He’d obviously shown sufficient credentials to convince the cops to let him in.
“Kendra,” he growled, “what the hell happened?”
“Sebastian’s dead,” I said, not exactly spewing patience. I’d told him so in my phone messages. “He was murdered.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He grabbed my arm and propelled me down the hall in the direction from which I’d come. “I need to know how. Who. And we have to get the production group together to make alternate plans—and figure out the best way of turning this into positive publicity for
Animal Auditions
.”
Animal Auditions
.”
I stopped and stared—and nearly lost my arm, since Dante didn’t ease up on it. His eyes were icy as he glared back . . . and then they softened.
“Poor Kendra,” he said, much more softly. “I’m sorry. I forget you’re not just an attorney. You have a heart, or you wouldn’t also be a pet-sitter. But you’ve taken impossible situations and turned them into opportunities. That’s what I’ve learned to do with everything.”
All I’d wanted was to protect the show. He wanted to turn Sebastian’s demise into a publicity opportunity. Maybe we weren’t so far apart. But who was he, really? What experiences had turned him into this wealthy, powerful opportunist?
One with heart, too. I could tell by how his attitude had suddenly grown sympathetic. He’d loosened his grip and wrapped a strong arm around my shoulder. And then, suddenly, I found myself teary-eyed with my head leaning on his hard chest.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “We’ll learn what we can. Even if he was a heartless, pig-and-people-hating bastard, we’ll give him a huge send-off. Okay?”
“Okay,” I sniffed. And felt Dante’s kiss on my forehead.
I started walking at his side . . . till I heard “It’s My Life” singing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone. Corina again.
“Where are you, Kendra?” she demanded. “And can you get me an interview with Dante DeFrancisco? I saw the cops let him inside. I know he’s bankrolling your pet show—a natural, of course. He’s probably even more camera-shy than you, but still . . . Bring him out, okay?”
“I’ll ask him.” I looked at him, and his expression immediately grew leery. After hanging up so Corina couldn’t eavesdrop, I explained the situation to Dante, including my longtime love-hate relationship with this pesty but practical media personality.
“A contact like her could be helpful to the show,” he responded slowly, and I could almost see his brain synapses processing the information. “But this isn’t the time to talk to her. See if you can set up a time later. Maybe dinner. My treat.”
His smile was so beguiling I almost bit. But then I recalled how he seemed to use dinner invitations for his own, undisclosed ends. Corina was a reporter definitely appealing enough to hold her own oncamera with the prettiest of celebs. Would Dante find her attractive?
And why the heck should I care? I didn’t want this guy, great-looking and hellfire hot though he was.
“Sure,” I told him, and stalked into a corner, clutching my phone. I called Corina back and told her the good news. “He’ll talk to you. Let’s set up a time for the two of you to have dinner. His treat.” Okay, I’d done my duty. Acted as messenger. Irritated intermediary. Enough.
Only . . . “You’ll join us, of course, Kendra,” Corina dictated. “I’ll want your perspective on this latest murder. You always have such interesting commentary. And my viewers recognize you each time I cover a new killing when you’re involved. That’s how many now?”
“Too many. And I’m making no promises about joining you. I’ll check my schedule.” And my mood. Would I want to watch the two of them—powerful, debonair Dante trading flirtation and pseudo facts with this glib and great-looking reporter?
When Dante’s Inferno froze over.
I said goodbye, hung up, and swore softly under my breath. Being a murder magnet really sucked, in more ways than one. Who needed a leechlike reporter as a persistent acquaintance and occasional friend?
Who needed an utterly appealing hunk like Dante DeFrancisco as a business acquaintance who oozed sexuality even as he kept questions circulating through my mind? Did he honestly sense some attraction between us, or was it all a game to him? Worse, was it because he wanted something from me—like my affiliation with
Animal Auditions
and the publicity it might garner for HotPets? Especially now. With the murder of its irritable, outspoken judge Sebastian, the show’s ratings might go through the roof, even though only two episodes had aired.
Animal Auditions
and the publicity it might garner for HotPets? Especially now. With the murder of its irritable, outspoken judge Sebastian, the show’s ratings might go through the roof, even though only two episodes had aired.
I stalked back down the hall toward where I’d parted company with Dante. He wasn’t there, so I entered the decibel-enhanced sound stage. At least most potbellies had settled down. Perhaps that was because Corbin Hayhurst, bless him, had apparently recommenced scent-trail lessons, most likely as a diversion.
I suspected that the cops, some of whom stood at the edges of the stage to keep an eye on things, might regret their initial decision to allow the rehearsal to go on even here, in a building beside the actual crime scene. Sure, it might have been a convenient way to corral some suspects and interrogate prospective witnesses, but with the piggies here it stayed prohibitively chaotic.
A couple of less adept contestants were sniffing stuff to locate later. Ned, Nita, Porker, and Sty Guy stood together near the doorway I entered.
I watched for a few seconds, then said, “This is a great scenario. I only hope the show can go on without Sebastian. Maybe we can dedicate the rest of the episodes to him.”
Ned glared, but Nita said, “That would be a nice gesture, even if he was an awful S.O.B. I’ll bet your boyfriend would approve.”
“What boyfriend?” I’d recently dumped my last one, Jeff Hubbard, for being a jerk. I was fairly certain Ned knew it, too.
“That handsome Dante,” Nita answered. “You two obviously have something going on between you.”
“Just this show,” I said. “By the way, where is my so-called boyfriend?”
“With my buddy Wherlon,” Ned said irritably. “His turn to be interrogated, I guess.”
“I’m sure he’s enjoying that,” I said with sarcasm. I went back to watching the latest pig scenario as my mind kept flashing to imagined images of Dante’s interrogation.
Who would get the better of whom?
DANTE EMERGED TWENTY minutes later from the office in which Detective Howard Wherlon had ensconced them for their little discussion. He soon stood beside me at the edge of the stage where the piggies were once more absorbing lessons. Other production people milled around, including some wearing Nature Network shirts. No camera folks, though. This was simply a rehearsal—at least as far as we, and not the cops, were concerned.
I looked at Dante sidelong. He wasn’t smiling.
“How’d it go?” I asked over the orders being given to the potbellies snuffling the floor in front of us.
“Well enough,” he replied. “Oh, and by the way, we’re each other’s alibis. You need to confirm that we spent last night together. At your place. Got it?”
I turned and stared. His demeanor didn’t disclose that he’d just told a huge lie to the cops. Or underhandedly gotten me involved. If I allowed it.
“Are you nuts?” I whispered angrily, hoping no network reps were eavesdropping. “For one thing, they already asked me a whole bunch of questions, and your name came up only in the context of helping to back the show.”
“Helping?” he asked wryly.
“Okay, gang,” called Corbin Hayhurst from the animal congregation area in front of us. “All trainers take your pigs’ leashes and start walking them around the edge of the stage area. Meantime, Shareen will hide small containers of different-smelling items in the boxes in the center. Then we’ll see how they do picking out particular odors.”
Cute scene, watching those waddling characters in shades of black and white, all leashed and all, fortunately, acting obedient and not shrieking in piggy pandemonium.
“Well, okay,” I confirmed to Dante as I watched. “I did tell them you’re the money behind everything. But that’s it. I certainly didn’t suggest we had a sexual relationship.” I turned my gaze toward him and glared.
“Who said anything about sexual?” he said softly, his dark eyes smoldering as they stared into mine. “Although if you’re offering . . .”
“Forget it,” I said through my teeth, even as Detective Wherlon whisked up beside us. I nodded my greeting. His glance darted between Dante and me and back again.
“Time for you both to leave,” Howard said. “We’re going to start clearing the whole site.” Which gave credence to my assumption that the cops had decided that massing witnesses here hadn’t worked out well.
“We’re on our way, Detective.” Dante put his hand in the small of my back as if having the right to escort me away.
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