The Fright of the Iguana (13 page)

Read The Fright of the Iguana Online

Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: The Fright of the Iguana
13.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Chapter Ten
BUT FIRST, OF course, Lexie and I had to take care of the pets still within our sitting purview. We took a long, leisurely visit at each home, petting and playing and feeding and cleaning up as needed, plus ensuring that all dogs and cats were as safe and secure as I could be sure of.
On the way from a house in Sherman Oaks to another in Studio City, I decided to contact the PSCSC top-dog-sitter—and possible chief suspect in Nya’s murder.
“Hi, Tracy,” I said as soon as she answered her cell phone. “I assume that, since you’re on the other end of this call, you’re still free.”
“But not clear of suspicion,” she said with an audible sigh. “And I saw your client Hillary Dorgan on TV, Kendra. How could you let her do that? The ransom note said not to tell anyone about the pet-napping, and now the whole world knows.” Her voice had grown more hysterical, and I sought for a way to sooth her.
“My note just said not to call the police,” I reminded her. “And Mrs. Dorgan wanted to go public. She thinks there’s more of a chance someone who’s seen her beloved pets will report them to the authorities.”
“Maybe.” Tracy sounded a whole lot dubious. She waited for an instant, then wailed, “I don’t know how you dealt with those horrible detectives, but it was only yesterday that I found poor Nya, and they already seem to be taking over my life.”
“Yeah, they do that,” I said empathetically.
I turned left onto Moorpark, near the Studio City branch of the L.A. Library, and aimed my Beamer toward Coldwater Canyon. Lexie sat in her seat but stretched enough to stare out the window.
Impulsively, I asked Tracy, “Are you free for dinner tonight?” Lexie swiveled to stare at me. Yes, my pup knows the word “dinner,” and many synonyms that signified she might be about to eat. “Maybe we can talk more about Nya and the whole pet-napping problem,” I continued without encouraging Lexie’s appetite, “to see if we can figure out any further connections.”
Further? So far, I’d found zilch, except for the possible relationship with PSCSC. That still left a couple dozen club members, plus multiples of that number consisting of clients, their respective families, and their friends and acquaintances. And anyone else who happened to know about the organization and bear some kind of surreptitious grudge against it or any member.
With those six degrees of separation, multiplied by infinity, I supposed we could suspect nearly anyone residing in California. The United States. The world.
At least we could probably eliminate outer space. So far, I’d absolutely no indication of any alien connections.
“I’m exhausted,” Tracy said. As was I. “I’ve already promised Allen that he could pamper me. He’s been so sweet with all of this going on. If I were him, I’d probably dump me.”
“Support’s a good thing when you’re a potential murder suspect—not to mention when you’ve had some of your clients stolen.” I thought about how things had been with me. I had just met Jeff around the time my own pet-sitting owner-clients started turning up dead. I hadn’t wanted to believe that my luck in finding men with genuine long-term relationship potential had improved, since I’d already proven to myself that I was a flop in that department.
Jeff hadn’t been in town a lot, but he’d acted like my long-distance P.I. consultant. Had that been support? Sure. Plus, there’d been my dear friend Darryl.
But I hadn’t had someone who was really there for me like Allen was for Tracy. Lucky lady—that is, if you could call someone lucky who was either a multiple victim of several miserable criminal situations, or possibly a pet-napper and friend-slayer.
“I understand,” I said, assuming from Tracy’s response that she simply wanted to curl up in bed with a good, if nerdish, man tonight and hang on for emotional support. “We’ll do it another time.”
“Oh, no, I’d love to join you for dinner tonight, if you don’t mind Allen coming, too,” she said swiftly. “I just meant I’d want to eat early, and no place too fancy that requires dressing up or staying out too late.”
We soon agreed to meet at a local Marie Callender’s restaurant. Nothing better than wholesome food followed by sinful sweets to take our minds off the miseries in our lives.
Maybe.
 
 
FIRST, I TOOK Lexie home. And finally segued into the subservient owner of her dreams by focusing every iota of my attention on her, walking her all alone on our winding Hollywood Hills lane, then feeding her a nice, wholesome doggy dinner.
Of course, the poor pup had to pay for my obeisance. I left her staring sadly after me in our alarm-secured apartment a little while later when I went to meet Tracy.
As I started to climb into the Beamer, I saw the front gate open and Rachel’s cute blue car enter the driveway. I hurried up to greet her and saw she had Beggar along.
“How are our clients?” I immediately asked.
“They’re all great!” said my youthful and exuberant employee. She wore her usual uniform of jeans, this time with a red T-shirt that read, “Universal City Walk Rocks.” “And, yes, Kendra, before you ask, I did double-check all the security systems. And by the way, Dana Maroni, Stromboli’s owner, is coming back early—tomorrow.”
I liked Dana, her sweet shepherd mix, Stromboli, and her neighbor, Maribelle Openheim, whom I’d helped recently in a pet-related situation. Maribelle had dated a skirt-chasing friend of mine, Judge Baird Roehmann—Judge Roamin’ Hands. I suddenly wondered if Baird had any new petting—er, pets, in his life, since for a while he had considered adopting Maribelle’s dog, Mephistopheles, but all three had changed their minds.
“Anyway, Dana called to tell us her schedule and make sure everything was okay,” Rachel rambled into my train of thought, “since she got your phone message about pet-nappings, and she’d seen something about Nya Barston’s murder on TV. She sounded relieved to talk to me and I reassured her Stromboli is fine.”
I’d left Rachel’s number in phone messages to clients where I’d put her in charge of the pets. Made more sense for her to respond about how her responsibilities were faring.
“Sounds good. Anything else I should know about?”
“No, but you ought to bring Lexie with Beggar and me when we’re visiting Methuselah Manor. It’s wonderful to see all those old people pep up and play with Beggar. We have such fun, and—”
“Hold it a sec,” I said, putting one hand up to stop her in her eager tracks. “Methuselah Manor?”
“It’s really Medicure Manor, but most people there are so old that the staff uses this little nickname . . . it’s from the Bible, and it refers to a guy who lived almost forever.”
“I know that. Isn’t it a little insulting to the inmates?”
“No, they love it! They all call it that, too, and tease each other about living as long as that funny biblical sort—hundreds of years.”
“Right. I get it.”
“So will you, Kendra? Come along, I mean. It’s so great to see all those old people stop staring at the walls and pet a pup. Throw a ball or Frisbee for fetch. That kind of thing.”
Was this the same self-centered child who’d first appeared here a few months ago on her dad, Russ’s, doorstep, after running away from her mom, Russ’s ex, in Arizona? Before I’d signed a lease with him directly, Russ was the subtenant of my big house when my former lessees left, and I hadn’t initially approved his having anyone else live with him but Beggar. When I’d first met Rachel, who’d sneaked inside and settled in, I hadn’t exactly been thrilled about her presence. She’d made it clear she wanted Russ, a location scout for a major movie studio, to make her a star. Why else would her dad have moved to Hollywood?
She’d gone on auditions and had a smattering of success, landing teensy roles including the one in which she’d recently been filmed. Mainly, she’d shone as an apprentice pet-sitter, and I’d hired her for as many hours as she could spare once I got my law license back and couldn’t devote as much time to Critter TLC, LLC, as I had before.
She was excellent at it. I now liked the kid. I also liked the job she did. This charitable donation of time and energy only made me like her more.
“Sure,” I said. “One of these days, when I have time, Lexie and I will come along. It may not be for a while, though.”
“Yes, I know,” she said. She
should
know. I’d already hit her with some of my excuses. “You’ve mentioned law stuff and the pet-nappings and murder to solve. Anything else?” She sounded suddenly cynical, and I hated that I’d burst her exuberant bubble.
“I’ll think of something.”
Rachel’s sweet, gamin face looked shocked for an instant, but then she shot me a challenging smile. “Not if I can help it. I’ll count on your joining us soon. I’ll be doing this for a long time. It’s too much fun to stop.”
 
 
I HADN’T YET done a darned thing with the list of Nya’s known pet-sitting clients that Darryl had given to me. List? There were only three occupiers of that honor.
Sitting on my comfy sectional sofa, Lexie leaning on me, I called the first phone number, but no one was home. I got luckier the second time. “Hello?” said a small female voice.
“Ms. Kane? This is Kendra Ballantyne. I’m a friend of Darryl Nestler’s.”
“Yes?”
“I understand you’ve hired Nya Barston for pet-sitting now and then, right?”
“Oh, yes, poor Nya. I heard on the news.”
“Had you hired her recently?”
“A couple of months ago, when I went out of town on business. She was wonderful with my dog, Gravel. I’m going to miss her.”
Didn’t sound like she was a supremely likely candidate for Nya’s killer.
“We all are,” I agreed sadly.
“I don’t know what I’ll do next time. My company’s thinking of sending me on a trip next month, too. I’ll have to ask Darryl for another referral.”
“Well, I didn’t call to drum up business,” I said, “just to help out and ensure Nya’s customers are aware of what happened. But I’m a pet-sitter, and so are a lot of other good members of the organization Nya belonged to, the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal.” At her expression of interest, I passed along appropriate info for follow-up, then accepted her condolences for all of us.
My third call went similarly. I considered attempting to add to my list of Nya’s clients to call on and question, but, if these two were any example, her customers had been happy with her services and devastated by her demise. At initial blush, at least, I wasn’t about to solve her murder by using this angle.
 
 
DINNER WITH TRACY and Allen might as well have been a wake. Both were quiet, and when either spoke, it was to extol the virtues of the dead Nya or of Tracy’s missing little wire-haired dachshund client, Augie. She’d left her own puggle, Phoebe, at home, as I’d done with Lexie. Pup presences might have livened up our meal, but since we ate inside the restaurant, canine company would not have been sanctioned.
The dining room was busy, and I stared enviously at more than one huge and tempting wedge of pie brought to tables nearby. Well, maybe if I ordered a plain, virtuous salad, I’d be able to justify a smidgen of sin later on. I found a description of suitable rabbit food—with too much lettuce to feed fussy vegetarian iguanas—then set the menu down.
Tracy’s formerly pudgy cheeks appeared even more sunken than the last time I’d seen her. Her pale brown eyes looked haunted, and her fingers fiddled constantly with her napkin. “Oh, Kendra, I don’t know how I’ll survive this. I hate it all. And I don’t dare even mourn my friend Nya, since everyone will assume I’m doing it because I killed her.”
“Now, now, dear,” Allen said. Sitting beside her, he patted her shoulder clad in its white eyelet blouse. He looked like he’d just left the insurance office where he worked, or maybe he assumed our dinner required dressing up, since he wore a brown suit. His shirt was yellow, which made his pale complexion seem sallow. His long chin was drawn, and his close-set eyes seemed abysmally sad. “There’s nothing to connect you to Nya’s death, honey, except that she was at the house where you were pet-sitting. She was probably up to no good. Maybe she was even the pet-napper and planned to steal another of your clients.”
“But someone killed her,” Tracy wailed. “With a baseball bat sort of like mine. And the pet was still there.”
“Which was a good thing,” I asserted firmly. “We have no reason to suspect that Nya was involved with the thefts.” Even though my thoughts had gone there, too. “Maybe she even stopped another possible pet-napping.” Who knew? “I’ll get more information about your clients, the Ravels. And if there’s anything more you can tell me about Nya, or her significant other Jerry Jefferton, or her family, especially any in L.A., that would be great.”
“Then you are on the case?” Tracy’s teary eyes stared at me beseechingly. “I know you’ve solved murders before, Kendra. If you’re investigating for me, then I’m sure I’ll be cleared, since you’ll find the real killer.”
“I’ve been fortunate that way before, but there are no guarantees I’ll figure it out this time,” I cautioned.
“I know,” she said with a sigh, and looked sadly toward Allen. “But we feel a whole lot better that you’re trying, don’t we, honey?”

Other books

Outer Dark by Cormac McCarthy
The Grave Switcheroo by Deveraux, Cathy
Following Fabian by Holley Trent
Kathryn Le Veque by Lord of Light
Grapes of Death by Joni Folger
The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri
Child of the Mountains by Marilyn Sue Shank
With Deadly Intent by Louise Hendricksen