The Fright of the Iguana (23 page)

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: The Fright of the Iguana
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“I don’t use baseball bats or anything else to ward off unfriendly animals when I’m walking dogs,” Jerry continued. “I’ve taken over a lot of Nya’s clients now, since some people are still out of town. It’s kinda fun, and I used to go along with Nya sometimes for the ride so I know what to do.”
“What’s your regular job?” I inquired. My conversation wasn’t distracting me from driving just then, since freeway traffic was almost at a standstill. I craned my neck, hoping to see that the next exit was nearby. I’d take it, whatever it was.
“I’m a landscape designer, and I supervise the guys who implement my plans. That leaves me flexibility to pet-sit, since my hours are my own.”
More so than mine, I thought.
“Anyway,” he went on, “that Detective Lunn started questioning me almost the moment after Tracy found Nya, and he got a warrant to look around my home and office. I’d have given him permission anyway, since I’d nothing to hide—only he found those damned bats there. I told him right off that if Nya didn’t stick them there without my knowledge, then someone put them there to frame me, but he didn’t buy it.”
I would have, and not just because I’d assumed Jerry wasn’t the only possible suspect the first time we’d spoken. But I’d been in a similar position once, so I was more likely to assume that someone claiming to be framed
was
.
“But he’s buying it now?” Ah! A small break in traffic in the lane to my right. I quickly but carefully shot over.
“Yeah. I called Lunn to tell him I’d started compiling a list of everyone I knew who might have access to my yard, including all employees who do landscaping for me, and maybe anyone in the world since I wasn’t always careful to lock my gate—before.”
“Must be a long list,” I observed.
“What? Oh, because it could include everyone? Well, it didn’t matter, since Lunn thanked me but said that I could rest a little easier now. He told me that, after some discussions he’d been holding, his focus was on someone else.”
A ploy to make Jerry feel relaxed enough to spill his guts? If not, who was that focus on?
I was afraid I could guess.
“Well, whoever those discussions were with, it wasn’t me, Jerry,” I told him. I grinned as the next exit finally appeared not far ahead. That was the good thing.
The bad was that everyone on the road seemed as inclined as I to use it.
Maybe sticking out the snail’s pace on the freeway was a better idea.
“Anyway,” I said, “glad to hear things are going better for you now.” Okay, that was a slight lie. I didn’t know the guy well, so whether or not I’d glommed on to him as my prime suspect, I’d rather he be guilty than someone I cared about. “Good luck.”
After thanks, he hung up. And I hung out on the freeway.
I next pushed in Tracy’s number.
“Oh, Kendra,” she cried out almost immediately. “Where are you? Can you come here? I’m afraid I’m about to be arrested.”
Chapter Nineteen
I COULDN’T HEAD to Tracy’s immediately. Not when I was so concerned about Alexander.
But the pit bull wasn’t so bad by the time I got there. And since he seemed starved for attention, I praised Rachel for her compassionate care of him and hustled him into the Beamer.
And held my breath as I drove toward Tracy’s. What if his stomach really was still upset, and I’d have a stinky, sticky mess to clean up inside my car?
I always kept cleanup stuff in the trunk, in case I got to a client’s and the cupboard was bare. Could I get Alexander to sit on a big plastic garbage bag for half an hour?
Unlikely. And he seemed just fine standing shotgun and sniffing out the window after I cracked it a smidgen.
Lexie wasn’t going to like this, though—the scent of her domain contaminated by an interloper.
At least traffic had improved, and I arrived at Tracy’s in about twenty minutes. She lived in a fourplex apartment building on one of the twisty near-canyon streets around Beachwood Drive in Hollywood. Her flat was on the first floor, the one at the right, and I heard a bevy of barks the instant my fingers neared the doorbell. Which of course caused Alexander’s hackles to rise and a growl to emanate from deep in his throat.
Hmmm. The different-toned sounds suggested that Phoebe the puggle wasn’t the sole canine occupant at Tracy’s. Did Allen have a dog, too? Was Tracy taking in clients’ pets instead of staying in their homes?
Maybe making Alexander feel less abandoned by bringing him along wasn’t such a good idea after all—even though he had a stellar personality, particularly for a pit bull.
Allen answered the door. His long chin seemed to dip even deeper when he saw I wasn’t alone. He wore a white button shirt and khaki slacks that he’d most likely worn to work that day. “Hi, Kendra. I saw you with a small dog last time.”
“That was Lexie, my own pup. This is Alexander, a client who needs some extra TLC. But maybe we’d better not come in.”
“Good idea.”
But just then Tracy came up beside her guy, with Phoebe in her arms and, on a leash, an adorable white furball pup of no particular breed I could distinguish. She wore a dirty white PSCSC T-shirt over ratty jeans—Tracy, not the dog. Had she grown so depressed she wasn’t interested in her appearance, or was that simply her casual at-home look? “Oh, Kendra, I’m so glad you’re here. Come in.” She drew away from the door and used her head to motion me inside.
“I have Alexander with me,” I cautioned before coming in. “He’s got a wonderful personality and I wouldn’t have brought him if I hadn’t figured he’d get along with Phoebe, but with another stranger in the mix—”
“Oh, Chelsea’s a sweetie. As long as Alexander doesn’t attack her, she won’t attack him.” She turned her back and headed down the short hall.
Allen, who’d ended up almost behind the door, shrugged his skinny shoulders as he closed it behind Alexander and me.
The place was the sort that had been built in the first half of the twentieth century, with hardwood floors and arched doorways. Of course it was small, since it consisted of only a quarter of the whole house. It was pretty and homey, and though Tracy’s furniture was sparse and appeared well used, I really liked the looks of her home.
We three humans sat in the living room on overstuffed chairs arranged around a table containing magazines about animals, near a glass-enclosed fireplace. The dogs, let loose, sniffed one another and to my surprise seemed content to lie at our respective feet. Alexander even abutted his butt against my shoes, again suggesting the poor pup had been lonesome.
I figured Tracy would start talking in her own good time. I certainly didn’t want to blurt out, “Why do you think you’re going to be arrested?”
Only, when the silence lengthened, I blurted out, “Tracy, why do you think you’re going to be arrested?”
Her eyes grew a sharper brown, or maybe it was the light reflecting in her sudden tears that gave that impression.
Allen stood suddenly, his fists clenched and his otherwise ordinary features twisted. “This is absolutely ridiculous. Tracy’s done nothing wrong. Those damned cops are so inept. They find what they think are clues and then misinterpret them any way they want.”
“They found some baseball bats at Jerry Jefferton’s,” Tracy said with a deep and sorrowful sigh. She picked up Phoebe from the floor and squeezed her tightly as if for moral support.
“I heard,” I started to say. “He—”
But Tracy continued as if I wasn’t talking. “You’d think that would mean they’d consider him a great suspect, after Nya was killed that way. But they said it was too obviously a plant, and that I’d had better opportunity anyway, when I found her at my client’s. And of course who better to plant baseball bats than someone who’s vocal about using them on the job, like me?”
“Too obvious, isn’t it?” Allen countered with a rather repulsive snort. He sat on a chair close to Tracy’s and slipped his hand beneath Phoebe, presumably to squeeze his main squeeze’s knee comfortingly.
Phoebe didn’t seem to like it, though, and leaped down, leaving Tracy’s lap bereft. The rest of Tracy, too, since the tears in her eyes coursed down her cheeks.
“I’d say so,” I agreed. “But why do you think—”
She stopped me this time by her own repetition. “That I’m going to be arrested? Because Detective Lunn told me to come to the station tomorrow to answer more questions. And when I told him I’d bring that nice lawyer friend of yours, Esther Ickes, he said it was a good idea.” That caused Tracy to break into sobs.
Allen stood, which caused all three dogs to stand, so I rose, too. Tracy was the only one to stay seated as we all gathered around to console her despite her disconsolate weeping.
She got hold of herself soon. “Kendra, I know you’re doing all you can to find out who killed Nya, and also who’s been doing that terrible pet-napping. But I have to ask you another favor.”
My insides tightened so uncomfortably that I wondered if my skin was suddenly shrinking. “What’s that?” I asked with pseudocheerfulness.
“Allen’s really sweet and volunteered, but he’s a much better insurance salesman than pet-sitter. And I know you can’t take on midday dog walks, what with your law job, of course.”
Uh-oh. I knew what was coming. Could I comfortably say no?
No.
“But some of my clients will be out of town for weeks and I have to ease up on my schedule, at least until I’ve gone through this additional questioning and am hopefully in the clear. I’ll hang on to four myself.” At Allen’s attempt to intercede, she said, “I have to, to keep my sanity. I love my work and wish I could do it all.
Will
do it all, when this is over. But for now, I’ve already gotten Wanda and Lilia to take on one of my clients each. Sometimes I’ve traded off with other club members as well when one or another of us gets too busy, but everyone’s either swamped or scared, and there are three more I need help with. Kendra, could you take on some more pet-sitting for me?”
 
 
I THOUGHT I could handle three, with Rachel’s able assistance. Assuming, of course, that my employee didn’t get a coveted, time-consuming acting job in the interim.
And I had to hand it to Tracy. She was determined to take tremendous care of the cats and dogs she’d been watching. She was being realistic about the demands on her time and psyche. And she refused to give up, even though she needed help.
I got the particulars and the keys from her. She even took me for quick visits to each, and Alexander appeared to enjoy the lengthening ride.
But eventually, I needed to say my adieus and head back toward the Valley. Because it was getting late, I headed first to Darryl’s to pick up Lexie. She spied me first as I entered the door, and hightailed it toward me from her favorite area—the one with the people furniture for hounds to bask on.
“Everything okay, Kendra?” Darryl asked as he moseyed over from the check-in desk to say hi.
“Sure, as long as I like to stay busy.” I informed him about the extra pet-sitting I’d agreed to take on for Tracy.
“I’ve never seen anyone as able at juggling responsibilities as you,” my lanky friend said with a slow smile. “And I just happen to have another referral for you.” His brown eyes twinkled from beneath his wire rims.
“Save it till I have a spare minute, Nestler,” I retorted, and he gave a short, loud laugh.
Lexie, Alexander, and I headed out to care for the rest of my clients. My new tasks for Tracy’s charges would start the next day. I spent a nice, long time caring for each pet, managing to juggle leashes so Lexie and Alexander came along on the walks. Both were on best behavior.
But eventually I needed to return Alexander to his abode. I considered bringing him home with me, but Lexie had been a good enough sport. She’d need individual attention, too.
Fortunately, it appeared by then that I’d exhausted Alexander. Leaving Lexie in the Beamer, which I parked temporarily in the garage of Alexander’s house, I opened his door, handed him some extra treats, and said, “Good night, guy. See you in the morning.”
He sat and seemed to smile, then headed for his doggy bed in the corner of his owner’s tile-floored kitchen. I ensured that the security system was set. And then I double- and triple-checked it . . . and left.
“It’s been a heck of a day, Lex,” I told my cute, cuddly Cavalier when I returned to the Beamer. “Let’s go home.” On the way we stopped at the drive-through window of a fast-food joint. I ordered a salad, to ensure my conscience didn’t bug me, plus a burger. At home, I split both, although Lexie received more of the salad’s chicken than I did, and I ate more rabbit food.
Rather than wait for my cell phone to sing, I called Jeff. “I’ve been hoping that Althea dug up a new tidbit that a super P.I. like you ran with and solved Nya Barston’s murder.”
“Hope some more,” he said. “Nothing new from her, though she’s researching brands of baseball bats. Oh, and she’s looking in depth into Jerry Jefferton, too, who seems not to have gotten into any trouble during his life. He’s got some interesting stuff on the web about landscape design, though.”

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