Double Dog Dare (2 page)

Until I realized I couldn’t see a damned thing through the mist that covered my eyes. Nor could I still my heavy breathing that would, with even a small loss of control, turn into an onslaught of sobs.

“Damn it, Jeff,” I whispered, my eyes closed and my body a trembling mess as I curled into a small ball on my big chair.

He’d been out of town on business when he disappeared. How had he gotten back to the L.A. area without letting me know?
Why
had he done such a thing?

Had
he done such a thing?

I’d met Jeff during the most miserable time in my life, when my license to practice law had been temporarily toast. I’d lost my job and nearly everything else important in my life—except, thank heavens, my adored Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Lexie. And my big, beautiful Hollywood Hills home—although I’d been forced to lease it out and move into the maid’s quarters over the garage. I’d taken on pet-sitting so Lexie and I could eat. Jeff had been my first pet-sitting client—he and his adorable Akita, Odin.

We’d been through a lot together. He’d advised me in the many murders I’d somehow wound up solving since becoming a murder magnet, despite my strong preferences to the contrary. He’d also become my lover.

And now . . .

Well, one person would know about Jeff’s return to L.A. I straightened, picked up the phone receiver again, and pressed in the numbers that had become extremely familiar over the last bunch of months.

“Hubbard Security,” answered that very person I’d expected to hear, although I had to concentrate for a second to ensure I’d recognized her hoarse, quivery voice.

She knew.

“Althea, it’s Kendra,” I began, hating the huskiness in my own tone. I wanted to be strong for Jeff’s ultimate computer geek and my good friend.

Jeff had described her as middle-aged before I’d met her. Which she was—in her fifties. And a mother of five, and a grandma to one or two. A techie whiz who could circumvent nearly any computer boundary, legal or not, although we seldom talked about that aspect of her acumen. But none of those descriptions had led to a picture in my mind of the genuine Althea, a slender blond who dressed like someone my age—midthirties—or younger, and looked really good in jeans and cropped Ts.

Only at the moment, I pictured her green eyes being as bloodshot as my blue ones.

“Oh, Kendra,” she said much too softly. “Have you heard from Ned Noralles?”

“Yes, he just called. I . . . have you had a chance to look into what he said? I mean, did you confirm that Jeff was even back in the L.A. area? And if so, why up north, in the Antelope Valley? And have the authorities confirmed it was really Jeff’s car they found in that ditch? And—”

“Slow down, Kendra.” I heard an almost-laugh in her raspy voice. “We’re the investigation and security experts, remember?”

“Of course. And I’m sure Buzz is already doing the leg-work, and you’re looking into everything you can on the computer. But I want to make sure you don’t miss anything. After all, Jeff’s the head of the company, and you’re all emotionally involved if he’s really . . . If he’s really . . .” I couldn’t say it, let alone allow myself to think it.

As if I could actually stop my thoughts from twisting along that damned awful road.

“No matter what Ned thinks, we’re not going to go there until and unless it’s proven,” Althea said fiercely, her usual feistiness back in her voice.

Which gave me heart, too. “My sentiments exactly,” I said. “Tomorrow, I intend to go up to northern L.A. County to see the slim evidence Ned described and get my own take on it.”

“Buzz, too.” Buzz Dulear, another employee of Hubbard Security, LLC, was more an expert on the installation of security systems than private investigation, but he’d been known to follow up on a lead or two. And with Jeff out of pocket, I wasn’t surprised that Buzz had leaped in to do the company’s professional snooping.

Jeff out of pocket? Hell, what we needed was to find out what pocket of the Antelope Valley he’d crept into and dig him out. Alive. And absolutely kicking.

Like Althea, I wouldn’t assume anything else was the case unless we had evidence that Jeff truly had been there, done that, and left only his lifeless body behind. . . .

I choked at that thought, then thrust it away. “Okay, then, have Buzz call me in the morning. Maybe we can go up there together and share the gas.” As always, California gas prices these days were among the priciest in the nation.

“Will do. Oh, and Kendra?”

“Yes?”

“We’ll get Jeff back. We have to. He’s too ornery to just up and die on us, especially without even a hint about something strange going on. . . . Right?”

“Right,” I agreed unequivocally, said goodbye, and hung up.

And hung my head for an instant as I prayed that what Althea and I had professed was the absolute truth.

“YOU OKAY, KENDRA?” asked Borden Yurick in his high-pitched voice when I appeared in the hallway outside my office a few minutes later. I’d received a call from our chirpy receptionist, Mignon, informing me that the clients I was scheduled to see this afternoon had arrived and were ensconced in our conference room.

“Okay enough, considering,” I told my boss, whose long form was, as always, decked out in a Hawaiian shirt— with bright green and yellow flowers on this day.

Silver-haired Borden had been a partner in the high-profile law firm I’d worked for when my troubles had tugged my professional legs out from under me a while ago. The other partners had considered Borden a nutcase, simply because he’d taken a round-the-world excursion to escape the awful burdens of his law career. When he returned, he had opened the doors of Yurick & Associates, a modest-size firm headquartered in a former restaurant in Encino, in the San Fernando Valley. He’d taken a lot of our old firm’s lucrative clients along with him, but particularly specialized in representing senior citizens.

He’d adopted a really great attitude about practicing law. Great for me, at least. He made me a junior partner, and as long as I worked on his many cases, he allowed me lots of leeway as to the time I spent lawyering—which permitted me to keep on pet-sitting, the career I’d taken on while my law license was on hold. I’d enjoyed it enough to keep it up, even now.

Plus, I’d gotten involved in a lot of legal dispute resolution that involved—what else?—animals, since I met all sorts of pet-lovers in my second vocation. Many of the clients I brought to this firm had pet-related issues that I helped to resolve.

Like the clients now awaiting me in our conference room.

“Okay, I’m waiting,” Borden said. “Considering what? And before you fib and tell me ‘nothing,’ I can see that you’ve been crying, Kendra. Spill it. What’s up?”

I gave him a stripped-down description of what Ned had said, ending with the same upbeat assumptions that I’d discussed with Althea. “There isn’t enough evidence to draw any ugly conclusions right now,” I told him. “As far as I’m concerned, Jeff’s still out there, somewhere, and he’s okay.”

Borden’s big eyes grew sad beneath his bifocals. “Of course,” he said, obviously humoring me. “And with your background lately of getting involved in investigating criminal cases, I’m sure you’ll find out the truth. Take whatever time you need to work on it. I’ll get one of the other lawyers to help out on my cases.”

The “other lawyers” included some senior attorneys Borden had hired after they’d been booted from their previous firms. One of the crankier ones had been murdered right here in the office a while back. I did indeed figure out whodunit, and the victim’s big, beautiful Blue and Gold Macaw, Gigi, came to the office often with her current owner, Elaine Aames.

“Thanks, Borden,” I said, and headed for the reception area.

Our effervescent receptionist Mignon gave me one of her big, bright smiles. “The Hayhursts are here,” she announced in her habitually cheerful voice.

“Great,” I said. “In the conference room?”

She nodded, and her auburn curls did their usual bob. And then she frowned, not something I was used to seeing on Mignon’s perky face. “You okay, Kendra? You look awful.”

Oops. “I’m fine,” I lied, then took a quick detour to the restroom to fix my face a bit before meeting with my clients.

Okay, so my blue eyes were a bit bloodshot. Otherwise, my face seemed its ordinary self. My brown hair was blunt cut, a tad shorter than its usual shoulder length. I’d grown used to its natural shade; although I’d originally stopped highlighting for lack of funds. Jeff seemed to like it this way. . . .
Stop it!

I was still slender, thank heavens, in my business casual sky blue suit. But enough—it was time to stop primping and start attorneying.

The clients were ensconced in the large room that had once been the restaurant’s bar. The big, wooden bar part was still there along the inside wall and booths remained by the windows, but the center area was now the setting for a large conference table.

Sitting at that table were a couple I guessed to be about a decade my senior, and although they both had the polished brightness of Hollywood sorts, the years had taken a toll. The guy looked somewhat soft and untoned in his tight jeans and partly unbuttoned beige shirt. Lots of wrinkles lined his face, and gullies had already begun to form beside his lips. His dark hair was thick, though, and well styled about his pudgy face.

The woman, a blond with bright blue eyes, was somewhat trimmer and better groomed, yet her face, too, showed wear beneath her too-thick makeup.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hayhurst?” I inquired.

The man nodded. “I’m Corbin, and this is Shareen.”

We shook hands all around.

“Please sit down,” I said, and after inquiring if they wanted any coffee, stepped out to ask Mignon to get us some. I used the occasion to glance at my watch. My intent was to keep this meeting short. And not to think at all about Jeff.

That command to myself made me think of him, of course. I felt tears well up in my eyes and blinked them back.

“So tell me why you need legal representation,” I said to the couple over our foam coffee cups, once I got my emotions back where they needed to be. Or at least hid them well enough. I hoped.

I knew some of the Hayhursts’ dilemma since they’d been referred to me by my dear friend Darryl Nestler, owner of the Doggy Indulgence Day Resort.

“Some of our customers are threatening to sue us,” Shareen said tearfully.

“Let’s back up a bit.” Corbin pursed his narrow lips before speaking again. “I’m sure Darryl told you we own a company called Show Biz Beasts. We train people’s pets, mostly dogs, so they have the skills and tricks needed to get jobs in Hollywood. We also have an agency where we use our contacts to try to get them roles. And we have everyone sign agreements where they acknowledge we don’t make any promises.”

“But a number of our customers say we lie,” Shareen asserted dramatically. I got the impression that her usual demeanor leaned toward the dramatic. “They say we never, ever place any of our training clients in films or TV.”

"And do you?”

Corbin shrugged a pudgy shoulder. “Not always, but occasionally. And our own trained dogs often get roles in commercials.”

“Can you help us, Kendra?” Shareen pleaded. “It would ruin us to be the subject of a lawsuit. Who would ever take one of our training classes again?”

“I’ll need some more information before I can tell you for sure,” I said. “If you can get me a copy of the contract you have your human customers sign, along with a list of the kinds of pets that have been trained over the last couple of years and the roles that any of them, and your own dogs, have secured, I’ll let you know what kind of advice I can provide. Do you know if any of the disgruntled customers have hired lawyers?”

“They’ve said they have,” Corbin said with a frown, “but so far we haven’t heard from any.”

“Well, it does sound like the kind of situation I’d be interested in handling,” I said. But not at this moment, although I didn’t tell them that.

Not while my mind kept ducking out of the room to consider my other, life-affecting situation.

Even so, I described how the Yurick firm worked and what they’d be charged for my time. “If you get me the information I’ve asked for, we can meet again in a week or so and decide where we go from here. Assuming, of course, you want to hire me then, and I’m ready to take on the case.”

“That’s wonderful,” Shareen said, standing as smoothly as a starlet might. “We appreciate your time now, and really hope you can help us, Kendra.”

“I happen to have some of the paperwork you asked for with me,” Corbin said. He showed me a file that he’d lifted from the floor. “Would you like to look it over now?”

“Just leave it, please,” I said. “And I’ll call you once I’ve had a chance to read it.” Like Shareen, I was now standing, although I doubted I’d stood with nearly as much grace as she had.

I ushered them cordially yet quickly out the door. The case sounded interesting.

But at the moment, I had a missing, and possibly presumed dead, P.I. to find.

Chapter Two

DARRYL WAS WAITING at the door of Doggy Indulgence. My tall, lanky, sympathetic friend would have stood there with a glass of wine had I asked him to. Or even something stronger.

I’d called him, of course, to say I was on my way, and what awful occurrence was on my mind—that phone call from Noralles.

And then I’d driven east to Studio City in the compact and uncomfortable car I’d rented after the accident that had probably totaled my beloved Beamer. The insurance company was still deciding whether it was repairable or a total loss, and was paying for the rental in the interim.

“You okay, Kendra?” Darryl asked as we strolled inside the single-story building on Ventura Boulevard. As usual, he wore a Henley-style green knit shirt that hugged his skinny shoulders, with the Doggy Indulgence Day Resort logo over his heart. His long, thin legs were clad in tightish jeans. Though I’d been clothed quite appropriately for my law firm and client meeting, I felt a smidgen overdressed.