Feline Fatale (10 page)

But he could have waited till now for his revenge, so his role would not have been as obvious.

 

I ATTEMPTED TO stay utterly upbeat at our . . . group dinner. Double date? Whatever it was, there were two couples, all four people potentially torn apart by the death of someone barely known to only two of us.

But it was up to me to set the atmosphere, and I chose pleasant optimism. After all, I had jumped in and started my own inquiries into who might have killed Margaret Shiler.

So what if I hadn’t been successful yet? The murder had occurred only a few days earlier, and the couple of leads I’d been following were still very fresh.

But considering my company at the Mexican restaurant where we’d met, I didn’t dare simply start talking too positively about how I was going to solve the case.

We sat in a booth toward the back of the busy establishment. The server brought tortilla chips, salsa, and the margaritas we’d ordered. I’d chosen mango-flavored, and it was deliciously sweet and sour with its hint of lime.

Wanda was clearly depressed and scared, though she maintained a courageous demeanor. She had chosen a drab brown gauzy top that evening, which said scads about how she was feeling. Her margarita was the standard kind—no experimentation, no particular sweetness added.

Darryl drank nothing alcoholic. My lanky friend looked equally morose, sipping on his cola as if he were drinking pure lemon juice. He sat directly across the table from me, and the few smiles he aimed my way seemed forced.

Then there was Dante, beside me. He’d ordered an imported Mexican beer and seemed to savor it as much as the salsa.

The two men would immediately be at odds—with me and with each other—if I brought up my efforts to help Wanda. Darryl would expect it, since I’d promised him I’d try. Dante, although he’d known I wasn’t following his orders, might be irritated about it and would definitely be unhappy that I wasn’t conveying chapter and verse of my investigation to him so he could help in his way—and, perhaps, protect me.

The wait staff had done their duty until our dinners were ready. No interruptions were anticipated for at least a few minutes.

“So,” I said, prepared to attack the thousand-pound gorilla sitting somewhere beside us at this small table. “How did things go at the Burbank Police Department today, Wanda?”

Even though she had suggested this dinner, Wanda glanced at me with horror in her eyes, as if she really hadn’t expected me to prod that sleeping gorilla with a pointed stick. “I . . . I’m not really sure.”

“They told her not to leave town and all those stupid clichéd cop phrases.” Darryl’s voice was low, his gaze behind his glasses sad.

“No big surprise,” I countered lightly. “Not from stupid, clichéd cops. Okay, I take that back. For all I know, they could be brilliant cops who just happen to have started off in the wrong direction. But that’ll change.”

“You’re going to change it?” Darryl challenged. He took a swig of his soft drink as if he now regretted it didn’t have more punch.

“I’m going to try.” My voice was soft, and I didn’t look beside me, toward Dante. “I can’t guarantee anything. You know that. But I’m definitely working on it.”

“You are?” Dante’s voice was soft, too—but much more ominous than mine. “You haven’t discussed it with me, though you said you would.”

I looked at him. “Oops. Sorry. But you knew I’d be busy with it, whether or not I kept you up-to-date. I haven’t learned enough to develop much of a plan so far, but when I do, and if I need backup from you or Brody or anyone else you suggested, like Jeff Hubbard, I promise I’ll ask.”

I watched the warring emotions behind the expression on Dante’s face. He’d felt concerned enough to suggest Jeff in the first place, and I knew that couldn’t have been easy for him. But at the moment, Dante had no reason to worry about my possible interest in any other man.

Our dinners were served just then. I’d ordered relatively lightly, a small taco salad. Even so, I hadn’t much appetite.

Neither, it appeared, did anyone else. We all requested
bolsos perros
—my probably inaccurate translation of doggy bags—when we got ready to go.

Dante, the sweet megamillionaire, treated us.

Outside the door, we stopped, then got out of the way as another flood of hungry people slipped into the restaurant.

I looked at Wanda, who stood beside Darryl. He had his arm around her. “We’ll figure this out,” I said. “Somehow. Please keep me in the loop if there are any other interrogations, or whatever. You can tell Esther I’m eager to help.” I looked at Darryl. “You know I’ll do all I can.”

“Yes, I know, but if only she wasn’t—” He stopped talking, and I saw his gaze had fallen to Dante, beside me, who undoubtedly was glaring.

“I wish she wasn’t involved, too, Darryl.” I wondered whether it would feel less hurtful if he came right out and blamed me—but didn’t really want to find out. I knew that his attitude wasn’t really rational, that it resulted from his fear and pain. Too bad he’d decided, consciously or not, to pass the pain around. I turned and walked to my car—glad that Dante was behind me.

HE STAYED BEHIND me, too. We’d driven separately, and he followed me home in his car—so I of course invited him to stay. Very polite of me . . . hah! My emotions were low, and I hoped he’d help pump them up with some mind-blowing sex. All night.

Instead, after driving through the security gate and parking his high-end Mercedes behind my Escape, he walked me up the stairs to the door of my home-sweet-garage, his arm around my shoulders. Our kiss was hot—but it meant good night.

“I’d love to come in,” he said, “but I’d better get home. I have a conference call early in the morning, one I’ll need to be wide awake for. I’d better not start the night with any distractions, since I might forget to leave.”

I laughed and kissed him back, hearing Lexie sniffing at the door from inside.

“You’ll be okay here?” he asked.

I wondered what he’d do if I said no, but there wasn’t any reason to lie. “I’ll be fine. But . . . well, I’d be finer if you came in for a while.”

“Tomorrow night I’m all yours. If you want me.”

Good question. Did I want him?

For tomorrow night? Of course. But my mind veered in a much wider direction, and I narrowed it back on course.

“Sounds great. Can Wagner come, too?”

“Count on it.”

I used my key to open the door, then punched in the code to turn off the security system Jeff Hubbard had installed for me, as Lexie leaped around my legs. Dante stood there for a moment, obviously assuring himself that I was indeed okay, then said, “See you tomorrow, Kendra.” Another kiss—abbreviated yet explosively hot—and then he was gone.

Tomorrow was Monday. I’d pet-sit in the morning and late in the day, as always. In between, I’d engage in my law practice. And the entire time, I’d be anticipating my evening—with Dante.

Now, though, I’d spend the end of this day alone with Lexie. Once Dante was gone, his car outside and the gate closed behind him, I turned on the yard lights and Lexie and I bounded down the steps for her last constitutional of the night. I saw the outdoor lights go on at the main house, and soon Beggar joined Lexie on the lawn, frolicking with obvious enjoyment.

Russ and Rachel came out the front door, and I headed up the walkway to join them. I felt my shoulders brace in anticipation of whatever they had to say. Had they already located a house to buy?

Fortunately—for me—they hadn’t. “How are you, Kendra?” Russ asked, looking somewhat anxiously into my face. He apparently had headed out of the house in a hurry, since his cotton shirt was unbuttoned. At least it was long-sleeved, since the January air was chilly, and he did wear a white T-shirt beneath. I sensed he was worried about me. Did he expect me to have a meltdown because he and his daughter were leaving someday?

“I’m fine,” I said. “Any success in finding a new home?”

“Not yet. But . . . well, we love this neighborhood.” He looked down into his daughter’s eyes. My waiflike pet-sitting assistant smiled up at him encouragingly. “We’ve been looking in this area, but I think you have the nicest house around.”

Uh-oh. Was this leading up to his wanting to make an offer to buy me out? That would solve my issues about not being able to afford the place without a tenant. But I wouldn’t consider giving it up. Unless I absolutely had to. I still loved this property, even if the bank maintained a major financial interest in it.

“The thing is, Kendra,” Rachel finally said, turning to me, “we don’t want to leave you in the lurch. If you want us to buy you out of this place, we’ll try to do it. But—”

I hurried over to hug her, then Russ. “Please don’t worry about me,” I said. “I had tenants before you got here, and I’ll find someone else, if necessary, when you leave. But it’s really sweet of you to think about it.”

Russ looked relieved. “I was serious about loving this area. We’re holding out till we find a house around here that we like enough to buy—one where we’ll still remain neighbors.”

“Perfect,” I said. Then, since Lexie and Beggar had ended their romp and now sat at our feet, I said good night.

When I got back inside, I realized I was too jazzed to think about going to bed. It wasn’t really very late—only nine o’clock. I decided to follow up on the issue that had been manipulating my mind that day. That way, I wouldn’t have to think too hard—now—about looking around for new tenants soon.

Nor about how much I appreciated the way I’d gotten close to my current ones. And how I’d miss having them this close, even if they wound up staying nearby.

I went into the living room and sat on the sectional sofa, turning on the TV to one of the shows where civilians are hired by cops to psych out crooks—pretending to be particularly perceptive or even clairvoyant. I kept it on mute as I pressed a familiar number into my cell phone.

“Kendra,” said Esther Ickes’s raspy little-old-lady voice into my ear, “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“You can always call me. How are things?”

“Meaning Wanda Villareal’s defense?”

“Well, that, too. You know I’m always interested in how you’re doing, what you’re up to besides defending my friends in murder cases.”

She laughed. “You keep me pretty busy, Kendra.”

“Unfortunately.”

“It’s fortunate for me, though,” Esther said, as I started absently patting Lexie, who lay on my lap. “Especially since you always figure out who really committed the crimes my clients are accused of—and it isn’t them.”

“This time, too. I mean, Wanda’s innocent . . . isn’t she?”

“I certainly think so. I consider the case against her to be really weak. She had a difference of opinion with the victim, one they both were public about, but that doesn’t mean Wanda would kill over it. She’s a smart enough lady to back off, even move to another condominium complex where she could pet-sit, without resorting to murder.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“The only evidence they seem to have against her is that the cat she found there—Lady Cuddles, I think—had blood on her paws, and some of it was Wanda’s. Of course the cat did scratch her a little when she initially tried to take it from the apartment, but then she decided to leave it there.”

That answered one question I’d had. The cops had, indeed, tested the DNA found on the little cat’s paws. Amazing, considering the huge backlog in the official DNA testing system, that they’d already gotten results. Or maybe they were still simply guessing.

“That doesn’t make her a killer,” I stated. “Just so you know, I’m starting to look into other potential suspects, and—”

“I was sure you would, dear. Thanks. And feel free to run any ideas by me.”

“Well, I did go see Margaret’s ex-husband, Paulino Shiler, today. He’s on my list, but I didn’t find him a particularly good suspect. And I’ve been told about someone else Margaret was arguing with—a contractor who did remodeling in some of the condos. His name is Rutley Harris, and I figured I’d track him down tomorrow or the next day.”

“Yes, Wanda mentioned him as a possibility. One other place you could look, if you’re so inclined, is at a couple of the other members of the condo association’s board of directors. And they could lead you to some of the other people siding with Margaret on the pet issue—and those against her. Although I still find that too insubstantial a motive for murder.”

“People kill for all kinds of dumb reasons,” I reminded Esther—unnecessarily, since defending people in criminal matters was the major part of her practice. “And murder because of a threat to a family member isn’t necessarily an insubstantial motive. Pets are relatives people choose, after all.”

“You’re right, dear. I can really identify with that now. Did I tell you that I’ve adopted a kitten? Her name is Sacha, and I had to laugh when Wanda started telling me about Lady Cuddles and her escapades around the condo complex—besides hanging around the murder site. My little Sacha isn’t quite that elusive, but I do find her in the oddest places in my home, like in cabinets beside my sink and in shoeboxes in my closet. She’s gray with light stripes rather like a tiger’s.”

“She sounds wonderful,” I said warmly. “You’ll have to introduce me to her one of these days.”

“Gladly.”

“And I’ll follow up on those ideas of yours to help clear Wanda.”

“I’m sure that you already thought of finding other people at the condominium complex to interview, Kendra. There’s nothing especially unique in that.”

“I appreciate all suggestions. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

When we had said our good-byes and hung up, I made a quick call to James Jerome. “I’d love to get together with you again soon,” I told him. “I’ve been following up on the people you suggested, but maybe you could point out more people who were Margaret’s friends and enemies around the complex. Wanda’s solidly in the cops’ radar right now, and I’d love to get her out, if possible.”