Feline Fatale (6 page)

“Hi,” she said sorrowfully to the throng of people who stood there. “Come on in.” There were probably too many, but a few obeyed her request. “These are some of our residents,” she explained to me, and started rattling off names I wouldn’t remember.

But before she got very far, Ruth Bertinetti burst through the crowd to face Wanda. “I know you had a bone to pick with Margaret about her wanting to fix the antiquated pet policy here,” she said. “But you didn’t need to kill her, you bitch!”

I HEARD BASIL barking his contradiction from behind a closed door. For an instant, his voice was the only sound in the room.

Then Dante said, in a tone dripping ice, “Time for you to leave, lady.”

Ruth shot him a look that started out scornful, then turned uneasy as she noticed the fury on his face. And an angry-looking Dante is a scary thing, even when he is dressed casually and not in a situation where he is clearly in charge.

I knew that. I had, on occasion, been on the receiving end.

“I didn’t kill her,” Wanda wailed. Darryl put his arm protectively around her, and she seemed to recoup her resilience. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve accusing me, Ruth, just because we’re on opposite sides of an important issue around here.”

“Well, poor Margaret argued directly with you about it.” Ruth Bertinetti was a tall woman, and she seemed to attempt to gain height with her anger, standing straighter with her hands on her hips.

“If I kill people that I argue with,” Wanda said coldly, “then I’d suggest you watch your back.”

Ruth appeared shocked by that rejoinder. So was I, in fact. Wanda had always seemed like a fairly reasonable person.

But emotions can make people say strange things. I felt certain that no matter what ill feelings there’d been between Wanda and Margaret, my pet-sitting pal wouldn’t have killed Margaret.

Even so, some of the residents who’d come into the unit murmured to one another uneasily. A few sidled toward the exit. Some shot irritated looks in the direction of Basil’s unyielding barks in support of his owner.

Wanda apparently realized the impression she might have made. Her face was as green as the pale, flowing top she wore, a shade lighter than Darryl’s Doggy Indulgence shirt, as she attempted to improve it with a smile. “You know I’m just joking,” she said to no one in particular.

“Of course you are,” Darryl stated staunchly. “And you’ve every reason to get angry about such unfounded accusations. Right, Kendra?”

His gaze bored into me over his wire-rims, as if he was attempting to control my response. I didn’t quite see my easygoing best bud in that look, but I of course understood why he was so upset.

The woman he loved had been accused of murder.

And even could have done it . . . although I didn’t think she had. Dante, too, acknowledged how upset Darryl obviously was. He stood beside me and stared back at Darryl with a look not yet menacing but that suggested it could get threatening if my friend didn’t back off a bit.

The crowd nearing the door stopped suddenly, the stream of people parting. I saw why in a second. A couple of uniformed Burbank cops were swimming upstream into their midst.

When they got inside, the older, chubbier one demanded, “What are you doing here, everyone? You were told to stay in your own apartments until our investigation here is through. Have you all been interviewed?”

From the responses, it sounded as if most hadn’t been.

“We were all friends of Margaret’s, Officer,” Ruth Bertinetti said softly, as if in explanation. “We thought it appropriate to show some unity on her behalf.”

If these folks were all friends of Margaret’s, and therefore against the possibility that pets’ rights would be maintained at Brigadoon, then Wanda’s ability to keep Basil here and maintain her pet-sitting operation were definitely in danger.

But that still didn’t mean she’d have cut down the most vocal opponent of pets in desperation. Did it?

Besides, I counted the members of the crowd. There were only twelve people, though they felt like more in such close quarters. Even so, that meant that only a maximum of a dozen apartments containing occupants who were potentially pro-Margaret were represented here. And although he’d remained silent, Teddy Bertinetti was among them.

“Go back where you were told to stay,” said the other cop, who looked younger but sounded more authoritative. Everyone except the Bertinettis bailed out of Wanda’s unit.

Teddy Bertinetti finally found his voice. “Whether you killed Margaret or not, we’re going to carry on with what she started. And for now, unless you get your mutt to be quiet, we’re going to tell the remaining board members to fine you.”

“But we won’t do it,” said a voice from the doorway. James Jerome edged into the room, saw the cops, and stopped. “I was on my way back to my unit when I heard the anti-pet people grumbling as they left here, and thought I should offer my support. It’s no wonder that Basil’s been barking, with all the commotion around here. No fines for you or for him.”

“Go on to your apartment, sir,” said the more officious officer.

“Okay, but don’t worry, Wanda,” James called over his shoulder. “Pets still rule here at Brigadoon.”

Wanda’s apartment wasn’t in the mainstream of Brigadoon, yet it seemed like a whole lot of people were seeking her out—including these cops.

I saw why they were there a minute later, after I’d gone to comfort Basil and returned to the living room with him in my arms.

A woman in a dark suit stood there. A local police detective?

She confirmed it in an instant. “I’m Detective Candace Melamed of the Burbank Police Department,” she said, slipping a badge from her pocket. She was the one Wanda had mentioned before. “Please identify yourselves and state what you’re doing here.”

“These are my friends, Detective,” Wanda said defensively. “Darryl Nestler is my boyfriend, Kendra Ballantyne is a lawyer and a friend, and Dante DeFrancisco is—”

“The owner of HotPets? Very good to meet you, sir.” The detective suddenly looked impressed, but only for a second. She was a woman of moderate height, with glasses and a slick, short haircut. “But I’m afraid you’re possibly interfering in a police investigation. Do you own a unit here?”

“Just visiting,” Dante said mildly. “Offering moral support to our friend Wanda. It’s a terrible thing she’s gone through—finding the body of an apparent murder victim that way.”

“Are you her attorney?” the detective asked me.

“I’m not currently representing her,” I replied. “Is the situation such that she requires counsel?” Okay, I was sounding like a lawyer—intentionally. Not that I was dressed like one this evening. I’d donned an outfit intended to seduce Dante—snug black sweater over attractive charcoal slacks—and, since the January evening was chilly, I’d tossed a zippered sweatshirt over it. A shocking pink one.

“That is entirely up to her.” Detective Melamed’s blue-eyed gaze narrowing cunningly. “She’s not being taken into custody at the moment, if that’s what you’re asking. Whether she’ll be deemed a person of interest in this case hasn’t yet been decided.”

Translation: Wanda could indeed be considered a suspect, if not at the moment, then imminently—maybe.

“Well, then, I’m cautioning her not to answer any more questions than she already has, not without her attorney present. Since my specialty is not criminal law, I’ll refer her to someone who can help her.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Wanda wailed yet again.

“That doesn’t always stop the police from suspecting someone perfectly innocent,” I cautioned, earning another glare from Detective Melamed.

“Please leave these premises,” she insisted, “all of you except Ms. Villareal.”

Wanda immediately turned and clung to Darryl. “I need for him to be with me,” she cried. I noticed some scratches on her arm as her gauzy sleeves slid up. Lady Cuddles’s work?

The detective eyed Darryl up and down, then turned to Dante and me. “That will be all right for now,” she said, “if Mr. DeFrancisco and Ms.—Valentine, was it?—leave.”

“Ballantyne,” I corrected, believing she had intentionally mangled my name. “And yes, we’ll go as long as Darryl can stay. But once again, Wanda—”

“Yes, I won’t answer any more questions until I have a lawyer with me. Do you know someone I can hire?”

“I do indeed,” I said.

 

AS DANTE AND I headed for my Escape in the outer area of the condo parking lot, we ignored all media cries for attention. No Corina Carey, my main media contact, so ignoring them was easy. When the January sun rose later, the temperature would warm, but for now it remained chilly for California. I zipped up my sweatshirt again.

Fortunately, since it was very early morning, the parking lot was well lighted. Pulling my cell phone from my purse, I called my good friend Esther Ickes, a lawyer whose expertise included criminal law. In fact, I recommended Esther to all my friends who needed criminal counsel.

She’d been there to help me when I’d been in that awful situation myself.

“Another one, Kendra?” she asked immediately. “If I gave you a commission on all your referrals, you might get as rich as your guy friend—not that my clients pay that well, you understand. I assume Dante’s still in your life?”

I glanced beside me and beamed briefly. “For now. Anyway, I’ll give Wanda your contact information. And—well, as always, thanks, Esther.”

I quickly called Wanda and gave her Esther’s info.

“She’s the one you always recommend?” she asked.

“Absolutely. She’s great.”

“Good. I’ll call her right away.”

We reached my Escape and I pressed the button on my key ring to unlock the doors. But as we started to get inside, Darryl came dashing up.

“Is Wanda okay?” I inquired anxiously.

My long, lanky friend drooped dejectedly. “She changed her mind. Decided she’d be better off alone for now, facing this, than having me around worrying about her.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry about all this, Darryl.” What I meant, of course, was that I regretted that my good friends were in the middle of such a mess.

But Darryl seemed to take it a different way. “I figured you would be. But gee, Kendra, couldn’t you have, just this once . . . ? Never mind.”

I stood utterly still as I saw Dante edge around the back of the Escape to watch us. “Do you think I somehow brought this on Wanda? You know better.”

He didn’t meet my eyes, but instead stared at the ground through his wire-rims. “It’s not that. Not really. But—”

“But what?”

“But everyone you know who’s not murdered becomes a suspect in a killing. Even I was somewhat of a suspect once—enough that I had to hire one of your lawyer friends.”

That had been Martin Skull, another good criminal lawyer of my acquaintance. But fortunately the police vibes against Darryl hadn’t reverberated very deeply.

“I don’t understand it, either,” I told my longtime best bud sadly. “You know that. And I’m going to do everything I can to ensure that Wanda is cleared of all suspicion. I promise. And you also know that, as awful as it’s been for me to be a murder magnet, I’ve always been able to determine, and acquire evidence against, the genuinely guilty party.”

An expression I interpreted as anguish distorted dear Darryl’s face. His puppy-dog eyes looked utterly sad as he said, “You said that like a lawyer, Kendra.”

“I
am
a lawyer.”

“I know. It’s okay. Sorry I said anything.” He pivoted on his heel and walked off.

I simply stood there for a minute, watching him move farther away—and not just in distance.

Only when Dante took me into his arms did I realize that I had tears in my eyes.

 

I INSISTED ON driving my car anyway. It gave me something to concentrate on as I attempted to adjust my mood to something less than miserable.

After all, the man I might actually love was still at my side, in the passenger seat. And he’d been a suspect in a couple of my murder situations lately, one more so than the other—the one that had resulted in his being stabbed.

“I know it’s late, but will you take me to my house tonight, Kendra?” he asked as I pulled onto one of the major Burbank streets.

“Sure,” I said, attempting to sound perky.

“And will you stay there with me?”

“Sure,” I said again, this time definitely more enthusiastically. “As long as we can stop at my place to pick up Lexie.” Which we did.

The drive to Dante’s Malibu house did, in fact, help to lift my mood. He spoke lightly of the latest HotPets to open, the one in Colorado.

“We held the usual parade of pets, where we encourage people who live around the new store to bring in whatever kind of animal they love best. We had mostly dogs, of course, but you’d enjoy the fact that a couple of people brought their potbellied pigs. And there, ferrets are legal as pets, so we had a bunch of them, too—in cages.”

I’d of course told Dante of my own experiences with ferrets when the first tenants at my home had kept them as pets even though that was illegal in California. At that time, I was trying to keep my record spotless since I was attempting to get my law license back after those spurious allegations of ethics violations. And those cute but criminal ferrets had also been involved in a murder . . .

I started to relax as we neared Malibu. Dante’s home was high in the mountains overlooking the Pacific. Despite the darkness along the twisting road that led to his abode, I easily found the opening in the tall hedge that edged his lot, and punched in the code on the mounted key pad to open the gate. Then I drove up the driveway to the circular part at the entry to his lovely stone mansion.

“Just park here for tonight,” he said. He got his suitcase from the back of the Escape as I let the leashed Lexie wander around a little to take care of her final eliminations for the night.