Fine-Feathered Death (21 page)

“We’ll have to ask him,” I replied. “Did Jeff request that you do any digging for him?”

“Not specifically,” Althea said with a sigh.

I had to hang on, both to leash and phone, when Lexie spied a cat speeding across the street. “Just a second,” I said to Althea via the bouncing cellular apparatus. “I need to convince my dog her evening constitutional is complete.” Which I soon did. Lexie stayed at my side as we entered the wide front gate to my home. “Sorry,” I said to Althea. “Anyway, I’ve been considering who might be the most compelling suspects in both murders but I need some more background info. Can you help?”

“In a heartbeat. What do you want, and on whom?”

I’d come to really revere this woman as well as like her as a friend. Computer geek and consummate hacker? Middle-aged marvel? Heck, she was simply Althea.

“I’m still mulling over what I need,” I said. “But first thing, could you do a search on Corrie Montez? I want to know everything you can find about her. Could be she was killed only because of what she knew about Ezra’s death, but just in case . . .”

“Got it,” Althea said as I juggled the phone between shoulder and ear so I could insert the key into the lock on my apartment door. Yes, I was consciously staying more cautious about securing my stuff while dog-walking these days, thanks to the way Rachel had apparently maneuvered into my main house.

“Anything else?”

Yeah, there was. It was something I knew I needed to ask. Probably an angle Jeff was already pursuing, assuming he was able to do anything while under interrogation. But it was something I needed to know myself. Even if it might not provide him with the alibi he needed.

“Yes,” I said. “Could you give me Amanda Hubbard’s phone number?”

 

I HAD TO prepare myself for this phone call. Lexie bounced at my feet, begging for a biscuit, as I headed for the kitchen.

“Treat for you, bigger treat for me,” I told her. I dropped a doggie cookie and she caught it in her eager mouth.

I poured myself a glass of chardonnay. A small one, since I figured my driving might not be done for the day.

If it was, that would be the time to double my dose—for medicinal purposes, of course.

I glanced around to decide where I wanted to sit while I spoke on the phone. Over the bathroom commode, in case I needed to toss my chardonnay?

Courage, Kendra,
I ordered myself.

I went back to the living room sofa and dug around in my pocket for Amanda’s number.

And stared at it for a second as I boosted my bravado.
Now!
I pushed in the numbers and pressed the “Send” button.

It rang only once before a breathy and all-too-familiar female voice responded, “Hello?”

“Hi, Amanda. This is Kendra Ballantyne.”

Silence. What did I expect? A wonderful welcome from my lover’s ex?

“Have you spoken to Jeff lately?” I asked swiftly to end the mounting silence. “I mean, within the last few hours?”

“No . . .” she said suspiciously. “Why?”

I thought the number Althea had supplied me was probably for Amanda’s cell phone. As a result, I couldn’t picture where she might be located, but I could definitely envision what she looked like in my mind’s envious eye. I’d still not gotten a wide-ranging report on the woman’s background, but my imagination had penciled in a few possibilities: a fading fashion model; a genuine Hollywood insider instead of a panting wannabe; a gorgeous heiress who’d enjoyed all the cosmetic surgery money could buy . . . I was feeling so catty that I might as well have me-owed an answer to her.

Instead, I said calmly, “He called me before to ask me to line up a criminal attorney for him. He’s apparently being held as a suspect in Corrie Montez’s murder.”

“I heard about that woman on the news. She worked at your office, too, like that man who was killed the other day, right?”

“Yes,” I said shortly. “I wanted to find out from you whether you would be of any help to Jeff.” I took a deep breath, swallowed a bunch of bile, and belted out, “Were you with him last night?”

“Why, yes,” she replied without hesitation in a voice so sweet that it suggested she relished rubbing my face in its saccharine. “I was all upset after hearing again from that awful Leon. I called, and Jeff came right over.”

“And what time was that?”

“He was with me from, oh, about ten P.M. to after one-thirty in the morning.”

So much for Jeff’s alleged outing for early-morning ice cream. I wasn’t sure where he’d claim to have found a cone at that hour anyway. Or maybe it had been Amanda who’d supplied it . . . along with whatever other treats she’d given him.

“What time do they think that woman was killed, Kendra?” Amanda asked.

“They’ve pinpointed the time, thanks to me,” I said. “I was shot at, too.” That was something I could suspect Amanda of doing, but she’d have had no reason to get rid of Ezra and Corrie first. Besides, just as she was supplying Jeff with an alibi, he would be able to do the same for her. “It was around eleven o’clock.”

“No problem, then,” Amanda all but cooed, and I wanted to kick her for it. “Jeff was definitely still at my place then. Shall I call the police and tell them?”

“I’ll let them know,” I told her. “But I’m sure they’ll get in touch with you.”

I didn’t bother to mention that she was hardly more credible a witness than I’d have been, had I elected to fake a false alibi for Jeff. We both had reasons to endeavor to exonerate Jeff.

Amanda would wish to keep her momentum moving to get him back.

And I would adore the enjoyment of telling him exactly where to take his sexy bod and shove it.

I’D BEEN RIGHT to limit my wine imbibing, since a short while later I found myself in my Beamer. Lexie accompanying me, we were on our way to Jeff’s.

I’d called Detective Noralles and notified him as to what I understood Amanda would testify. He didn’t sound surprised. Jeff had probably slipped him that absolving item of information before, and he’d elected to consider the source and discredit it, as I’d anticipated. He’d thanked me nevertheless and promised to look into it.

I likewise took the opportunity to tell him I’d been hunting for Jeff’s lost jacket earlier that evening, and my theory that the murderer bathed it in Corrie’s blood to implicate Jeff. Noralles seemed as unimpressed as he’d been with my proffering of Amanda as a witness. His single-mindedness had doubtless decreed that both women in Jeff’s life might lie to exonerate him.

As if I, an officer of the court, would do such a dire deed.

He hadn’t let me speak to Jeff—who now had his cell phone either off or confiscated, I couldn’t tell which. But I’d gathered that I shouldn’t expect his appearance anytime soon.

Odin shouldn’t have to suffer for his master’s mistakes or misfortunes, so Lexie and I headed there to administer comfort and company.

The Akita was perceptibly pleased about our presence. His breed isn’t always prone to gratuitous shows of emotion, but he engaged in a bout of doggy one-upmanship with Lexie and seemed utterly grateful when we joined him on a long jaunt to take care of his final concerns of the night.

Sitting on Jeff’s sofa, we tuned into the TV for a while—while I watched my watch. I tried one more useless time to reach Jeff on his cell, but only reached his voice mail again.

I was convinced of his innocence of murder, whether or not Amanda fabricated their assignation. As a lawyer—and one who’d once been a murder suspect herself—I was more than familiar with the basis of this country’s laudable legal system: a person is deemed innocent until proven guilty.

That was intended to apply in all instances, both for accusations of murder, and for lesser offenses.

But I acknowledged to myself that I was prepared to convict Jeff of a less-than-innocent assignation with Amanda without further evidence otherwise.

Instead of all of us piling into Jeff’s bed, I herded the dogs to the guest room, where I’d resided when all I’d been was simply Jeff’s pet-sitter.

I lay in that cramped bed long into the night, listening in vain for Jeff to come home and attempt to persuade me against his presumed perfidy.

Chapter Twenty

STILL NO SIGN of Jeff the next morning, so I tended the two pups and departed, bringing Lexie along. Poor Odin. But I wasn’t sure whether I’d want to return if Jeff came home tonight. If I left Lexie and had to come back for her, I’d have to convince myself to converse calmly with Jeff and I wasn’t sure I could do that just yet.

We headed home so I could change clothes before facing the day. Outside the gate, I saw Rachel walking Beggar—or rather, the eager Irish setter towing his slower-striding owner.

“Hi,” I called, driving my Beamer up beside them. Then, recalling Rachel’s glam outing with her dad the day before, I asked, “How did you enjoy the audition?”

The waiflike teen, clad today in mundane jeans and a sweatshirt, seemed almost ready to cry. “So many people trying out for one part! I thought moving to Hollywood would make it easier to get into films, but—”

I’d no doubt her “but” was the battle cry of thousands of frustrated actors. It undoubtedly energized some to try all the harder. But others, forced to face reality, watched their designer-clad dreams of fame and fortune slip instead into the uniforms of underpaid restaurant servers and other unsung positions.

“Hey,” I said. “I have an idea. Lexie and I could use a little help this morning before I go to my law office. How would you like to be a pet-sitter’s assistant for the day?”

 

TO MY ASTONISHMENT and amusement, Rachel parlayed herself into a pet-sitter extraordinaire. Perhaps she was just acting but she appeared to enjoy it. She threw herself into ensuring that Alexander the pit bull had a bully time on his walk, plus plenty to eat and drink. She laughed over the snooty antics of Abra and Cadabra, the disappearing non-Cheshire cats. While we were in the car driving from client to client, she talked lots to Lexie, who lapped it up.

When I received a panicked phone call from Avvie Milton saying her trip was unexpectedly commencing that very afternoon, we headed for her home—where Rachel also seemed ecstatic about interacting with Pansy, the pot-bellied pig—an adorable, fuzzy black-and-white porker with a protracted snout and cloven feet.

“Do you mind if I have Rachel help while you’re gone?” I asked Avvie. Even now, frazzled about her impending trip, my former legal associate still looked professional in a pantsuit and neatly trimmed and highlighted hair. Thanks to me, I thought as usual. I’d insisted that she lose the short skirts and silly demeanor she’d started out with when she’d first joined the Marden firm—which now seemed eons ago—when I’d been the firm’s foremost litigator.

“Not at all,” she said. “As long as we add her to your pet-sitting contract.” I’d faxed her what I was using now, since I’d lately determined to approach my pet-sitting as professionally—almost—as my legal career.

“Good idea,” I agreed.

A little while later, we were back at my rented-out home so I could drop off Rachel. Her dad was still in town but would be leaving on a location-scouting mission later that day, so I was unlikely to see him for a while. A good thing? Probably. I was annoyed by the idea that I found him attractive. Especially now, while I was so confused about the other man who I thought was in my life.

“Thanks a lot, Kendra,” Rachel said, and I noted that the pout I’d first seen on her pretty, young face had been replaced by a more permanent smile. “Will you come by for me later, before you take care of your pet clients this afternoon?”

“Sure thing,” I said. I didn’t necessarily need an assistant. On the other hand, if things worked out well, it would allow me to take on more pet-sitting clients while my law practice continued to grow.

Before Lexie and I had driven fully down the hill, my cell phone played its song. Jeff? Was he free and focused on talking?

No, it was Darryl. “Hi, Kendra,” he said. “Can you come by here today? Irma Etherton dropped off an envelope for you. She said it was important, and that you were expecting it.”

Walt’s will, I figured. “Lexie and I will come by in a little bit,” I said. “And since we’ll be there anyway . . .” I glanced over at my alert canine companion. “How would you like to stay at Darryl’s today?” I inquired.

Her fuzzy tail wagged ferociously.

“You’ve got another customer today, if that’s okay,” I said into the phone.

“Lexie’s always welcome,” Darryl responded, as I’d been certain he would.

 

AS BORDEN HAD hoped yet hadn’t expected, we were permitted to practice law in our own offices that day. The atmosphere felt even gloomier than after Ezra’s exit. Because we’d now experienced two murders here, or because Corrie was even more the sort of person who’d be sorely missed? I couldn’t say.

I tracked down Gigi before starting anything else. She was again in the kitchen, clutching her perch and looking listlessly through the slats in her cage. She seemed miserably sad today as she regarded me somberly with one of her beady black eyes, her blue head bent and her wings tucked to her sides.

“Gorgeous girl?” I prompted without eliciting any response. “Gigi?”

“She didn’t eat much breakfast this morning,” said Elaine from behind me. She as usual wore a neat suit, but she looked as downcast as her avian almost-adoptee.

“Have you talked to Polly Bright about poor Gigi apparently witnessing a second murder—and how she now seems so dispirited?”

“I intend to call her later today.”

“Will you let me know what she says?” I pleaded.

“Positively.”

 

I’D WAITED UNTIL the privacy of my own office—now unkempt and untidy after so much chaos and crime-scene investigation inside, outside, and around it—before opening the envelope Irma Etherton had left for me with Darryl. The will was substantially as Irma had described: a document dated two years earlier that appeared properly executed and witnessed, effectively making Walt’s adored Scottish terrier Glenfiddich his heir. He had named his two children in it so it would not appear he’d forgotten them. Each inherited a thousand dollars from his estate. Along with the formal will was a wholly handwritten codicil dated about eight months ago naming Irma as Glenfiddich’s caretaker and heir.