Read Meow is for Murder Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
Meow is for Murder (23 page)
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. Sometimes, I’ve known what my pup was trying to tell me as if she could speak English. This time, I didn’t. And it was one of those occasions when I ached to understand Barklish.
As I sat there holding her, my eyes lit on that piece of paper lodged beneath the windshield wiper. I felt certain it would give at least some explanation.
I snugged Lexie under my arm as I slid back out of the car and reached for the page. It appeared to be a common sheet of paper, and its contents had probably been printed on an ordinary computer.
Its contents, though, were anything but ordinary:
No more prying, or your dog will pay.
Chapter Nineteen
LEXIE STILL BENEATH my arm, I rushed around frantically, attempting to find anyone who’d seen what happened. I mean, Lexie wasn’t exactly the most timid pup, yet she’d seemed awfully intimidated. Whoever left the note must have menaced her in some manner. At least the car windows were intact, so hopefully the threat hadn’t been too traumatic.
But if someone had viewed whoever had approached my car, left the note, and possibly yelled at my poor puppy, no one still scrambling about in the busy parking lot admitted to seeing anything.
“If only you could tell me who it was,” I said wishfully to Lexie once we were both ensconced back in the Beamer. “You might even be able to tell me who killed Leon. But who even knew we’d be here?”
The disquieting answer was that someone had followed me from Amanda’s. Amanda herself? Bentley? Another person who was Leon’s killer, still casing the place to see what progress was being made in his or her identification? Had someone pursued me to Amanda’s in the first place?
Did this mean I was getting close to identifying the murderer without even knowing it?
If only I had a clue!
AS I GOT ready for my Valentine’s Day “date” much later in the day, I was still pondering who the menacing party might be.
Standing in the shower, I considered . . .
Had I shook Kennedy McCaffrey enough to cause him to stalk me for the rest of the day? Had Nellie Zahn’s recently acquired self-defense skills allowed her to kill Leon, as Bentley had alleged, then threaten my beloved pup as a result of my even suggesting her as a suspect?
What about onetime stalking victim Betty Faust, or her lover and protector, the muscular Coprik? Were one or both hanging around this area in an attempt to see if anyone suspected them in Leon’s death? If they’d killed him, they’d know where Amanda lived, of course, since the stalker was eliminated right in her home. Perhaps they’d followed Leon around a bit before he died to see where he hung out, and who his current victim was.
Amanda’s employer, Dr. Henry Grant, would know where she resided. Could he be watching over Amanda, to protect her—or to ensure all police fingers pointed toward her?
Someone else at Amanda’s office?
Someone else altogether, whom I hadn’t considered, yet had worried with my continued questions?
Well, hell. Whoever it was had done one of the worst things I could imagine: threaten my little Lexie. I had to ensure her safety at all times.
I toweled myself dry and put on my big, fluffy robe. I turbaned my deep brown hair, now stringy and wet, beneath another towel as I chose the top and slacks to don for my matchmaking shindig.
Like tonight, I thought. I wouldn’t bring Lexie along on pet-sitting rounds, since that would mean leaving her alone in the car at some stops. Instead, she’d stay here, locked in our upstairs apartment behind our enhanced security system.
Poor pup would spend Valentine’s evening alone. At least I’d make up for it later with an extra biscuit before bedtime.
“I’m really sorry, Lexie,” I said, wishing I could explain better in a language she’d understand. She wagged her long white-and-black tail, obviously comprehending the loving spirit of what I said, if not the exact sense of my words.
She’d also spend a lot more time, on weekdays while I worked, with Darryl and his Doggy Indulgence Day Resort, where I’d warn him to watch over her carefully. Which he would. And he’d ensure the same of his staff.
Still, I’d worry.
I selected a pale pink sweater from my closet, along with snazzy magenta slacks. I dried my essentially unstyled hair, then donned a light amount of makeup.
I studied my face. Not too bad, even if it had never approached Amanda’s unquestionable beauty. Ordinary nose. Observant blue eyes. All a-okay . . . except, were there some wrinkles at the corners of those eyes that hadn’t been there before because of concern about Lexie?
Well, hell. I’d already thought the same about Amanda’s suddenly aging face, and I hated the idea—regarding me, not her. If I didn’t fix the situation, I might stay worried indefinitely—and who knew how many new lines that might etch into my face?
“Know what?” I told my ever-present pup, who sidled up against me as I sat at my makeup mirror on the desk in my den. “Whoever threatened you may never know it, but he or she has caused the exact opposite result from what they likely wanted. Instead of backing off, I have to figure this out all the faster. No way will I let whoever it is hurt you.”
She stood on her hind legs, front paws on my legs as she stared searchingly into my face with her cute, huge brown eyes.
“See those wrinkles?” I asked her, still obsessing. “No, don’t tell me. But I’ll insist they go away when this is behind us.”
My cell phone started to sing before Lexie could react. I reached for it across my desk, and didn’t recognize the number as I answered.
“Hi, Kendra? This is Tracy Owens. We met at the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal meeting.”
“Sure. Good to hear from you. In fact, I’ve been meaning to give you a call.”
“Did you mention at the meeting that you’ve had a snake as a client?”
I looked down at the deep pink shade of my slacks, nearly one of the colors of the pretty blue-and-magenta Py. “Yes, a ball python.”
“Great! I’ve just been asked to care for a California king snake while its owner’s out of town, and instead of totally cringing and saying no, I’ve said okay. But I need pointers. Maybe a pep talk. I never thought about caring for a snake before.”
“I don’t know about king snakes, but ball pythons aren’t bad. In fact, Py and I are good buddies. He did me a big favor.”
“How about if we get together for lunch one day this week so you can tell me about it?”
“Great! And I need to talk to you about backup pet-sitting assistance.” We set a time, date, and place. “See you then,” I said, then hung up. I looked down at Lexie, who lay with her head on her paws regarding me solemnly from the floor. “Time for your dinner,” I said, which brought her fast to her feet. “Then I’ll need to leave.”
I LEFT MY visit to Stromboli’s for last. Of course. My Valentine’s Day dinner would be next door.
I met Baird Roehmann on the street, right after I’d finished walking and feeding Stromboli.
“Then this is the right place,” said His Honor, the silver-haired judge with the roamin’ hands. “I wasn’t sure.” He paused. “You say the lady who lives there”—he pointed toward the house next door—“is the one with a really nice dog she can’t keep?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Did you bring dinner?”
“The best from Georgio’s.” Which was a really good but underrated Italian place in a shopping center along Ventura Boulevard.
“Great. I’ll help you carry it in.”
Baird had dressed nicely for the night, although not in the usual black robes or business suits I was used to seeing him in. He wore a black sweater from which a white shirt collar peeked at the top. Below were black trousers and dressy top-stitched loafers with thick, shock-absorbing soles.
Black, to meet a fuzzy, possibly shedding dog? At least Meph was more gray than white. Even so . . .
Yes, my intended matchmaking that night was to introduce a judge who’d recently lost his beloved dog, to a dog whose owner couldn’t keep the one she had. Couldn’t . . . or wouldn’t. No matter. The result would be the same.
I noticed, as I carried a plastic food bag and led Baird up the front walk, that Maribelle Openheim must have finally hired a gardener. Or mowed and trimmed the front yard herself. Even in the faint twilight, it appeared a whole lot better kept than it had before.
As I reached the front door, I pivoted back toward Baird, who also toted a bag. “Now, remember, just say so if you don’t like Meph enough to adopt him. It won’t do the poor dog any good if you take him home and change your mind.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” The usual judicial boom was back in his voice, which almost made me smile . . . as long as I wasn’t arguing a matter before him.
I rang the bell, and from inside we heard a dog bark. “He sounds good and spunky,” Baird said.
Before I could comment, the door was pulled open. Maribelle with the wiry, wriggling terrier Meph beneath her arm, had also dressed for the occasion. Her yellow cotton shirt was belted into dark brown slacks. As always, her short hair looked meticulously styled, and she’d put on enough makeup to make her appear attractive, instead of baggy eyed and washed out.
“Hi. Come in, please.”
Once we’d complied, I introduced her to Baird. We followed her into the truly compact kitchen and set our bags on the butcher-block style table. She put Meph down on the mock-brick linoleum floor. Speaking to Baird, she said, “Kendra said that you recently lost your dog. I’m sorry.”
“She told me that you lost your husband. My condolences on that.”
Maribelle shook her head. “I didn’t mean to, but I’m afraid I took my loneliness out on his poor dog, Meph. Meph, come here and meet Judge Roehmann.”
“Please call me Baird.”
“Baird.” She drew out the name as if she took pleasure in its sound. “You have the most lovely silver hair. Only—”
“Only what?” I’d expected Baird to get upset at any slight to his appearance. Instead, he sounded interested.
“I don’t know if Kendra told you I’m a hairstylist. I’ve got a shampoo-conditioner that would make your hair shine even more. And if you wore it just a little longer at the top, tapered slightly more at the sides . . .”
“Really? Where do you work? Maybe I could make an appointment.”
“Sure.” I’d never before seen Maribelle smile so broadly.
Baird dropped to his knees and let Meph sniff his hand. And then he started gently roughhousing with the game, friendly terrier.
“He’s quite a bruiser, isn’t he?”
“He does love to play,” Maribelle acknowledged. Taking a rubber dog toy from the counter, she, too, stooped.
And smiled into Baird’s eyes when he took the toy and started playing terrier tug-of-war.
This was going a whole lot better than I’d ever imagined.
The judge sure seemed attracted to widowed Maribelle Openheim, and vice versa.
Did they need me here to get better acquainted?
Not likely, although I was reluctant to depart without ensuring my initial impressions weren’t false.
And so, I joined them in a delightful dinner of antipasto, lasagna, and Chianti. At least the food was good. Me? I felt like the proverbial crowd, as in “two’s company.”
Especially since Meph, the fourth in this cozy party, formed a common bond between them.
Still, I waited for a while after dinner as the two humans talked. Seemed like they had more in common than a love of Meph and Baird’s silver hair.
“I was a court reporter many years ago,” Maribelle said. “Before my kids were born. I got out of practice, though, and went into hairstyling instead of taking it up again.” She sighed. “Now that I’m alone, I was thinking of trying again, only I’m awfully old to start competing with all the young people who know all the new recording systems so much better.”
“I could help you get started,” Baird said.
“Oh, I couldn’t impose . . . only, I really did find the judicial process so fascinating. Maybe someday you could tell me about some of the most interesting trials you presided over. It must be so wonderful to be a judge.”
“Most of the time.” Baird sounded a whole bunch more modest than I was used to. Meantime, he’d taken Meph onto his lap, and the pup looked absolutely ecstatic—though that could be because of all the delicious odors of food remains on the kitchen table.
Time for me to talk, then exit. “Well, it looks as if Meph and you are getting along fine. Maribelle, are you willing to let Baird adopt him?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure he’ll take good care of him.” But Maribelle’s tone sounded sad.
“Of course I would, but you don’t sound ready to give him up,” Baird said.
“He did belong to my husband, and as Kendra convinced me, I’ve not taken the best care of him . . . because it hurt too much to see him. Before. But now that I realize I was hurting Meph, I’ve kept him with me more.”
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