Read The Fright of the Iguana Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
The Fright of the Iguana (27 page)
He’d held on to the poor, lost pets for gain.
This time it was Jeff’s turn to intervene, shouldering me aside for my own safety. Or so I presumed.
“This is a charitable institution,” Chewy said, but he seemed uncomfortable.
“Funded by whom?” I insisted.
“We have a lot of local donors,” Georgia said, sounding proud. “Some of the area’s wealthiest people give money on behalf of our animals.”
“Based on how many animals you save?” I pushed.
“Well . . . yes,” she said.
“Shut up, George,” Chewy said.
“Time to call the cops,” I finished.
NED NORALLES MADE it easy for us by managing some law enforcement magic. Somehow, he got the Bakersfield PD to cooperate with the LAPD, and the LAPD jurisdictions involved with the current situations to cooperate with each other.
After an initial local investigation that nearly turned Chewy from red to green, it appeared clear his group had previously gotten into hot water before for accepting pets from questionable sources for adoption. This wasn’t likely to be the end of the Loving Friends Animal Shelter’s unloving woes.
Then an official Bakersfield vehicle had trundled the subject pets down to L.A., where they were taken into custody until their owners could ID them.
Jeff and I, plus Lexie and Odin, followed in the Escalade, creating a mini-convoy.
Now, it was Sunday. Jeff and I sat in the North Hollywood station of the LAPD while the owners of the napped pets came by to pick up their babies.
We were even permitted to watch from the far end of the interrogation table. And listen in. Each had to answer some riddles before their pets could be released to them.
Well, okay, not riddles. But their inquiries revolved around not only how they’d heard of the pet-sitter they’d used when their animals were napped, but also whether they knew Tracy, Nya, or me . . . and where they’d happened to have been when Nya and I were attacked.
First premise, of course, was that even if they had no alibis for the night I was attacked, all had been out of town as pet-sitting customers when Nya was murdered.
I hadn’t previously met the person who lived in Westwood and owned Piranha and Pooky, but he turned out to be a fiftyish mild-mannered reporter for a chain of local throwaway community newspapers. Could he somehow become a super antihero in off-hours, able to smash unsuspecting women with baseball bats? Perhaps, but why? Not that I’m an expert, but I didn’t see any potential signs of suppressed mental instability. He claimed not to have met Nya before, only Frieda Shoreman, who’d been his chosen sitter. And he certainly didn’t look familiar to me.
I crossed him off my suspect list even before I put him on.
Same went for the woman unfortunate enough to name her cat Amanda. She worked for a costumer in the film industry, lived in Laurel Canyon, and evinced no tendencies toward insane temper tantrums or the ability to wield wild baseball bats. Her sitter had been Lilia Ziegler, and she also claimed not to know any other PSCSC players, including me.
I had previously interviewed Libby Emerich, Augie’s owner. She was the slim fashion-conscious real estate broker who’d all but broken down when discussing her baby’s disappearance. Now, she was all excitement and enthusiasm, fawning over the wiry little dachshund who seemed equally happy to see her. Kill Nya? Attempt to mutilate me? Highly unlikely.
And then there was Dr. Marla Gasgill, DDS, Cramer’s owner. It was like pulling teeth for the interrogating cops to get much info from her, since she had delayed some dental appointments to dash here for her darling dog. But speak she did, gnashing her teeth that the cops hadn’t caught the cockapoo-napper. Like the others, she claimed not to know any of the other players in the violent acts also being investigated. And I hadn’t any reason to doubt her denial.
That was everyone who’d had pets stolen while being pet-sat by PSCSC members, except for my clients the Dorgans.
Could I state with absolute certainty that none of those who’d had pets napped hadn’t done it themselves to throw the authorities off the track?
Not really.
Well, then, could I say for certain that none had been the one who’d attacked me?
Nope.
But the main things of which I felt reasonably certain were my relief and delight that the missing pets were found and returned home safe and sound . . . and that Nya’s killer, and my attacker, were probably the same person, and that he or she remained on the loose, quite possibly plotting more mischief against pets and their sitters.
Chapter Twenty-three
OKAY, SO I still didn’t know whodun anything. Neither the pet-napper nor the Nya killer had been outed by the finding of the missing pups and kitty.
But I nevertheless had a bit of good news worth sharing with the world.
And so, even before Jeff and I departed from the police station, I stood in the large reception area, turned my back toward the big desk where a cop in uniform usurped the role of receptionist, and made a call on my cell phone.
To whom?
To Corina Carey, of course.
“What do you have for me, Kendra?” she asked immediately.
“A scoop, if you want it.”
“Do dogs pee?”
“They sure do when I’m watching them. And not so coincidentally, my info is about dogs.” I proceeded to enlighten her about the Loving Friends Animal Shelter, and how its people had, intentionally or otherwise, decided not to check for owners of its latest group of dumped pets. And how I’d seen their sad faces on the Internet. And how Jeff and I had gone to check them out . . . and now three more dogs and a cat were home with their loving families.
“You rule, Kendra!” Corina cheered, making me feel all the more cheerful.
“Thanks,” I said in a quietly modest tone.
“I don’t suppose you’ve solved Nya Barston’s murder, have you?”
Nothing like a truthful dig to knock me down a peg. “No,” I admitted, sounding somewhat churlish. “Not yet.”
“Well, you’ll tell me when you do, won’t you?”
“Do dogs fly?”
“Hey, Kendra.” Now it was her turn to sound touchy. But I didn’t hear the rest of her chiding. I’d hung up.
Almost immediately, my phone rang again. I considered jamming it deep into my purse, assuming it was Corina calling again to goad me or get more info. I didn’t want either one.
Fortunately, before I jammed, I peeked at the caller ID.
Tom Venson.
I smiled as I answered—until I realized that this was late on Sunday. He’d promised to call me to plan an outing sometime this weekend.
Never mind that the almost-date had entirely slipped my mind until now. I was immediately miffed. And hurt.
“Hi, Tom,” I said in a tone that bespoke friendship but no romantic attraction. Which was when I saw Jeff finally emerge from the innards of the police station via a doorway off the main reception area. Great timing.
“Kendra, I’m really sorry I didn’t call sooner. There was so much going on at the clinic this week . . . can we get together for dinner tonight so I can tell you all about it?”
By then, Jeff was nearly nose to nose with me. His grin was nasty. “That your boyfriend?” he asked.
“I thought you were my boyfriend,” I whispered sweetly.
“Really?” Tom said, sounding really happy about the idea.
I forbore from rolling my eyes. Men.
“Tell him you’re busy tonight,” Jeff said sotto voce. “Unless you want me along to chaperone. I’m not letting you out of my sight yet.”
“How sweet,” I said, ensuring that the receiver was covered. “I didn’t know you cared.”
Which earned me a glare. And a forceful rebuttal. “Yeah, I care. I care whether you get attacked again by some maniac with a baseball bat. And now that word’s likely to get out that you’ve found the stolen pets and gotten them home, our theft suspect, assuming he or she’s one and the same as the killer, may be a little miffed at you. So you’re stuck with me for now. We’re stuck with each other.”
With that, Jeff trod off to the police station door, where he pivoted and stood, arms folded, glaring at me.
“Er . . . Tom,” I said into the phone.
“What’s going on there, Kendra?” My friendly vet no longer sounded so pleased to be talking to me.
“Long story,” I said with a sigh. “I want to hear about your week, Tom, and tell you about mine, but I’m afraid it can’t be tonight. Can I take a rain check?”
“Sure,” he said, and I suddenly heard not rain showers but an ice storm fall over the phone. “I’ll call you.”
SO I WAS stuck with an irritable Jeff that night. Heck, if
he
was irritable, I was utterly cantankerous.
he
was irritable, I was utterly cantankerous.
Which didn’t bode well for a fun evening.
At least Lexie and Odin, whom we’d had to leave in the Escalade parked, supervised, and in the shade, shared enough goodwill for all of us.
We did my final pet-sitting rounds of the day, and while sitting in front of the last house on a narrow residential street I called Rachel to ensure all was well with her, too.
“That guy from Jeff’s office, Buzz, came with me, like you said,” she informed me, with a barely hidden wail in her tone. “But my dad’s really mad about all the stuff going on. He wants me to stop pet-sitting because it’s too dangerous. And since I’ve been kicked out of Methuselah Manor and don’t have any acting gigs going on . . . Oh, Kendra, what am I going to do?”
What was she going to do? What was
I
going to do if my star employee quit? I’m sure the look I tossed to Jeff looked horrified, since he said, “What?”
I
going to do if my star employee quit? I’m sure the look I tossed to Jeff looked horrified, since he said, “What?”
“We need to get back to my place right away.”
AT LEAST ALL the confusion kept me from having to share an intimate and uncomfortable dinner with Jeff. Instead, it was an uncomfortable dinner party that included Rachel and her dad, Russ, Buzz Dulear, Jeff, and me.
We ate alfresco, on a picnic table outside the fence around the swimming pool that I’d once adored diving into when this delightful large place was all mine. Now, I didn’t use it much since it went with the house, and I always felt I’d need to ask permission, even now, with tenants with whom I was friends.
Or had been.
I assured Russ, who’d purposefully set his muscular self beside me, that the once-missing pets were all home now.
“Does that mean you’ve caught the person who stole them? And that you can guarantee my daughter’s safety?” His green Irish eyes flashed over one of the steaks we’d grilled on the outdoor built-in barbecue that also went with the house.
“No, but we’ll catch that miserable marauder,” I assured him. “And with Buzz around, Rachel will be fine.” I hoped.
“Well, I’ll give this a few more days, and that’s all,” Russ said, his face nearly as ruddy as his red hair.
“Sure,” I said, my heart sinking. I’d already taken on a few of Tracy’s pet-sitting clients. I’d hate to have to dump them back on her and still not be able to service all of my own—an excellent possibility if I lost Rachel. Unless I gave up practicing law and went back to pet-sitting full-time.
No way. I loved them both. Needed them both to fulfill my current crazy life.
“Kendra also said she’d clear my name at Methuselah Manor,” Rachel piped eagerly from across the table. She sat beside tall, excellent-postured Buzz, who remained quietly eating as if he hadn’t indulged in days. Jeff was on my other side, also staying somewhat quiet as I thrashed things out with my tenants.
And Beggar, Lexie, and Odin? At our feet, begging as pups always do.
“I’ll try,” I agreed weakly. I figured I’d better do my tap dance there tomorrow. If I wasn’t successful, then I feared the whole house of pet-sitting cards I’d built that included my friend and protégé Rachel would start to tumble into total chaos.
JEFF AND I remained peeved with one another that night. Maybe my peeve was somewhat manufactured. I did appreciate all he’d been doing for me, even if he did prevent me from getting together with Tom that night.
Which I couldn’t have done anyway, considering the Rachel crisis brewing at home.
At least this way, while we silently stewed at one another, I didn’t have to worry about whether we’d go to bed together.
All I had to worry about, as I lay in my own bed solo, except for Lexie, was whether I should leap up, call a truce, and jump Jeff’s bones.
I fortunately forbore.
I’D LOVE TO say that everything was fixed by Monday night. But it wasn’t.
No further word on who’d stolen the returned pets, though Corina’s story again called attention to the heinous crime now that it was resolved favorably. But no one leaped out of the woodwork to confess, or to turn in a neighbor who’d been harboring some strange animals for a few days.
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