Authors: Linda O. Johnston

The Fright of the Iguana (34 page)

BOOK: The Fright of the Iguana

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“Same guy?” I asked with interest.

“Don’t know,” Rachel said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Me, neither, I thought, and figured I’d ask Althea to check her unnamed sources.

I trudged Lexie and me upstairs to our garage-top apartment. Where I looked in the fridge and found something to feed my long-suffering and loving little pooch, but nothing especially exciting to my food-deprived palate.

And so I ordered a pizza.

About half an hour later, I heard a buzz from the street side of the security system. “Who’s there?” I asked cautiously, while assuming I knew the answer.

“Pizza,” responded a nasal voice.

I buzzed him in and instructed him to bring it up the stairs alongside the garage.

And was floored to find, when I opened the door, that the deliveryman was none other than Jeff Hubbard, who’d brought Odin along, too.

“It’s not Thai,” he said, “but I ran into the guy outside who’d brought this and figured I’d deliver it in person.”

“Good thinking,” I said as Odin and Lexie romped off into the apartment. Jeff followed me inside and set the pizza down on my small kitchen table . . . and swept me into his arms.

SO, YES, WE celebrated life that night. And said really sweet stuff to each other. And even discussed a shared future.

Was it my relief at survival—and his overt and acted-upon relief that the supposed body he’d found at Fabrizio Fairfax’s hadn’t been me—that set me along that stressful yet sublime path? Or had I already subconsciously made up my mind to move in with Jeff?

In any event, when we awoke the next morning, we made love yet again, then initiated our usual routine of dog walking and breakfast. I’d dressed for work—law work, that was, since I had a court appearance later that day.

“Did I tell you that I’m leaving town later today?” Jeff asked a little later as I sipped coffee over my tiny kitchen table and watched his gorgeous and, yes, beloved face.

My hopped-up emotions immediately took a nosedive. “No,” I replied. “You didn’t.” Although I’d understood he’d delayed a trip, but would be leaving soon.

“I’m heading east to supervise the installation of a major security system in a new government building, and I’m also giving a seminar in self-defense and company security. Will you move into my place tonight so Lexie and you can take care of Odin while I’m gone?”

That had turned into our usual routine, and I’d continued it some of the time even when our potential relationship had turned to shit. I adored Odin, and since he got along great with Lexie I had no problem at all with caring for him at his own familiar digs.

“Okay,” I said.

“And then, once you’re there . . .” Jeff stood and, leaning his hunky shoulders way over the table so his nice, normal nose nearly touched mine, he said, “Hell, Kendra. I still want you to move in with me. But I learned the hard way not to rush you. So why don’t you just bring stuff over and keep it there, and hang out at my house, just as long as you want to?”

“I can do that,” I responded without even a split second’s hesitation. I inhaled the pleasant combined scent of his soap, shave cream, and Jeff, but only for an instant until his sweet, sexy kiss overpowered all my senses.

At my request, he drove me to pick up a rental car while my battered Beamer remained police evidence and might even be deemed totaled. I didn’t yet want to consider whether I’d need to acquire a replacement auto.

I loved that aging European luxury car.

Only after I was no longer in Jeff’s presence, while Lexie and I headed in my rented ordinary Chevy toward Darryl’s so I could give her a day of resort fun and romping, did I consider what this move into Jeff’s to care for Odin might mean.

Commitment . . . at least for as long as I stayed.

Forever after?

Who knew? But for once, the idea didn’t sound disastrous . . . did it?

I was quaking in my lawyerly high heels by the time I parked at Darryl’s. Was I ready for this?

My buddy Darryl was in too deep a conversation with several of his doggy clients’ owners for me to do more than wave to him and shoo Lexie in his direction. Then I left to call on my own pet customers.

On the way, I sucked in my breath and called Tracy. I didn’t know how much she knew, since I hadn’t heard from her after my ordeal of yesterday. But even if she hadn’t been watching TV or listening to the radio right when I’d been arguing with Allen and extracting his confession on Corina Carey’s phone, it had been rebroadcast often over the last hours. And I’d gotten messages from other PSCSC members such as Frieda Shoreman, Wanda Villareal, and Lilia Ziegler, all of whom verbally patted me on the back and expressed their relief that I’d survived.

And their utter surprise that the villain of this situation had been rather bland Allen Smith.

I intended to call each of them back sometime later that day, when I’d had a little time to think, breathe, pet-sit, and practice law.

But I was justifiably concerned about Tracy. And somewhat surprised she answered on the first ring.

“Oh, Kendra,” she wailed immediately, signaling that her caller ID was working. “I had no idea about Allen. I . . . I thought he was the most wonderful, sweet, protective guy in the whole world. That he wanted me to stop pet-sitting for my own safety. And here he’s the one who killed Nya. She wasn’t my closest friend, but she surely didn’t deserve to die like that. And he used my baseball bat. I was the one the police were zeroing in on as the killer, and he didn’t do a thing to stop it. I think I’m going crazy. And I haven’t been able to leave my place to go pet-sit. M-maybe I should go do something drastic.”

“Hang on, Tracy,” I told her. “I just called to let you know I’m on my way to your place right now.” Not too much of a little white lie, since I’d aimed my rental car toward Tracy’s. Fortunately, my court appearance wasn’t until early afternoon.

I parked and soon pressed the button on the buzzer to Tracy’s first-floor Beachwood Canyon area apartment. She was dressed once more—still?—in a well-worn white PSCSC T-shirt and shredded jeans. I dragged her off with me to her own pet-sitting clients, even though I did all the work. Which was fine. I understood. But I couldn’t continue this. I’d have to enlist other club members to assist if Tracy couldn’t handle her work any longer.

Wouldn’t that be ironic,
I thought: Allen Smith, by getting caught as a pet-napping people killer, may have succeeded in getting Tracy to give up her pet-sitting after all.

We talked a lot on the way. I gathered that she’d always cared only marginally for Allen but figured she was too unattractive to attract someone with more personality. Now, she’d have to find a way to survive on her own.

“You’re a lovely woman, Tracy,” I said as I finally left her back at her doorstep. “And smart and friendly. You can be successful all by yourself, or you’ll find another man to share your life with. But one way or the other, you’ll be fine.”

Her chubby cheeks distended a little as she attempted a wan smile. “You really think so, Kendra?”

“I know so. Now, you call me whenever you need to chat,” I said, and hurried back to my car.

Well, okay, I’d learned as a lawyer, and even before, how to deliver credible social lies. But Tracy had little choice. She had to survive. And I felt certain that I wasn’t the only PSCSC member who’d give her emotional support.

My visit to the office before heading to court was short and sweet. Borden, Mignon, and the senior lawyers and support staff were supportive all over again. And, yes, they’d all cheered me on while listening to my sojourn with Allen Smith in the media.

The motion I made in court was for an extension of time. It went quickly and I was successful also fending off lawyers, judges, and others’ mentions of my fleeting—I hoped—media fame.

I called Corina from my car a little later and thanked her yet again for her help. “You saved my life,” I told her literally.

“Well, you helped my career,” she retorted with an obvious chuckle in her voice.

Then I spoke with Ned Noralles. Sure enough, this Allen Smith was the one Rachel had finally zeroed in on as having violated a restraining order—obtained against him by a former, frightened significant other in a different city.

“He won’t get out on bail, will he?” I asked in trepidation. “He might go after Tracy.” Or me.

“The D.A.’s going to charge him with first-degree murder, among other things,” Ned said. “And with that recording of him all over the media, his being a threat to members of the public, if loose, is a sure thing. I doubt he’ll be on the streets ever again.”

“Amen,” I said wholeheartedly, hoping the criminal defense bar didn’t discover an easy out for that nasty guy.

I had one more stop to make that day before picking up Lexie and heading off on my pet-sitting persuasion that late afternoon.

I headed for Tarzana, and Tom Venson’s veterinary clinic.

“I know he’s busy,” I told the assistant who acted as his greeter, “but if he could just meet with me for a minute, I’d really appreciate it.”

Two minutes later, I was ushered into his private office. It wasn’t a whole lot larger than mine, but it was definitely much neater. And the tomes on the shelves along the wall were all about animal health, not legal reporters. And a minute after that, Tom hurried in.

He wore one of his white lab jackets over gray slacks. He smiled when he saw me, lighting up his nice-looking face. “Kendra, I’m so glad you’re okay. I heard the stuff on the radio last night and tried to see you, but when I got to the spot where you ran your car into another to save your life, the police wouldn’t let me near you. I called you a few times, though. Didn’t you get the messages?”

Yes, I definitely got the message. This was one really nice guy, and I cared for him a lot. But the timing when we’d met had been both good and bad.

And somehow along my route this day, I’d made up my mind. I was going to move my stuff to Jeff’s tonight, as he’d said. And would I move it out again this time when he returned?

Somehow I didn’t think so.

So I owed it to Tom to tell him that, as much as I liked him, I was going to see what happened with the relationship I’d already begun with someone else. It had been somewhat on hold for a while, but I suspected something just might come of it now.

His brows knit sadly below his dark widow’s peak. He came close to me, took my hands in his strong, kind, soothing ones, and kissed me on the forehead.

“If things don’t work out, you know where I am,” he said.

“I sure do,” I agreed, and glanced around his office. “And I’d love to continue using your veterinary services, if that’s okay with you. In fact, I’ve all but given up on the idea of Lexie having baby Cavaliers, so I’m going to need to get her spayed soon. Will you do it?”

“Sure. And if you have any friends who need a dog doctor—”

“I’ll send them straight here,” I assured him, then gave him a kiss right back, on his slightly dark-shadowed cheek.

I hoped for his sake that he found someone fast who could adore him the way he deserved to be loved.

And then I left.

SO THAT EVENING, I visited my pet clients, then returned home and talked to Rachel and Russ just a little about minding my property in my absence. Which just might go on for a while.

“You’re okay with the pet-sitting you’re doing now?” I asked Rachel.

“Yes, she is,” Russ said. “Since her old man’s not going to forbid her from doing it without an escort, now that the guy causing all the trouble has been caught.” I laughed and he interjected, “Just so you know, though, I’m sending her for an audition for a film I’m scouting locations for. There’s a nice, meaty role for an unknown who’s her age. No guarantees she’ll get it, but—”

“Got it,” I responded ambivalently, then said good night. Then, after I packed up a few essentials, Lexie and I left.

We headed for Jeff’s.

Odin and Lexie did their usual cavorting upon seeing one another again. I’d brought a bag of fast-food salad for myself, and I fed the pups their usual canine dinner.

I watched the evening news and the recapitulation of the uncovering and capture of the murderous pet-napper I’d helped to reveal.

As bedtime neared, I anticipated my usual late-night call from Jeff here, as he always did when I watched Odin at his home.

It didn’t come, so I showered anyway, figuring I’d return the message he was certain to leave. But when I was dry and checked my cell phone, I’d missed no calls, and no new messages had been left.

A little odd, I thought, but decided to take this particular bull by the horns and call him first. I only got his voice, telling me to leave a message. Which I did.

And then I lay down in his big, empty bed, while the dogs sacked out on the floor.

And didn’t fall asleep until way long into the night.

BOOK: The Fright of the Iguana

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