Feline Fatale Read online

  Even if he frustrated the heck out of me with his frequent lack of disclosure. Like what had he really been up to last night?

  “Hi, Kendra,” he said in a voice so soft and sexy that I wished like heck we’d been alone. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Me, too.” I was in his arms in a moment, and the recipient of a wonderful but quick little kiss. We were, after all, in public.

  I then gave my greetings to Lauren, who was smiling sassily. “Good to see you, Kendra,” she said. “But don’t expect any kisses from me.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I responded.

  “Walk with me, though. I want to see if I can find a particular person and dog who stopped here before. You wearing your lawyer hat?”

  I reached up to my hatless head and ran fingers through my hair. “Always,” I said. “Right on top of my petsitting one.”

  She laughed, and motioned one of the volunteers who hovered near the table to take her place. “I’ll be around,” she told the young woman. “Find me as soon as the next person interested in adopting comes over.”

  We walked through the throng of people, prospective pets, and everyone else meandering in the park.

  “I take it that Efram Kiley’s doing what he’s supposed to?” I made it a question, even though I’d already seen the guy.

  “I think so, although …” Her voice trailed off, and then she said, “There they are.” She pointed to our right and dashed in that direction. I could only follow, though I wasn’t especially happy to leave Dante’s side. But, hey, the park wasn’t very large. I’d see him again soon.

  The person to whom Lauren brought me was a kinda homely woman walking an adorable French bulldog on a leash. The dog appeared to be purebred, and the lady’s own puggish nose and round cheeks reminded me that people were often said to choose pets that resembled them.

  “Here’s the lawyer I told you about,” Lauren told the lady. “But no guarantees she’ll agree to represent you. I’d better get back to the HotRescues table.” She left us alone—if you could consider being together in a crowd this size being alone.

  “What seems to be the problem?” I asked, wondering if I should simply walk away.

  But the woman looked so forlorn that I had to at least listen to her.

  “It’s about Pierre, here,” she said. “I bought him from a breeder with a great reputation a few months ago. She made me sign a contract, but I didn’t think much about it. I know that’s standard when you buy a dog with the credentials Pierre has. But … well, she’s now insisting on enforcing some stuff in it that isn’t in his best interests. Or mine. And I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?”

  A potentially interesting dilemma. But this wasn’t the time or place to decide. I reached into my big bag and pulled out my business cards. I plucked a lawyer one from the pile and handed it to her. “Call me this week, and you can come to my office to discuss it. And your name is … ?”

  “Joan Fieldmann.” She looked at my card. “Thank you so much, Ms. Ballantyne. I’ll definitely be in touch.”

  I hadn’t committed myself to anything but a meeting. But I had a sneaking suspicion that I’d just had my first brief conversation with a new client.

  I HUNG OUT in the park a while longer, watching with fascination and delight as several more orphaned pups found new homes—thanks, sometimes, to Lauren’s strolling around and extolling not only the doggies’ virtues, but how well the new potential owner seemed to fit with the canine he or she was assessing.

  “She’s really something,” I said to Dante as I put some samples of dog foods into one of his HotPets bags. Yes, I’d allowed him to recruit me for the assignment.

  He nodded. “She does a good job.” He looked down at me. “I missed you last night.”

  Then where were you earlier? Hell, no reason I couldn’t inquire. “I spent a quiet evening at home with Lexie. We missed Wagner and you, too. I’d hoped to hear from you earlier.” I looked straight into those deep, dark eyes of his and asked, “Where were you?”

  He laughed. “You could have asked before. I had a feeling you were tiptoeing around it. And in case you’re wondering, I was, in fact, with another woman.”

  I froze, my insides suddenly squeezed with such anguish that I could have sunk to the solid ground. Or screamed.

  Instead, I shrugged. “Okay.” But that word didn’t sound as offhand as I’d intended.

  “Her name is Flossie Murray. Remember her?”

  I relaxed so fast that I nearly did fall to my knees. Better yet, throw myself into his arms.

  “The manager of the Long Beach HotPets, right?” She’d once been married to a man who’d been a judge on the pet reality show I’d gotten involved with, Animal Auditions—and who also had been murdered.

  He nodded. “She’s been doing such a good job that I’m bringing her into the office for a more responsible position. We’re both busy enough that finding the right time to talk about it meant some odd hours, but everything is settled now.”

  “That’s great!” I said brightly, not really caring if my relief was obvious.

  He smiled, then grew serious. “Just in case you’re wondering, there’s no other woman on my agenda for any kind of romantic relationship, Kendra. You’re the one for me, even if you don’t accept that yet.”

  I swallowed, unsure what to say … and I was saved by the bell. My cell phone’s, that is.

  “I’m—sorry. Just a second.” I looked deeply into his eyes as I answered, and got way lost in them. So much that I stumbled over my hello, and didn’t really pay attention to the caller ID.

  “Hi, Kendra, it’s Wanda,” said a familiar yet strained voice. “I did okay at the police station today, I think. Esther said to say hi. And Darryl—well, could Dante and you meet us for dinner tonight, after we’re both done petsitting? I’d like to keep you informed about what’s going on.”

  Chapter Nine

  I DIDN’T GET the sense, from Wanda’s invitation, that she’d been cleared of suspicion. Her voice had sounded somewhat sad and resigned, and not especially relieved.

  Which meant, for her sake and my own—hopefully to strengthen my fraying friendship with Darryl—I needed to keep my nose in this nasty situation. With luck, I’d find the real killer, in case the cops continued to look in the wrong direction, toward Wanda.

  I soon left Dante in the park with Lauren and the others, after getting his agreement to meet for dinner. The adoption fair would soon be over, and he had promised to help return the pets who hadn’t found a new home to Lauren’s excellent shelter. It was a good environment, and no-kill, of course, but could never top getting a dog or cat a loving family of its own.

  I had several suspects to contact, thanks to James Jerome. I doubted, on this Sunday, that I’d be able to reach the condo’s contractor especially fast, so I instead opted to attempt to locate Margaret’s ex-husband for a quick conversation.

  All I knew about him was that his name was Paulino Shiler. And there I was in my car without handy access to a computer. Yes, Dante had an excellent smart phone, but I hadn’t graduated yet from cell phone to one of those miraculous gadgets that lets you access the world with your fingertips.

  I could call Althea Alton, the amazing computer whiz at Hubbard Security, but this was, after all, a Sunday, and she probably was playing with her grandkids instead of her keyboard. Besides, that might mean I’d need to get special dispensation from her boss, Jeff Hubbard, my former lover. So what if Dante had suggested hiring Jeff to do the investigation I was now getting embroiled in? It could become awkward.

  No, it was better, for now, that I not head in that direction.

  If I instead headed home to work on my computer, I might run out of time for any follow-up conversation with Mr. Shiler, in the event I found him. So …

  I pulled into a shopping center parking lot and stopped. One interesting avenue came to mind. I pressed in the number for my sometimes friend and always interesting media contact, Corina Carey.
We’d scratched each other’s backs often in murder investigations. I had a feeling she would have the info I needed right at her fingertips.

  “Hi, Kendra,” she said as she answered, indicating my name had come up on her caller ID. Hers had come up on mine as well. Our acquaintanceship had evolved into something I’d never have anticipated when we first met. Why would I have assumed I’d become near-buddies with a brash tabloid-type reporter?

  “Hi, Corina.” We went through the formalities—me, asking about her cute puli, ZsaZsa, and her asking about Lexie … and whether I was still seeing Dante. I sidestepped the latter inquiry and asked, “Are you looking into the Margaret Shiler murder at the Brigadoon condo complex?”

  “I wasn’t at first, but I am now. It sounds interesting, though no one of particular notoriety seems to be involved … true?”

  “That’s right, but I happen to be helping a fellow petsitter there, so I’m sort of involved. Do you know anything about any of the suspects?”

  She paused, and I assumed she checked either her computer or smart phone. “I gather that your friend is Wanda Villareal?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And I’m sure she’s innocent, which means—”

  “Well, the next obvious suspect would be the ex-husband.”

  I nearly cheered, since he was the one I was calling about. “Maybe. In fact, I was hoping to have a talk with him. Do you have any contact info for him?”

  “Sure do—but it comes with a price.”

  “Keeping you informed, and giving you an exclusive if I come up with anything interesting.” I said all that in a singsong chant, retrieving it from my memory bank as among Corina’s most usual conditions.

  “You got it.” She gave me Paulino Shiler’s phone number and address, and I jotted them in one of the notebooks I carried in my car.

  “Any idea what he does for a living?”

  Another pause. “It appears that he and his ex were accountants for competing major firms. Maybe that’s why they split up.”

  “Or they joined competitors after they split,” I surmised.

  “Maybe. That’s something else you can find out and let me know about. Oh, and, Kendra?”

  “Yes?” I waited for the next axe to fall.

  “Keep me in the loop, especially if you come up with any other suspects. And you can be sure I’ll be in touch with you often. By the way, have you heard of any witnesses I might be able to interview?”

  “How does a small escape-artist kitten sound to you?”

  She laughed. “That’s more up your alley cat than mine. But if it meows anything of interest to you, let me know.”

  My next call, unsurprisingly, was to Paulino Shiler. Since he was such an obvious suspect, I wasn’t sure I’d reach him very easily. The cops could have been questioning him around the same time they interrogated Wanda.

  But a man answered immediately after the first ring. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mr. Shiler,” I said. I’d already come up with a cover story. “My name is Kendra Ballantyne. I’m a lawyer representing some of the residents of the Brigadoon Condominium Association.” Wanda had talked of hiring me in some capacity, after all, even if it hadn’t occurred yet. “By the way, I’m sorry to hear of your loss—your ex-wife, Margaret, was the woman who died there, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, and no need to send any sympathy my way. We didn’t exactly end things amicably. What can I do for you?”

  “I wonder if I could come and talk to you. My clients are determined to make sure they can still keep pets there, and even with Ms. Shiler gone, there is a contingent of residents opposing them. I’m hoping you can shed some light on why Ms. Shiler moved there, and why she took a position that was so contrary to the current policies. Since she was so vocal, and so strong in her recruitment of others to her point of view, I might be able to use any reasons you can give me to help maintain our position.”

  Which didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but I hoped it sounded somewhat rational.

  “Sure, I can tell you about that. Tell you what. I was just heading out the door. You can meet me at the dog park off Mulholland Drive, in Studio City.”

  I SPOTTED THE guy who had to be Paulino Shiler almost immediately, since he had described his boxer-mix pups. He was running right along with them, his short hair a similar shade of light brown, his eyes squinting into the chilly January sun.

  Too bad I didn’t have Lexie with me, with all the other canines involved in dashing around inside the vast fenced-in area—there were at least a dozen of them, all being observed by their owners. If I told Lexie I’d come without her, she’d pout for a week. Not. She was a Cavalier. She’d forgive me in a minute.

  I closed the gate behind me and just stood there, watching Paulino till he glanced in my direction. He headed toward me, his dogs trailing behind.

  “Ms. Ballantyne?” He was moderate height, in workout clothes, and thinner than his ex-wife had been. He wore a backpack, which he removed to extract treats and toys for his dogs, then shoved some treats into his pocket.

  I found the fact that he owned dogs interesting, given his ex’s dislike of pets. Had he gotten them after their breakup, or had his having dogs been one of their bones of contention?

  Okay, I’m a lawyer. I’m not exactly known for my subtlety. I asked him as we headed toward one of the few benches in the park.

  “Margaret pretended to like the dog I had when we met,” Paulino said, putting the backpack on the ground beside him, “but as soon as we were married, she started imposing restrictions. No dog in the bedroom, first. Eventually, she wanted him confined to the kitchen or the yard. I, on the other hand, would have insisted that she stay in the kitchen or yard instead.” He grinned, revealing uneven teeth. “So tell me again why you wanted to talk to me. I’m not sure what I can say that would help the people in that condo association fight off the people with the same mind-set that Margaret had about pets.”

  “Actually,” I told him, “a good friend of mine who was opposing her position is one of the suspects in her death. I’m just looking for people with other motives.”

  “Like her ex-husband?” He smiled and shook his head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree with me.” His dogs had bounded off to play with a couple of others in the busy park, but they now came back to nuzzle him for more treats. Reaching into his pocket, he complied.

  “How long ago were you divorced?” I asked him.

  “About a year. Irreconcilable differences, and all that. And before you ask, yes, if I were the kind of guy who wanted revenge for stuff, I’d have had a motive to kill her. We’re both accountants, met at one of the big firms downtown. When we split, she found another job. She tried hard to bring as many of my company’s clients along as she could—especially ones whose accounts I managed. Even succeeded with a couple. I’d come to despise Margaret. But all that happened many months ago. If I’d decided to kill her, I’d have done it then, not now.”

  Maybe, I thought as I said my farewells. He rose and maneuvered his pack onto his back. I patted his two pups and left the dog park.

  But he could have waited till now for his revenge, so his role would not have been as obvious.

  I ATTEMPTED TO stay utterly upbeat at our … group dinner. Double date? Whatever it was, there were two couples, all four people potentially torn apart by the death of someone barely known to only two of us.

  But it was up to me to set the atmosphere, and I chose pleasant optimism. After all, I had jumped in and started my own inquiries into who might have killed Margaret Shiler.

  So what if I hadn’t been successful yet? The murder had occurred only a few days earlier, and the couple of leads I’d been following were still very fresh.

  But considering my company at the Mexican restaurant where we’d met, I didn’t dare simply start talking too positively about how I was going to solve the case.

  We sat in a booth toward the back of the busy establishment. The server brought tortilla chips, salsa, and the
margaritas we’d ordered. I’d chosen mango-flavored, and it was deliciously sweet and sour with its hint of lime.

  Wanda was clearly depressed and scared, though she maintained a courageous demeanor. She had chosen a drab brown gauzy top that evening, which said scads about how she was feeling. Her margarita was the standard kind—no experimentation, no particular sweetness added.

  Darryl drank nothing alcoholic. My lanky friend looked equally morose, sipping on his cola as if he were drinking pure lemon juice. He sat directly across the table from me, and the few smiles he aimed my way seemed forced.

  Then there was Dante, beside me. He’d ordered an imported Mexican beer and seemed to savor it as much as the salsa.

  The two men would immediately be at odds—with me and with each other—if I brought up my efforts to help Wanda. Darryl would expect it, since I’d promised him I’d try. Dante, although he’d known I wasn’t following his orders, might be irritated about it and would definitely be unhappy that I wasn’t conveying chapter and verse of my investigation to him so he could help in his way—and, perhaps, protect me.

  The wait staff had done their duty until our dinners were ready. No interruptions were anticipated for at least a few minutes.

  “So,” I said, prepared to attack the thousand-pound gorilla sitting somewhere beside us at this small table. “How did things go at the Burbank Police Department today, Wanda?”

  Even though she had suggested this dinner, Wanda glanced at me with horror in her eyes, as if she really hadn’t expected me to prod that sleeping gorilla with a pointed stick. “I … I’m not really sure.”

  “They told her not to leave town and all those stupid clichéd cop phrases.” Darryl’s voice was low, his gaze behind his glasses sad.

  “No big surprise,” I countered lightly. “Not from stupid, clichéd cops. Okay, I take that back. For all I know, they could be brilliant cops who just happen to have started off in the wrong direction. But that’ll change.”