A combo thereof?
Scary.
We kissed. It lasted a long and sexy time, and got my knees so weak and my insides so hot that I could have sunk onto the floor right there, and taken Dante with me.
But that wasn’t the time or place. I soon got hold of myself and whispered against his mouth, “Later. Right now . . . are any of your purchasing people around? I need to order some pet stuff.”
MY ORDER PLACED—and put on rush—I still hung around, chatting with the purchasing folks, learning interesting info about how they found new products to place in HotPets stores—most of it run, at least quickly, by Dante. With asterisks, of course, calling his attention to items of particular interest. A new flavor of the same old food wouldn’t necessarily excite him, but a new brand, or new technological gadget such as a doggy or kitty GPS system, would really get his attention, especially if the wholesale cost was decent.
Mostly, Lexie and I were killing time, since I didn’t have law work to accomplish that day, but I still needed to do another round of late-day pet-sitting. I spoke with my assistant, Rachel, and she was well on schedule, too.
All was good. Except that I’m much too impatient to enjoy waiting.
Eventually, Lexie and I headed off. After our pet-sitting visits, we headed home.
Where I saw Dante already inside the security gate. He must have headed to his home after his day at the office, since his adorable German shepherd, Wagner, romped in the yard in front of my large, rented-out house with its current, but not future, occupant, Beggar.
Russ Preesinger stood watching, alongside Dante. Had they been discussing Russ’s and Rachel’s impending vacating of the site?
The topic didn’t come up as I joined them and Lexie joined the pups. A short while later, Rachel came home, too. We were all together like one big happy family—one about to split up, at least physically, I feared, not long from now.
A bit later, Dante and I went out for dinner. When we came back . . . well, he stayed the night, as presaged by our kissing at his office.
It was an intense, heated, and altogether delightful interlude.
But many interesting questions awaited me, and I hoped most of them would be addressed in the coming week.
Chapter Twenty-four
I SPENT MUCH of Sunday with Dante. Or, rather, he spent much of it with me, since I was the one with the more pressing agenda: pet-sitting.
I felt sure that Dante, megamogul of the pet industry that he was, could have found a lot to do relating to his company had he chosen to. Or it might have found him, had he not elected to focus so much on me.
So it was with some sadness that I faced Monday morning. Dante had stayed at my apartment on Sunday night, too, which was especially sweet, considering that we had both dogs with us and my entire place would have fit in his posh Malibu living room. We’d spent a couple of days together, almost inseparable, and now we were about to separate.
How ludicrous that it should bother me so much. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t spent nearly all of my adult life on my own. Nevertheless, I knew I’d miss him.
I managed to move my mind off him—mostly—as Lexie and I leaped into morning pet-sitting rounds. Wanting to check in on Darryl and how he was doing, I decided that Lexie would spend another fun day at Doggy Indulgence Day Resort.
Kiki was the doggy indulger nearest the door when we walked in—which worried me, after her giving my pup unwarranted time-outs in Darryl’s office. I nearly called her Kiona for the sheer surprise value, but didn’t want to have to explain how I knew her real name or where I’d gotten the information.
Instead, I merely said, “Hi, Kiki,” in a friendly voice.
“Hi, Kendra,” she said in return, a lot less amiably. But at least she greeted Lexie lovingly, as she did all her canine charges. It was people that she had problems with.
Especially me, just now. Maybe, in her mind, I was a surrogate for my friend Wanda, or was too associated with Wanda and whatever there was about her that irked Kiki so much.
I just hoped she didn’t take it out on Lexie again—even though my pup was none the worse for wear having been isolated for those couple of visits here.
But exactly why was Kiki researching storefront rentals in the San Fernando Valley?
Not that I was about to ask . . . now. Instead, I inquired, “Is Darryl here?” Almost at the same moment, I saw him walk out of his office toward me, as always carefully skirting the playing canines at his feet.
I didn’t spend much time there. I had things to do, including an upcoming meeting at my law office. I soon said good-bye to Lexie, who had curled up on a sofa in the people-furniture part of the room. I figured she was saving her strength for an upcoming doggy game.
As Darryl walked me to my car, I inquired how he was holding up.
“Well enough, I guess,” he fibbed. “Wanda, too. But . . .”
He didn’t have to finish. I filled in that he wanted this nightmare over as soon as humanly possible.
So did I, for their sake. And also so I wouldn’t have to worry Dante so much about what I was doing.
“I’m working on something to try to solve Margaret’s murder,” I assured him as we reached my Escape. “At least part of it should come together this week. No guarantees, of course.”
“Of course. But . . . well, thanks, Kendra. I still feel bad that I blamed you at first. Although . . .” His eyes clouded over behind his wire-rims as he continued to look at me.
“Although you still wonder whether all this would have happened to Wanda and you if I weren’t a murder magnet,” I filled in. “No answer on that, either, but I know you realize there are things in life that are beyond our control. And just remember that I’ve solved all the situations my friends have been involved in.”
I stopped right there without adding the obvious “so far.” I absolutely intended to do all I could to fix this one, too.
I kissed Darryl on the cheek and said I’d chat with him soon.
I wasn’t about to tell him the plan I’d put together . . . or that the first person I intended to test it on was one of his employees.
I didn’t really believe Kiki was so outrageously angry with Wanda, whatever her rationale, that she had killed Margaret simply to pin it on Darryl’s lady love.
But in case I was wrong, I would start my scenario by trying it on her—hopefully to rule her out.
THAT AFTERNOON, I had a meeting scheduled with Joan Fieldmann. She arrived at the Yurick firm offices at twelve thirty, and was announced by a call from our cheerful receptionist, Mignon.
I walked out to the entry and greeted Joan. She looked nervous and drawn, which called attention to her puggish facial features that resembled Pierre’s. She’d brought her pet along and hugged him tightly, as if remaining close to the white-and-black French bulldog with the big ears gave her courage.
“Come on into my office,” I said cheerfully. “We’ll talk.” And I’d try to prep her for our meeting with the breeder and her attorney, and perhaps even help her to relax a little.
I’d reviewed the breeder’s contract that Joan had signed, and had the file on the side of my usually cluttered desk that I had nearly cleared for the occasion. I opened it and again scanned some of the most onerous provisions.
Meanwhile, she had settled into one of the chairs across from my desk, then helped Pierre into the other one. When Joan, who wore navy slacks and a flowered shirt, crossed one leg over the other, Pierre, who was lying down, crossed his forepaws. Coincidence, or were they connected that closely?
I talked to Joan soothingly, assuring her that this meeting was intended to make introductions all around and to ensure that we all understood the issues. I hoped it wouldn’t get too contentious, but I wanted to make sure that the other side was fully aware of our concerns about contract clauses, particularly some that I hoped to dissect and show to be somewhat ambiguous.
Even though, in fact, they seemed much too clear, and much too clearly against my client’s position.
At precisely one o’clock, Mignon called once more and chirped that Mr. Eldt and Ms. Irving were there.
“Please see them into the conference room,” I told her, then glanced at Joan. Her face had relaxed some during our preliminary session, but now she looked nervous all over again. “Just relax,” I told her. “We’ll see if we can understand Ms. Irving’s position, and make sure that she and her attorney understand yours—especially the fact that your goal is to fulfill the contract and show Pierre, and at the same time take the best care of him possible.”
She nodded and smiled, and put Pierre back on the floor. On his blue leash again, he trotted beside us as I led them along the corridor between enclosed offices on the outer perimeter of the building and shielded cubicles of secretaries and paralegals on the inner side.
I looked questioningly toward Mignon as we reached the entry area, and she smiled and inclined her head toward the door to the bar-conference room. I led Joan and Pierre inside.
There, two people sat at the elongated table in the middle of the room. The actual bar was still along the inside wall, but it was used only for decoration these days. Same thing went for the tall-backed booths closer to the windows. But the center was all business.
As we entered, both people stood. Cornelius Eldt appeared to be of an age that would fit in well at the Yurick firm—Borden Yurick had mostly hired other senior attorneys who weren’t ready to retire despite their prior employers’ assumptions. They all tended to represent senior clients in the matters they had specialized in before. I was half the age of some, and enjoyed both working with them and helping with elder-law matters when I wasn’t working on cases of my own—which, unsurprisingly, considering my other vocation of pet-sitting, tended to involve animal law.
Cornelius looked courtly, with bright white hair, a handsome yet wrinkly face, and dark suit, white shirt, and red tie.
His client, Elmira Irving, was fiftyish and very attractive, her blond hair styled in a becoming layered look slicked behind her ears, revealing lovely yet small diamond studs. She, too, wore a dark suit and looked as dressed up as a seasoned lawyer heading for court to argue a case before a judge with a difficult reputation. Only when she stood did I realize she had brought a French bulldog along, this one entirely black and sitting patiently at her feet.
Of course the interested Pierre had to pull his leash in that direction so he could sniff his greetings.
“This is Cosette,” Elmira said with obvious pride. “She’s Pierre’s mama. She’s also one of my prize-winning French bulls.” She looked directly at Joan. “Like Pierre could be, if you showed him correctly—or, better yet, complied with our contract and let me take him back to do it right. And—”
Before my client, who was clearly starting to steam, said anything incendiary, I broke in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said smoothly, earning not a glower but a small smile from the woman I’d interrupted.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that my Frenchies are like my children, and I definitely want what’s best for them. Keeping my kennel name—MirVilous Kennels—out there with dogs who do well in shows is good for them and for me. Some of the dogs in Pierre’s litter didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped, but Pierre is definitely show quality. I’m convinced he’s championship material, if shown to his best advantage. By me. I’m still part owner, after all, and—”
I again started to interrupt, but this time it was her attorney who spoke. Cornelius Eldt touched his client gently on the arm and said, “We understand your enthusiasm, Elmira. And the contract between Ms. Fieldmann and you doesn’t leave room for argument against your position.”
He looked at me expectantly, knowing I had to respond with an opposite position in order to represent my client best.
“Of course there are arguments,” I said. “Ones I don’t need to get into now, but I certainly will if we wind up going to court over this. That would be time-consuming and expensive, so my suggestion is to see if we can work this out among ourselves rather than via litigation.”
“May I speak?” said Joan. I almost said no, since despite my preparation of my client, I wasn’t sure what she’d say or how she’d say it. This wasn’t a good time for her to try to explain why she signed such an onerous contract. Or to admit anything against her interest.
“Just remember that we don’t want to get contentious here,” I cautioned her.
“Of course not. I just wanted to make sure that Elmira understands how much I love Pierre. I think he’s beautiful. And I’ve gone to shows, including ones for amateurs, to learn the techniques of showing. I don’t know why Pierre didn’t do better in the show I took him to—although I know you have your opinion, Elmira—but I intend to keep trying, as best I can.”
“I watched you.” Elmira sounded sour. “As I told you then, the lessons you took clearly weren’t enough to teach you the techniques of showing Pierre to his best advantage. And the way you’ve trained him—he’s much smarter than that.”
“Yes, you’ve told me all that,” Joan said dryly. “More than once.”
“It’s clear to me that you have some mistaken ideas about how shows work,” Elmira said. “And it’s not like you listened to me. You still have to—”
Once again, Cornelius calmed his client, this time before she came out with some command aimed at my client.
“Sorry,” she said, then bent down to pick up pretty Cosette. When she was again sitting in her chair, I saw tears in her eyes. “The thing is, I’m really proud of my kennel. And disappointed that the others in Pierre’s litter didn’t turn out better. Cosette’s a little older, and I’m ready for another champion. That could be Pierre—if he’s shown correctly.” The tears were gone, replaced by an angry glare.
Hmmm. This was one of those situations where I could see both sides—kinda. Not that I was exactly sympathetic to Elmira. Especially considering her awful attitude. Plus, my loyalty was to my client, so I would definitely act as her advocate.