Nothing to Fear But Ferrets (30 page)

Still, Lyle . . . ?

“Where’d you get the papers you sent?” I asked, curious.

“From inside the house and their cars. I took my time, looked around during days they were gone and you weren’t here, went through their files and collected things I thought would help. I used gloves—no fingerprints.” Not the bicycling gloves of his I’d seen before, then. They’d covered his palms, not his fingers. “I made copies and snuck the originals back. There was no problem getting into the house after the Hummer hit it, of course. Or into their cars, either. I’m a locksmith, you know.”

I’d heard he was in construction. Close enough, I supposed. “Nice touch, mailing the package from near the studio where Charlotte’s reality show was filmed. No one would imagine anyone who lived around here sent it.”

He shrugged slightly. “I get to that area often. Since I met Charlotte, I’ve picked up work at the studio whenever I can. They need locksmiths a lot. I make sure of it.” He smiled a scary, self-satisfied grin.

Charlotte hadn’t mentioned seeing him at the studio. Then again, Lyle wasn’t exactly as memorable as a lot of men she met in her showbiz milieu.

“So why did you mail those documents to the detective?” I inquired as composedly as if we conversed about the climate.

“The idea was to send things to keep him from suspecting Charlotte, not make him jump on her more.” He sounded miffed.

“I understand,” I fibbed. I mean, why would a threatening note from Charlotte get a cop thinking she’d had a bone to pick with the recipient when he turned up dead?

“I figured that something demonstrating that Yul was part of Charlotte’s company—like that stationery listing him as a manager—would tell the cops he had more reason than having the hots for her to make sure everything went okay with the business,” Lyle continued earnestly. Good. The more he talked, the safer I felt. For now. “The stuff about Charlotte and Chad never being able to see each other, and the note from Charlotte warning him to stay away, were evidence that Chad was harassing her. Yul would want to stop that. Their schedules showed that Charlotte wasn’t always with that S.O.B. Yul, so he could kill Chad without her knowing. But that detective didn’t get it.”

“Yeah, Detective Noralles can be obtuse, especially when he thinks he has all the answers,” I said in pseudosympathy. “I learned that the hard way, too. So . . . the murder weapon.” I might as well get all the answers I could as I stalled for time. “Where did you hide the knife?”

He looked abashed. “It was a special one, with a real skinny blade. It came from a set in my house so I had to get rid of it. It’s at the bottom of some poured concrete at a construction site where I worked for a while.”

“Very wise,” I said with a simulated smile, hoping I sounded admiring. Maybe building the guy’s ego would keep me alive a little longer. And right about now, every extra moment seemed of momentous value. No sign of a weapon in Lyle’s hand, but I still felt definitely endangered. “What was your reason for phoning him with that last hint, though—about secrets from the past—if it wasn’t to implicate Charlotte?”

“Like the other stuff, to point him toward that asshole Yul!” Lyle exclaimed. “He was the one with the past worth hiding. That’s why I came back tonight. I followed Charlotte and Yul into Griffith Park. Instead of coming home tonight, they got a room at the Universal Sheraton. This’ll be the last time they spend the night together. I’ll make sure of it.” He took a step toward me that made me feel he’d make me pay for the affront he figured Yul perpetrated by hanging with the woman Lyle thought he loved. At least that’s what I figured his motive was.

Which was how I’d at long last determined the murderer was Lyle. Jeff’s ex, Amanda, wasn’t the only one in my life lately who’d been victimized by a stalker. Philipe Pellera had been followed by a crazy fan. And around here, I’d started noticing how often Lyle looked at Charlotte with big puppy-dog eyes. Too bad I hadn’t realized before that they obscured his pseudowerewolf persona.

Humoring the beast inside, I said, “She should be with you, right? I kind of thought that was the case.”

“Of course. She’s pretty and smart, and needs that jerk out of her life so she’ll see I’m the one for her.”

“So how would you convince her by coming here tonight, when you know they’re not home?”

But
I
was home, and he’d known that from the party. Obviously his brazenness was building. Why?

As I waited for his response, I inched toward the open archway. At least then I’d have an entire house to hide in—assuming I could flee first.

“I brought back some stuff I’d taken before about Yul and his past, since it has to come out now. Did you know Yul was nothing but a big, fat tub of a freak until last year?”

I let my incredulity lunge out. “That gorgeous hunk?”

“You, too, Kendra?” Lyle grabbed my arm and clamped down. “He had you fooled?”

Only then did I see the small but sharp knife in his other hand. I’d thought him unarmed—my unobservant error. And now that he held my arm, I was in even bigger trouble.

Especially when I considered what really killed Chad—a lethal slice to his neck.

“Guess so.” I winced under his grip and my burgeoning fear. I was compounding one mistake on top of another, and wasn’t sure how to fix any of them. “Tell me the truth about him, Lyle. I’d really like to know.”

“His name isn’t Yul Silva. It’s Stanley Smith. He used to be a three-hundred-pound, spectacle-wearing waiter in Beverly Hills. Know how I knew? He was stupid enough to laugh about it on his cell phone one day, right outside there in the driveway. I’d been biking by, saw him, and stopped to listen, and he didn’t even notice me. I don’t know who he was talking to, but he admitted to whoever it was that he’d lost all that weight and changed his name not to become a big successful Hollywood star, but to find himself a rich woman to sponge off. When I heard, I checked him out—his old self—and found a bunch of stuff about him at the places he’d worked, his driver’s license, lots of evidence. That’s what I just brought over here and hid. I was going to call that cop and leave him another tip. Maybe the third time he’d get it right.”

On some level, I admitted to myself that I admired Yul. I mean, if Lyle was right and he’d remade himself into an irresistible hunk with the express intent of being a successful lady’s lover, I’d tip my hat to him for ingeniousness and perseverance. Assuming I had a hat.

And a life, after this night—an even bigger assumption.

At least my brain was regenerating despite my fear, and pumping out a few, if feeble, ideas to get me out of this mess. I was a lawyer. A litigator. Animal dispute resolution notwithstanding, I lived by my wits and my ability to talk myself out of any terrible situation.

Yeah, in a courtroom, where my enemies were the opposition attorney and an occasional asshole of a judge.

Throwing in the towel isn’t in your nature, Kendra.
Time to kick myself in the butt to keep going. Too bad I wasn’t a contortionist. Instead, I used the best weapons I had: my mouth and mind. My mind reminded me of another time when I’d been in danger, and it gave me an idea. Would it work? I’d find out.

“So you killed Chad to frame Yul?” I asked so conversationally that we could be chatting about Lyle’s proclivity for sliding onto the street from his bicycle.

“Partly, but he needed to go, too, for Charlotte’s sake. That reality show idea about digging up skeletons in people’s pasts? I actually talked to Chad awhile after that party of Charlotte’s that he crashed, the one where she threw him out.”

“Sure.” I knew which he meant: the one just before Lyle murdered him. I kept that to myself.

“He told me he’d gotten into that show
Turn Up the Heat
mostly because he wanted to make it big in reality TV himself, but he was really bummed out when Charlotte dumped him—though he admitted to me he planned to do the same to her. He had to. His girlfriend Trudi would have blabbed all over if he hadn’t. He knew afterward, though, that to get anywhere he’d have been better off with Charlotte’s cooperation, and she refused to even talk to him once she learned about Trudi. That’s when he came up with that idea of a show that would use stuff from people’s pasts. Charlotte and he had gotten close enough at some point that she’d admitted the hit-and-run accident to him, and he intended to use it against her unless she agreed to work with him. To help my poor Charlotte, he had to go.”

Right here, in my house. Lucky me. And Chad . . .

“Fortunately, that Yul jerk had something in his past he’d want hidden, so he had a good reason to kill Chad, to stop that stupid show idea,” Lyle continued. “I figured I could get rid of Chad and Yul, too.”

Now that the guy was talking, he obviously didn’t want to shut up. Which didn’t bode well for my long-term future, unless he liked the idea of leaving a witness. Still, the longer he talked, the longer I lived.

“At least it should have gotten rid of Yul. I pretended to be him and invited Chad here that night to talk. Told him to come right in when he arrived and wait in the same room where Charlotte and he talked at her party. I’d already sneaked in through the wall the Hummer hit and opened the door for him. Then I made it look like Yul got those nasty little pets of his to kill Chad. I refastened the plastic when I left so they couldn’t get out.”

“Clever,” I said admiringly, still pondering my idea. Would it work? I wouldn’t know unless I tried. “Especially because ferrets really are nasty creatures. They do kill people, you know.”

“They do?” He sounded astounded. “They’re awfully small for that. I figured it would look that way, though, with their food all over Chad’s body after I stabbed him in the throat. They chewed on him, didn’t they?”

I nodded, not attempting to conceal my shudder. “Yeah. I saw that when I found Chad’s body. I really thought at first that they’d killed him.” I didn’t believe it for long but didn’t tell him that. “I’d read ‘Sredni Vashtar’ for a class when I was a schoolkid. Some literature that was.”

“What is it?” he asked.

As I had a lot lately, I related the story of the orphan kid and his plea to his pet ferret.

“Wow,” Lyle said. “I made a great guess, didn’t I?”

“You sure did. And the thing is, once ferrets have the taste of blood, they lust after it. They become real killers, and it’s nearly impossible to stop them.” That part I made up. Vampire ferrets? Move over, bats.

“No! Wow.”

By this time, I’d managed, by sidling slowly as we spoke, to move around enough to make it nearly to the inner hall, with Lyle facing me in the kitchen. The table and chairs were between us.

Time to make my move.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, I grabbed the nearest chair and flung it on the floor in front of me, blocking Lyle’s ability to grab or stab me easily. Then I fled down the hall.

“Bitch!” he shouted. I dared a glance back and saw his shadow move. Bicycling had made his legs limber enough to leap over obstacles as pitiful as a kitchen chair.

I screamed again and headed for the closed door to the den.

I hadn’t locked it again earlier. What was the use, with all the party guests gone? I’d intended to confront Yul with the room’s contents again first thing tomorrow morning.

Now, I was grateful I’d had so much foresight. Not that I’d envisioned how that act would aid my future. I hoped.

Lyle grabbed my arm again as I reached the door, all but wrenching it from its socket. In the dimness, I watched him raise the knife in his other hand.

“No!” I shrieked, and aimed a kick at the spot most strategic for subduing a menacing male.

Lyle’s turn to scream as I wrenched free and threw open the door. I flicked on the lights and was thrilled to see furry movement along the floor. I heard shrill, excited squeals and shouted, “Sic him, ferrets. Kill!”

“No!” Lyle shouted. “They’re at Animal Control.”

“Not now,” I taunted triumphantly, hoping that the plastic still hiding the Hummer hole in the room was as easy to unfasten as he’d implied. Otherwise, if Lyle didn’t flee based on my tale of ferret vampires, I was toast.

But these ferrets were apparently scared by the sudden commotion. They dashed toward us as we scuffled at the door. “No!” Lyle shouted again. He stood still, brandishing his knife at his small, squealing assailants. I prayed for their safety.

“Get him!” I shouted as the ferrets still scampered in confusion. One headed toward Lyle. I held my breath. Would he hurt it?

It climbed onto his sports-shoe-clad foot. He sliced down with the knife. I launched myself at him to knock him off balance. The ferret ran up his leg.

Lyle screamed, shook the small animal off, and fled down the hall.

In time for me to hear what I’d hoped for—the familiar voice of Noralles: “Police!”

Chapter Thirty-two

A LOT OF people besides pet-sitters work on Sunday. Some even work in the middle of Sunday night.

Cops, for example. At three in the morning, they were all over my home, along with the Scientific Investigative Division people, collecting evidence to prove my allegations against Lyle.

It helped that he actually had done as he’d said, and planted evidence against Yul in the bedroom the former obese waiter Stanley Smith shared with the lovely reality show diva Charlotte LaVerne. Lyle had been smart enough to wear his gloves earlier to minimize fingerprints. But he’d taken them off before confronting me in the darkened kitchen. His prints were all over the knife he’d brandished at the ferrets and me.

Right now, I sat outside on a deck chair overlooking my swimming pool, singing out answers to the many questions Detective Noralles slung at me.

Jeff sat beside me in another chair, holding my hand. No matter what he’d done in the past, what he’d hidden, he had come through in the latest pinch. He’d hied over here as quickly as his Escalade could carry him, using his cell phone to alert Noralles on his way. He’d rallied with the cops outside before they’d broken in to end the felonious fracas inside, for they’d heard my screams and Lyle’s, and probably the ferrets’, too.