Yes, Althea had sources, even for stuff considered private.
I didn’t voice these creative concepts to Frieda. Instead, I said simply, “Well, it’s unlikely they could have harmed Nya, especially if they weren’t home at the time.” Since we were walking again, I stopped for a second, stooping to pick up Lexie as my excuse. My pup wriggled to get down. She didn’t understand when I used her as a diversion. I hung on and pretended she didn’t squirm. “I don’t suppose,” I said to Frieda, “that you have any idea who killed Nya.” I didn’t get into the whole murder weapon scenario, and how whoever it was might be purposely framing Tracy.
“Not really,” she responded.
Un
really, then? Did she have a possibility in mind?
Turned out she was just mulling over club members who might have had an axe to grind with Nya: everyone. “If I had to pick the one with the biggest gripe, it would be Lilia Ziegler.”
“Lilia?” I almost laughed out loud. She was the oldest member of the club, and I couldn’t imagine someone as sweet-tempered as she arguing with anyone.
Frieda appeared to resent my incredulity. She stopped strolling, and so did the rest of our entourage. Hands on her enviably skinny hips, she glared. “You asked what I thought. I know that Lilia and Nya were feuding. Lilia apparently took over one of Nya’s clients. I don’t know how or why, but it definitely upset Nya, and she told everyone about how back-stabbing Lilia was—which upset
her
.”
Enough to kill her rival? But even if I could buy the motive, means was another far-fetched factor. Lilia wasn’t extremely large, and she was on the senior citizen side of adulthood. Could she have wielded a baseball bat in such a lethal manner?
No need to point out that additional doubt to Frieda, who was clearly insulted that I had questioned her conclusion. I said instead, “That’s really interesting. I think I’ll see if Lilia wants to join me for a walk or cup of coffee one day soon. Just so I can get her perspective on what happened. By the way, do you know Nya’s boyfriend, Jerry Jefferton?”
Frieda was still staring, head cocked as if she attempted to figure me out. “I’ve met Jerry but don’t see him as a killer.” She paused. “I’ve heard that you solve murders for a hobby. Are you going to figure this one out, too?”
“Unlikely,” I said, wondering whether I lied.
I sure as heck was going to keep looking into it. After all, I genuinely liked Tracy, and I didn’t think she did it.
And I seemed destined, these days, to assist those who are as unjustly accused of murder as I’d been.
A WHILE LATER, after ending our outing with Frieda, Lexie and I visited some pet-sitting clients to ensure their continued well-being. Hell, I knew I was still spending too much time on Nya’s murder and not enough on my own responsibility of resolving the disappearance of Zibble and Saurus. Consequently, I made some follow-up phone calls as I drove, to the detectives on the Dorgan case and to a neighbor or two who’d been nice enough to exchange contact info.
Anything new? No.
And so we headed home. As I pushed the button inside the Beamer that opened our wrought-iron gate, I saw Rachel in the garage getting into her small blue car, Beggar beside her.
I drove quickly into my designated spot beside that structure, and Lexie and I got out, with my small pup cavorting eagerly on her leash toward her Irish setter friend.
“Off on pet-sitting rounds?” I asked my young employee.
She was dressed in a snug blue T-shirt and snugger beige denim jeans, excellent garb for dog and cat care. “Sure am. And guess what I did this afternoon. What we did, Beggar and I.”
“Looked in on some of our charges, I hope.”
“Besides that.” A twinkle in those big brown eyes of hers suggested that, whatever she’d done, it was fun.
“Did you go to the beach?”
“No way. Something you’d approve of a whole lot more.”
“What’s better than the beach?”
Lexie and Beggar both began tugging on their leashes. I let my pup loose, and Rachel did the same. Both dogs bounded about the driveway.
“A really nice senior citizens’ facility in Studio City. I’d read in one of the local throwaway papers that they were looking for people to bring in their pets, since petting dogs made some of the patients there feel more like home.”
“Wow, Rachel, that’s so nice of you,” I said truthfully and enthusiastically. “That kind of place has to be depressing.”
“Not really. The people were nice, and seemed so happy to pet Beggar . . . I liked it so much I’m planning on doing it more, maybe a couple of times a week. Want to go along sometime?”
“Maybe.” I wanted to equal her gusto but couldn’t quite.
“Come on, Kendra. You’ll love it.”
“Okay, but give me a week or so before you schedule it. I’ve pet-napped clients to find, and a murder to solve, and—” And a love life, or lack thereof, to deal with, not that I’d say that to Rachel. In any event, I needed as many good excuses as I could convey to her if I chose not to participate in this good deed.
“Another murder?” Rachel’s eyes widened even further in apparent awe.
“Yep.” I told her the sketchy details.
“How amazing, Kendra. How do you keep getting involved with such things?”
“Wish I knew, Rachel. Wish I knew.”
I SAID GOODBYE to Rachel and sent her off on her rounds. It was almost time for me to start on mine when my cell phone sang.
I grabbed it from the bottom of my big bag and glanced at the caller ID. And swallowed, unsure how to feel.
It was Jeff.
“Hi, Jeff,” I answered pretty perkily considering my ambivalence.
“Hi, Kendra. Althea found some interesting stuff while doing your research.”
“Really? That’s wonderful. I hope. Is it good stuff?”
“Maybe. I’ve only glanced through it. I have it here at the office, and Althea had to go home early. She printed it all out, so I can’t just e-mail it to you.”
“Oh. Well, could I just pick it up later at your place?”
Bad idea, Kendra. Real bad. Seeing Jeff again on his turf, where you’ve spent many sleepless, sex-filled nights? You barely got away last time. Where’s your sense, kid?
Somewhere behind my horny little heart . . .
“I have a better idea,” Jeff said. “Meet me for dinner.”
Already? He’d just said he would invite me to dinner
sometime
, whenever that might be, earlier that day. I’d taken that to mean he was backing off, and I wasn’t certain how I felt about it.
I supposed this was sometime. Even so . . .
“Well . . .” I hesitated, searching fruitlessly for some kind of excuse not to go. I had to pet-sit. I had to—
“No dinner, no handing over of the data tonight. Do we have a date?”
What else could I do?
“Sure,” I said with an enthusiasm I didn’t feel.
Or did I?
Chapter Eight
I HADN’T REMINDED Jeff that this remained the same day that he’d all but invited me to lunch, then slammed that door in my face. I should still be pissed over that.
I
was
still pissed over that.
And now I’d allowed him to manipulate me again. Talk about pissed. But what could I do? I wanted the Althea-generated info ASAP. And I apparently couldn’t talk to her about it now, nor could I relay the bits of info I’d gathered from Frieda. I’d have to call her in the morning about the additional research I wanted to request of her.
And Jeff? Would I allow him to extort my nighttime presence in exchange for what was in his possession?
Was that even what he wanted?
We met at a really charming burger joint along Ventura Boulevard with a fenced-in outdoor eating area. Ergo, Lexie and Odin could accompany us. Jeff carried a manila envelope, which I assumed contained the information he had used to lure me here.
A jazz group entertained on the patio that evening, and the greatest contingent of diners was parents whose toddlers danced along. That made conversation difficult during musical sessions, which was copacetic with me.
I went for a zesty sausage sandwich, so I hadn’t much food to pass along to Lexie since I didn’t want her stomach suffering from spiciness. That left it to Jeff to treat both dogs since he ordered a giant burger. And treat them he did, handing over a good third of his dinner to the beggars beside him.
I simply watched. And ate, which kept my mouth busy instead of allowing it to hang open in lust while watching Jeff. Even if I was absolutely uncertain where our non-relationship was going, I had to admit to myself that he remained one awe-some dude. I observed his lips and tongue as he savored the parts of the burger he saved for himself and imagined them on unmentionable parts of me. I attempted to ignore the twinkle in his sexy blue eyes as he looked me up and down, obviously aware of the effect he was having on me.
And me? Well, I gave as good as I got, even though I remained in my dog-walking garb that I’d changed into to meet Frieda: jeans and yellow PSCSC T-shirt. I looked at him flirtatiously frequently, glancing teasingly from beneath my mascaraed lashes and quickly returning my apparent attention to the delicious sandwich in my hands. And I took similarly sexy bites of that same sandwich as he did with his.
Eventually, the musicians took a rest, and so did my heated teasing. “Okay,” I said, all business at last, “I’m here. We’re together for dinner. Where are Althea’s printouts that you promised if I played your games?” I reached out, expecting him to hand over the envelope that lay on the table near his plate.
“Got ’em in a folder I brought along from the office but left at home when I picked up Odin.”
“Then what’s that?” I demanded, reaching for the otherwise unexplained envelope.
“Something I brought to fool you into thinking I’d complied with our bargain.”
“Come on, Hubbard!” I exclaimed, forming my fingers into fists that I considered hurtling into his hunky, craggy face. “What’s your game now?” As if I didn’t know.
His grin was sexy and somewhat contagious, although I restrained myself from smiling back. “Game? Me? I was just hoping to talk you into bringing Lexie and joining Odin and me at home tonight.”
“Guess again,” I said sourly, even as my insides started softening and swirling. I knew what he was asking, and my rebellious body was telling me how long it had been since we had made love:
too
long. Plus, I felt a hint of relief that he still wanted me, despite my ongoing ambivalence about him.
“Okay, Kendra, you win.” His voice was a smooth, sexy leonine purr. “I’ll hand it over. But you’re still invited to come home with me.”
The envelope was soon in my hands, and the stuff I pulled out was exactly what I’d set Althea on finding: info on victim Nya Barston and her apparent friends and family, plus stuff on the Ravels, owners of the home where Nya was snuffed out and its resident sheltie mix, Lassie, whom Tracy had been sitting there. I had intended to relay my newly acquired knowledge about Jerry Jefferton and the Ravels to Althea, but she had been ahead of me, as always, when it came to ferreting out info. And there was no indication that the Ravels had raced into town to kill Nya.
“Hey, this is all great,” I said. “Thank Althea for me. Better yet, I’ll call her tomorrow to thank her—and to ask her to do one more thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Run a check to see if there has been a rash of pet-nappings other than the three that occurred to members of the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal.”
“Your wish is my command,” my dinner companion intoned. His smile grew even broader and sexier than before. “I’ve looked into that myself.” From a pocket in his pants, he extracted a folded sheet of paper, which he uncreased with great pomp and handed to me. It showed the results of quests on several search engines about local pet thefts.
Only the three I knew about appeared on the list.
“This is all?” I asked.
Jeff nodded. “All those reported within the last couple of weeks. What I didn’t print out was info I found on certain unmentionable websites that confirmed there weren’t others of interest. There was one dog stolen along with a kid in a custody situation, and some other disappearances that appeared more to be dogs running away or cats becoming coyote food, but nothing that was clearly a pet-napping, complete with ransom note.”
“By ‘unmentionable websites,’ can I assume you mean official in-house sites of authorities like police?”
“Assume what you want.” But the slyness of his smile said I’d scored a bull’s-eye.
“Thanks for checking, Jeff.” I stood up enough to bend over and kiss him on the cheek. It was rough, as his light brown beard had started erupting in a sexy evening shadow. His scent was light—soapy and sexily male. He moved his head and turned my sisterly buss into something a lot hotter. Sexy.