Read The Fright of the Iguana Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
The Fright of the Iguana (21 page)
That left Lilia Ziegler, who’d also had an animal napped while she sat for it. She wasn’t an elected or acting officer, and surely someone as scrappy as she would make a good on-air interview subject.
I decided I’d talk to her first, just to be sure. Fortunately, she had some time that morning after her own pet-sitting rounds and invited me to her home.
I called Corina and said I’d need to reschedule, but I was hoping to have someone really great for her to talk with on her National NewsShakers show. Sure, Hillary Dorgan would be a hard act to follow, but I had just the right character in mind.
I hoped.
LILIA LIVED IN the hills overlooking the Cahuenga Pass. It was an area considered part of Hollywood, as was my farther west neighborhood, though neither quite sat on the side of the hill where people expected Hollywood to be.
More surprising was that Lilia’s two-car garage sat flush with the street, but her white adobe cottage was way up the mountainside, reachable only by several long flights of steps.
Good thing, since this was Sunday, that I was dressed for pet-sitting, in a yellow T-shirt, khaki slacks, and athletic shoes. Heaven help me if I’d been wearing the heels I stuck my feet into for lawyering! I was winded when I got to the top. How did Lilia, who had to be in her seventies, handle this climb?
I asked her, huffing and puffing when she answered her double wooden door.
Her smile dug parenthetical divots on the sides of her mouth, adding to her already plentiful wrinkles. “I’ve owned this place since before you were born, Kendra. I’m used to it, and I’m not about to move. Were you assuming I was ready for some old folks’ home?”
I considered poor Rachel’s quandary with the senior citizens she tried to amuse, who’d apparently accused her of thievery. Could I imagine Lilia, in her slim jeans and red plaid ruffled shirt, sitting and twiddling her thumbs while a young woman attempted to entertain her by letting her hug an Irish setter?
No way.
This woman was still employed as a pet-sitter. If anything, she’d be the one to attempt to coax smiles out of the other old folks by bringing a big dog along.
“Not hardly,” I told her. “But
I
may be, after this climb.”
I
may be, after this climb.”
She laughed and led me inside, straight into a small living room with a fireplace along one wall and rows of filled bookshelves along the other.
“Have a seat.” She pointed to a fluffy white corduroy-covered couch. It faced a small coffee table nearby, and a wide-screen TV on a stand near the opposite wall. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the place once you’ve caught your breath.”
A sweetish smell hung in the air, and I suspected Lilia used either incense or a plug-in air freshener. As I sat there, a large gray cat entered the room, flicked its tail disdainfully, and observed me as if determining whether I was worthy enough to be here.
“That’s Fortuna,” Lilia said. “I named her that because we’re good luck for one another. I rescued her from a shelter, and she rescues me from talking to myself.”
“Cute,” I said. “And I gather that you pet-sit cats a lot, too.” The pet stolen on her watch was the cat from Laurel Canyon named Amanda.
“Dogs, cats, birds, whatever.” She waved one of her thin, wrinkly hands in the air as she was wont to do. “Now, tell me what you wanted to talk about. Something about a TV interview? Why would anyone want to talk to me?”
I explained that Corina Carey was the reporter who’d adored having Hillary Dorgan talk about her missing pets a few days back. “I want to keep the momentum going, keep on the public’s mind that other animals are being stolen so they’ll let the authorities know if they see anything strange.”
“But why me?” she repeated. “I’m not married to anyone famous, and I’m certainly nobody myself.”
I grinned at her. “Of all the folks in PSCSC, I think you have the most guts, Lilia. And presence. Put you in front of a camera talking about how awful you feel about the missing cat, and the audience at home will weep right along with you.”
“You want me to cry?” Her small blue eyes widened in apparent astonishment, standing out in their sea of facial wrinkles.
“Only if you feel like it. But you certainly can get all emotional, can’t you?”
“Sure can.” She suddenly appeared small and sad and utterly helpless, with sagging shoulders and droopy head. “What do you think?” she asked. She looked up enough to meet my gaze. “I really do feel awful about losing Amanda like that, you know.”
“I figured.” Strange, hearing the name Amanda again. The cattiness fit. But I hated the idea that any pet could be stolen from her own home, even if I wasn’t wild about her unknown sort of namesake.
“Well, go ahead, if you want, Kendra. Tell that Corina person I’ll talk to her and give her a good story. Now, come on and I’ll show you around.”
She provided cheerful commentary as she pointed out pictures of herself in her younger days, with a couple of men who were husbands she had outlived. “Great guys, both of them,” she said with a grin. “I think I wore them both out in bed.” I must have looked as startled as I felt, for she cackled, then said, “I didn’t think I’d embarrass someone your age, Kendra. Especially since rumor has it that you have two guys on the hook at the same time.”
“Rumor’s only partly right,” I said irritably, then exclaimed about how nice her compact kitchen was, mostly to change the subject.
She took me out on the back patio and showed me the swimming pool. Behind was a small outbuilding—a place she could conceal missing pets if she’d napped one of her own charges to throw off any suspicion that she was the general thief.
Why had that crossed my mind? I’d no real reason to assume she was the napper, any more than I thought she’d killed Nya. Besides, she led me there and pushed open the door, obviously not attempting to hide anything.
A full set of gym equipment sat on the low-carpeted floor inside. “Love this stuff,” Lilia said. “I still work out every day. That’s one reason I don’t have problems with the steps.”
Hmmm. I’d shrugged off Frieda Shoreman’s suggestion of Lilia as a murder suspect, since Nya was slugged with a baseball bat. I had figured that someone as senior as Lilia couldn’t have bashed someone so much younger to smithereens that way.
But now . . . “You’re amazing,” I said admiringly. “I don’t have the stamina to work out every day. That’s one reason I’m delighted to pet-sit, since I at least do a lot of walking.”
“Well, I’d suggest you get in the habit of doing more now, young lady, so it won’t be a chore when you reach my age.”
How to turn the topic to the additional questions that shot into my mind? “You ought to give a talk to that effect to PSCSC members,” I said. “They’d all be interested. I’ve gotten sort of close to Tracy and Wanda, but less so with the others. I find Frieda’s trying to take charge annoying sometimes. How about you? Do you have any special friends there? Any members you could do without?” Like Nya, but I kept that silently to myself.
But Lilia got the underlying message. “I like some better than others, sure, Kendra. And I didn’t especially care for Nya. She kept suggesting I’m too old to pet-sit. And when one of her clients got tired of her not taking good care of their cats, she was furious when they hired me next time they went away. I defended myself, and we argued a lot over it. And before you ask—though I suspect you’re too polite to say it outright—yes, I probably had enough strength in these skinny arms to do her in with a baseball bat.” She raised those arms, whatever strength they might have hidden beneath the long sleeves of her plaid shirt. “But I didn’t do it, and I’ll even say so on television if the question arises in my interview.”
I HAD SOME hesitation about calling Corina but felt somewhat committed. Especially since I was convinced that keeping the pet-nappings public might help stop them—and get the still-missing animals back to their grieving owners . . . and pet-sitters. And I didn’t genuinely believe that Lilia was guilty of anything.
And so, call her I did. She immediately galvanized into action, and showed up at Lilia’s soon thereafter.
Yes, I stayed for the interview. Even made a few astute observations on camera. Helped by locating Lilia’s cat, Fortuna, and bringing the irritated kitty in to be part of the filming. I thought it went fine. And Lilia seemed the epitome of innocence.
When it was over, I thanked Lilia, Corina, and the cameraman, then headed for my law office. There, I did some digging into the file I needed to review for my meeting tomorrow and locked up the building. I visited my pet clients all over again and spent time taking care of each. Not to mention ensuring they still seemed secure.
I finally headed home, feeling a little lonesome since I’d left Lexie there. I hadn’t wanted her adorable face broadcast over Corina’s air, not with a pet-napper on the loose. Maybe so far the victims were all pet-sitting clients, certainly distressful enough, but who was to say that the thief wouldn’t start picking on the sitters’ pets themselves?
As soon as I pulled my Beamer through the front gate, I saw Russ Preesinger barreling down the path from the main house. Rachel’s dad and my main tenant had been out of town, so I hadn’t seen him lately. Since he was a Hollywood location scout, his being home was more unusual than his being on the road.
“Hi, Russ,” I called after I’d parked at my spot in the shadow of the garage and exited my car.
“Have you heard what’s going on with Rachel?” No greeting, simply an explosion. Russ was a fine-looking male specimen, of moderate height and a build that wouldn’t quit. His hair was reddish, which gave credence to the old cliché that people picked pets who looked like them. He did, after all, own Beggar. The Irish setter had followed him from the house and seemed excited at the exercise of hustling down the walk.
Viewing Russ’s scowl, I considered some hustling of my own . . . away from here. “You mean those claims at the senior citizen home? Yes, she told me—”
“Those miserable old so-and-sos had better watch who they’re accusing. Otherwise—well, you’re a lawyer. I’ll hire you to sue the whole lot for defamation.”
I was absolutely a litigator, but I avoided cases I felt sure were losers. Was this one of them?
I didn’t believe Rachel would steal from anyone, let alone the senior citizens she’d been so excited to entertain with visits with her hound. But truth was always a defense to a defamation suit, and it was one Methuselah Manor and its inmates were bound to assert. Would a jury accept truth from the mouth of a cute but sassy kid—or assume a whole group of elders instead spouted all veracity?
“I’m not sure that’s a case I want to take on, Russ,” I told him, “but I’ll definitely look into it, to see whether it would have any merit.”
Talk about dark expressions. My tenant’s face turned thunderously ominous in about an instant. “You’re not suggesting she really could have done it, are you?”
“Of course not, but I need to find out the basis of accusations before I consider representing anyone in a lawsuit.”
“Then do it.” He clenched his fists as if he considered taking out his fury on me. Instead, he pivoted and hurried back toward the big chateau that constituted my property’s main house.
I sighed. I’d found Russ attractive enough to consider dating him when my fledgling relationship with Jeff had first turned rocky—when his ex insinuated herself back into his life. I hadn’t followed up, and now I was glad.
The guy had one hell of a temper.
Besides, I was having enough trouble managing two possible relationships. How might I have handled a third?
Horribly, no doubt. At least as badly as I dealt with two.
But I had promised the guy to look into the allegations against his daughter. As I headed up the steps toward my garage-top apartment, I considered how I’d conduct the research.
An interesting idea sprang to mind . . . but I wanted to mull it over prior to following it up.
LEXIE WAS NEARLY as excited to see me as I was to see her. She leaped all over me, and I laughed before taking her for a walk. I fed her, then settled myself in for a relaxing evening alone with my pampered pup. I stuck a frozen dinner into the microwave and sat on my comfy couch in my compact living room. I used the remote to turn on the TV and scan the channels.
Until I got to the one that ran Corina Carey’s newscasts.
Okay, I’ve no thirst for fame but was curious how I’d come across, asking for people’s help in watching for napped animals.
I finally found the story, right on the local station where I’d anticipated it would be. I didn’t look half bad—although I told myself I should have my hair highlighted again, the way it used to be when I was a high-powered litigator, in the old days prior to pet-sitting. Most important, I think I made my point.
If I didn’t, Lilia Ziegler sure did. Looking like the grand-motherly senior citizen she was, she tearfully told the camera about how she did pet-sitting to supplement her Social Security. Plus, she loved every animal she cared for.
And now, a cat had been cat-napped right from under her.
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