Read The Fright of the Iguana Online
Authors: Linda O. Johnston
The Fright of the Iguana (22 page)
She showed photos. With my urging off camera, she let her own kitty Fortuna steal the scene. All this, evoked by Corina’s careful questions.
“Then you think, Lilia,” Corina eventually said, the microphone in front of her large mouth, “that everyone in our viewing audience could be at risk of losing their own beloved animals?”
“I certainly do. And believe me, Corina, when I say that my fellow pet-sitter Kendra Ballantyne has skills that the awful thief doesn’t even know about. If the authorities don’t stop the pet-napper, she will.”
Great, I thought as the screen segued to an appropriate ad for dog food. She must have said that during one of my frequent jaunts to locate the oft-fleeing Fortuna. Lilia had made me sound like I’d find the pet-napper single-handed. That wouldn’t exactly shove me into the cops’ good graces. As if I was ever there.
And not only the police, but the pet-napper would have more reason to hate me now. Would he or she take it as a challenge? Try to snatch more of my charges?
Lexie?
For the first time, I considered kicking myself for suggesting that Corina Carey keep on this story. I hoped I hadn’t made a major mistake.
Chapter Eighteen
I WISHED I’D stayed home alone with Lexie the next day.
First, I’d some problems on pet-sitting rounds. None of my charges was missing, thank heavens. But my longtime client Alexander, the usually playful pit bull, had an upset tummy. Which necessitated a run to his vet—not, unfortunately, Tom Venson, but at least it was someone closer. And of course a call to his owner, who okayed medical treatment, including a special diet for a few days to counter the effects of the new food that such owner had left. It turned out to be the cause of the poor pup’s stomach ailment—nothing I’d done, I was relieved to learn. That still necessitated some extra visits by me—and by Rachel, whom I called to back me up since I couldn’t hang around there very long.
Most of all, it meant an extra hour’s worth of cleaning stuff that had erupted from both ends of the ailing dog. I didn’t even think of leaving that messy chore to my young employee . . . well, I didn’t consider it long.
But all that nearly made me late for my law meeting. And absolutely left me out of sorts.
I’d suggested the settlement session to try to resolve the dispute between my clients, Jasper and Angelica McGregor, and Jasper’s extremely hale and hearty second cousin Tallulah. I’d offered my office’s bar-conference room. Everyone was there at eleven A.M., as scheduled.
And I yearned to be back on the road pet-sitting. Well . . . not exactly as I’d done
that
morning. Better yet, at Darryl’s Doggy Indulgence Day Resort, where I’d left Lexie so my dear friend could keep both eyes, plus those of his active staff, on her—now that I was so freaked about the pet-nappings.
that
morning. Better yet, at Darryl’s Doggy Indulgence Day Resort, where I’d left Lexie so my dear friend could keep both eyes, plus those of his active staff, on her—now that I was so freaked about the pet-nappings.
Instead, there I sat, Jasper and Angelica at my side. The two septuagenarians seemed dressed for serious discussion, Jasper in a natty suit with a white shirt and a plaid tie knotted beneath his wattle. Angelica wore a bright scarlet dress that emphasized the rosiness of her round cheeks.
Sitting behind them, quite calmly, was a weimaraner—a lanky dog with long legs, an almost taupe coat, and beautiful pale blue eyes. Those eyes seemed awfully anxious as he regarded the room, but he still sat absolutely obediently—near my clients, I noticed, not her former owner.
But, then, Jasper held the end of Whiskey’s leash.
Across from them was Tallulah, tall and imposing and as old as they were. Her hair was a helmet of shining silver, her lips reddened enough to suggest she was out for blood. She wore a blue blouse with a collar held together with a long gold pin from which a locket dangled. Big diamonds glittered on her earlobes and ring fingers. Even her glasses sparkled, although I assumed the stones set into the plastic frames were paste.
“I’m here,” Tallulah stated to start the meeting. “But the only thing you can do to make me end my lawsuit is to give me back my dog. These people got her under false pretenses.”
“The only pretenses were yours,” Jasper stormed. “You gave Whiskey to me because you said you were dying.”
“I thought I was dying. Well, I fooled you, you old fool. I survived.”
“You didn’t say you were only lending Whiskey to us if you lived,” Angelica said in a much more reasonable tone than her husband. “You even signed his papers.”
“But you must have known I’d never have given him up if I had any idea I’d live.”
At which point Whiskey whined. Tallulah appeared as anguished as if the sound had stabbed her. And Angelica rose, knelt, and threw her arms around the poor pup who obviously felt the friction in the room.
“That argument’s a little circular,” I interjected and looked at Tallulah’s lawyer for acknowledgment or other input.
Yes, she’d brought her lawyer along, as I’d insisted. This was, after all, a meeting in the hopes of settling her lawsuit. And knowing that she was represented by counsel, I couldn’t meet with her without that attorney present.
Gordon Yarber simply smiled. He was a short man with long, light hair, maybe a little younger than me, and his mission in life appeared to be to take things lightly. He offered no opinion. He said nothing at all.
He obviously would be no help at this session unless his attitude was a ploy to put me off guard. Maybe, at an appropriate moment, he’d interject some pithy input to somehow convince me his client’s case had merit.
Maybe not.
“In any event,” I said, drawing my disappointed gaze from opposing counsel, “I’m sure that Gordon has told you how high litigation costs can be. If we can find a way to settle this, it would be better for all three of you.”
Tallulah changed her position slightly, crossing her arms tighter and shutting out my statement with her argumentative body language. I saw, rather than heard, her “harrumph.”
“Now, as you know,” I continued insistently, “Jasper and Angelica have traveled with Whiskey. Shown him, and done well with it. Incurred expenses.”
“It’s not the money,” Jasper all but shouted at my side. “We fell in love with that dog.”
“But they did think about you,” I continued to Tallulah, attempting to ignore my fractious client. “They even toasted you each time Whiskey won.”
“I’m sure,” Tallulah snarled, heaving a furious glare at her second cousin.
“They didn’t understand any supposed restrictions on your gift. In any event, we’re talking about another living being here. Obviously compensation won’t help. I’ve handled animal custody situations before.” And been quite creative about it, I might add. Some were before I even got my law license back, so I
had
to be creative. I couldn’t actually practice law then, or even appear to be. And I’d get creative here as well, if these people wouldn’t work it out themselves. “We could do this like child custody is handled. How about joint custody, in which you each get a share of Whiskey’s time?”
had
to be creative. I couldn’t actually practice law then, or even appear to be. And I’d get creative here as well, if these people wouldn’t work it out themselves. “We could do this like child custody is handled. How about joint custody, in which you each get a share of Whiskey’s time?”
“Forget it,” Tallulah barked. “I want my dog back.”
“You can’t have him,” Jasper responded, standing at my side with his fists clenched. On his other side, Angelica, too, had stood and appeared menacing.
“Even if you win at trial, Tallulah, all you’ll likely get is money,” I said, staring at Gordon with exasperation. Wouldn’t he say anything at all to further the intent of this session?
Apparently not. Maybe all he wanted was his legal fees at trial, no matter what the outcome.
“I’ve sued for Whiskey’s return,” Tallulah trumpeted triumphantly. “Gordon called it specific performance. Equitable relief. And I’ll definitely be relieved to get my poor dog back.” As if waiting for the opportunity, she hurled herself from her spot at the table toward Whiskey.
The dog stood and wagged his long, thin tail.
Jasper moved to put himself in his cousin’s path.
I maneuvered myself between them to avoid bloodshed—I hoped—and found myself snagged on Tallulah’s spiteful glare.
“But you signed documents transferring ownership,” I said to her, attempting to sound reasonable. “I’m sure your attorney explained that.”
I glanced at that still-silent counsel. Gordon simply smiled. Again.
At least Tallulah backed down—just a little. She stopped storming toward Whiskey and looked down at her ample wrist. Obviously she was a member of an older generation—as well she appeared—since she wore a watch. “Time’s up. I promised to come for half an hour, and I did. We didn’t settle anything. I didn’t get my poor Whiskey back—although if we gave him a choice, I’ll bet he’d come with me. Right, Whiskey?”
She edged sideways enough to give the dog a clear view of her. Whiskey whined again.
“Just let me give him one pat, please,” Tallulah said to Jasper. “And then I’ll go. For now.”
I glanced at my client and gave a small nod, which he fortunately returned.
Watching large Tallulah engulf thin Whiskey in a hug was almost heartbreaking. But my clients had a good point.
How could this be resolved without a judge turning into Solomon and offering to split the dog in two?
I’d have to consider harder how I’d handle that.
But right then, Tallulah rose. Tears shone from her eyes. “I’m leaving. Come on Gordon.”
He stood on that cue, and they both strode from the conference room.
Leaving me with my clients and Whiskey.
“I told you it wouldn’t do any good, Kendra.” Jasper shook his head sadly.
“It was worth a try,” Angelica added. “But Tallulah is anything but reasonable. I’m afraid we’re going to trial—but surely no judge would make us give up Whiskey, right?”
“I can’t promise anything,” I warned. “Paperwork or not, she was Whiskey’s owner for most of the pup’s life.”
“We get it,” said Jasper. “And like I said before, it hurts like hell to lose my last living blood relative—especially while she’s still alive. But at least we have Whiskey.”
“HOW DOES IT look, Kendra?” Borden asked anxiously a while later, peering at me over his bifocals. His usual Hawaiian-style shirt seemed a bit muted—soft beige amidst small white flowers that matched his great shock of hair.
We sat in his office, the largest in the former restaurant. I loved his taste—the old antique desk, the oak paneling with shelves on one side containing rows of the obligatory law books. I sat on my favorite of his client chairs, with its ornate carved back and arms, and blue embroidered upholstery.
But right now, I felt uncomfortable. “I’m not sure we accomplished a lot,” I admitted. “Too much emotion. Lots of hurt feelings, on top of the dispute about the dog.”
“Any chance of settling without going to trial?”
“Not unless I come up with something Solomon-like,” I said, reiterating my prior thought.
“I don’t like the idea of dog-splitting any more than baby-splitting,” he said with a sigh. “You’ve got to come up with something less messy.”
“I’m certainly going to try.”
I RECEIVED A call from Rachel later in the day. “Could you please come check on Alexander?”
I immediately sat up straighter at my law desk and gripped my cell phone even tighter. “Does he seem to be feeling bad? Has he had any more . . . accidents?”
“There’s nothing I’ve had to clean up. And he seems pretty perky. But he doesn’t want to let me go home. Every time I try to get near the door without him on a leash, he blocks my way. And he’s big enough that I haven’t been able to push him aside.”
“I’ll be there right away,” I told her.
“IMMEDIATELY” TURNED OUT to be an exaggeration, thanks to the slew of traffic heading east toward Alexander’s.
While I was on my way, I got a call from an unknown number. “Kendra Ballantyne,” I answered, glad my mouth had something to do besides curse other drivers filling the 101 Freeway.
“Kendra? This is Jerry Jefferton. I’m calling to thank you.”
“Hi, Jerry. Thank me for what?” My mind curled over the last time I’d seen him—possibly the only time, at the PSCSC meeting where I’d met Nya’s significant other, possibly an equal contender with Tracy for Nya’s killer.
“For cluing the police into reality so they finally got that I didn’t harm my sweet Nya,” he said.
I did? “I’d say you’re welcome, Jerry, only I didn’t do anything.” I pushed the turn signal lever as I slid the Beamer into a small opening in the left lane beside me. The maneuver distracted me from my conversation, so I had to think a second when Jerry responded.
“Really? Well, I figured you had a hand in their change of heart. Before, they didn’t seem to believe anything I said, no matter how many times I said it. But they suddenly seemed to buy into my argument that I’d have been damned stupid to clean a bunch of baseball bats so thoroughly that not one yielded a fingerprint, then stick them inside an open shed on my property.”
“I see,” I said, and I did. Jerry
was
a prime suspect. As Nya’s significant other, with whom he’d apparently argued in public, and who was likely to know his lady’s whereabouts at least some of the time, he had motive and opportunity. He’d be even a better bet for jailbait if the cops could prove he had means, too. Bats similar to the one that had beaten Nya to death could provide that additional angle.
was
a prime suspect. As Nya’s significant other, with whom he’d apparently argued in public, and who was likely to know his lady’s whereabouts at least some of the time, he had motive and opportunity. He’d be even a better bet for jailbait if the cops could prove he had means, too. Bats similar to the one that had beaten Nya to death could provide that additional angle.
Other books
Library of Souls by Ransom Riggs
Dale Loves Sophie to Death by Robb Forman Dew
The Whatnot by Stefan Bachmann
Blackwater (DI Nick Lowry) by James Henry
Catastrophe by Dick Morris
A Shade of Difference by Allen Drury
Alibi by Teri Woods
Fire On the Mountain by Anita Desai
The Lost Summer by Kathryn Williams
Unseen by Nancy Bush