Double Dog Dare (12 page)

Tears filled my eyes, partly in pity for myself. I really was losing it. Because I’d really lost Jeff? No! But I’d thought I’d seen him at least once on my way home, and that had led to my seeking him in the faces of the drivers of nearly every other vehicle.

Pitiful. And now, somehow, I even thought I saw a resemblance to him in this swarthy-faced senior citizen who was clearly of Hispanic background.

Get a grip, Kendra,
I admonished myself as I climbed the steps.

At the top, I picked up a plastic bag full of mail, a common method of delivery from Rachel who acted as our address’s sorter-in-chief. I pulled out envelopes till I reached a middle-size manila one, larger than the general junk and incessant bills I invariably received. I glanced at it—and froze.

The thing was battered, partly open, and entirely a mess. It had been used before, but the prior address was scratched out and unreadable. The new address was mine. The handwriting was scrawly, nearly illegible . . . yet amazingly familiar.

Couldn’t be.

I pulled it farther open and extracted two sheets of paper—and on reading one, I no longer doubted who the sender had been. The note on it said, “Dear Kendra, Put this in a safe place. Looking forward to you moving in. Till then—” And that was all. No signature or anything else.

The other sheet had been folded and contained a speaking schedule from one of Jeff’s trips earlier this year. He wanted me to put it in a safe place? Sure, but why?

I examined the postmark. Jeff had sent it the day he’d disappeared. Why? To say goodbye? Sure didn’t sound that way.

Even so, it just might be the final communication between the two of us.

Inside the door I fell to my knees and cried, as Lexie and Odin attempted in vain to comfort me.

Chapter Nine

AFTER THEIR EXTRA-LOVING attention to the wreck that was me, I fed the dogs a little bit more than their typical dinners that night. Me? Well, I wasn’t exactly sick with starvation. In fact, what ailed me kept me from feeling much hunger at all. Even so, I forced down crisp toast slathered with strawberry jelly, figuring I didn’t really want to get ill.

Not with so many answers to unearth.

I ate while watching the TV news, sitting on my comfy beige sofa, a dog sandwich between Lexie and Odin, who watched my every reluctant bite as a reminder that they’d gladly relieve me of the enormous task of eating.

No news worth listening to, a good thing. Nothing about submerged Escalades. Nothing about dead Clone Arranger employees or suspects in the killing.

Nothing to take my mind off my misery.

So, if I couldn’t beat it, I’d join it. After eating—and handing over unnibbled crusts to the pups—I poured myself a glass of ice water and resumed my seat in the living room, my pad of paper containing my current lists on my lap.

Items to ponder: Jeff’s disappearance. His trip beforehand. His return with no notice, thanks to his contact with his local “mom,” Lois Terrone, concerned about the inconsistencies between cloning and her church. The only sign of his having popped up in L.A. at all: the discovery of his Escalade at the bottom of the aqueduct canal.

My awful craziness, looking for him in every male face.
You gotta get a grip, Kendra
.

Okay, next page. The Clone Arranger, the outfit Jeff had apparently been investigating without informing even his own skilled security staff. Why? Did he believe enlightening them—and me—violated his vow to Lois?

Lois had been less than pleased with how her attempt at obtaining a cloned pup turned out. Quite a contrast with an obviously pleased customer, former TV star Beryl Leeds, who’d had her chocolate Lab, Churchill, cloned and now also owned his match, Cartwright.

Then there was the public, one-sided quasi argument Lois had had with The Clone Arranger employee Earl Knox.

Earl’s murder. Lois a suspect.

Who else might have had something against him strong enough to off him? His boss, Mason Payne? Maybe, but who knew? Not I.

The last I’d heard in the news, Tom’s speculations about how Earl had died were confirmed—injection with a substance that, ironically, was sometimes used as an animal anesthetic but was also a designer human drug: ketamine. Really?

And, in all this, how did Jeff’s disappearance relate to Earl’s demise? Did his mostly empty envelope mean something I didn’t understand?

By then, my head spun as if I’d slurped too many margaritas. Too bad I actually hadn’t. I decided to head for bed. Shower first.

And when I got out, my phone was ringing.
My phone was ringing!
And this was the time of day I always heard from Jeff when he was out of town.

“Hello?” I said breathlessly, listening for the voice I eagerly anticipated.

“Hi, Kendra. It’s Tom. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

I stopped a second to swallow my disappointment. But I wasn’t entirely disappointed. I was glad to hear from Tom . . . wasn’t I?

Sure. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Jeff.

“Too late?” My voice was an octave too shrill, and I swallowed again to lower it. “No, though if you’d been five minutes later, you’d have caught me in bed.”
Oh, come on, Kendra
. That sounded as if I was flirting with the guy, skirting around a suggestion of sex.

He caught on immediately. “Well, if I headed your way now, then there’s a good change I
will
catch you in bed, right?” He broke my sudden silence by saying, “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

“Hold that thought,” I said, trying to sound upbeat but not overly interested. “So . . . how are things?” Like, let’s change the subject.

“I actually had a reason to call,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d thought about what we discussed this afternoon. ”

Oh, yeah, I had. Of course. I absolutely intended to try to figure out who’d killed Earl Knox. To help Lois— assuming she didn’t do it. I knew that was what Jeff would do if he was here.

Not that he’d want me involved. As if he’d ever been able to discourage me from butting into a murder investigation when someone I knew was accused.

And now, the stakes might be higher. Somehow, this situation might resolve itself by leading me to locate
him
.

“I’ve thought about it,” I informed Tom, “although I haven’t determined the right approach to my kind of investigation. ”

“How about meeting some people Earl knew? I’m sure no one at The Clone Arranger could have killed him, but probably someone there knows the person who did. Not that they’re aware they know that person, of course, or they’d have informed the police, but you’re amazingly good at solving murders, Kendra. You know the right questions to ask. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I’ve arranged to have my afternoon free at the hospital. So, come with me then and ask some of your special questions, okay?”

“At The Clone Arranger?”

“Sure.”

I almost jumped up in excitement. But before getting overly frenzied, I had to admit, as casually as I could, that I’d actually been to The Clone Arranger earlier this very week. He’d find out tomorrow anyway. Somebody was likely to recognize Kenni Ballan. It wasn’t as if I’d gone there in disguise.

“I visited on behalf of a friend,” I explained. “A pet-sitting client’s interested in having her cute terrier mix cloned. She wanted me to take her pup there to get my opinion before she decided whether to go forward. I just got a little information and left.”

“Really?” He sounded a smidgen frosty, not to mention skeptical.

“As I told myself before, this world is full of amazing coincidences. Like so many people I know either knowing murder victims or becoming suspects these days. Isn’t that wild?”

“Yeah, wild. Look, Kendra, maybe we’d better forget—”

“I’m so excited about helping you figure out who killed your friend Earl,” I gushed, trying to head him off at the pass of words before he could tell me I couldn’t come. “I met him, you know. He seemed nice.”

Nice and sleazy, sort of, but I didn’t say that.

“You met him?” Suspicion grew even thicker in Tom’s voice.

“I hardly talked to him. And I certainly didn’t know him well enough to kill him.” I kept my tone light, even as I anticipated what he was thinking.

“Of course not,” he said, although his tone suggested he wasn’t completely convinced. “But if you’ve already been there. . . .”

“I didn’t learn enough about cloning to help my friend. And I’d much rather help you. And your poor buddy Earl. He deserves justice, doesn’t he?” Okay, I was laying it on awfully thick.

Fortunately, Tom seemed to buy it. “Well . . . sure. Okay, but—”

“Great! What time should I meet you there?”

UNSURPRISINGLY, I DIDN’T sleep well that night. I arose early and forced food into myself after allowing Lexie and Odin to romp in the fenced-in yard of my rented-out mansion. After all, there was now a poop scooper on staff prepared to pick up what they left.

A poop scooper who might have been the one on our grass yesterday was across the street at Phil Ashler’s when the dogs and I left to do our morning pet-sitter rounds. Obviously, Phil’s new dog, Middlin, pooped enough to require some scooping up behind him.

I really stared at the scooper this morning. Definitely the same guy as yesterday—stooped, face shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, somewhat swarthy and broad featured. A resemblance to Jeff? Only in my wildest imagination— the one I’d let loose yesterday in my misery.

Okay, then. Mostly I made the same visits as yesterday. On my way after caring for Stromboli and waving hello to Maribelle and her Meph, my cell phone rang. “Kendra, hi. It’s Avvie.”

“Avvie! Good to hear from you.”

And it was. Avvie Milton was a sometime friend, an associate at my former law firm of Marden, Sergement & Yurick. She’d taken over as the mistress of my former lover, the middle partner, Bill Sergement. Their business, not mine—although I wondered whether Bill’s wife would consider it her business, too. They hadn’t been married when Bill had seduced me as a new, young attorney at the firm—bad judgment on my part. I’d extricated myself soon afterward, chalking it up to my horrible pre-Jeff judgment about men.

Since I now worked for Yurick & Associates, the old firm had been renamed Marden & Sergement—a much smaller outfit, since Borden Yurick had resigned and taken his prodigious roster of clients with him.

“I’ve been meaning to call you forever, and now I have a good excuse. I know something about your current law practice—Bill talked to Borden a few weeks ago. Are you still pet-sitting, or can you recommend someone?”

“I’m doing both, since I still enjoy the pet-care part as much as lawyering.” I turned my car from a residential street onto Moorpark, a moderately busy commercial avenue.

“Honestly?” She sounded completely amazed.

“Consider choosing between dealing with picky clients who probably did everything the other side accuses them of and lie through their teeth to make you take their case— or a cute dog who wants only attention, no strings attached except for going for a nice, long walk on a pretty day, and getting fed. In my mind, there’s no question.”

“Well, if you put it that way—where do potbellied pigs fit into that picture?”

“How’s Pansy?” I inquired about Avvie’s adorable pet.

“Fine, but Bill and I are going on a business trip to Sacramento next week, and I need someone to take care of her. Can you do it?”

“Absolutely, and if not, I can get my young assistant to help out.”

“You’re busy enough to have an assistant?”

“Sure thing.”

“That’s great!” She actually did sound impressed, which suited me just fine. We made arrangements for me to come to her house for a reintroduction, instructions, and keys. As I prepared to hang up, she belatedly inquired, “How’s Lexie?”

“Cute as ever,” I said, aiming my gaze at that same Cavalier, who started wagging her tail as she stood on the seat beside me, annoying Odin, who lay there looking bored.

“And—are you still seeing that great-looking P.I., Jeff?”

My heart crunched, but this was simply small talk, without a huge amount of genuine interest attached. “Whenever possible,” I told her, and with that I firmly said goodbye.

I headed onto the freeway for a few miles and got off at the ramp closest to my law office. Sure, it was Saturday, but I had a few hours to kill before meeting Tom. And what better way to spend time than working?

Not that I buckled down right away when reaching the office. First of all, Borden himself was there and, with Odin and Lexie hovering attentively at our feet, we chatted in the reception area about cases . . . and then about my missing guy.

“You handling this okay, Kendra?”

“I’m trying.” I didn’t mention my investigation into The Clone Arranger’s possible relationship to Jeff ’s disappearance—or the murder of its employee.

“Any time you want to talk, or take some time off, that’s fine. You know that.”

“As always, I appreciate it, Borden.” Impulsively, I stood on my toes—Borden was inches taller than my five-five. As always, he wore an aloha shirt. I kissed his cheek, and he flushed sweetly as I backed away.

The dogs trailed me to my office, where I shut the door and called Althea. “Hi, Kendra. Any word?”

“Well, one word is frustration,” I told her. “Another is hope. Have you found anything about anyone at The Clone Arranger? I’m going there with a friend this afternoon and need to know the lowdown first. Also, any details about that ketamine that was used to kill Earl?”

“I’m just now compiling all I’ve got—haven’t checked out the ketamine yet, though, just the people. I’ll e-mail what I’ve got momentarily. That okay?”

“That’s perfect,” I told her.

I WAS READY to go meet Tom Venson about an hour later. By then, I had Althea’s info printed out and stuck in the pockets of my notebook, along with my lists.