Feline Fatale (13 page)

I grabbed a fast-food dinner on the way. Everyone in my immediate party would meet me at the complex, so we were on our own for our evening meals.

Soon as I got to Brigadoon’s gate, I called James Jerome on the official condo intercom. “Glad you’re here, Kendra.” He buzzed me in.

After I parked, I called Wanda on my cell phone. Darryl was with her, and they were heading toward the apartment where the session would be held—one of the larger ones in a side building at the complex’s west end.

As I exited my car, I received a call—Dante. “Where are you?” I asked.

“Right outside the gate.”

I called James and got Dante buzzed in as well. I waited for him in the parking lot. He was dressed in business casual, with a blue shirt tucked into dark slacks, and he looked wonderful. But when didn’t he?

I was glad I hadn’t taken time to dress down after my short day at the office. I didn’t want to overwhelm this group with my lawyerly aura, but since I hadn’t gone to court today, my outfit wasn’t especially dressy, either—a floral blouse, khaki slacks, and a brown jacket.

Dante and I kissed sort of chastely, since we weren’t exactly alone, but that appetizer made me consider what the rest of a meal of Dante might involve . . . later? Well, next time, anyway. I was certain, from the heated glimmer in his gorgeous dark eyes, that there would be a next time soon. We walked toward the meeting.

A lot of people were heading the same way we were. Was everyone here in on the argument about pets? Or did most want their curiosity satisfied about what was going on—and whether it had anything to do with Margaret’s murder?

The unit where the condo association met that night was on the ground floor. Someone had propped the building’s big front door open, and the crowd piled in. Most were clad casually, but a few wore suits and other dressier stuff, as if dressed to impress others.

I neither saw nor heard any pets, probably a good thing. Better that their fates be discussed without any of them being able to create unacceptable diversions—and thereby possibly prop up the pet-haters’ positions.

James waited at the door. As usual, his shirt featured guinea pigs, but the rodent on the pocket of his white knit shirt was fairly small this time. “Glad you could make it, Kendra.” His droopy eyebrows raised high when I introduced him to Dante. “Glad to meet you.” His tone made it clear he meant it. Yes, HotPets carried guinea pig products.

We walked in, and I soon spotted Wanda and Darryl, who were saving us some folding chairs in the sizable living room.

“How are you?” I asked as Dante and I sat down, looking mostly at Wanda but intending to include Darryl in my inquiry.

“Okay, I guess. I’m just hoping we learn something here.”

“Something you can follow up on,” Darryl added. “I know how good you are at figuring things out, Kendra.”

“I’ll definitely do my best.”

Dante, on my other side, squeezed my hand. I read that message to be that he, in turn, would be there for me. My smile grew larger, and I turned toward him.

“I have to go up there.” James pointed toward the front of the crowd where half a dozen chairs were facing the rest. Presumably, that was where the board members would sit.

Would one chair, Margaret’s, remain empty? Or had someone already been appointed to take her seat? Or would they not have designated a place where she might otherwise have been?

Turned out my first guess was correct. Five board members took their seats, leaving one on the end of the row vacant.

James stood first to address everyone. The Bertinettis had found seats in the first row, and though I couldn’t see their expressions from behind them, I saw James’s brows elevate as he noticed them. I assumed their expressions weren’t pretty.

“Hi, everyone,” James began in a raised voice, then repeated it even louder when the hubbub of conversation failed to hush. “Hi! Everyone! Welcome!” Suddenly, the group fell silent. “As you probably all know, I’m James Jerome.”

He introduced the four other board members: Julie, John, Sheldon, and Rick. As each one’s name was called, he or she stood and waved, then all resumed their seats.

“This special meeting,” James continued, “is to make sure that everyone who lives in the Burbank Brigadoon complex is aware of what happened to one of our members, Margaret Shiler.” Murmurs started among the audience members, and James lifted his pudgy hands. “Yes, I’m sure most of you know at least some of it. Poor Margaret . . . she was killed by someone who, so far, hasn’t been identified or arrested. But I’m sure the police are working on it. Hopefully, there’ll be news about it soon. Meantime, the board wants to be sure that association members take appropriate security measures so that nothing happens to anyone else around here. Make sure all doors are locked properly, use alarm systems if you wish, don’t go out walking alone, especially at night—that kind of thing. We just don’t know what kind of intruder might have done that to poor Margaret.”

Suddenly, Teddy and Ruth Bertinetti were standing. “That’s a crock of shit, James,” shouted Teddy. He was dressed all in black, as if in mourning, except for the upswept silver of his hair. “You know that Margaret was killed because she had started to make waves around Brigadoon. And we—Ruth and I—are going to ensure that she didn’t die in vain.”

“That’s right,” said his tall, thin wife. She was clad in yellow, but still managed to appear somber. “We’re going to continue her fight against the dirty, untrained pets around this place. Right, everyone?”

A goodly group of people in the corner where the Bertinettis had been seated rose around them and started chanting, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Which caused terribly pained looks to appear on the faces of James and his fellow board members. Apparently, all the current members favored the complex’s pet policies.

The only woman—Julie—rose and put her arms up as if to direct the band of shouters into silence. They actually did stop and watch her. “We’ll all miss Margaret.” I felt certain she exaggerated intentionally, judging by her scrunched expression. “Those of us on the board acknowledge that her opinions might have been different from ours. But you all need to realize—and let me remind you—that the Brigadoon Condominium Association has always allowed pets here. What sometimes changes are the rules governing how they are trained and handled in the respective units. But we simply can’t change—”

“Of course you can change anything by vote,” Ruth insisted. “The majority governs.”

“But I think you’ll find that the majority of people who live here are happy with our pet policy and rules,” James said, standing beside Julie.

“Not if we can help it,” Teddy said.

“But the rules work,” Julie interjected. “Sure, there are occasional incidents with animals, but when anything like that happens, we can impose fines or other consequences. Everything about pets around here works well. It’s all under control. Honestly, people.”

Which was exactly when I noticed a little ginger streak dash behind the board members’ chairs.

“Lady Cuddles!” I whispered in horror—at the same time that Wanda looked over at me and said the same.

WANDA WENT ONE way. I went the other.

By the time we got anywhere near Lady Cuddles, she’d climbed up a curtain in the condo unit’s bedroom and onto the top of a tall dresser. She looked down at us quizzically with her adorable kitten face, as if she wondered what all our fuss was about.

Wanda is a petite person, way shorter than me, but even I couldn’t quite reach that high. We stood there dumbly for an extra second, wondering how to get the feline down from her perch. Fortunately, our respective guys had followed. Darryl was there first and able to reach up to retrieve the kitty, and Dante was right behind him, smiling.

Only then did I take in the room’s decor—pretty nice. The bed’s headboard matched the dresser, which matched the vanity table, which matched the nightstands at either side of the bed. The pillows appeared both pretty and comfy, and the satin-covered duvet was divine.

“Whose place is this?” I asked Wanda as I retrieved the kitty from Darryl.

“It’s Julie Tradeau’s, and her husband, Ivan’s. He’s in the film industry and she’s a hairstylist to the stars, so they have money.”

“And their position on pets?”

“They have a cat of their own,” Wanda said. At the same time, I heard an irritated meow from the vicinity of the bed, and a black head emerged from under it. “That’s Smouser. He’s a little shy.”

“Cute,” I responded as Dante bent to give the kitty a reassuring pat. “Look, I think it’s important for you to stay at this meeting, without Lady Cuddles. I’ll take her home. Are her owners back yet?”

“Not till next weekend.”

“Well, I’ll try to figure out how she escaped this time, but as far as your fellow condo folks are concerned, blame it on me. It’ll be better for you in the long run if it doesn’t appear that one little kitten has found the way to bend the pet rules—even though she apparently has. Or that you were careless, which I’m sure you weren’t.” I hoped. “Just say I was filling in for you and somehow mustn’t have gotten things closed up well enough at Lady Cuddles’s place.”

“Oh, Kendra, thank you!” Wanda gave me a big hug, gentle enough not to squish the cute little kitten I still held. She also reached into her pocket and extracted a bunch of keys, from which she pulled one. It had a tag on it with the number of the unit where Lady Cuddles lived.

All four of us—five, if you counted the kitten—went back into the living room of the apartment, but the feline and I kept going toward the door. I was pleased to see, as I exited the unit, that Dante was still with me.

“Interesting timing,” he noted as we hustled down the hall. He bent slightly to make it clear he was addressing the kitty. “Did someone tell you how to make such a dramatic entrance—and when? It really wasn’t in your best interests to do so, though—not if you want to keep living here at Brigadoon.”

I chuckled, then handled Dante the key as we reached the right unit’s door. That door was clearly closed; there was no gap through which Lady Cuddles could have made her escape.

Inside, we looked around. Best I could figure, her means of escape was a really tiny opening in a bedroom window that overlooked the balcony. I was surprised that Wanda, knowing Lady Cuddles’s amazing abilities of escaping, would have left it ajar even a crack. I’d let her know what we’d found and not so subtly suggest that she be more careful.

At least Lady Cuddles had a name tag on her collar, the one Wanda said she’d picked up at HotPets. Not that I’d tell Dante, but it wasn’t nearly as nice as the one she had before, with the cute representation of a kitty on one side. I still wondered how she’d lost it. I’d discuss that with Wanda sometime.

I closed the window, let Dante back me up in scanning the entire place for other ways Lady Cuddles could slip out, then locked the clearly unhappy little ball of ginger fur inside her home.

By the time we got back to the unit housing the meeting, the group was starting to break up. I received nasty glares from a few of the people filing out. I assumed Wanda had done as I’d suggested and blamed the kitty’s escape on me.

Dante and I squeezed in and approached the front of the room, where Wanda and Darryl stood talking to the board members.

“How did the rest of the meeting go?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“The anti-pet people were really vocal about that kitten,” James said, sounding discouraged. “And how even good rules could get broken.”

“Did you really leave a door open?” board member Julie asked me accusingly.

“Er . . . I accidentally forgot to fully close one window,” I responded, looking tellingly toward Wanda, who flushed. “Unfortunately, that was enough for Lady Cuddles’s escape.”

“I’ve done that before,” Wanda said, “but not since we discovered how elusive Lady Cuddles is.” Her remark was obviously intended to tell me she hadn’t done it this time, either. But if not her, and if the unit’s owners weren’t around, who was guilty?

“That damned cat had perfect timing, didn’t it?” This was said snidely by Ruth Bertinetti, who’d come up behind us. “It certainly made our point. Pets simply don’t belong in a busy condominium complex like this.”

“Right. They could get hurt,” said her husband, who had joined her.

“If any animal is hurt around here,” I said coldly, “we’ll know who to question about it.”

“Oh, we’d never hurt an animal.” Ms. Bertinetti put her skinny hands up as if warding off even the thought. “We just don’t want them bothering us.”

“Right. Well, if you’d just leave them alone, they’d leave you alone, too.” Wanda snapped this before I could aim a warning look her way. At least Darryl knew the score. The arm around her shoulder squeezed her in concern.

“Not really,” said Teddy with a sneer. “Dogs bark with no provocation.”

I considered describing in detail what caused dogs to bark—including mistrust of a nasty human—but forbore. We weren’t going to change this man’s mind about anything. Nor his wife’s.

I could only hope, for Wanda’s sake, that the majority of the rest of the condo association’s members were more rational about the role of pets in people’s lives . . . and around here.

 

SEVERAL PET AFICIONADOS banded together for a brief, pessimistic recap in James’s apartment.

Julie Tradeau started speaking, sitting on the sofa in the midst of the other board members. “That was really awful, especially when Lady Cuddles . . .” She aimed a sour glance at me that she immediately erased from her face. “But anyway, Wanda said you’d be willing to act as our lawyer, Kendra. Help those of us who want to keep the status quo about pets find a way to fight off the anti-pet gang. I’d thought that with Margaret gone, they’d stop making so much noise, but I guess they’re rallying behind her position instead.”