Meow is for Murder

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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Meow is for Murder
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Table of Contents
Praise for the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries
Fine-Feathered Death
“Exciting ... Linda O. Johnston is a creative storyteller who not only writes a fascinating mystery but also creates a deep character study.”—
Books’n’Bytes
 
“A fast-paced who-done-it ... Kendra is a fun character, and her supporting friends and assorted critters make an enjoyable read.”
—
Fresh Fiction
 
 
Nothing to Fear but Ferrets
“Linda O. Johnston has a definite talent for infusing humor in just the right places . . . Pet lovers and amateur-sleuth fans will find this series deserving of an award as well as a place on the best-seller lists.”—
Midwest Book Review
 
“Another clever foray into the life and crime-beset times of Kendra Ballantyne . . . Be sure to read this pet lover’s dream of a book . . . You won’t regret it.”—
Mystery Lovers News
 
 
Sit, Stay, Slay
“Very funny and exciting . . . worthy of an award nomination . . .
The romance in this novel adds spice to a very clever crime thriller.”—
The Best Reviews
 
“A brilliantly entertaining new puppy caper, a doggie-filled who-done-it . . . Johnston’s novel is a real pedigree!”
—Dorothy Cannell
 
“Pet-sitter sleuth Kendra Ballantyne is up to her snake-draped neck in peril in Linda O. Johnston’s hilarious debut mystery,
Sit, Stay, Slay
. Witty, wry, and highly entertaining.”—Carolyn Hart
Berkley Prime Crime Books by Linda O. Johnston
SIT, STAY, SLAY
NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FERRETS
FINE-FEATHERED DEATH
MEOW IS FOR MURDER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
 
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
 
MEOW IS FOR MURDER
 
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
 
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2007
 
Copyright © 2007 by Linda O. Johnston.
 
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of
the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
 
eISBN : 978-1-429-55860-0
 
BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
 
 
 

http://us.penguingroup.com

In loving memory of Linda’s father-in-law, Robert Johnston, a true cat lover. And with love to Linda’s mother-in-law, Evelyn Johnston, and gratitude for everything, including her encouragement of Linda’s writing. Linda again wants to thank them both, especially for Fred. And since Kendra thinks he’s an okay guy, she’ll second the thought.
 
And then there’s Linda’s wonderful agent, Paige Wheeler, now with Folio Literary Management, LLC, and her excellent new editor at Berkley, Katie Day. And—
 
Well, this is getting too long, so even though Kendra likes’em all, she’s going to cut it off now.
 
—
Kendra Ballantyne/Linda O. Johnston
Chapter One
STANDING ON THE porch facing the bland front door of the standard beige San Fernando Valley cottage, I felt my heartbeat accelerate into an anxious drumroll.
An ugly sense of apprehension deterred me from ringing the bell.
Hell, what did I have to worry about? In my current semivocation as pet-sitter, I’d strode up to plenty of strange homes to visit the occupants—humans and their closest friends of all creature persuasions.
But this was different. Although I’d been invited, it wasn’t as a pet-sitter, or even as an attorney, which was how I spent the rest of my working time. (My complementary sets of business cards?
Kendra Ballantyne, Attorney at Law, partner at the firm of Yurick & Associates.
And
Kendra Ballantyne, Managing Member, Critter TLC, LLC
.)
Okay. Enough hesitation. After all, I was a litigator, and a legal one at that—I’d stuck the prior glitch in my career way behind me. Shy and retiring? Not me. Not hardly.
Time to commence the upcoming confrontation.
Although court might have been a cinch in comparison.
I strode to where the doorbell awaited, ready to peal the inside chimes that could foretell my impending fate. The death knell to a perfectly fine potential relationship? Absolutely not—at least, not if I had my way.
The lilac leash strap in my left hand wiggled as, on the ground beside me, my dear and delightful sidekick, Lexie, a tricolor Cavalier King Charles spaniel, stood from where she’d been seated, and whined. At times, like now, she seemed to read my mind. “My sentiments exactly,” I told her.
Only, she wasn’t staring at the closed front door as I was, but off to the left side of the porch, toward the hedge of thick green pittosporum bordering it.
Recognizing how much I appreciated the distraction as a reason not to immediately reach out and ring that fateful doorbell, I said to her, “What is it, girl?”
She stood at attention, her lovely long black ears set forward. Once more, an uneasy whine escaped her mouth. And then those ears rolled back into a canine sign of warning, even as she began to bark.
“Hush, Lexie,” I said, but the usually obedient pup wasn’t listening. Instead, she lunged forward so fast that her leash nearly yanked from my grip. “No,” I commanded, again to no avail. She barked even more, making me cringe inside. I didn’t want to wake this apparently somnolent neighborhood from this day’s afternoon siesta.
Even more, facing this home’s irritating occupant while dealing with a disobedient pup wasn’t in my best interests.
I was about to issue a louder command to Lexie when I finally observed what her keener senses had signaled to her minutes before, spurring her to such uncharacteristic insubordination.
Two cats slowly emerged from beneath the pittosporum branches. To my untrained eye—since I’d always considered canines my best friends and only lately had begun to appreciate the assorted cats who were now my clients—the pair resembled miniature leopards: golden, with dark spots and stripes adorning their fuzzy coats.
“Oh, hello,” I said, though I doubt they heard me over Lexie’s insistent barks. Interesting that they stood their ground despite the lunging dog issuing oodles of ominous warnings.
Stood their ground? Heck, they issued their own warnings in exchange. Both golden backs arched, their ears turned like alert antennae, and their fur stood on end. They stalked slowly toward Lexie, hissing angrily.
“Stay back,” I insisted, as I bent in the tailored black blouse and dressy gray slacks I’d donned earlier for my day at the law office—and with my upcoming meeting in mind. A becoming outfit that fit both professions. One that confirmed I meant business.
The cats didn’t appear impressed.
I scooped Lexie into my arms just in time. One feline leapt forward, swiping a claw at the portion of the porch where my pup had just stood.
“Hey,” I yelped, jumping back. I didn’t need cat scratches to tear my pants . . . or the vulnerable skin of my leg beneath. Even more, I didn’t need for Lexie to become the victim of two ferocious felines. I hugged my pup close as the cats stood their ground, snarling and spitting.
Not the kinds of cats to expand my increasing appreciation of the species.
“Stay away,” I hissed back.
At that moment the front door opened, and Amanda Hubbard stepped out.
The woman was as beautiful as ever, which made me want to hiss even more. And spit. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a nonchalant style that suggested she’d spent hours fussing over it. Her prominent cheek-bones underscored gray, flashing eyes, and her lips were pursed in a prim, pink pout.

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