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Authors: Linda O. Johnston

BOOK: Meow is for Murder
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The media, including Corina Carey, had picked up on the mouse near Leon’s corpse and seemed also to speculate on its significance.
While I watched the cats glance into their dinner bowls and grudgingly each grab up a morsel, Amanda’s kitchen phone rang.
Knowing that she had a message machine, I pondered whether to answer it.
Well, why not? I was supposed to be assisting her in finding who really did Leon in, in this very house. Anyone who knew where she lived could theoretically become a suspect.
Amanda’s kitchen phone was a handset sitting in a cradle on the tile counter, near the sink. I picked it up and pushed the button. “Hello, Amanda’s home.” Even after all this time, I sometimes had a hard time using her last name, since she still shared it with my own sometime lover.
“Who’s this?” demanded the male voice at the other end.
“Who’s
this
?” I responded.
“Bentley,” he said.
“Bentley who?” I asked sweetly, even while despising how this conversation was degenerating into a weird game of “knock-knock.”
“Bentley Barnett.” The name sounded squeezed through clenched teeth. “Amanda’s brother. And you?”
“I’m Kendra Ballantyne, her pet-sitter.” I’d headed across the shiny hardwood floor toward the square table in the corner, where I pulled out a squat chair and sat.
“Oh, yeah. She told me about you. The one who’s after ol’ Jeff these days.”
My turn to grit some teeth. “They’re divorced,” I said. Then, more brightly, I added, “Unfortunately Amanda can’t come to the phone right now. She’s under police interrogation.”
“Damn! That’s why she didn’t answer her cell phone.”
She must have been ordered to turn it off after our conversation. Either that, or she noticed the caller ID and chose not to speak with her sibling.
“That bastard Leon’s getting to her even now that he’s dead,” Bentley continued. “Why she even went out with that slimy muscle-shirted son of a bitch in the first place—”
“Oh, then you met Leon?” And hated him?
And killed him?
Amanda might not like it if I pinned the murder-tale on her apparent jackass of a brother, but better than her, right?
“Oh, yeah, I met him. I was even hanging out at her place one night when he did some of his stalker routine. I got him to leave. Fast.”
“Then why didn’t you hang out with Amanda more, scare him off her back permanently?”
“Because my job’s in San Diego, not there. I convinced her a few months ago to move in with the folks for a while up north, near Bakersfield. But did she stay? No. She just had to go back to L.A. She wouldn’t even think of coming down to stay with me. Not with your buddy Jeff there.”
“Of course.” Now, how was I going to extract the information I intended? Oh, what the hell? I dove into the direct approach. “I don’t suppose you were in the L.A. area yourself late last week . . . say, Friday?”
I heard a semblance of a sardonic laugh. “You asking if I killed the guy? Well, if I’d happened to have been there when he snuck into my sister’s home, I might have done it—strictly self-defense, of course. I know how those things go, and what defenses there are in murder trials. I’m a bailiff down here, in the San Diego Superior Court. Do I have a great alibi for the night the bastard died in Amanda’s house? No. I went out early with some buddies, got drunk, drove home, and went to bed, all by myself. I could have had time to drive to L.A., kill the bastard, and get back before anyone noticed. Will I admit to you that I did it? Hell, no. I wish you luck finding out who did, though. One thing I’m sure of is that it wasn’t Amanda. She’s too prissy to get blood on her hands. Poison . . . maybe. But I heard it was a screwdriver. Anyway, tell her I’ll call her later. Nice meeting you, Kendra.”
“Likewise, Bentley,” I lied.
I checked once more on Carnie and Cherise, then headed out toward my Beamer and Lexie, musing every moment.
Interesting conversation I’d had with Amanda’s brother. Was I convinced he didn’t do it? No way. Did I assume his filial devotion would force him to confess to save his sister if he did do it? Nope.
I stuck Bentley Barnett on my mental list of further candidates for Althea’s online research.
Chapter Thirteen
ON MY NICE, narrow, twisting residential road up in the Hollywood Hills, I aimed my Beamer toward my driveway and pushed the button to unfurl the security gate.
That was when I noticed motion from the corner of my eye, activity in one of the vehicles parked slightly uphill.
A big, black Escalade.
And in it? Jeff and Odin, of course.
Of course? Here, sitting uninvited on my street?
Who crowned you queen of the block, Ballantyne?
scoffed a nasty inner voice.
Buzz off
, my conscious thoughts shot back.
Lexie had no such conflict in her cute little mind. As soon as I’d parked beside our garage and we’d exited the Beamer, she noticed her pal Odin approaching and immediately started yanking on her leash and yapping. That encouraged an echoing barkfest from inside the big house—Rachel and Russ’s Irish setter. Neither father nor daughter quieted Beggar or watched through a window, so I assumed they weren’t home.
I’d no urge to bark at seeing Jeff approach, although my impulse was suddenly to bolt up the steps to my apartment and lock the door behind me. His promises and protestations notwithstanding, I had too much soul-searching to do about our relationship to know whether I wanted to spend time in Jeff’s company just then. Which was why Lexie and I left Odin at their home earlier and didn’t head there after our pet-sitters’ soiree.
“Hi, Kendra,” Jeff said solemnly as he neared me, while Odin and Lexie traded sniffs. Damn, but even when I was conflicted the guy was one good-looking dude, all six feet of him, a picture of craggy features and shadows beneath the motion-sensor light hanging from the garage. His muscle-hugging dark T-shirt tucked into snug jeans only added to the ambiance. “Odin and I were both hoping Lexie and you would be at our place tonight.”
“Oh, really? Well, we were just at a meeting of the coolest new organization for pet-sitters, and Amanda wanted me to check on her cats afterward, and it was getting late and I didn’t want to bother you, so we came home.” All that exited my mouth in a single, falsely cheerful string.
“It’s never a bother to see you two, no matter how late.” When I couldn’t quite think of a response to that and stayed silent, Jeff continued, “Could we come in for a while?”
“Of course. I’ve a busy day planned for tomorrow, though, so I can’t stay up too late.” At that moment, I didn’t know exactly what my next day’s plans happened to be, so I held my breath in the hopes he wouldn’t ask.
“That’s fine. We won’t stay long . . . unless you invite us.”
No way
, I thought.
Way
, contradicted my incorrigible libido as I followed Jeff up the outside stairway, my view mostly of his firm, denim-encased butt.
As soon as dogs were inside with us in my tiny tiled entry and the door was closed, Jeff enfolded me in his arms and against his hard body. Lord, but that felt good. His hot lips and sexy kiss felt even better, getting parts of me sparking that clearly could squish down my good sense, if I let them.
I savored the moment along with Jeff’s searching tongue, but as his hands started roving to places that could drive me even crazier, I carefully stepped back.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“I know. Later.”
“No, now.” I preceded him into my kitchen where I flicked on all the lights. There were times, like now, that I wished my teensy yet comfy rooms were instead the humongous and formal size of those in my great house. I wanted space between Jeff and me as we spoke. At least I got the round mini kitchen table to intercede, after I poured us each some ice water. I, for one, needed chilliness to inject perspective between us.
I did the next best thing—introduced his ex’s name even as our conversation started. “Do you know where Amanda is right now?” I asked.
“No, and I don’t care.”
Was he serious, or was he simply hoping to seduce me?
How could I think such nasty thoughts about the guy staring at me sincerely with his gorgeous blue eyes? The one who’d shared my bed often during the last few months, each time he was in town.
“She’s being questioned by your buddy Noralles at the North Hollywood Station, even as we speak.”
For someone who professed not to give a damn, he sure gave a fierce frown. He also recovered fast. “I assume her lawyer’s with her, so everything’s under control. Let’s talk about us.”
I wondered if he’d act so nonchalant if I contradicted him and said she’d chosen to represent herself. Well, lying wouldn’t get us anywhere, so I instead said, “What is there to say, Jeff?”
“A lot. When Amanda told me about your agreement with her, I wanted to dump you both for trying to arrange my life. But once I cooled down and considered it, I realized I hadn’t really made good on what I’d told you: my intention not to see her anymore. Of course I hadn’t considered something happening like Leon’s murder, but even so, I’m sorry.”
“No need. Since she’s a suspect, I’m sure she’s scared, so she’d turn to the one guy she thought she could trust.” Hey, whose side was I suddenly on? Besides, she’d followed Jeff to Chicago before the murder occurred.
Jeff’s solemn features relaxed into a smile. “I knew you’d understand. And I promise I won’t do much to help her out of this mess unless you ask me to do something. I know you’ve got Althea researching stuff on Amanda’s behalf, and that’s just fine.” He reached across my table—maybe its small size wasn’t so awfully bad—and took my nervously shaking hands in his strong and still ones. “Kendra, you know I love you. I still want us to live together when this is all over. I recognize this isn’t the best time to get into it,” he inserted hastily as I attempted to snatch my fingers back, “but once Amanda’s in the clear, we’ll talk about it again.”
Which could be never, of course. I didn’t believe she’d deleted Leon, but who knew how successful I, or anyone else, would be in discovering the honest-to-badness actual slayer? Or if no one else was unearthed, how long it would take for her to go to trial and be found, with luck, not guilty?
That train of thought made me smile. Not that I wished anything worse on Amanda than I already had, but I at least had a reprieve in talking to Jeff about too much togetherness.
Maybe I’d make up my mind how I really felt about him first.
“Okay,” I agreed seriously. “And you know I care about you, too. But I really need to get to bed, because—”
“Me, too,” Jeff agreed huskily, rising right across the table from me. He moved so fast that suddenly he was on my side. Pulling me again into his arms . . .
I could blame giving in to baser instincts that night on relief at having any decision delayed. But, hell, his sexiness was way too hard to resist—at least when we weren’t feuding.
So, after one final foray outside with the dogs—one filled with longing looks and tantalizing surreptitious touches, we hurried back upstairs and went to bed.
And, yes, I even, eventually, got a little sleep.
 
I WAS AWAKENED by a ringing. “Damn!” I whispered. “Did I accidentally push the button too far?”
Only I hadn’t set the alarm to ring if the sound of my clock radio failed to roust me out of bed. Ergo, what I heard was my landline phone.
I reached toward the table to answer, and rolled over Jeff.
Who grabbed me and rubbed some interesting body parts against some other ones of mine . . . and I almost decided to let my machine answer.
Almost. But when I said hello, I felt even more that my answering had been a great gaffe.
“Kendra? I just spent the most miserable night in the police station with that horrible detective, and even though Mitch did a good job objecting to questions and making sure I only answered what I was asked, I’m sure they’re convinced I killed Leon. Why didn’t you come after seeing to my cats? And tell Jeff he could have come, too. I know you’re together. I tried calling his home and didn’t get any answer.”
“Good morning to you, too, Amanda.”
I watched Jeff’s eyes react as I spoke, widening, narrowing, blinking in clear concern.
Damn! I’d done it again. Last night, I had allowed my understandable and undeniable sexual attraction to Jeff overshadow my common sense.
“Why don’t you tell Jeff yourself?” I suggested sweetly and handed him the phone—even as I rolled off him and clambered toward my closet. I required an all-concealing robe to cover my sudden embarrassment at being caught clothesless.
Not, fortunately, that Amanda could see. But she was too smart to assume otherwise.
Ignoring my urge to eavesdrop, I allowed the dogs to follow me into the kitchen, where I started a pot of coffee. Then, I slunk into the bathroom, where I showered . . . after peeking in and seeing that Jeff was still on the phone.

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