I glanced at Cornelius. “I think both parties have given their opinions,” I told him. “Let’s mull this over for a day or so, then talk about logistics of your client’s claim—and whether we’re talking about a pending lawsuit here.”
“Fine by me,” he said, and he, Elmira, and Cosette said relatively congenial good-byes.
I was left alone in the conference room with Joan and Pierre.
“That was awful!” she said with a soft wail. “That woman can’t really take Pierre back to show him, can she?”
“She has an argument to that effect,” I answered. “His full registration won’t be transferred to you until you’ve supposedly fulfilled the terms of your contract. That means Pierre either has to achieve championship status or Elmira acknowledges he’s gone as far as he can. And till then, she may be able to take him back to show—or even permanently.”
“But I’m trying to comply. And I won’t give Pierre back, ever. Please fix that damned contract so I can tell that terrible woman where to go.”
“Contracts don’t exactly work that way,” I countered softly. “But give me some time to think about this and talk to Mr. Eldt about where we go from here. I’ll let you know if we come up with anything.”
I didn’t get into the more onerous clauses of the contract. It did contain an arbitration provision, which could be a good thing—as long as the arbitrators saw the situation rationally. But if they followed the letter of the contract, which arbitrators certainly could do, Joan would most likely lose.
I said my good-byes to Joan in an upbeat and optimistic manner. But as she left, I hoped I’d develop an animal dispute resolution solution that would work for everyone, Pierre, and even Cosette, included.
Chapter Twenty-five
DANTE DIDN’T SHOW up on my doorstep that night. Nor did I make the trek to his Malibu digs.
Damn, but I missed him!
Still, instead of giving in to angst, I took Lexie on an extra long walk along our narrow, twisty street after we got home. At this time of year, the sky darkened early, and there weren’t a lot of streetlights around. Fortunately, though, most neighbors and I promoted area security by leaving at least some outside lights on nearly all night.
Seeing illumination in my main house, I placed a cell phone call to Rachel as I re-entered my property. She was already preparing for bed, but she gave me a rundown of that day’s pet-sitting, all of it good.
Plus, she said she’d heard from some of the production people on
Animal Auditions
, and preparations for the next season were progressing well.
She didn’t mention any house hunting by her or her dad, and neither did I.
When we hung up, I glanced at the time, which appeared on my cell phone. It wasn’t really so late . . . but it soon would be. I’d been putting off a call that I’d better make now.
Lexie and I were on the stairway outside our apartment by now, and I unlocked the door and let us in. Then I went into the living room and sat down, steeling myself for a potentially difficult phone discussion.
LAPD Detective Ned Noralles answered nearly immediately. “Hi, Kendra. I’d like to assume this is a social call, but I imagine you have something else on your mind. Right?”
“It’s always good to talk to you, Ned,” I said, “but, yes, there is something I wanted to ask you.”
I explained that I wanted to meet with Detective Candace Melamed of the Burbank police, and why. “If you could act as intermediary, I’d really appreciate it.”
“You haven’t been shy about facing down cops before,” he reminded me. “Why now?”
“Don’t you think that what I want to try is a little off-the-wall?”
“No more so than the ploy you used to solve the murder when my sister Nita and I were suspects,” he responded. “But, you’re right. I already know you and your . . . well, unorthodox methods of butting in and getting answers.” And he had helped me deal with other detectives before, too. “Since it’s you, I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, Ned.”
NED DID, IN fact, come through. He called me early the next morning, while I was out on my pet-sitting rounds, to tell me to be at the main Burbank PD station at ten that morning.
“You’re the greatest,” I told him. “Will you be there?”
“I’d better be. Otherwise, I suspect one of you will kill the other.”
I got there before Ned. The main Burbank police station is an interesting building, with its primary entrance up some steps beside a tall, rounded structure that extends from the more ordinary part and has a whole lot of windows.
Inside the high-ceilinged entry, I let the cop behind the enclosed counter know I was there, but said I’d wait till everyone was ready for the scheduled meeting before going farther inside.
To my delight and relief, Ned soon arrived. I assumed he was on duty that morning, since he wore the kind of suit he always did when involved in a homicide investigation. Its dark shade looked good on him. But, then, he was one good-looking cop.
In a short while, we were waved inside—after appropriate security screening—and shown to a small meeting room. It was probably used for interrogation of suspects, and might even have been the place Wanda was taken for her sessions there.
Detective Melamed strode in at about the same time we did. She wore a gray suit and a suspicious expression behind her narrow glasses as she waved us toward the chairs around the table.
I sat beside Ned, facing the lady cop. I was about to start talking when she asked Ned, “So, Ned, why are you so interested in this case?”
“I explained before, Candace. For a long time, I considered Kendra, here, an interfering b—er, civilian. Which she is.” He shot a look toward me that I assumed was intended to be fond, but I was already glaring at him. “The thing is,” he continued, “her unorthodox methods have actually helped to solve some cases. In a few instances, I was already focused on the actual perpetrator as my key suspect.” Not necessarily true, but I wasn’t about to contradict him when he was, presumably, helping me. “In a couple, I wasn’t. But by the time Kendra did her stuff, I was convinced she had gotten it right each time.”
“I’m sure you did, when she helped to clear your sister and you in the murder of that reality show judge.” Candace’s tone was utterly dry. Apparently her throat was, too, since she took a sip from a mug of coffee she had brought in.
Unfortunately, she didn’t offer to get us any.
“That was one instance,” Ned acknowledged. “Anyway, she has an idea now that might help you to get results faster.”
“Will it draw my attention away from Wanda Villareal?” Her icy blue eyes were now narrowed on me.
“I hope so. But I can try my experiment on her, too, if you’d like,” I replied.
“And what experiment might that be?” Even more skepticism oozed from her voice. Her body language, as she sat up even straighter in the wooden chair like the one I sat in—awfully uncomfortable—suggested she’d rather be nearly anywhere than this small room.
“Before I explain,” I said, “I want to ask a few questions about your investigation so far.” That was one reason I’d asked for Ned’s assistance. Fortunately, Detective Melamed apparently hadn’t considered me much of a suspect, even though I’d been at Brigadoon a few days before the murder and had argued with the victim.
If I now started making waves about the investigation, her focus might start including me, even if simply out of spite.
But hopefully she was more likely to discuss what she’d found with a fellow cop than with an interfering pet-sitter who also happened to be a lawyer.
“I don’t imagine you’ll just go away if I tell you I don’t want to answer, will you?” At least this time her nasty tone was accompanied by a slight smile—snide or not, I couldn’t quite tell.
“Nope,” I acknowledged. “So . . . here’s my question. You’re aware of the cat that was in Margaret Shiler’s apartment when Wanda found her, aren’t you?”
“My response is yes. So now I’ve answered. Are you going to leave?” This time her smile was broader, as if she was actually enjoying herself.
I smiled back. “Nope. I’ve got several more questions.”
“I figured.”
I asked her if there had been any blood on Lady Cuddles, and her answer again was yes. “On her claws,” she acknowledged. “Initial DNA testing indicated it was Wanda’s, and she admitted to being scratched when she picked up the cat.”
“Was there anyone else’s blood?” Ned got into the act.
“The victim’s. And, yes, before you ask, there may have been more, but that’s not certain.”
“Okay, let’s move on,” I said. “Did you notice, or did Wanda mention, that Lady Cuddles had been wearing a collar with a name tag?”
Candace nodded. “Wanda said she wasn’t sure when she saw it last, but when the first officers arrived and began locking down the site, they saw her with the cat and took her aside. The crime scene folks talked to her a little while later, and they took photos. The cat wasn’t wearing the collar then.” She leaned over the table toward us. “One thing, though. We’ve been careful not to mention the cat or the collar to anyone—especially the media. Wanda knows, and I asked her not to discuss it. I suppose some people she’d already talked to are aware of at least the presence of that kitten. Because of the apparent timing of when the collar went missing, we know it might have significance in the murder, without knowing what that significance might be yet. So I’m instructing you, Kendra, not to start talking about it. If you do, you’ll be obstructing justice.” And thereby vulnerable to her arresting me.
“I understand,” I said. “But here’s the thing I want to do, Candace.” She hadn’t told me to call her by her first name, but Ned had done so, and we seemed fairly friendly now.
I described what I had in mind, and who I had in mind to try it on. It was contrived, absolutely. But I explained how I’d seen such a silly scenario work in a case somewhat similar to this one, and Ned—sort of enthusiastically, bless him—backed me up.
I didn’t mention my first intended victim, Kiki, but I didn’t actually expect the results to cast all suspicion suddenly onto her.
“That’s right!” Candace exclaimed part way through my presentation. “You’re a friend of Dante DeFrancisco’s. No wonder you came up with this strange idea. Cat collars? Of course he can supply them, and fast . . . right?”
I nodded, hoping speed was high on Dante’s agenda.
I soon finished my explanation, then said, “There are no guarantees of results, of course. But just in case, I’ll keep you informed. If you want to have someone there, fine.
“Otherwise, I’ll just work out a way to record what goes on. I’m not a criminal law expert, but I doubt the kind of entrapment I have in mind would be admissible at trial. Even so, it might really help you narrow down your list of suspects.”
“Interesting idea, Kendra, if a bit bizarre,” Candace said. “But okay, I guess, especially since Ned vouches for you.” The two of them exchanged coplike narrow grins.
I tossed a grin of my own back at them both, actually quite surprised that Candace had agreed.
But then she said, “I’ve read about you in some of that tabloid reporter Corina Carey’s stuff. I realize that, if I agree to go along with this, you’ll be skirting around my directive not to mention the collar to anyone, but I assume you won’t talk to the media about it—especially her. And if what you’re suggesting yields results, credit should be given where it’s due—the Burbank PD.”
Namely her, I was sure, but that was okay. I didn’t want publicity or pats on the back, only the truth—which I was sure would clear Wanda.
I soon said good-bye to both cops. I was nearly ready to set my experiment in motion.
All I needed was the stuff I’d ordered from HotPets.
I WAS BACK at my law office later that afternoon, almost ready to leave for my end-of-day pet-sitting. I’d left a message for Dante on his cell phone, and had also called the supply people in his head office. No word yet about my order.
Except . . . as I was extracting my purse from my desk, my interoffice phone rang. When I answered, Mignon chirped into my ear with more exuberance than ever, “You’ve got a visitor, Kendra.”
“Who is it?” I asked, then saw my closed office door start to open.
In an instant, Dante appeared. He closed the door behind him, strode in, and urged me to my feet.
The kiss he gave me curled my toes and singed the rest of my body.
“Hi,” I whispered when he moved away a little.
“Special delivery,” he said, and held out a large package he’d been holding behind his back.
Chapter Twenty-six
THE PACKAGE CONTAINED exactly what I’d ordered. Of course. Even though the supplier wasn’t one of HotPets’ normal sources, no one in the business would dare to do anything less for the megamogul Dante DeFrancisco, whose company undoubtedly ordered more of whatever a company’s wares were than any other firm in the world.
Of course, someone in their order fulfillment department might be wondering how many kitties there were named Lady Cuddles who needed a new collar and name tag.
I hugged Dante again and laughed. He looked as if he’d been dressed for work, minus any jacket or tie. “I won’t even ask how much this cost you—both to get the stuff and have it shipped here so quickly.”
“Good idea,” he said.
I’d offer to pay, of course, if I thought he wanted me to. But I knew this was intended to be a favor. I’d add it to the list.
“So . . . are you going to tell me exactly what you’re planning to do with all this?” He backed away a bit, and I missed him already, though he planted that outstanding butt of his on the edge of my messy desk.
“Sure,” I replied. After all, I’d already revealed it, more or less, to Detective Melamed. Even gotten her blessing—sorta.
And much to my surprise. But Ned’s presence and support had undoubtedly helped. “You’ll need to keep it quiet, though.”