Nothing to Fear But Ferrets

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Sure,” I said.

  We paused in our conversation to take a couple of big, steaming mugs from Mignon. “Call if you need anything else,” she sang, then left.

  “So when I came back,” Borden continued as I took a sip of deep, dark, delicious coffee, “I knew exactly what I needed. That’s when I withdrew from the partnership and contacted the clients I’d brought in. And do you know, nearly all of them decided to stay with me, despite the bad-mouthing I’d received while away and especially when I returned.”

  “So I heard,” I replied.

  “Of course, everything’s still in transition. I’ve got some old—and I do mean old—law school friends coming out of retirement to join me here. We’re going to have a lot of fun practicing law. That’s what I want.”

  I laughed. “What an oxymoron!”

  “Anyway, what can I do for you, Kendra? I assume you’re not here to try to keep clients for the Marden firm.”

  “Not hardly,” I huffed. “I’m through with them, too. Talk about unsupportive to a junior partner they should have backed. They’re lawyers, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t they ever hear about being innocent till proven guilty?”

  “Only when it’s convenient for them.”

  “Anyway, I have to admit that Avvie was the one to suggest I call you. I intend to rent access to one of the online legal research services but I don’t want to subscribe till I have my license back and settle somewhere to practice law again.”

  “You mean you’re dumping pet-sitting?”

  “I didn’t say that. But it’s led to some other stuff.” I told him about how I’d helped Fran Korwald resolve her pug custody problem, which led to referrals of others whose issues were pet-related. “I’ve got something I might have to refer to someone with a license if things break before mine’s back, but for now I’ll do the legal research without providing advice.”

  “So you’d like to use my Lexis hookup?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I’ll reimburse you for the cost.”

  “No need. I have a flat rate. Only one little fee to you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Tell me the kind of issue it is.”

  “One that’s utterly fascinating,” I said, wanting to tantalize him without telling him too much. “Believe it or not, it’s about buried treasure.”

  He laughed, then leaned toward me, pushing his large glasses back up his elongated nose. “Okay, I’ll have Mignon give you office keys. Come in anytime to do research, at least till I tell you to stop. The only charge will be that you’ll tell me everything that client confidentiality will allow. Deal?”

  “Deal. Borden, you’re a dear.”

  “Tell that to the Marden firm folks,” he said with one of his sweet, signature grins.

  I SAT IN one of the makeshift offices, choosing a parking-lot view as I used one of Borden’s brand-new computers. Lexie had apparently given up trying to bark her way out of the Beamer, for I only occasionally saw her stick her nose by one of the windows I’d left cracked open.

  Because it was late and I still had clients to cater to, I didn’t get far into the law of treasure trove. The initial stuff, though, didn’t bode well for Jon Arlen.

  California Civil Code Section 829 provided that the owner of land has the right to the surface and to everything permanently situated beneath or above it. At least buried treasure was unlikely to be considered a permanent fixture by the courts.

  Then there were the laws relating to trespass. Jon Arlen and his dog probably had no right to be on the property where Jonesy had dug up the long-buried goods.

  But I was a lawyer, even if I wasn’t a practicing one at that point. Past experience, not to mention my passion, convinced me: I’d come up with excellent arguments on behalf of my client somehow—though I wasn’t sure yet what they’d be. Maybe something would come to me by the time my license was actually held once more in my eager hands. In the meantime, I’d take advantage of Borden’s kind indulgence as often as I could.

  While I was there, I usurped the use I’d previously made of Jeff ’s top computer geek, Althea, and also took advantage of the special subscription databases to do searches on people in Chad Chatsworth’s sphere who might’ve had cause to kill him. Not that I had the hacking prowess I posited that Althea had. I printed out pages to study later, since I was running late.

  I needed to go wind Widget the terrier down with his afternoon training. And then I’d get busy with the rest of my evening rounds.

  But I was ever so grateful to Borden for granting me the right to return at will to do whatever research I wanted, gratis.

  I WALKED—OR rather ran—Widget. My other pet-sitting clients had been tended to. I was about to call Jeff, to let him know Lexie and I were on our way.

  What would I tell him? I hoped I’d know it before I said it. But before I dialed Jeff on my cell, it sang out, “It’s My Life.” I lifted its cover.

  “Kendra?” A female voice blasted hysterically into my ear, and I had to pull the phone back to listen.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Charlotte.”

  “Oh, good. Did the insurance adjuster come today? Did you let him in?”

  “Yes, of course. But that’s not why I’m calling. Please come home. That awful detective is on his way here, and I think he’s going to arrest me. Please help me.” And then she hung up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  TIME TO CALL in the big guns. And that wasn’t me.

  First, while driving east down Ventura, ducking cars slipping in and out of parallel parking spots, I phoned Charlotte back. She was crying too hard to hear me, so I demanded that she hand her cell to Yul.

  “Has she called Esther Ickes yet?” I demanded.

  “Who?”

  “Esther Ickes. The criminal lawyer who helped me when I was dangling by my fingernails, trying my damnedest not to get arrested for murder. Among other things.”

  “Ickes?”

  Yul was up to his old single-syllable tricks. “Esther Ickes,” I repeated. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “Yes.”

  I gave him Esther’s phone number. “Call her now,” I commanded. “Use my name and tell her the problem. As long as she’s not in court, she’s the kind who’ll drop everything and be there for a client, new or old. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  I edged the Beamer onto the freeway on-ramp, then juggled the phone while I merged and called Jeff. I was pretty adept at patting my head and rubbing my gut at once, when I had to. Multitasking was my middle name.

  “Hi, Kendra,” Jeff said immediately, obviously extracting my identity from caller ID. “Coming over tonight?” His voice was sweet, deep, and seductive, and it made me remember exactly why we had to talk—and told me what my answer should be.

  But not yet. “Yes,” I said, “but right now I’m calling to beg a bit of your P.I. expertise.”

  “You’re not solving everyone’s problems on your own?”

  “Don’t get smart. But do get over to my place, right away.” I filled him in on my conversation with Charlotte.

  “My old buddy and yours, Detective Ned Noralles?”

  “None other. No wonder the poor woman needs help.”

  “And you’d like nothing better than to show him up again on another murder investigation.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” I countered.

  “Come to think of it … See you at your place in a bit.”

  Lexie and I beat Jeff there. Esther, too. But not the neighbors, for with all the cop cars clustered around the place again, they’d begun to gather once more.

  “What’s going on, Kendra?” Tilla Thomason demanded as I wended slowly through them, car window open so I could call out to people to get out of my way. I’d have honked and scared them out of their skins, but they were, after all, my neighbors. I’d leave their skins—and nerves—intact.

  “I don’t know,” I called to Tilla. Which was somewhat true. Charlotte could have been wr
ong about her impending inquisition or arrest. Though if Noralles was involved, I doubted it.

  I parked the Beamer in its usual spot and left Lexie upstairs at our place. Then I headed for the main house.

  I was just in time to find a way to finagle a path for Esther Ickes to join me. She’d parked her jaunty red Jaguar somewhere on the street and seemed lost in the middle of the massing crowd. I knew better, of course. Esther might look like a frail septuagenarian, but she had the street smarts of an alley cat. Better yet, she knew her way around a court better than the criminal attorneys of which legends were made.

  I slunk back through the opening in my wrought-iron fence and led Esther in. As always, she was clad in a suit, this one lime green and long-skirted. Her blouse was cream crepe, which only underscored the abundance of wrinkles that added character to her aging face.

  “Kendra, my dear, what a delight to see you,” she said as cool as if the crowd that had grudgingly parted to let her pass weren’t there at all. “This isn’t about another legal problem of yours, is it?”

  “Don’t you think that after bankruptcy, alleged ethics violations, and murder accusations, I’ve had more than my share?”

  “Absolutely.” We reached the house’s front door. “So this isn’t about you? The man who called wasn’t clear what he wanted, but he said it was an emergency and dropped your name.”

  “No, it’s not me. It’s my tenant, Charlotte LaVerne.” I gave a one-minute overview of her reality show results, Chad Chatsworth, and his demise here in my house, complete with the presence of ferrets.

  Esther nodded sagely, causing the wattle of skin beneath her chin to bob. “I wondered. I’ve been reading about how those nasty little animals killed someone around here, but I didn’t realize it was actually at your house.”

  “I’m sure they were set up, and I suspect Charlotte’s soon to follow, if we don’t help her.”

  “We? Do you have your law license back now?”

  I felt myself flush. “Well, no, though I’m hoping it’s only a few weeks off, since I just took the MPRE. But Charlotte asked for my help, and I’m kind of acting as a quasi-P.I. In fact”—I stared over her shoulder at the big black Escalade creeping up the street amid the crowd—“I’m helping Jeff Hubbard. Or maybe he’s helping me. That’s him now.” I pointed behind her, and she turned.

  We still hadn’t rung the doorbell, and once again I opened the gate to allow an invited someone inside. I grinned at all buff six feet of Jeff as he covered me with equally hungry eyes. “Later,” I said, feeling my insides turn mushy. “Let’s see Charlotte first.”

  A uniformed officer who looked familiar opened the front door after our ring. “Yes?” His name badge identified him as Elina, and I recognized him as the older and less enthusiastic of the cops who’d come to my door when the Hummer had bashed an entry of its own.

  Esther took over, identifying herself. “Ms. LaVerne is my client. I understand she’s currently being interrogated.” A couple of leaps to conclusions, but what the heck? It got us inside, even Jeff and me when she introduced him as an investigator she’d hired and me as her assistant. She didn’t say assistant what. I could have been along to answer her phone.

  She asked to see Charlotte but told me to take her wherever by way of the infamous den that had been stoved in by the Hummer, haphazardly and temporarily mended, and finally inspected by the insurance company—the same den that had formerly been occupied by the ferrets, and the scene of Chad Chatsworth’s last stand.

  Ignoring Officer Elina’s protests, I pushed open the door. We peered in one by one, then I led my entourage down the hall toward where I heard voices. Sure enough, the living room, in all its ugly black-and-white furnished nonglory, was occupied by Charlotte and Detective Noralles. Yul was nowhere to be seen, which gave credence to the assumption that Charlotte was being officially interrogated. Another potential witness wouldn’t be permitted to hear, because that might lead to meshing of their stories.

  Noralles stood as we appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look happy. I wondered if he ever smiled, except snidely. Maybe a real one would make his good-looking face crack.

  Charlotte, on the other hand, gave a huge grin and threw herself toward me, engulfing me immediately in one of her hugs. “Thank heaven you’re here, Kendra,” she shrilled.

  When she stepped back, I introduced her to Esther. “And you remember my private investigator friend Jeff Hubbard, don’t you?”

  “I sure do.” Our presence must have eased Charlotte enough that she assumed her usual enthusiastic sex-pot persona, eyeing Jeff with a feline smile. Even with her hair held back in its normal black braid, her body covered with a loose tunic and slacks, she was one sexy reality show star. But when she caught my gaze, she must have remembered herself, for she had the grace to flush and look at the floor.

  “I thought you said you were her lawyer,” Officer Elina said irritably to Esther.

  “I am,” she said amiably.

  “Then how come you’re just being introduced?”

  “Never mind, young man,” Esther said. “Now, if you two nice policemen would just give us some private attorney-client time with Ms. LaVerne …” She obviously remembered Detective Noralles from when she’d been around during his interrogations of me. He remembered her, too, judging from his glower.

  But he had little choice. Charlotte had requested to see her lawyer, and Esther was it. Privilege could attach even with Jeff and me here, as long as we were consultants hired by an attorney on behalf of her client.

  Noralles split, heading for the kitchen. That must have been where Yul was sequestered, for he shot from that end of the house as fast as if he’d been ejected from a damaged fighter plane’s cockpit.

  “You okay?” Yul demanded of Charlotte.

  “Yes,” she said, grabbing his arm. Then, “No,” she said, nearly sinking to the colorful Pakistani area rug. Yul helped her over to one of the ugly sofas and sat beside her. I let Esther sit on an overstuffed white chair near her new client, and Jeff and I grabbed others facing them.

  “The detective said he received an envelope, sent anonymously,” Charlotte finally continued in a subdued voice.

  “We’ll want to see it,” Jeff said, his eyes on Esther, whose silvery hair shimmied as she nodded.

  “I did see it, kind of,” Charlotte said. “Its postmark was from the post office near the studios where Turn Up the Heat was filmed, and where I was pitching other ideas. It contained things no one should have had besides me … and the detective seems to think the stuff in it shows that I had a motive to kill Chad.”

  “What things?” Jeff demanded before Esther or I could.

  “Papers.” Charlotte heaved a sad sigh, and Yul took her hand. I might not like the guy much, but at least he was there for Charlotte. “I’d had some letterhead printed for our new reality show production company,” she continued. “I used a few sheets for brainstorming—and they were in the package. One showed me as chief executive and listed some of our initial ideas—you need a lot so network execs can choose those they think’ll work best. On another, I’d jotted down the most important rule from Turn Up the Heat, as a reminder: If I took up with Chad again, or there was even the appearance of our getting together, it would all be over. Then there was the schedule we put together, Yul’s and mine, to figure out when Yul could meet with Chad without me present.”

  Esther leaned forward in her overstuffed white chair. “Why would he want to do that?” she asked her new client, though her eyes were on Yul.

  “We’d heard Chad put together his own list of reality show ideas,” Charlotte responded. “He wanted me involved since we were both reality show stars now, so he figured together we’d be dynamite. Too bad he didn’t think of that before and dump Trudi when … Well, as it was, I had no intention of discussing ideas with him—his or mine. Too risky. I could lose everything. But Yul could talk to him, in case something he’d thought of was so wonderful that it convinced me to chang
e my mind and give everything up for it.”

  I couldn’t help a half-smile of skepticism.

  She obviously caught it, for she continued, “Yeah, it wouldn’t happen that way, but if there was something really good, I wanted to know about it. That way, if I couldn’t work with Chad, maybe I could find a way to use his idea in a way that wasn’t really stealing.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, making no attempt to tame the irony in my tone.

  She gave a small laugh. “I was so miffed with the guy I might not have cared if it was stealing, as long as I could get away with it.”

  “I figured,” I said.

  “Was there anything else in that package?” Jeff asked, his businesslike tone tugging us back to the essence of our discussion.

  “I don’t know if Detective Noralles showed me everything, but he let me read a photocopy of a note I’d written to Chad.”

  “You wrote to him?” Esther exclaimed.

  “It wasn’t the same as seeing him,” Charlotte said defensively. “And I only wrote it to try to prove to the Turn Up the Heat producers that I wanted nothing to do with him. That’s why I kept a photocopy. See, he’d shown up a couple of times and tried to talk to me directly. I warned him in the note to stay away or I’d have Yul make sure he did.”

  “I’ll bet Noralles chose to interpret it as a death threat,” Jeff said.

  Charlotte nodded brusquely. “You know all that ‘motive, means, and opportunity’ stuff?”

  I knew it well. The motive part was what kept me from being arrested when my pet-sitting clients started popping up dead.

  “Well, Detective Noralles thinks he’s got it figured out. Motive: Chad lied to me about his girlfriend and also tried to spoil my winnings. Opportunity: The schedule showed times I’d be home but Yul wouldn’t. Of course, neither of us was around when Chad was killed, but Noralles is ignoring that. He seems to think I agreed that Chad could come here, where I had access to the knife that actually killed him—that’s the means.”

  A blade? That must have been what Noralles knew when he questioned Charlotte before. It made more sense than ferret fangs for severing a carotid artery.