Nothing to Fear But Ferrets

by Linda O. Johnston

  At least I had the presence of mind to wait before confronting them. Maybe I’d cool down first.

  I slid the Beamer through the open gate and into its reserved spot beside our garage apartment.

  When we got out, I realized why the gate wasn’t closed.

  Charlotte and Yul were at the front door to my big, adored, rented-out abode.

  With them was Charlotte’s lawyer and mine, Esther Ickes.

  And accompanying them all was the unwelcome un-peace officer, Detective Ned Noralles.

  NORALLES HAD BEEN leaving alone, which was a good thing.

  Since I didn’t want to be alone just then, I sat with my tenants and attorney in the kitchen of my leased-out home for nearly an hour longer while they continued recapping the awful interrogation I had missed.

  “How that terrible detective could imagine I could hurt anyone, let alone kill them by knocking them in the head, then slicing them open …” Charlotte still wailed as we all leaned on the large wooden table at the end of the room, sipping strawberry margaritas that Yul had made.

  The man had some use after all.

  “Not just anyone,” Esther reminded her. “Chad Chatsworth, the man who, by merely showing up on your doorstep one time too many, could have forced you to give up all your winnings. That could drive nearly anyone to take a stab at getting rid of the interloper.”

  The sweet little old lady who was also my lawyer looked up at me, obviously pleased with her awful pun. I smiled back. Or tried to. Like Charlotte, I wasn’t exactly in a humorous mood.

  “And I certainly wouldn’t then cover him with food to make it look as if the ferrets killed him,” Charlotte went on as if Esther hadn’t interrupted.

  I gathered from all this that Chad’s official autopsy report was finally released to Noralles. Not that it was a huge surprise, after Noralles’s prior conversation with the coroner and the revelation about a knife. The report confirmed that Chad hadn’t died from ferret chews, but from a single slender knife slice to the carotid that caused the awful blood I’d seen all over, especially near his neck. First, though, he’d been knocked unconscious by a blow to the back of his head. A board from the wall of the den, knocked loose by the Hummer, had been the weapon. But he’d bled to death. No knife was found. The ferret frenzy was after the fact, though the body had been covered with food to encourage the little mammals to act. They were still mini-felons, as pets kept in California. Maybe even conspirators or abettors, obstructors of justice or the like. But they definitely hadn’t murdered Chad Chatsworth.

  Maybe they’d be allowed to live, though eventually shipped to another state. Since I was a pet person, that should have made me feel good. But at that moment, I felt too bad to anticipate feeling better.

  Damn Jeff Hubbard anyway. And Chad Chatsworth for getting himself murdered in my house. And myself, for not avoiding all this awful chaos. And Ike Janus, since, despite his promise, there was still all that Hummer damage to deal with—probably after a huge confrontation with the insurance vultures. And—

  “Kendra, dear, are you all right?” Esther bent over the table and touched my arm.

  Hard to believe that such a dear little old lady, a grand-motherly type who fussed over friends and clients alike, was such a go-for-the-jugular lawyer. But I thanked my lucky stars that she was.

  “I’m fine,” I lied with a feigned laugh. “Though bloody murders tend to botch up my psyche a bit.”

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” muttered Yul. “But too bad it had to happen here.” He was obviously emotional to string two near-sentences together.

  “Did Detective Noralles suggest you might have had something to do with it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Yul said, swigging from his own stemmed glass.

  “H-he said it was either one or both of us together,” Charlotte stuttered indignantly. “I can’t believe it, but he’s made it clear he has nearly enough evidence to arrest us. Especially after the papers mailed in that damned envelope. That was why he suggested that I have my attorney here when he came to see me tonight.”

  “I’ll probably have to find someone else to represent Yul,” Esther said to me, shaking her gray-haired head. “Their interests are diverging.”

  “I’ll say,” Charlotte snorted. “Noralles suggested that Yul rat on me to keep his own butt out of prison.” She lifted her head enough that her long black braid slid down her Tshirted back, and stared at Yul with huge blue eyes. “But of course he wouldn’t do it.”

  But for a moment I saw something speculative in Yul’s dark stare. Was he considering turning against his meal ticket?

  “Of course,” he said after a pause that was a bit too long. “We’re sticking together.”

  But his attitude left me wondering. And the way Esther’s concerned gaze met mine, I felt certain she was wondering, too.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I’D PEEKED INTO the container of Thai food before heading down to conclave with Charlotte, Esther, and Yul. Good thing it had only held rice. Though I’d stuck it on my kitchen table, Lexie had helped herself. Not a single grain remained, and even the box, on the floor beside the garbage container, had been chewed.

  “Bad girl,” I scolded, but my heart wasn’t in it. How could it be, when it had been so wrongly wounded earlier that evening?

  I forced myself to eat wheat toast with a slab of sliced cheese, though my stomach somersaulted with each bite. And then I took Lexie out for her last walk of the evening.

  Later, my phone rang as I stepped from the shower. I considered ignoring it, since I had a pretty good idea who it was, but I didn’t want him to imagine I was moping over him. “Hello?” I answered, projecting perkiness into my tone.

  My assumptions hit the bull’s-eye as Jeff began, “Kendra, we need to talk.”

  “Oh, have you heard from a client who needs you to zip out of town? I figured you’d hang around to help Amanda sort out her stalker problem.”

  “No, I’m not leaving town—not tonight. And yes, I’ll be helping Amanda. But you and I need to talk. About us.”

  “We were, I thought. I’m Odin’s pet-sitter, remember?”

  “Kendra …” His voice grew into his sexiest growl, which made me regret everything even more.

  “Next time you’re planning a trip, be sure to call me,” I chirped. “Enjoy what’s left of your evening, Jeff. Of course, I’m sure you will.” I hung up. He might be planning a passionate interlude with Amanda or not. I didn’t care.

  Or so I told myself as I lay sleepless and solo in my bed—except for the warm, snoring Lexie—till way late into the night.

  DAYS PASSED. I’D like to say they sailed by gracefully while I had a great time with my pet-sitting, and nothing else on my mind. Not Jeff Hubbard and his poor, persecuted ex-wife whom he was trying to help—the one who’d slipped his mind during the multiple months of our acquaintance.

  Nor the fact that I still had more than three weeks to wait before receiving the results of my ethics exam.

  Nor even my concerns over Charlotte, who was certain she’d be arrested any moment by the diligent Detective Noralles. Her fears could have been well founded. The media thought so, for once again Chad Chatsworth’s murder topped the front page and news at eleven. And six, seven, ten … in fact, all day long.

  The coroner’s report was the reason for the resumed frenzy. People found it fascinating that the ferrets were now proven not to be the real culprits in this killing. An assailant of the human kind had smashed and slashed Chad first, then tried to frame the ferrets.

  Could it have been Charlotte? Sure, but I didn’t think so. Yul was a better bet as far as I was concerned.

  And I was concerned, now that I’d become fond of my overly huggy tenant. Plus, there was my personal bias against people who framed others for their misdeeds.

  So, I went into high gear trying to help Charlotte. If my actions cleared Yul, too, fine with me. I’d nothing against him. I simply didn’t like the strong
, silent, and seemingly unintelligent type.

  Of course, the type I did like hadn’t proven to be very wise, either …

  A fact I couldn’t forget. Not with all the calls from Jeff I ducked. By Wednesday morning, he’d given up.

  Which only made me feel worse.

  Around ten A.M. on Wednesday, I stopped my Beamer in front of Avvie’s for the last time before her return and prepared to play with Pansy. Despite Lexie’s inherent friendliness, the little pig had seemed uncomfortable with her around, so I’d parked my displeased pup at home for the day. I hadn’t left food on the table or anywhere else she could easily get it—unless she figured out how to open the refrigerator or pantry door.

  I’d never before imagined that pigs had personality. Pansy did. She cavorted around Avvie’s as energetically as if she were a puppy craving exercise. “Want to play ball?” I asked. I swear she understood and nodded her piggy noggin. I rolled a ball and she chased it, nosing it with her long, porcine snout. “Roll it here,” I encouraged, and she did, chasing it as it came toward me.

  Cute little creature, I thought. No wonder pigs had become part of L.A.’s pet culture. And now I could say with a straight face that I knew the way to care for them—sans porkery or sty.

  When I finally forced myself to leave, I sat outside in the Beamer and followed up on some calls I’d made on Monday and Tuesday that had never been returned.

  The first was to Philipe Pellera. When I’d seen Philipe sneaking out the morning after one of Charlotte’s parties, I hadn’t gotten the singing and gyrating hip-grinder to divulge the security problems for which he’d hired Jeff. He’d acknowledged, though, knowing Chad Chatsworth. Had even admitted to having been fired by Chad from reality shows not yet in production. A motive for murder? Getting Philipe to talk intrigued me. Better yet, maybe he’d sing out what he knew, confession or not—complete with sexy dancing. Now that would be an interview worth waiting for.

  But he still wasn’t answering his phone. I left another message without holding out much hope that he’d respond.

  I’d counted on getting two for the price of one call when I phoned Dave Driscoll, but neither he nor Trudi Norman had answered, either. Even so, I called again.

  A click. A female voice. A response! “Hello,” the woman said, sounding as if she was eager to hear from me.

  “Hi, Trudi?”

  “Yes?” She sounded more tentative now. Whoever she’d been expecting, I didn’t sound like him. I guessed it was a him—most likely Dave.

  “This is Kendra Ballantyne. We met at Charlotte LaVerne’s party.”

  She was probably deciding whether to be polite and say goodbye, or just hang up, so I thought fast.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” I lied. “First, tell me if Dave is there.”

  She hesitated, which worked well, too.

  “Okay, you don’t have to say. But I know you’ve been seeing each other since Chad’s death.” I didn’t mention spying on them in Palms. Instead, I continued, “I saw you leave Charlotte’s together. The thing is, I know just what Charlotte is going through. Have you seen it on the news? The poor thing is getting desperate. I don’t think she killed Chad, but I don’t think Dave did either, do you? Anyway, to save herself, Charlotte is pointing fingers at a lot of people Chad knew, maybe to confuse the cops, or maybe because she has genuine knowledge. I met Dave. I doubt he did it, but the cops seem to be zeroing in on him as another viable suspect.”

  “Oh, no!” Trudi wailed. “He’s not here, Kendra. What can I do?”

  “Meet with me,” I said. “I can be at Dave’s in half an hour. We’ll talk, and then we’ll see. Okay?”

  “Let’s meet somewhere else,” she said without asking how I knew where Dave’s place was. She suggested a location.

  I didn’t give her time to change her mind. “See you soon.”

  I hung up. And then I aimed the Beamer toward Palms.

  WE MET AT a diner on Santa Monica Boulevard. It had been carved out of the bottom of a decrepit older building, and managed to resemble a quaint, fifties-type establishment notwithstanding its modern prices.

  Of course I’d have to pay. I’d done the inviting, after all. No matter what she’d been conniving with Chad, Trudi had struck me as being a wholesome-looking escapee from middle America. Except that now, Hollywood had apparently gotten hold of her. No longer was she makeup-free save for lipstick. Her freckles were hidden under a layer of base and a swath of artificial blush. Her pale brown eyes didn’t disappear into her head, for they were enhanced by a load of liner and eyelashes mounded with mascara.

  She hadn’t, however, done anything to the mousiness of her brown hair. Maybe that was because she could wash all the rest off easily enough when she headed home to her dad’s nursery.

  I commenced our caucus with a little tap dance. “I hope you won’t go scare Dave about this,” I told her, “since I think Charlotte’s strategy is to bring in as many possible suspects as she can in the interest of confounding the cops. Dave was Chad’s roommate, so he’s an obvious choice to drag into the confusion.” You, too, as the girl Chad left not far behind, I thought but kept it to myself. “The thing is”—here I really winged it, basing my prattle on what Charlotte and Philipe suggested—“she seems to think that Chad was consulting with Dave on some reality show ideas of his own. Dave was delighted to be included, but when Chad made his move to force Charlotte to lose everything, he also knew Charlotte’s name might make his show actually work. She wouldn’t talk to him, of course, but her friend Yul told her Chad offered her a more-than-half interest in anything they earned, just to grab her attention. If so, that could have made Dave mad.”

  “Well, sure he was mad,” Trudi said ingenuously, sipping her strawberry shake. “Who wouldn’t be? I mean, I loved Chad, but I saw him for what he was—a user. I’d have accepted him that way, warts and all. Taken him back even after Charlotte dumped him right in front of a TV audience of millions.”

  But had she let him go in the first place, given their reputed conspiracy? And had she offed him when he still went after Charlotte, then sicced the ferrets on him?

  “He’d only been Dave’s roommate for about eight months. I’ve gotten to know Dave a little since coming here to find out what really happened to Chad”—so that was her articulated rationale—“and I can tell he believed everything Chad told him, poor guy.” She lifted her hands, and I noticed her nails now were polished bright red. “Not that I think Dave was angry enough to kill Chad, you understand. But he was finally beginning to see Chad for what he was.”

  “A louse?”

  She scowled so much that she suddenly looked older and evil, despite how I’d previously pegged her as the wholesome sort. “No. Not Chad. He was just … Well …” She waved her hands again, this time helplessly. “He was just Chad.”

  And now, thanks to being Chad, he was just dead. But I still didn’t know for sure who’d made him that way. Though I now had no compunction about keeping both Dave and Trudi way up near the top of my suspect list.

  BUT WHAT WAS I going to do with that little list? I decided to keep it to myself, even when Charlotte came speeding out of the house as I parked the Beamer in its spot.

  Her braid was bushy, her blue eyes red and round, and I anticipated she was about to impart some terrible news.

  In a way, it was. “I’m having a party tonight, Kendra.” Her voice was shrill and a bit belligerent, as if she expected me to argue.

  “Any occasion?” I managed mildly. I’d wondered a lot whether Chad Chatsworth’s last stand at one of Charlotte’s last parties was the reason for his demise. I suspected somehow that it was, whether for the obvious or a more subtle reason. Otherwise, why die here?

  “Just because I can.” Her eyes slunk into narrow lines that dared me to say she couldn’t. “I’m still here and free and alive, even if that damned Chad can’t say the same thing and I’m going to wind up being blamed for it one way or another.”


  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Have you heard something?”

  “It’s what I haven’t heard,” she moaned. “That detective is up to something, but he hasn’t come with a warrant for my arrest. Yet. So, I figured I’d take advantage of borrowed time.”

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t ask. I wasn’t her lawyer, and what she told me would hold no attorney-client privilege. But since I’d been doing some checking on her behalf, I really needed to know. And so, I asked for the umpteenth time, “Did you kill him, Charlotte?”

  Her glare could have fended off a fire-breathing dragon as she applied the same old answer. “Of course not. I might have been mad as hell at him for trying to spoil everything, but forget what I said before. I really had the hots for the guy. And even if I couldn’t listen to him directly, from what I gathered he was trying his hardest to come up with a reality show idea to make us both gobs of money so I could have both him and riches, too. He even claimed he’d dump the old girlfriend once and for all. In a way, it was kind of sweet.”

  I remembered the row in my den the night of the party Chad crashed. Charlotte hadn’t acted in the least like she thought him sweet then. But hey, what did I know? Everyone acted differently on their attraction to people of the opposite sex.

  “I believe you,” I said. “I’ve been looking into—” Not a good time to go there, not without info that could hand her some hope of staying out of jail free. “Into how to take care of a potbellied pig. They’re really cute. I had no idea, but—”

  “Then I’ll see you tonight, Kendra?” This woman didn’t even like Lexie. I had no idea how attached she was to the ferrets, but they seemed to have been Yul’s. Obviously, she had no interest whatsoever in hearing about petite and playful porkers.

  Which was fine with me, as it ended this conversation.