Nothing to Fear But Ferrets

by Linda O. Johnston

  His glare could have singed away superglue. “Have you been checking up on me?”

  “Where’d your single-syllable replies go?” I countered.

  Charlotte swept across the entry and pulled Yul into her arms. “I know about him, Kendra. It’s not what you think. And don’t try to help me by telling the detective it’s Yul. Esther Ickes has referred him to his own attorney, but he didn’t do anything, I swear.”

  “And what about you, Yul? Do you swear you have no fatal secrets?”

  “Bite me,” he said, and swept Charlotte out of the house.

  IRRITATED THAT MY tenants, no matter how miffed at me, had left without locking up, I took the time to check the front and back doors. All was fine.

  Except, as I headed out, I heard something. A shrill something. A familiar shrill something.

  Ferrets?

  How could that be? The little critters were incarcerated way out in the Valley.

  Even so, I headed for the den. Now, that door was locked.

  Good thing the key ring I’d put in my little purse contained the keys not only for my apartment door, but also for the ones here. Even when I’d rented the place out, I’d always had aspirations to take it back and live here again. The keys kept my hope alive.

  When I opened the door, I found myself rushed by two furry ferrets. They seemed smaller than the five who’d lived here before, and they were loose.

  “Yul!” I shouted into the empty hall. “What the hell are you doing? Even if these guys aren’t mini-murderers, they’re still illegal.” I’d have to put him on official written lease-conforming notice as quickly as possible. Bite me, he’d said. Maybe he’d been hoping his illicit animal friends would hear and instead bite me.

  No, that wouldn’t happen. I knelt and lifted the friendly little ferrets, who’d already started exploring my feet. Warm and wriggly, they slinked over and around the long sleeves of my silver sweater—and then one actually slipped inside.

  “Hey, pervert!” I cried. “You must be the male of this pair.” I managed to pull him out, then placed both ferrets on the floor. This time, they hurried across the room to a crate that was low to the ground and contained a lot of ragged towels. Was that a sock I saw hanging off one end? Could be these critters were little thieves.

  That didn’t make them, or their kind, killers.

  “You’re awfully cute,” I said as I took one more look before locking the door behind me. “Too bad you’re illegal.”

  AN HOUR LATER, I lay half-asleep in bed. Could Noralles’s tip actually lead to the killer? A reality show that would unearth the untenable pasts of its contestants. That didn’t mean its creators, or others on its staff, would be exposed.

  Or had Chad made it clear he intended it as a vehicle for revenge?

  Who knew?

  And what was I going to do with this new pair of ferrets? Was Yul a ferret junky, craving the little creatures, unable to survive without some about?

  I didn’t think I’d stirred, but suddenly Lexie, who’d been lying sound asleep beside me, rose and stood at attention.

  My little black, white, and chestnut Cavalier started growling way deep in her throat, a menacing sound that could have come from a much bigger hound.

  “What’s wrong, Lexie?” I asked in a whisper, only garnering a deeper growl from my edgy dog.

  My lights were out. I didn’t put them on, though I did don the robe I’d thrown over a bedroom chair.

  I looked out a window.

  A light was on in the house.

  No biggie. Charlotte and Yul could be home.

  Only I’d been enough awake that I’d have heard their car pull into the garage underneath my apartment, if it had arrived there.

  The light moved. A flashlight?

  I intended to find out.

  I wouldn’t call the cops, in case there was a perfectly innocent explanation, like maybe my tenants had come in without my noticing and one was now creeping through the rooms with a flashlight so as not to disturb the other, who was already sound asleep.

  Right.

  Well, just in case, I did call Jeff. Woke him.

  Fortunately failed to hear Amanda’s voice.

  “Stay put till I get there, Kendra,” he ordered.

  “See you in a bit,” I responded without assent.

  I wouldn’t take the stressed-out Lexie, despite her being the one to alert me. She’d only alert the prowler, too.

  I threw on jeans and a T-shirt. I happened to have a can of Mace in a purse, and I fortunately found it in the dimness of the streetlight that spilled into my front window.

  And then, locking Lexie in the back bathroom so her barks couldn’t be heard as well, I started down the stairs.

  And stopped and blinked before continuing, carefully, for I’d been struck by a sudden bit of insight.

  After all I’d seen and heard that evening, I had a feeling I knew whom I’d find there.

  I believed I knew the identity of Chad’s killer.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  WHAT I DIDN’T know was why the killer was again on the prowl in my house. I’d find out eventually, after I’d maced and trussed the murderer, and waited for Jeff and the posse he was bound to round up.

  What I hadn’t anticipated was that the killer anticipated me.

  I’d no sooner sneaked into the kitchen door than I was grabbed from behind. I had my Mace poised to spray, and I turned my hand to aim it over my shoulder. I only got out a useless spritz before my hand was hit by something hard. I shrieked at the sudden pain, and the can tumbled from my damaged fingers to the floor. The clatter on the tile only called my attention even more to my precarious position.

  I might not have taken this person seriously before, but I’d have to now. Bad enough I’d been subjected to bruising when my stairway was made slick and slippery, but I was in greater danger at the moment. Life imprisonment without parole or the death sentence, whichever, wouldn’t be worse if the person threatening me was punished for one murder or two.

  “Hello, Lyle,” I said sweetly as I turned in the darkness of the room that had so recently been the scene of a party. “How nice of you to drop in.”

  He was backlighted by a soft glow through the arched doorway from a light he’d left on in the house. His body was long and lanky from this angle; no sign of his prominent stomach that stood out in profile. I couldn’t see the expression on his face but figured he wasn’t smiling.

  I certainly wasn’t.

  “I tried to keep you out of this, Kendra.” His voice twisted into a childlike whine that sent tiny ferret feet of horror tiptoeing up my spine.

  “I know, Lyle,” I said as evenly as my trembling body could manage. “The phone call, the oil on my stairs … And I never knew before that you had a white car, the one you used to follow me. I always associate you with your bicycle.”

  “I like bicycling better than driving,” he confirmed.

  Could I keep him talking long enough for the cavalry to arrive? Assuming it did. Maybe I was only grasping at straws to believe that Jeff, with whom I’d been quarreling, would appear to save me from my own stupidity. He had warned me to stay in my nice, safe apartment with Lexie. But I had to pretend I was as proficient an investigator as he. And now I was liable to pay.

  If so, at least I could go with the knowledge of Lyle’s acts and their motivation. Would I go happy? Not exactly.

  “You’re the one who mailed the package to Noralles, aren’t you?” I asked. “The one that contained Chad’s reality show ideas, Charlotte’s and Yul’s schedules, the note from Charlotte that looked like a threat, and the rest.” I inched around so Lyle did, too. This way, I could see him better in the light.

  I didn’t like the way his eyes glowed so insanely.

  “Of course,” he acknowledged with less of a whine. “That detective questioned me, you know. I was worried at first, but I think the cops questioned everyone in the neighborhood, especially those who came to Charlotte’s parties.”<
br />
  Too bad he hadn’t arrested Lyle on the spot. Of course, I hadn’t suspected him either. But Noralles was the expert. And despite his having suspected me in another situation, he had definitely struck me as being smart.

  Still, Lyle … ?

  “Where’d you get the papers you sent?” I asked, curious.

  “From inside the house and their cars. I took my time, looked around during days they were gone and you weren’t here, went through their files and collected things I thought would help. I used gloves—no fingerprints.” Not the bicycling gloves of his I’d seen before, then. They’d covered his palms, not his fingers. “I made copies and snuck the originals back. There was no problem getting into the house after the Hummer hit it, of course. Or into their cars, either. I’m a locksmith, you know.”

  I’d heard he was in construction. Close enough, I supposed. “Nice touch, mailing the package from near the studio where Charlotte’s reality show was filmed. No one would imagine anyone who lived around here sent it.”

  He shrugged slightly. “I get to that area often. Since I met Charlotte, I’ve picked up work at the studio whenever I can. They need locksmiths a lot. I make sure of it.” He smiled a scary, self-satisfied grin.

  Charlotte hadn’t mentioned seeing him at the studio. Then again, Lyle wasn’t exactly as memorable as a lot of men she met in her showbiz milieu.

  “So why did you mail those documents to the detective?” I inquired as composedly as if we conversed about the climate.

  “The idea was to send things to keep him from suspecting Charlotte, not make him jump on her more.” He sounded miffed.

  “I understand,” I fibbed. I mean, why would a threatening note from Charlotte get a cop thinking she’d had a bone to pick with the recipient when he turned up dead?

  “I figured that something demonstrating that Yul was part of Charlotte’s company—like that stationery listing him as a manager—would tell the cops he had more reason than having the hots for her to make sure everything went okay with the business,” Lyle continued earnestly. Good. The more he talked, the safer I felt. For now. “The stuff about Charlotte and Chad never being able to see each other, and the note from Charlotte warning him to stay away, were evidence that Chad was harassing her. Yul would want to stop that. Their schedules showed that Charlotte wasn’t always with that S.O.B. Yul, so he could kill Chad without her knowing. But that detective didn’t get it.”

  “Yeah, Detective Noralles can be obtuse, especially when he thinks he has all the answers,” I said in pseudosympathy. “I learned that the hard way, too. So … the murder weapon.” I might as well get all the answers I could as I stalled for time. “Where did you hide the knife?”

  He looked abashed. “It was a special one, with a real skinny blade. It came from a set in my house so I had to get rid of it. It’s at the bottom of some poured concrete at a construction site where I worked for a while.”

  “Very wise,” I said with a simulated smile, hoping I sounded admiring. Maybe building the guy’s ego would keep me alive a little longer. And right about now, every extra moment seemed of momentous value. No sign of a weapon in Lyle’s hand, but I still felt definitely endangered. “What was your reason for phoning him with that last hint, though—about secrets from the past—if it wasn’t to implicate Charlotte?”

  “Like the other stuff, to point him toward that asshole Yul!” Lyle exclaimed. “He was the one with the past worth hiding. That’s why I came back tonight. I followed Charlotte and Yul into Griffith Park. Instead of coming home tonight, they got a room at the Universal Sheraton. This’ll be the last time they spend the night together. I’ll make sure of it.” He took a step toward me that made me feel he’d make me pay for the affront he figured Yul perpetrated by hanging with the woman Lyle thought he loved. At least that’s what I figured his motive was.

  Which was how I’d at long last determined the murderer was Lyle. Jeff’s ex, Amanda, wasn’t the only one in my life lately who’d been victimized by a stalker. Philipe Pellera had been followed by a crazy fan. And around here, I’d started noticing how often Lyle looked at Charlotte with big puppy-dog eyes. Too bad I hadn’t realized before that they obscured his pseudowerewolf persona.

  Humoring the beast inside, I said, “She should be with you, right? I kind of thought that was the case.”

  “Of course. She’s pretty and smart, and needs that jerk out of her life so she’ll see I’m the one for her.”

  “So how would you convince her by coming here tonight, when you know they’re not home?”

  But I was home, and he’d known that from the party. Obviously his brazenness was building. Why?

  As I waited for his response, I inched toward the open archway. At least then I’d have an entire house to hide in—assuming I could flee first.

  “I brought back some stuff I’d taken before about Yul and his past, since it has to come out now. Did you know Yul was nothing but a big, fat tub of a freak until last year?”

  I let my incredulity lunge out. “That gorgeous hunk?”

  “You, too, Kendra?” Lyle grabbed my arm and clamped down. “He had you fooled?”

  Only then did I see the small but sharp knife in his other hand. I’d thought him unarmed—my unobservant error. And now that he held my arm, I was in even bigger trouble.

  Especially when I considered what really killed Chad—a lethal slice to his neck.

  “Guess so.” I winced under his grip and my burgeoning fear. I was compounding one mistake on top of another, and wasn’t sure how to fix any of them. “Tell me the truth about him, Lyle. I’d really like to know.”

  “His name isn’t Yul Silva. It’s Stanley Smith. He used to be a three-hundred-pound, spectacle-wearing waiter in Beverly Hills. Know how I knew? He was stupid enough to laugh about it on his cell phone one day, right outside there in the driveway. I’d been biking by, saw him, and stopped to listen, and he didn’t even notice me. I don’t know who he was talking to, but he admitted to whoever it was that he’d lost all that weight and changed his name not to become a big successful Hollywood star, but to find himself a rich woman to sponge off. When I heard, I checked him out—his old self—and found a bunch of stuff about him at the places he’d worked, his driver’s license, lots of evidence. That’s what I just brought over here and hid. I was going to call that cop and leave him another tip. Maybe the third time he’d get it right.”

  On some level, I admitted to myself that I admired Yul. I mean, if Lyle was right and he’d remade himself into an irresistible hunk with the express intent of being a successful lady’s lover, I’d tip my hat to him for ingeniousness and perseverance. Assuming I had a hat.

  And a life, after this night—an even bigger assumption.

  At least my brain was regenerating despite my fear, and pumping out a few, if feeble, ideas to get me out of this mess. I was a lawyer. A litigator. Animal dispute resolution notwithstanding, I lived by my wits and my ability to talk myself out of any terrible situation.

  Yeah, in a courtroom, where my enemies were the opposition attorney and an occasional asshole of a judge.

  Throwing in the towel isn’t in your nature, Kendra. Time to kick myself in the butt to keep going. Too bad I wasn’t a contortionist. Instead, I used the best weapons I had: my mouth and mind. My mind reminded me of another time when I’d been in danger, and it gave me an idea. Would it work? I’d find out.

  “So you killed Chad to frame Yul?” I asked so conversationally that we could be chatting about Lyle’s proclivity for sliding onto the street from his bicycle.

  “Partly, but he needed to go, too, for Charlotte’s sake. That reality show idea about digging up skeletons in people’s pasts? I actually talked to Chad awhile after that party of Charlotte’s that he crashed, the one where she threw him out.”

  “Sure.” I knew which he meant: the one just before Lyle murdered him. I kept that to myself.

  “He told me he’d gotten into that show Turn Up the Heat mostly because h
e wanted to make it big in reality TV himself, but he was really bummed out when Charlotte dumped him—though he admitted to me he planned to do the same to her. He had to. His girlfriend Trudi would have blabbed all over if he hadn’t. He knew afterward, though, that to get anywhere he’d have been better off with Charlotte’s cooperation, and she refused to even talk to him once she learned about Trudi. That’s when he came up with that idea of a show that would use stuff from people’s pasts. Charlotte and he had gotten close enough at some point that she’d admitted the hit-and-run accident to him, and he intended to use it against her unless she agreed to work with him. To help my poor Charlotte, he had to go.”

  Right here, in my house. Lucky me. And Chad …

  “Fortunately, that Yul jerk had something in his past he’d want hidden, so he had a good reason to kill Chad, to stop that stupid show idea,” Lyle continued. “I figured I could get rid of Chad and Yul, too.”

  Now that the guy was talking, he obviously didn’t want to shut up. Which didn’t bode well for my long-term future, unless he liked the idea of leaving a witness. Still, the longer he talked, the longer I lived.

  “At least it should have gotten rid of Yul. I pretended to be him and invited Chad here that night to talk. Told him to come right in when he arrived and wait in the same room where Charlotte and he talked at her party. I’d already sneaked in through the wall the Hummer hit and opened the door for him. Then I made it look like Yul got those nasty little pets of his to kill Chad. I refastened the plastic when I left so they couldn’t get out.”

  “Clever,” I said admiringly, still pondering my idea. Would it work? I wouldn’t know unless I tried. “Especially because ferrets really are nasty creatures. They do kill people, you know.”

  “They do?” He sounded astounded. “They’re awfully small for that. I figured it would look that way, though, with their food all over Chad’s body after I stabbed him in the throat. They chewed on him, didn’t they?”

  I nodded, not attempting to conceal my shudder. “Yeah. I saw that when I found Chad’s body. I really thought at first that they’d killed him.” I didn’t believe it for long but didn’t tell him that. “I’d read ‘Sredni Vashtar’ for a class when I was a schoolkid. Some literature that was.”