“I’m glad she’s not bothering you anymore,” I said simply to Jeff while looking down at the floor and feeding Lexie and Odin some of my unflavored white rice.
“But you’re not responding to the rest of what I said?” He sounded disappointed. He sounded hurt. And I felt like a flirtatious flake for doing this to him.
But at this moment, I wasn’t certain how I felt about him. Those few months fighting with and fixing things for Amanda took a whole lot out of me. And made me question the possibilities of a relationship with this hunk across the table.
Still, he deserved a response. I opened my mush-filled mouth—and I don’t mean the Thai delights—and prepared to give him one. Not that I’d any idea what to say.
But he beat me to it. “Forget it,” he said. “For now. But, Kendra, I’m giving you an ultimatum. And don’t glare those daggers, ’cause they’ll bounce right off me now. I need to know you’re with me, ready to see how things go with us, or I’ll move on. Soon. So you need to make up your mind.”
WHO, ME? HAVE trouble making up my mind? I always considered myself one of the most decisive people I knew.
But that mind of mine remained ambivalent and angst-ridden about Jeff a little later as I drove my Beamer through the security gate onto the property I own, and spotted my tenant and employee, Rachel Preesinger, playing with Begorra—better known as Beggar—the Irish setter owned by her dad, Russ, and her.
Good. Something else important to focus my frazzled brain on. Rachel and I needed to discuss the pet-napping even more than we had in our few frantic phone calls.
The patch of grass where Rachel and Beggar romped was surrounded by the lush, tropical garden of my well-loved front yard. Illumination surrounded them from lights from the big, beautiful pseudochateau behind them, and from smaller lights lining the walkway up to it.
I pulled the Beamer into its outdoor spot alongside the garage. The apartment I shared with Lexie was right upstairs.
So why did Lexie and I occupy the garage apartment and rent out the chateau to people who once were strangers? Because I’d bought the place when my career was on the rise at a major L.A. law firm. When my soaring career had taken its nosedive, I’d had to rent out the main house or lose it along with my job. Now that my law license was restored, my career was on a different flight path, one less lucrative but in most ways more fulfilling than before. The property remained mine, but the rent from Rachel’s dad, Russ, made sure I could make mortgage payments.
As soon as I opened the car door, Lexie bounded out and raced a lap around the yard with Beggar—a small, mostly black and white bundle of fur keeping pace with a larger, elegant red comrade in caninism. I joined Rachel on the footpath, where she opened her arms and surrounded me with a hug.
Though Rachel was just about to leave her teens behind, I suspected that when she turned twenty in a few months, she’d still look like a kid. She was small and waiflike and full of such youthful exuberance that I figured she’d even seem like a child at my age—sixteen years her senior.
“Oh, Kendra, it’s such a shame! Is there any word about where Zibble and Saurus are?” She pulled back and studied me with huge, sad brown eyes.
“No,” I said sorrowfully.
“Have you looked online to see if the kidnapper might have dropped them at a shelter?”
“No, but why would the snatcher do that? There hasn’t been a ransom demand, but after the note that was left I have to assume whoever did it is after money.”
“Probably,” she said, “but it never hurts to try.”
I didn’t disagree, so after we rounded up the pups, I followed the small brunette with the shaggy hair, and even shaggier cropped top over tight jeans, inside my chateau and around the downstairs. I had once used the room with the astoundingly vast fireplace as a den. Now, it was an office with a really admirable computer setup right in the center, occupying a corner of a massive oak desk.
I sat beside her at the big desk in a similar black chair to the one she occupied. Her computer was snoozing, so she woke it.
I watched as she Googled, Yahooed, Asked, and used a couple of search engines I’d never heard of. She started a new favorites list that included a bunch of national pet search sites, as well as local shelters. Then, she visited each one and looked around for a newly arrived Shar-pei and iguana.
Nothing at all resembled my missing charges.
“It’s been less than a day.” She pivoted her behind in her chair so she faced me.
“That I know about,” I inserted. “Whoever snatched them could have taken them as early as seven or eight last night, right after I last looked in on them.”
“Even so, at most it’s been twenty-four hours. I’ll keep looking online, and so should you. I’ll e-mail you the list.”
“Great,” I said. “Er . . . could I use your computer so I don’t have to boot up mine? There’s something I have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Check my e-mail to find out whether the Dorgans have responded to the message I sent them earlier. I also had to let the detectives on the case know how to find them, so I’d imagine they’ve heard from the authorities, too.”
Sure enough, they’d seen it and sounded as upset as I’d anticipated. At least one, Edmund or Hillary, would cut short their planned vacation and head home.
How could I ever face them?
I discussed continued sitting strategy with Rachel and how to best ensure the security of our clients. I’d have to talk about that with Jeff, too, when I saw him again tomorrow evening.
I didn’t sleep much that night. The pet-napping weighed heavily on my soul. Jeff’s ultimatum weighed heavily on my heart.
Would I have any possibility of lightening up the next day?
Not with so many things on my mind—and the meeting of the Pet-Sitters Club of SoCal, and its definitely dreaded discussion of similar pet-snatchings, to look forward to.
Chapter Four
I WENT THROUGH all the right motions the next day. Visited pet clients and spent oodles of time with them, hugging the hounds and complimenting the cats. I considered bringing the lot of them to Darryl’s along with Lexie, but that would only mean they’d get super supervision during the day. I’d still have to tote them all home that night, since Darryl didn’t take in boarders—hence, his pushing me into pet-sitting. And if their owners had wanted days at a doggy resort, they would have said so. Plus, some were felines, not canines. No other iguanas just then, though. Or pythons or potbellied pigs.
I double-checked and rechecked the security systems my current charges’ owners had installed. Then I checked them again. Only then did I head for the office.
I shouldn’t worry so much, I told myself as I drove the Beamer carefully toward Encino. What was the likelihood that the pet-napper would nap again at one of my charges’ homes?
I informed one of my law partners, Elaine Aames, of the pet-thefts. I doubted the culprit would break in and steal Gigi, the blue and gold macaw Elaine inherited from a former partner who’d been murdered right here a few months back. And, yes, I’d helped to unmask the killer. Now, Elaine brought Gigi into the office nearly daily.
My lawyering day passed quickly, partly because Borden had called an administrative meeting of firm attorneys. We didn’t accomplish much, but it sure took up a lot of time. That left me scurrying to complete the actually worthwhile stuff I needed to achieve in the afternoon.
I called the detectives on the pet pilfering case yet again. Compared with my reception by the two who’d initially shown up at the scene yesterday, Ned Noralles almost sounded glad to hear from me. And my ears scorched something fierce after suffering his irritated assurances about continuing progress—with no real results so far.
Then, it was on to retrieve my eager Lexie from Doggy Indulgence, expend more than adequate time and intensity on my pet clients yet again, and pick up Rachel at our sort of shared homestead. We had decided last night that she needed an official intro to
the pet-sitters’ organization. Never mind that she’d been the one to tell me about it in the first place, after she’d seen a snippet about it in a local throwaway newspaper. Now, she needed to hear what was said about the pet-stealings so she could guard against them while on duty for Critter TLC, LLC.
Rachel’s dad, Russ, was home, so after I said hi we left Beggar there with a clear conscience. Lexie? Well, she accompanied me often to club convenings, so she came along this night, too. I hurried my Beamer over the hill known as the Santa Monica Mountains to the pet-sitters’ conclave.
The meetings were held in West L.A., in the back of one of the area’s poshest puppy boutiques. As soon as Rachel, Lexie, and I entered, we could hear the buzz from behind the rear room, punctuated by peppy barks from the sitters’ own excited pups. Lexie leaped forward on her leash, but I held her back. “Patience,” I told her. “Even if your friend Basil is there, ladies need to learn to play hard to get.”
“Basil?” Rachel inquired.
“Another Cavalier, owned by one of the club members—named for the British actor Basil Rathbone who played Sherlock Holmes in early movies, since Cavaliers come from the U.K. I’ve considered matchmaking and letting Lexie have pups, but if I did that, I’d want to have good homes planned for them first.”
“Really?” Rachel exclaimed in exuberance that outshone even her normal excitement.
“I’m leaning against it at the moment,” I informed her as we headed into the room. “Even though the idea was the only reason Lexie remains unneutered. For now.”
Meetings I’d attended previously had seemed crowded here with only about thirty attendees. This night, my initial assessment suggested that there were at least ten more shoehorned inside. The conversational hum was a loud drone, and leashed dogs of different sizes stood on the floor and sniffed one another. One member often brought a macaw, but no bird was perched on a shoulder that night. Shelves covered with pet food and accoutrements lined the large storeroom’s walls, surrounding the gabbing group.
In the middle of the multitude was the face—and body—I’d first sought: Jeff Hubbard. How could one hunk look so extraordinarily good in an ordinary white shirt and khaki slacks? Who knew? But all the female pet people were already panting over him.
He was speaking with Tracy Owens, whose beige short-haired puggle, Phoebe, was beside her, on a leash. Puggles are designer dogs, a combo of pugs and beagles, and Phoebe was an adorable representative of the new quasi breed.
Tracy was dressed in a short-sleeved T-shirt tucked into a denim skirt. Her significant other, Allen Smith, stood beside her. I’d met Allen at my very first board meeting as the sitters’ half-unwilling secretary. He was a friendly sort but seemed a little shy. He wasn’t much taller than she and I, who shared a height of five-five. Except for his long chin, his face seemed somewhat ordinary. Or maybe it just looked long as he opened his mouth while hanging on her every word.
With them was another of my favorite PSCSC members, Wanda Villareal, a petite person who favored filmy blouses. Today’s gauzy top was brilliant green, trimmed in gold. She hugged Basil to her bust, the Blenheim-colored—red and white—Cavalier whom Lexie, Rachel, and I had been discussing.
Completing the conversational enclave—at least until I interrupted—was Frieda Shoreman. Tall and elegant and bottle-blond, Frieda was a bit older than I. If Rachel remained unlucky at her alternate but eagerly anticipated career, she could become Frieda sometime in the future. Frieda was a Hollywood has-been who never was, or so I’d understood, in undertones from Tracy and Wanda. She’d gotten a few bit parts in films and TV, but her acting career had never taken off. Fortunately, her pet-sitting career had.
Jeff had already spotted me. Our eyes met, and I had the oddest sensation that his gaze was drawing me toward him. Against my will?
What will?
“Come on,” I said to Rachel, and began wending my way through the crowd, watching Jeff watch me all the while.
Was I making up my mind about him this soon? But I had a date this weekend . . .
“Hi, Kendra, Lexie,” Tracy greeted us. The others echoed the welcome, opening their circle so Rachel and I could join the arc.
“I gather you’ve introduced yourself,” I said to Jeff.
“Sure did,” he said.
Tracy nodded her apparently thrilled acknowledgment. “What a wonderful idea, Kendra,” she said. “Hiring a private investigator to help us out.”
I may have met her significant other before, but she’d never met mine. When he was one. If he was one.
“I’m just here tonight to listen,” Jeff said, “although I’ll probably have a lot of questions to ask the group, particularly those who’ve experienced the pet-nappings.”
“I’m sure everyone will cooperate,” Tracy said.
“Amen,” agreed Wanda.
After a few moments of general gabbing—with Jeff and me not looking at one another but nevertheless edging inevitably closer—I said, “Wanda, I’ve heard Tracy’s story. Why don’t you tell us about your pet-napping incident?”
“Better yet, I’ll call the meeting to order,” Tracy said. “Those of us who’ve experienced it will describe what happened.”
In about a minute, she’d directed everyone in the group to grab a folding chair from the rented rack along the wall and take a seat. In about three minutes more, everyone had complied. The former roar settled down into the near silence of anticipation.
Coincidentally—not!—Jeff and I ended up beside one another, still studiously avoiding each other’s gaze. Or at least I was.
Tracy stood facing the group, puggle Phoebe at her side. No need of a podium or microphone in this sizeable but overcrowded storeroom. She started the meeting with a general welcome. “I’m glad to see such a great turnout,” she said.
“You scared us all, Tracy,” hollered club vice president Nya Barston, who had barged her seat into the front row. She was tall and thin and wore glasses, with dark hair shot with gray pulled tight against her head and fastened in back with a small red scrunchy. “Of course everyone’s here. And that means we’re cutting into our schedules of what’s really important—taking care of our pet clients.”
“You should be scared,” Tracy replied, stooping to lift Phoebe into her arms. “Our club isn’t very big, but three of us are victims of these pet-nappings. I know you all are busy with your businesses. I certainly am. Or was. I’ve felt compelled to cut down on the number of clients I have to be sure I can take even better care of the ones I keep. Plus, I’ve told the other owners I work for about what happened, and some are so freaked that they’ve stopped hiring me to walk their dogs. And some who’d been traveling even returned right away from out of town.”
I hadn’t told her yet that I expected a Dorgan home at any minute, but I certainly empathized with Tracy’s plaint.
She described what had happened to her first. Her usually chubby face looked even more drawn than when I’d lunched with her yesterday, and tears puddled in her eyes as she talked about the disappearance of the wire-haired dachshund she’d been sitting for. His name was Augie, short for Achtung. I glanced around her audience and noted the aghast and sorrowful stares of the other pet-sitters.
“I just wish I’d been there with one of my bats when that horrible person came for Augie,” Tracy said angrily. She’d described at earlier meetings how she carried a baseball bat to prod off strange dogs who occasionally menaced her charges on walks. Not that she’d ever strike one, she assured us.
I was next. Likewise, I brought Lexie to the front of the throng for moral support. I, too, grew teary as I explained the awful, unanticipated snatching of Zibble and Saurus.
Then it was Wanda’s turn. Like Tracy, she’d had only one pet purloined—a golden-colored cockapoo named Cramer. “It was so horrible.” She started sobbing, and Basil, who’d stayed on the floor at her side, leaped up and pawed at her in insistence on being lifted. She complied, and he immediately started lapping at her tears.
Of course, when a person receives Cavalier kisses, it’s impossible not to smile, which Wanda immediately did, even while crying.
I joined her, again inserting myself at the front of the room. So did Tracy. We offered empathy and solace to one another, while the rest of the club members talked in shock and anger among themselves.
“I’m afraid our club is being targeted,” Tracy said, “but I can’t imagine why.”
“Even more important, can anyone guess who?” Jeff asked, joining us. “Have any of you received any warnings, no matter how trivial they seemed at first? Or any other kinds of clues? I’ll get the membership list from your club secretary, Kendra, and contact all of you, plus anyone who’s not here, but if you think of anything tonight, let me know. Plus, I’ll pass cards around so you can contact me if anything comes to mind.”
I’d never felt more grateful for Jeff. Er, to Jeff.
“Mr. Hubbard?” Lilia Ziegler, the club member who appeared to be the oldest, waved a wizened hand in the air.
“Jeff,” he corrected. “Yes?”
“Do you really think this club is being targeted? I mean, if it is, I’ll quit. Right now.”
Before Jeff could offer an opinion, Nya Barston stood and strode to the front of the room, usurping our place facing the group. “Now, wait a minute, Lilia. And all of you. You know I think the world of our club president.” She pivoted to look at Tracy, but her glare appeared anything but adoring. “But just because she’s undergone a difficult time, that doesn’t mean she should be scaring all of us. Same goes for Kendra and Wanda. There are pet-nappings all the time. Since there are so many, of course some of them would happen while professional pet-sitters are on the job. There’s no reason to think it has anything at all to do with our club.”
“But, Nya,” Tracy protested, drawing to the side of the sniping VP, “it’s surely too much of a coincidence to think it has nothing to do with our club.”
The Fright of the Iguana Page 4
