The Fright of the Iguana

by Johnston, Linda O.

  I was afraid I could guess.

  “Well, whoever those discussions were with, it wasn’t me, Jerry,” I told him. I grinned as the next exit finally appeared not far ahead. That was the good thing.

  The bad was that everyone on the road seemed as inclined as I to use it.

  Maybe sticking out the snail’s pace on the freeway was a better idea.

  “Anyway,” I said, “glad to hear things are going better for you now.” Okay, that was a slight lie. I didn’t know the guy well, so whether or not I’d glommed on to him as my prime suspect, I’d rather he be guilty than someone I cared about. “Good luck.”

  After thanks, he hung up. And I hung out on the freeway.

  I next pushed in Tracy’s number.

  “Oh, Kendra,” she cried out almost immediately. “Where are you? Can you come here? I’m afraid I’m about to be arrested.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I COULDN’T HEAD to Tracy’s immediately. Not when I was so concerned about Alexander.

  But the pit bull wasn’t so bad by the time I got there. And since he seemed starved for attention, I praised Rachel for her compassionate care of him and hustled him into the Beamer.

  And held my breath as I drove toward Tracy’s. What if his stomach really was still upset, and I’d have a stinky, sticky mess to clean up inside my car?

  I always kept cleanup stuff in the trunk, in case I got to a client’s and the cupboard was bare. Could I get Alexander to sit on a big plastic garbage bag for half an hour?

  Unlikely. And he seemed just fine standing shotgun and sniffing out the window after I cracked it a smidgen.

  Lexie wasn’t going to like this, though—the scent of her domain contaminated by an interloper.

  At least traffic had improved, and I arrived at Tracy’s in about twenty minutes. She lived in a fourplex apartment building on one of the twisty near-canyon streets around Beachwood Drive in Hollywood. Her flat was on the first floor, the one at the right, and I heard a bevy of barks the instant my fingers neared the doorbell. Which of course caused Alexander’s hackles to rise and a growl to emanate from deep in his throat.

  Hmmm. The different-toned sounds suggested that Phoebe the puggle wasn’t the sole canine occupant at Tracy’s. Did Allen have a dog, too? Was Tracy taking in clients’ pets instead of staying in their homes?

  Maybe making Alexander feel less abandoned by bringing him along wasn’t such a good idea after all—even though he had a stellar personality, particularly for a pit bull.

  Allen answered the door. His long chin seemed to dip even deeper when he saw I wasn’t alone. He wore a white button shirt and khaki slacks that he’d most likely worn to work that day. “Hi, Kendra. I saw you with a small dog last time.”

  “That was Lexie, my own pup. This is Alexander, a client who needs some extra TLC. But maybe we’d better not come in.”

  “Good idea.”

  But just then Tracy came up beside her guy, with Phoebe in her arms and, on a leash, an adorable white furball pup of no particular breed I could distinguish. She wore a dirty white PSCSC T-shirt over ratty jeans—Tracy, not the dog. Had she grown so depressed she wasn’t interested in her appearance, or was that simply her casual at-home look? “Oh, Kendra, I’m so glad you’re here. Come in.” She drew away from the door and used her head to motion me inside.

  “I have Alexander with me,” I cautioned before coming in. “He’s got a wonderful personality and I wouldn’t have brought him if I hadn’t figured he’d get along with Phoebe, but with another stranger in the mix—”

  “Oh, Chelsea’s a sweetie. As long as Alexander doesn’t attack her, she won’t attack him.” She turned her back and headed down the short hall.

  Allen, who’d ended up almost behind the door, shrugged his skinny shoulders as he closed it behind Alexander and me.

  The place was the sort that had been built in the first half of the twentieth century, with hardwood floors and arched doorways. Of course it was small, since it consisted of only a quarter of the whole house. It was pretty and homey, and though Tracy’s furniture was sparse and appeared well used, I really liked the looks of her home.

  We three humans sat in the living room on overstuffed chairs arranged around a table containing magazines about animals, near a glass-enclosed fireplace. The dogs, let loose, sniffed one another and to my surprise seemed content to lie at our respective feet. Alexander even abutted his butt against my shoes, again suggesting the poor pup had been lonesome.

  I figured Tracy would start talking in her own good time. I certainly didn’t want to blurt out, “Why do you think you’re going to be arrested?”

  Only, when the silence lengthened, I blurted out, “Tracy, why do you think you’re going to be arrested?”

  Her eyes grew a sharper brown, or maybe it was the light reflecting in her sudden tears that gave that impression.

  Allen stood suddenly, his fists clenched and his otherwise ordinary features twisted. “This is absolutely ridiculous. Tracy’s done nothing wrong. Those damned cops are so inept. They find what they think are clues and then misinterpret them any way they want.”

  “They found some baseball bats at Jerry Jefferton’s,” Tracy said with a deep and sorrowful sigh. She picked up Phoebe from the floor and squeezed her tightly as if for moral support.

  “I heard,” I started to say. “He—”

  But Tracy continued as if I wasn’t talking. “You’d think that would mean they’d consider him a great suspect, after Nya was killed that way. But they said it was too obviously a plant, and that I’d had better opportunity anyway, when I found her at my client’s. And of course who better to plant baseball bats than someone who’s vocal about using them on the job, like me?”

  “Too obvious, isn’t it?” Allen countered with a rather repulsive snort. He sat on a chair close to Tracy’s and slipped his hand beneath Phoebe, presumably to squeeze his main squeeze’s knee comfortingly.

  Phoebe didn’t seem to like it, though, and leaped down, leaving Tracy’s lap bereft. The rest of Tracy, too, since the tears in her eyes coursed down her cheeks.

  “I’d say so,” I agreed. “But why do you think—”

  She stopped me this time by her own repetition. “That I’m going to be arrested? Because Detective Lunn told me to come to the station tomorrow to answer more questions. And when I told him I’d bring that nice lawyer friend of yours, Esther Ickes, he said it was a good idea.” That caused Tracy to break into sobs.

  Allen stood, which caused all three dogs to stand, so I rose, too. Tracy was the only one to stay seated as we all gathered around to console her despite her disconsolate weeping.

  She got hold of herself soon. “Kendra, I know you’re doing all you can to find out who killed Nya, and also who’s been doing that terrible pet-napping. But I have to ask you another favor.”

  My insides tightened so uncomfortably that I wondered if my skin was suddenly shrinking. “What’s that?” I asked with pseudocheerfulness.

  “Allen’s really sweet and volunteered, but he’s a much better insurance salesman than pet-sitter. And I know you can’t take on midday dog walks, what with your law job, of course.”

  Uh-oh. I knew what was coming. Could I comfortably say no?

  No.

  “But some of my clients will be out of town for weeks and I have to ease up on my schedule, at least until I’ve gone through this additional questioning and am hopefully in the clear. I’ll hang on to four myself.” At Allen’s attempt to intercede, she said, “I have to, to keep my sanity. I love my work and wish I could do it all. Will do it all, when this is over. But for now, I’ve already gotten Wanda and Lilia to take on one of my clients each. Sometimes I’ve traded off with other club members as well when one or another of us gets too busy, but everyone’s either swamped or scared, and there are three more I need help with. Kendra, could you take on some more pet-sitting for me?”

  I THOUGHT I could handle three, with Rachel’s able assistance. Assu
ming, of course, that my employee didn’t get a coveted, time-consuming acting job in the interim.

  And I had to hand it to Tracy. She was determined to take tremendous care of the cats and dogs she’d been watching. She was being realistic about the demands on her time and psyche. And she refused to give up, even though she needed help.

  I got the particulars and the keys from her. She even took me for quick visits to each, and Alexander appeared to enjoy the lengthening ride.

  But eventually, I needed to say my adieus and head back toward the Valley. Because it was getting late, I headed first to Darryl’s to pick up Lexie. She spied me first as I entered the door, and hightailed it toward me from her favorite area—the one with the people furniture for hounds to bask on.

  “Everything okay, Kendra?” Darryl asked as he moseyed over from the check-in desk to say hi.

  “Sure, as long as I like to stay busy.” I informed him about the extra pet-sitting I’d agreed to take on for Tracy.

  “I’ve never seen anyone as able at juggling responsibilities as you,” my lanky friend said with a slow smile. “And I just happen to have another referral for you.” His brown eyes twinkled from beneath his wire rims.

  “Save it till I have a spare minute, Nestler,” I retorted, and he gave a short, loud laugh.

  Lexie, Alexander, and I headed out to care for the rest of my clients. My new tasks for Tracy’s charges would start the next day. I spent a nice, long time caring for each pet, managing to juggle leashes so Lexie and Alexander came along on the walks. Both were on best behavior.

  But eventually I needed to return Alexander to his abode. I considered bringing him home with me, but Lexie had been a good enough sport. She’d need individual attention, too.

  Fortunately, it appeared by then that I’d exhausted Alexander. Leaving Lexie in the Beamer, which I parked temporarily in the garage of Alexander’s house, I opened his door, handed him some extra treats, and said, “Good night, guy. See you in the morning.”

  He sat and seemed to smile, then headed for his doggy bed in the corner of his owner’s tile-floored kitchen. I ensured that the security system was set. And then I double- and triple-checked it . . . and left.

  “It’s been a heck of a day, Lex,” I told my cute, cuddly Cavalier when I returned to the Beamer. “Let’s go home.” On the way we stopped at the drive-through window of a fast-food joint. I ordered a salad, to ensure my conscience didn’t bug me, plus a burger. At home, I split both, although Lexie received more of the salad’s chicken than I did, and I ate more rabbit food.

  Rather than wait for my cell phone to sing, I called Jeff. “I’ve been hoping that Althea dug up a new tidbit that a super P.I. like you ran with and solved Nya Barston’s murder.”

  “Hope some more,” he said. “Nothing new from her, though she’s researching brands of baseball bats. Oh, and she’s looking in depth into Jerry Jefferton, too, who seems not to have gotten into any trouble during his life. He’s got some interesting stuff on the web about landscape design, though.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever redo the grounds around my rented-out house. And from you?”

  “No news, either. I’ve been swamped, although I’ve thought about you a lot. Kendra—”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, too, Jeff,” I said, heading him off since his tone had sounded suddenly serious. “Let’s get together for dinner some night. Next week, maybe.” No take-out Thai, although I didn’t say that. And I felt like I was handing him a dose of his own, earlier, back-away medicine.

  “Am I being brushed off?” he said in an ominously cool tone.

  “Of course not.” My tone? Oh, way too jolly.

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll call you one of these days, Kendra.” And he was immediately off the other end.

  Which left a gaping hole in my psyche. What was I doing?

  Hell if I knew. But I wasn’t going to dig inside to find out. Instead, I called Tom Venson. Who fortunately sounded very happy to hear from me. We talked teasingly over the phone for a few minutes. Better to stroke our respective libidos long distance than in the same room. At least till I answered that same question I’d posed only moments before: What was I doing?

  When I hung up from Tom, we’d planned another date. I was glad. And sorry.

  I decided to pour myself a small glass of wine—for medicinal purposes. And maybe to help me access my subconscious, so I’d figure out which guy I wanted and how to let the other graciously off the hook.

  Assuming that Jeff didn’t unhook me even faster than I made up my own mind.

  “What am I doing, Lexie?” I repeated my question aloud to my sweet pup as she sat beside me on the floor while I poured my libation.

  She didn’t bark me an answer.

  SINCE I HAD a court appearance the next day, I got up damnably early and took Lexie on my pet-sitting rounds, including the extra three for Tracy. I dressed appropriately for a lawyer, although I left my heels in the car and replaced them temporarily with sneakers till I needed them. Same went for my suit jacket.

  After Alexander’s illness and clinginess yesterday, I decided to give him some TLC and a treat today, so I picked him up and brought him right along with Lexie to Darryl’s delightful day resort. We were met at the door by the employee I liked least, Kiki, the blue-eyed bombshell of a would-be starlet. I’d always considered her animal friendly and people-skills deprived. Without even looking at me, she gushed out a greeting, then said, “Darryl’s not here yet,” in a tone that suggested her pleasure at being the bearer of bad tidings. Still, she quickly knelt and held out her arms for Alexander and Lexie.

  No matter what my feelings for Kiki, I left knowing the pups would be in good hands.

  Back in the Beamer, I called my law office and informed Mignon I was off to court before reporting to the office.

  “See you later,” Mignon sang in her usual cheerful tune.

  A couple of hours later, pleased after winning the motion I’d argued, I returned to my law office and was greeted with Mignon’s chirped hello.

  “Hi,” I parroted with a smile of my own. “Is Borden in?”

  He was, and I discussed the status of some cases with him. Then I got to work on my ideas for the next and undoubtedly last settlement attempt scheduled for the McGregors and Cousin Tallulah. We’d try again first thing next week, and after that the matter would be decided in court.

  Later, I called Darryl to ensure he’d eventually gotten to his resort that A.M. He had. As always, he was busy, but said he was keeping a close eye on Lexie and Alexander. “Come by after you do your pet-sitting stops,” he said. “I have some paperwork, so I’ll be here late today. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee and we’ll catch up on everything.”

  Which was absolutely wonderful with me.

  And so, at the end of my law-practice day, I started on my second round of cosseting clients—feeding them all, walking and roughhousing with adorable dogs, changing cat litter, and talking to cute kitties.

  My next-to-last stop was at one of the three homes that had been Tracy’s clients’ to care for two moderate-size mixed-breed dogs who’d been littermates and were now best buddies. They were full of energy and previously greeted me enthusiastically.

  Only, when I opened the door, they weren’t there.

  My heart plummeted as if I’d filled it with every ounce of blood within my body. “Spike? Frank?” I shrieked, tearing down the center hall of the small house. Surely they hadn’t been pet-napped on my watch the way the Dorgan pets had been. “Spike? Frank? Where are you?” My hand immediately plunged to the bottom of the big bag I habitually slung over my shoulder, searching for my cell phone. Would I need to call 911?

  I hurried toward the kitchen, hoping they’d stopped for a drink of water before coming to see me.

  No dogs—but as I dashed through the door, I saw a movement of a human-size form from the corner of my eye. “Hey!” I shouted as I stopped short.

  Simultaneous with the tremendous
crash on the counter beside me, something was dropped tightly over my head, and I was dragged down to the hard tile floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  I SHRIEKED NONSENSICAL syllables of fear as I lifted my arm outside the obstacle that now covered me, waved it wildly, and pushed the button of the can clutched in my fingers.

  Which caused my assailant to yell as well. Was the tone high enough to signify female, or did rage and pain instigate the shrillness? Who knew?

  But I heard a bull-like charge beyond me through the kitchen, followed by the slamming open of the door to the yard plus foot-steps on the short wooden back porch. Still clutching the pepper spray I’d dug from my purse while groping for my cell phone, I struggled to free my body from its uncomfortable bonds.

  When I finally uncovered my face, I found that the thing cast over me was a floral bedsheet, much too cheery for the dire use to which it had been put. I hastened to the outer doorway and scanned the unfenced yard, but whoever had attacked me had already escaped. The homes here were close together and no neighbor stood outside observing my attacker’s flight.

  In my shaking hand, I still held the can that had saved my bacon. I went back inside and approached the area where I’d been attacked.

  On the floor was a big, broken piece of baseball bat.

  SOMEHOW, I AGAIN found my cell phone in my purse.

  I dialed 911.

  When I was eventually off hold and had someone to talk to, I explained what had happened and asked for Ned Noralles, assuming he was available. I didn’t give a damn that this was neither his jurisdiction nor his assigned area of detection.

  This might not have been an accomplished homicide, but it sure had been an attempted one.

  I sagged against the counter, but only for a minute. My initial dilemma still remained.

  Where were the pets of the house?

  Only then did I realize that what I’d thought was the buzzing in my frazzled brain was the sound of distant, muffled dogs in distress.