Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Praise for the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries
Fine-Feathered Death
“Exciting … Linda O. Johnston is a creative storyteller who not only writes a fascinating mystery but also creates a deep character study.”—Books’n’Bytes
“A fast-paced who-done-it … Kendra is a fun character, and her supporting friends and assorted critters make an enjoyable read.”
—Fresh Fiction
Nothing to Fear but Ferrets
“Linda O. Johnston has a definite talent for infusing humor in just the right places … Pet lovers and amateur-sleuth fans will find this series deserving of an award as well as a place on the best-seller lists.”—Midwest Book Review
“Another clever foray into the life and crime-beset times of Kendra Ballantyne … Be sure to read this pet lover’s dream of a book … You won’t regret it.”—Mystery Lovers News
Sit, Stay, Slay
“Very funny and exciting … worthy of an award nomination …
The romance in this novel adds spice to a very clever crime thriller.”—The Best Reviews
“A brilliantly entertaining new puppy caper, a doggie-filled who-done-it … Johnston’s novel is a real pedigree!”
—Dorothy Cannell
“Pet-sitter sleuth Kendra Ballantyne is up to her snake-draped neck in peril in Linda O. Johnston’s hilarious debut mystery, Sit, Stay, Slay. Witty, wry, and highly entertaining.”—Carolyn Hart
Berkley Prime Crime Books by Linda O. Johnston
SIT, STAY, SLAY
NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FERRETS
FINE-FEATHERED DEATH
MEOW IS FOR MURDER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
MEOW IS FOR MURDER
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2007
Copyright © 2007 by Linda O. Johnston.
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eISBN : 978-1-429-55860-0
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
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In loving memory of Linda’s father-in-law, Robert Johnston, a true cat lover. And with love to Linda’s mother-in-law, Evelyn Johnston, and gratitude for everything, including her encouragement of Linda’s writing. Linda again wants to thank them both, especially for Fred. And since Kendra thinks he’s an okay guy, she’ll second the thought.
And then there’s Linda’s wonderful agent, Paige Wheeler, now with Folio Literary Management, LLC, and her excellent new editor at Berkley, Katie Day. And—
Well, this is getting too long, so even though Kendra likes’em all, she’s going to cut it off now.
—Kendra Ballantyne/Linda O. Johnston
Chapter One
STANDING ON THE porch facing the bland front door of the standard beige San Fernando Valley cottage, I felt my heartbeat accelerate into an anxious drumroll.
An ugly sense of apprehension deterred me from ringing the bell.
Hell, what did I have to worry about? In my current semivocation as pet-sitter, I’d strode up to plenty of strange homes to visit the occupants—humans and their closest friends of all creature persuasions.
But this was different. Although I’d been invited, it wasn’t as a pet-sitter, or even as an attorney, which was how I spent the rest of my working time. (My complementary sets of business cards? Kendra Ballantyne, Attorney at Law, partner at the firm of Yurick & Associates. And Kendra Ballantyne, Managing Member, Critter TLC, LLC.)
Okay. Enough hesitation. After all, I was a litigator, and a legal one at that—I’d stuck the prior glitch in my career way behind me. Shy and retiring? Not me. Not hardly.
Time to commence the upcoming confrontation.
Although court might have been a cinch in comparison.
I strode to where the doorbell awaited, ready to peal the inside chimes that could foretell my impending fate. The death knell to a perfectly fine potential relationship? Absolutely not—at least, not if I had my way.
The lilac leash strap in my left hand wiggled as, on the ground beside me, my dear and delightful sidekick, Lexie, a tricolor Cavalier King Charles spaniel, stood from where she’d been seated, and whined. At times, like now, she seemed to read my mind. “My sentiments exactly,” I told her.
Only, she wasn’t staring at the closed front door as I was, but off to the left side of the porch, toward the hedge of thick green pittosporum bordering it.
Recognizing how much I appreciated the distraction as a reason not to immediately reach out a
nd ring that fateful doorbell, I said to her, “What is it, girl?”
She stood at attention, her lovely long black ears set forward. Once more, an uneasy whine escaped her mouth. And then those ears rolled back into a canine sign of warning, even as she began to bark.
“Hush, Lexie,” I said, but the usually obedient pup wasn’t listening. Instead, she lunged forward so fast that her leash nearly yanked from my grip. “No,” I commanded, again to no avail. She barked even more, making me cringe inside. I didn’t want to wake this apparently somnolent neighborhood from this day’s afternoon siesta.
Even more, facing this home’s irritating occupant while dealing with a disobedient pup wasn’t in my best interests.
I was about to issue a louder command to Lexie when I finally observed what her keener senses had signaled to her minutes before, spurring her to such uncharacteristic insubordination.
Two cats slowly emerged from beneath the pittosporum branches. To my untrained eye—since I’d always considered canines my best friends and only lately had begun to appreciate the assorted cats who were now my clients—the pair resembled miniature leopards: golden, with dark spots and stripes adorning their fuzzy coats.
“Oh, hello,” I said, though I doubt they heard me over Lexie’s insistent barks. Interesting that they stood their ground despite the lunging dog issuing oodles of ominous warnings.
Stood their ground? Heck, they issued their own warnings in exchange. Both golden backs arched, their ears turned like alert antennae, and their fur stood on end. They stalked slowly toward Lexie, hissing angrily.
“Stay back,” I insisted, as I bent in the tailored black blouse and dressy gray slacks I’d donned earlier for my day at the law office—and with my upcoming meeting in mind. A becoming outfit that fit both professions. One that confirmed I meant business.
The cats didn’t appear impressed.
I scooped Lexie into my arms just in time. One feline leapt forward, swiping a claw at the portion of the porch where my pup had just stood.
“Hey,” I yelped, jumping back. I didn’t need cat scratches to tear my pants … or the vulnerable skin of my leg beneath. Even more, I didn’t need for Lexie to become the victim of two ferocious felines. I hugged my pup close as the cats stood their ground, snarling and spitting.
Not the kinds of cats to expand my increasing appreciation of the species.
“Stay away,” I hissed back.
At that moment the front door opened, and Amanda Hubbard stepped out.
The woman was as beautiful as ever, which made me want to hiss even more. And spit. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head in a nonchalant style that suggested she’d spent hours fussing over it. Her prominent cheek-bones underscored gray, flashing eyes, and her lips were pursed in a prim, pink pout.
Then there were her legs, long and lean beneath straight-legged jeans. Beneath her too-tight T-shirt, her apparently flawless boobs seemed to offer themselves to any male grip around.
Do I sound catty? Well, meow. Translation: maybe so. I had admitted, even to myself, that I had a spot of jealousy inside. For good reason.
I wasn’t a total loser in the looks department, but I knew my blue eyes, plain nose, and no-longer-highlighted brown hair weren’t the stuff that inspired even a mediocre modeling career. Not that I was aware just what Amanda did to earn a living these days, though she’d been in real-estate sales once. Maybe she still was—assuming she did anything. But the point was that her looks could have earned her a career under lights. Mine were okay for pet-sitting and court appearances, but were absolutely ordinary.
“Hello, Kendra,” she said, glaring at Lexie in my arms. “I didn’t say you could bring your dog.” The scornful way she said “dog” did anything but endear her to me.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t, either.” Even if she had, it wouldn’t necessarily have made a difference. Take orders from Amanda Hubbard? I’d rather catch a cute and squealing field mouse in my bare hands and feed it, kicking and screaming, to my ball python client, Pythagoras.
“My cats aren’t dog friendly.” She waved her hand, with its long, red nails, toward the two mini-leopards who hadn’t shifted an inch on the porch.
“Not particularly people friendly, either,” I remarked.
“That,” Amanda said, with a grin so snide that it almost uglified her face, “depends on the person.” But then, as if she’d thrown a switch behind her own expression to lighten it, she tossed her shoulders in a shrug and sent a smile my way that seemed almost genuine. “Anyway, I’d love for you to come in, but Cherise and Carnie won’t be pleased if your dog visits, too.”
Not that her cats should have had any say in what I chose to do, but I didn’t want my sweet Lexie subjected to Cherise and Carnie any further. “I’ll put Lexie in my car.” I sent a final glower in the pusses’ direction before turning my back and heading down the walkway away from Amanda’s house.
Lexie trembled in my arms, whether from fear or from eagerness to square off against the felines I didn’t know. “It’s okay, girl,” I said as we reached my almost-ten-year-old silver BMW, parked on the street nearby. “I didn’t intend to stay more than a few minutes anyway. You’re an excellent excuse for me to hear what Amanda wants, then depart pronto. I can’t leave you alone in an empty car for long, can I?”
She looked at me with her huge brown eyes and licked my chin, as if to say she understood. Maybe she did, in her Cavalier way.
I’d parked the Beamer beneath a eucalyptus tree. That, combined with the air’s early February coolness, kept my car from getting too warm inside. Even so, I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition enough to use the controls to roll the windows down a crack, to allow airflow.
“See you soon,” I told Lexie as I left. “I promise.” Poor pup. I had to push her back inside when she tried to slip out the driver’s door behind me.
Then, resolutely, I started back up the walk toward where Amanda Hubbard waited.
I’d come there only out of curiosity arising from her unanticipated invitation.
What did she really want with me?
AMANDA WAS STILL standing inside the front door as I strode back from the street. I felt her eyes, as chilly a silver as a northern sea in an ice storm, staring every step of my way. I readied my own internal offenses for our upcoming catfight.
“Come in, Kendra,” she said as I reached the porch. Once again, she seemed to stick a smile on her face just for me. And didn’t I feel honored by it?
“Thanks,” I said with an equally false friendly expression.
I followed her from a small tiled entryway down an airy hall, well lit by two small crystal chandeliers with a skylight in between. The illumination emphasized the artwork lining the walls: watercolors and oil paintings of seascapes. Lovely stuff. Their similar styles were punctuated by several different artists’ signatures in the pictures’ corners.
Not that I was enough of an art aficionado to know for certain, but I guessed the paintings were originals and likely worth some big bucks if sold at auction, whether live or on eBay.
I found myself slowing to stare. And admire.
Amanda had to have a hefty income these days to afford all this. Either that, or she’d really taken her ex-husband, Jeff Hubbard—my lover for the last few luscious months—for an expensive ride during their divorce, and expended it on artwork.
Seeing Amanda stopped in a doorway, I halted, too.
“Patience,” she commanded me.
“Pardon?” I asked in confusion. I thought I’d been acting with utter etiquette so far—not an easy task since I despised my hostess’s guts.
“All of the artwork is by the patients at the doctors’ office where I work,” she said.
Oh … that kind of patients. Not that I felt fully enlightened. “I didn’t realize you worked in a doctors’ office,” I said. “Weren’t you in real estate?”
“Sure, when I met Jeff. I did okay with it, but I found it boring.
He understood. While we were together he told me to go back to school, the sweet man. Now, I’m a medical assistant. I work for a group of doctors who specialize in heart problems.”
Which didn’t exactly explain how Jeff and she had failed in their own affair of the heart. But I didn’t want to inquire about that, so instead I asked, “How does the practice happen to have such talented artists as patients?”
“One of my doctors is well-known for his interest in acquiring paintings from up-and-coming artists. If they or their families need heart care, they flock to him. And they show their appreciation for their excellent treatment and care by selling their stuff to the doctors and staff like me at reduced prices.”
“Very nice,” I said.
“And before you ask, yes, Leon Lucero is one of the artists and patients. Once Jeff and I broke up, I decided to enjoy life. Date a lot of men and see what happened. Well, I was stupid enough to go out with Leon, and he decided he owned me.”
I hadn’t asked about Leon. But the conversation would have turned to Amanda’s stalker sometime during this get-together, so the seeming non sequitur didn’t surprise me.
As if blaming me for Leon’s latching on to her, she turned her back and marched through the nearest door. I followed, to find myself in a small but attractive living room also decorated with several seascapes on the walls.
I had to assume Amanda loved the water. Otherwise, talented newcomers or not, I doubted she could live among such wet-looking surroundings for long without screaming.
“So what’s up with Leon’s latest failure to comply with your temporary restraining order?” I asked sans preamble. That was, indirectly, the reason I was here.
See, several months ago, Amanda had used Leon as her excuse to reenter Jeff’s life, begging him for help to convince her unwanted admirer to stay away from her. Jeff had upgraded her home security system and assisted in obtaining a temporary restraining order against Leon.
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