Double Dog Dare (22 page)

“Hello, Ms. Kendra,” said a voice with a heavy Hispanic accent. “This is Juan.”

Juan? Who was that? “Um—” I started to respond.

“From What’s the Scoop,” he explained. Which made me smile. It was Jeff calling, right on time. And, yes, still undercover.

“I wanted to make sure you are okay,” he continued. “After that accident before. And to thank you again for dinner.”

I translated all the syllables that remained unspoken beneath the surface. Someone could be monitoring my calls. Or his. Part of his ongoing paranoia? Perhaps. But he was worried about me. Still cared—even if he amazingly considered me a person of interest in the attack on him and whatever other crimes he had suspects in.

“I’m fine, Juan. Thank you. And thanks for pushing me out of that car’s way. Too bad the dumb driver didn’t stop and apologize.” Yeah, right. But this at least gave the impression I thought it was inadvertent.

My lips itched to shout out at him about those last comments he’d made in person—about Tom Venson. None of his business how I felt about Tom. And the fact that Tom had been so close to Debby Payne not long ago that they’d lip-locked so lasciviously, right in my presence . . . well, that wasn’t Jeff’s business, either—although, if he was investigating, maybe he should know.

But not now. Not if he thought we were being monitored.

“Yes, too bad the driver didn’t stop,” he repeated. “Well, I will be back in your neighborhood cleaning tomorrow, or one of my workers will.” Next translation: We’ll be watching over you. Protecting you.

“Thanks,” I said. “And good night.”

Despite my irritation about the Tom Venson angle, it was a surprisingly good night, even though the dogs and I still slept alone. Slept was the key word, because for the first time since Jeff’s disappearance, that was exactly what I did the entire night through.

WHEN I WOKE the next morning, feeling refreshed, anger, irritation, and exasperation warred with relief inside me.

My assumptions and beliefs and prayers had been correct. Jeff was alive.

But there was a lot he’d said that grated on my psyche where it really hurt—pride. And deeper emotions, like what I’d assumed was love.

He might be protecting me. But, oddly and hurtfully, he didn’t trust me. Suspected me of . . . what? Hiding something? But what?

Did it matter?

Well, silly non-P.I. that I was, I decided I wouldn’t let a little thing like Jeff being alive or acting weird stop me from doing what I’d already intended: clear his mother figure Lois from allegations of murder.

I only hoped my finger wouldn’t wind up pointing at Jeff.

And that I wouldn’t wind up squashed beneath a hybrid car somewhere.

Because I was going to keep up my investigation, following the same clues as before.

Stupid? Could be. But I was nothing if not single-minded when in murder-magnet mode.

But that didn’t mean I’d be injudicious and careless about my stupidity.

At least I could direct my inquiries to fewer major questions, now that I no longer had to find Jeff or figure out what had happened to him—only who had helped to cause it. Who had also probably been the perpetrator of Earl’s demise.

First, though, I had pet-sitting to do, starting with my own beloved charges. Which meant a quick dash into the backyard and a nourishing breakfast—for them. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for eating on this Monday morning. And then?

And then, it was time to take them for a walk. Yes, outside on this very street where I’d almost been creamed by a car last evening. I doubted Jeff would be there that morning. Too risky for his undercover scheme. Maybe one of his What’s the Scoop staff—what had he said? P.I. students from other cities in this state?

Could I risk that they’d be as alert and agile as the guy in senior citizen disguise who, beneath it all, was one strong and fast dude?

Well, no. Nor could I count on Ned coming through with sufficient police patrols to make me feel entirely safe. But I especially couldn’t rely on Lexie and Odin to cross their legs till I drove us all somewhere safer—presupposing we wouldn’t be followed.

So, I took my chances—all the while staying alert and staring up and down the somnolent residential street in all directions. Using my ears like antennas for all kinds of noises, since hybrids didn’t sound like ordinary engines.

Noticed when a minivan pulled up in front of a neighbor’s house across the street, and an apparent poop scooper smaller than Jeff got out and gave a slight nod in my direction before getting down and dirty to work.

And heaved a huge sigh of relief when I finally got all of us—dogs and me—in my car, ready to go pet-sitting.

I called Rachel first thing on my cell phone. “Everything okay at home? Have you started your rounds yet?”

“Yes and yes.” She sounded exasperated in the way teenagers—even those nearly out of that age range—did so well. “I’ve taken care of Beggar, of course. And I’ve also looked in on Abra and Cadabra already. On my way to care for Piglet now. And later on, I’ll do my midday walk of Widget. Anything else?”

“I’ll let you know,” I said. “Just be careful. And stay safe.”

“Gee, Kendra, you sound more like my mom every day.”

Not exactly a compliment. A while back, she’d run away from her mother, who lived in Arizona, to come stay with her dad.

“Okay, daughter,” I said, sticking sarcasm into my tone. “That means you really have to listen to what I say.”

At which point I heard raspberries in my ear from the cell phone. I laughed, which caused Lexie and Odin, both in the backseat of this too small car, to start leaping around.

A thought occurred to me. “By the way, did you find anything that could have fallen from an envelope in my mail?”

“Like what?

“Wish I knew.”

“That’s a huge help. The answer is no, although I’ll take a look around the area I’d left it, in case there’s something lying around.”

“Thanks,” I said, and hung up.

When I had completed my own pet-care visits to Pansy the potbellied pig and Stromboli and the other adorable dogs, and noted everything in my Critters TLC, LLC, journal, I went to Doggy Indulgence, to leave Lexie and Odin safely in the care of my favorite doggy spa, as well as my favorite human and his staff, for the day. And then, still checking out all other cars on the road—no mean feat on busy L.A. freeways—I headed to my law office.

Where I had frantic phone messages from a couple of clients. Mignon told me so the instant I stepped inside. “I put them through to your voice mail, Kendra,” she chirped, “but the Hayhursts really need to talk to you.”

I headed down the hall, saying hello to support staff and a couple of the senior attorneys, then shut myself into my corner office, where I called the Hayhursts.

Shareen answered. “Kendra, I’ve heard from someone who’d signed up his dog for one of our classes but called to cancel. He heard about the pending lawsuit and doesn’t want to spend the time and money if we’re a big fraud.”

“Did he say how he heard about the litigation?” Not that it necessarily mattered. The complaint had been filed and was therefore a matter of public record. But if the news was getting filtered through the media, we needed to know about it, to see if we could try to conduct damage control.

At least this wasn’t something Corina Carey had jumped into . . . yet.

“I’ll find out,” Shareen said. “But Kendra, isn’t there something you can do?”

“I’ll naturally be a super advocate for you in court, if necessary. But I also have another idea.”

“Really? What?”

“I can’t tell you yet. Give me another day or so.” To follow up on that idea I’d had after earlier conversations about their case. If it came together as I hoped, it would be one hell of a feat of my favorite ADR.

But that remained to be seen. And I had some phone calls to make, to see if there was even the remotest possibility it could be put together.

I hung up after promising Shareen I’d speak with her again soon, but before I could get some of those phone calls going, my office line buzzed again. I glanced at the caller ID. Jeff’s office.

I ignored how my heart rate accelerated. It wouldn’t be Jeff, after all. Not since he suspected members of his staff of conspiring against him, as he did me.

The paranoid fool. Wasn’t he?

I had to take a few breaths and put myself back in the mood I’d been in yesterday at this time. When I had only hope, but no evidence, that Jeff was alive and kicking, instead of still waterlogged somewhere in a canal.

“Kendra? It’s Althea. Just wanted to touch base with you.” She spoke in the same sorrowful voice she’d used for the last couple of weeks. “Have you heard anything about Jeff?”

Sure have,
was what I wanted to say.
He saved my life, and I fed him dinner
. But I’d promised him discretion.

“Sorry,” I said. “Can’t tell you anything.”
But can you tell me whether anything in Jeff’s suspicions can be justified?

“I figured,” she said dejectedly as I stood and stared out my office window toward the nearly filled parking lot. “’Cause you’d tell me if you found out anything I should know.”

Which made me feel a whole lot worse as I hung up.

Hell, Althea wasn’t the only one I wanted to shout to about Jeff’s survival. Surely Lois, despite her own dilemma, would want to know. And how about middle-aged Mother Hubbard? Jeff’s mom had appeared to be awfully nice. Shouldn’t she be informed that her son was, if not wholly okay and sane, at least alive?

But I’d promised him. And until I either unpromised or understood with absolute certainty that Jeff was wrong, I had to keep my mouth shut.

But how was I going to fix even a fraction of this awful situation? And if I actually figured out who’d killed Earl Knox, and who’d conspired with that particular dead man to attempt to kill Jeff, would any of us who were involved start trusting one another again to restore what had, previously, been a quite pleasing status quo?

Chapter Eighteen

OKAY, I ADMIT it. I was obsessed with this whole outrageous situation.

Was this obsession different from any other situation when my murder-magnet status had kicked in? Maybe not.

But I suddenly determined where I had to go. Well, not so suddenly, since I’d already figured on heading there today, just not at this exact moment.

“Are you okay, Kendra?” Mignon asked as I headed out the office door once more, sympathy resounding in her voice.

“Sure,” I called back over my shoulder. “See you later.” My odd mood wasn’t, after all, due to the sorrow I’d evinced when I’d shared concerns about Jeff’s possible demise. But I still had a lot to learn about the disjointed yet related strings in this whole scary state of affairs.

I pulled my rental car out of the lot and headed for the 134 Freeway east, toward Arcadia. I intended to follow up on what I’d started doing there yesterday: finding out anything I could about Earl Knox’s former employer, CW Ultra Technologies.

Real or not, I imagined an entire armada of vehicles accompanying me: a menacing silver hybrid, ready to spring and slap me off the road. A vehicle sent by What’s the Scoop or its leader, Jeff, following along to excavate excrement or protect me, whichever came first. Maybe even an unmarked cop car, if Ned Noralles took me seriously enough yesterday. Well, that last was a stretch, but the others seemed somewhat feasible. That led me to all but crawl in the freeway’s slow lane, figuring that only someone who really, really wanted to stay behind me wouldn’t pass as fast as possible and sling me the finger. I checked my mirrors often, and though I did see a few of those fingers, I didn’t see anyone intentionally shadowing me—which didn’t exactly mean I was safe. But neither was there any obvious peril to avoid.

Eventually, I exited the freeway and again glanced around. Still no sign of a tail. Maybe I truly was safe.

And maybe I was five years younger and five pounds slimmer, and . . . Well, you get it.

I soon reached the offices of CW Ultra Technologies. Today, the parking lot outside the ordinary-appearing building was pretty full, but I found a spot for my too small car. There were spaces marked for executives. The one labeled for the CEO of the company made my insides twist in envy. It held a BMW, not aged and crumpled like my own the last time I’d seen it, but brand-new, bright red, and obviously expensive.

I’d always kept a suit coat in my Beamer’s trunk for situations where I needed to look lawyerly. I hadn’t wanted to ruin anything in this puny rental car’s dirty crevasses at its rear. But I had been wise enough to throw a sporty beige tweed jacket over the back of my seat, so I hurled it on over the dark slacks and subtly striped white man-tailored shirt I’d donned today.

Inside the building, I saw that there was indeed a guard desk, manned by a security sort in uniform. He didn’t stop anyone or check IDs during this regular workday, but I still bet someone did so yesterday, over the weekend. I glanced at the building directory, noted that CW was on the third floor, and took the elevator.

The hallway was cookie cutter, just like every other office building. A sign on the door identified my goal as CW Ultra Technologies without explaining what that was. I opened the door and walked into a bland, generic waiting room. I gave my name to the young female receptionist, said I was here on behalf of a private investigation company, and asked to meet with Clark Weiss, claiming personal business.

I didn’t get to see Mr. Weiss first thing—what a surprise. Instead, a harridan of a secretary burst through the inner sanctum’s door and demanded I reveal what I wanted. In a much calmer voice than hers, I explained that I was here looking into something concerning a possible theft of CW’s technology, but needed to speak directly to Mr. Weiss about the details.

That apparently got his attention, since I was shown to his office a few minutes later.