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Authors: Linda O. Johnston
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moaned as I reached them. “This is so terrible! I know you’re used to it, but I’ve never been treated like a possible murder suspect before.”
“I can’t say I’m actually used to it,” I responded dryly.
“That makes two of us,” Charlotte said. I’d helped to find the real killer once when she and some ferrets had been accused of doing away with a guy she’d known from her first reality TV experience.
The Hayhursts, too, bemoaned their potential suspect status. Which was when Ned and Nita joined us, with Porker and Sty Guy waddling, leashed, by their sides.
“Okay,” I said softly, huddled among them. “Someone tell me how Sebastian was killed.”
Nita started crying softly. She limply lifted the loop of the brown leash she held, then let it sag once more.
“He was hit on the head,” Ned said, shaking his head. “And then supposedly strangled with a pig harness.”
Poetic justice, considering how nasty he’d been to our potbellied contestants? Perhaps.
“And before you ask,” Ned continued, “all of us have our harnesses accounted for.”
Maybe, but that harness had to come from somewhere. Not that I had to be the one to figure out where.
Unless that became the only way to protect Animal Auditions .
Chapter Six
AS I PONDERED the strangulation possibilities, my cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. Well, by the ring tone. Even though I was getting tired of the song, I still was serenaded by “It’s My Life” each time someone chose to call me.
Was it Dante at last? I’d left him a couple of voice mails after I’d heard about the awful event at the Animal Auditions set. Since he was an integral part of the show—at least his money was—I figured he should know.
But when I pulled the receiver from my pants pocket and glanced at the caller ID, it was someone else’s number. Someone I didn’t always want to talk to.
What the hell? She’d helped me a few times in difficult situations. For a price. Corina Carey was a reporter for the TV scandal show National NewsShakers . If I gave her scoops, she gave me leeway not to get mentioned in the media, at least by her, till I was ready. Which could not, unfortunately, be never.
I nodded my apology to Ned and hustled into a hallway where real pigs weren’t squealing and reputed pigs—cops—were only directing indoor pedestrian traffic, not demanding answers to unanswerable questions.
“Hi, Corina,” I said softly into my phone. “What’s up?”
“You tell me, Kendra,” she retorted. “Why didn’t you call me the instant you knew about this latest murder?”
In the world of nosy reporters, news travels faster than the speed of TV feeds. “Sorry,” I said somewhat sincerely. “I don’t honestly know much yet, but I’ll give you a little.”
“Good. I’m right outside on the street with my cameraman. The cops won’t let the media through. Come out and talk to me.”
“Only if I’m a ‘reliable source’ and not someone oncamera.”
“Done.”
But when I headed for the door, my way was immediately blocked . . . by Dante. He’d obviously shown sufficient credentials to convince the cops to let him in.
“Kendra,” he growled, “what the hell happened?”
“Sebastian’s dead,” I said, not exactly spewing patience. I’d told him so in my phone messages. “He was murdered.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He grabbed my arm and propelled me down the hall in the direction from which I’d come. “I need to know how. Who. And we have to get the production group together to make alternate plans—and figure out the best way of turning this into positive publicity for Animal Auditions .”
I stopped and stared—and nearly lost my arm, since Dante didn’t ease up on it. His eyes were icy as he glared back . . . and then they softened.
“Poor Kendra,” he said, much more softly. “I’m sorry. I forget you’re not just an attorney. You have a heart, or you wouldn’t also be a
“I can’t say I’m actually used to it,” I responded dryly.
“That makes two of us,” Charlotte said. I’d helped to find the real killer once when she and some ferrets had been accused of doing away with a guy she’d known from her first reality TV experience.
The Hayhursts, too, bemoaned their potential suspect status. Which was when Ned and Nita joined us, with Porker and Sty Guy waddling, leashed, by their sides.
“Okay,” I said softly, huddled among them. “Someone tell me how Sebastian was killed.”
Nita started crying softly. She limply lifted the loop of the brown leash she held, then let it sag once more.
“He was hit on the head,” Ned said, shaking his head. “And then supposedly strangled with a pig harness.”
Poetic justice, considering how nasty he’d been to our potbellied contestants? Perhaps.
“And before you ask,” Ned continued, “all of us have our harnesses accounted for.”
Maybe, but that harness had to come from somewhere. Not that I had to be the one to figure out where.
Unless that became the only way to protect Animal Auditions .
Chapter Six
AS I PONDERED the strangulation possibilities, my cell phone rang. Saved by the bell. Well, by the ring tone. Even though I was getting tired of the song, I still was serenaded by “It’s My Life” each time someone chose to call me.
Was it Dante at last? I’d left him a couple of voice mails after I’d heard about the awful event at the Animal Auditions set. Since he was an integral part of the show—at least his money was—I figured he should know.
But when I pulled the receiver from my pants pocket and glanced at the caller ID, it was someone else’s number. Someone I didn’t always want to talk to.
What the hell? She’d helped me a few times in difficult situations. For a price. Corina Carey was a reporter for the TV scandal show National NewsShakers . If I gave her scoops, she gave me leeway not to get mentioned in the media, at least by her, till I was ready. Which could not, unfortunately, be never.
I nodded my apology to Ned and hustled into a hallway where real pigs weren’t squealing and reputed pigs—cops—were only directing indoor pedestrian traffic, not demanding answers to unanswerable questions.
“Hi, Corina,” I said softly into my phone. “What’s up?”
“You tell me, Kendra,” she retorted. “Why didn’t you call me the instant you knew about this latest murder?”
In the world of nosy reporters, news travels faster than the speed of TV feeds. “Sorry,” I said somewhat sincerely. “I don’t honestly know much yet, but I’ll give you a little.”
“Good. I’m right outside on the street with my cameraman. The cops won’t let the media through. Come out and talk to me.”
“Only if I’m a ‘reliable source’ and not someone oncamera.”
“Done.”
But when I headed for the door, my way was immediately blocked . . . by Dante. He’d obviously shown sufficient credentials to convince the cops to let him in.
“Kendra,” he growled, “what the hell happened?”
“Sebastian’s dead,” I said, not exactly spewing patience. I’d told him so in my phone messages. “He was murdered.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He grabbed my arm and propelled me down the hall in the direction from which I’d come. “I need to know how. Who. And we have to get the production group together to make alternate plans—and figure out the best way of turning this into positive publicity for Animal Auditions .”
I stopped and stared—and nearly lost my arm, since Dante didn’t ease up on it. His eyes were icy as he glared back . . . and then they softened.
“Poor Kendra,” he said, much more softly. “I’m sorry. I forget you’re not just an attorney. You have a heart, or you wouldn’t also be a
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