Free Never Say Sty by Linda O. Johnston Page A

that the cops had decided that massing witnesses here hadn’t worked out well.

    “We’re on our way, Detective.” Dante put his hand in the small of my back as if having the right to escort me away.

    “In a minute,” I said sweetly. “I need to say goodbye first.” I maneuvered adroitly away and headed toward the stage, where Ned and Nita Noralles were coming toward me with their pigs. Shareen Hayhurst had stopped sticking scent packets into the boxes and stood at the side of the stage with her husband. Most pig people were directing their pets toward the rear exit.

    “I’m leaving now,” I told Ned and Nita. “Will you be okay?”

    “Sure,” Ned said. “One thing, though.”

    “What’s that?” I asked.

    “We’ve talked it over,” Nita said. “If we’re both thrown in jail, would you pet-sit Porker and Sty Guy for us? We had nothing to do with that miserable Sebastian’s death, but the damned—er, those nice coworkers of Ned’s haven’t quite bought that.”

    “You’re not serious! There are plenty of people who yelled at Sebastian.” But when I looked at Nita’s face, I saw fear there. Realistic or not, the cops were apparently treating them as potential suspects. Or at least the Noralleses assumed so. And who would know better than Ned? “I’ll make sure these adorable guys are well cared for if for some reason neither of you can do it, but that won’t happen.”

    When I glanced into Ned’s eyes for confirmation, his expression was definitely desolate. Yep, he apparently assumed they were genuine suspects. And I empathized.

    Impulsively, I hugged them—both Noralles siblings, and each of their adorable potbellies. The pigs both moved their noses in my direction, as if scenting a friend as well as something amiss.

    “Take good care of yourselves,” I told them, then headed back toward where Dante and Detective Wherlon still stood chatting. As if they were friends.

    And why not? If Dante had convinced the cop that he had an ironclad alibi—me—why wouldn’t they get along just great?

    “All set?” he asked as I reached them.

    I nodded curtly.

    “I was just assuring Detective Wherlon that neither you nor I had any motive to kill Sebastian Czykovski, even if neither of us has any easy way to prove we were home alone last night.”

    I stared at him. Obviously he’d just been pulling my chain earlier. He’d never told Wherlon we were each other’s alibi.

    “Judging by the excellent ratings for our first televised shows,” Dante continued, “our audience enjoyed Sebastian’s nastiness. I’d venture to say it wasn’t anyone concerned with getting the show produced who killed him.”

    “Unless they had a motive other than high ratings,” Wherlon said dryly. “And let’s wait and see the ratings for your next shows, now that people’s interest might be increased because of the judge’s murder.”

    I didn’t respond. Detective Wherlon could be correct. Morbid curiosity was a major attraction for some people’s prurient interests.

    And I wasn’t thrilled that I might be enhancing it by my possible commitment to dine that night with Dante and a tabloid-type reporter.

Chapter Seven

    I CONVINCED MYSELF I could get my mind off the Sebastian Czykovski killing if I threw myself into my law work that afternoon. I therefore called Tomas and Treena Jeong.

    They were a recent referral from Geraldine Glass, another Yurick firm partner. Like our founder and most of our other attorneys, Geraldine was a senior citizen. Her practice did not include pet law, so she had asked me to work with the Jeongs.

    The Jeongs had a Brittany spaniel with acute separation anxiety. At the moment, they were out of town and had a friend’s college-age daughter house-sitting. But the young lady had things to do besides sit at home with Princess at all hours, and I’d gotten a frantic message from the Jeongs. Some neighbors had called Tomas on his cell phone to complain that Princess