Of course, if they’d been poisoned, they’d be showing signs long before now. Plus, Antonio had checked with the crime lab and sent a joint e-mail to Brooke and me to let us know that the stuff appeared to be a combo of several cheap dog foods available at grocery stores—although the analysis had not yet been completed.
Mostly, I wanted to make sure I fulfilled my responsibilities here. Going to the Sheba’s Story set wasn’t my job, no matter how much I wanted to stay in Dante’s good graces.
And no matter how much I wanted to ensure that Hans Marford’s real killer was caught so Carlie would no longer be a suspect. Still assuming she was innocent—and that was definitely what I wanted to assume.
I also spoke with one of the managers at EverySecurity Alliance, the security company we’d once relied on at HotRescues. We still utilized their services, but on a more limited basis now that we had Brooke full-time, and she had other security personnel who contracted to stay overnight here. We’d had EverySecurity patrol a lot more often last night, though, to ensure no further break-ins and scheduled them for additional patrols in the future. They had become more adept at keeping an eye on things ever since some intrusions a number of months ago, before Brooke was in charge, when a person had been killed right on our grounds. They’d had to improve, or get fired by Dante.
Eventually, after all the regular greetings of animals, staff, and volunteers, I left Zoey again in Nina’s able care and headed for Solario Studios.
I went through the same old thing at the guard gate, showing my ID and mentioning Dante. It looked like the same old guard asking questions, so I was perturbed that he didn’t just let me onto the studio lot. But I supposed he had his protocol to follow. And, eventually, he did wave me through that impressive entry gate.
I had to hunt for a space in the large parking lot. Apparently, the studio was busy that Friday. Was everyone here for the Sheba’s Story filming, or were there other movies being shot here today?
I decided to visit the dogs first. I felt sure they’d be friendlier to me than the people I was likely to run into. I hadn’t accused any of them of murder last time I was here, unlike the cast, crew, and even the executives. I’d go say a cheerful hello to all the people, too, but decided to work into it gradually.
As I walked down the street between the tall, mostly windowless gray studio buildings toward the one I’d started thinking of as the doggy hotel, I spotted some dog handlers in the distance, including Winna. She held leashes of two poodles, and along with her were four of her staff, also walking dogs.
I approached, skirting around people who had to be actors, considering the amount of makeup they wore and their gala outfits. Were they there as extras for the scenes at the end of the movie depicting the party at the animal shelter that the character Millie Roland was opening? That was what I’d heard was being shot today.
Eventually I reached the dogs and their handlers. “Hi,” I said cheerfully. “Can I help?” I held out my hand to Winna for a leash. One of the dogs she walked was the real Sheba, but I wasn’t sure which rendition of poodle the other one was.
“Only if you promise not to start accusing me of murder today.” She glared from beneath her curly red mop of hair. It should have felt comedic, but her look chilled me. Could she have been the intruder at HotRescues, trying to warn me away from questioning her?
I didn’t think so. She was too short, for one thing.
But could I really know the intruder’s height from the pictures? And since the person had worn a ski mask, there was no way of telling his or her hair color or style.
“Okay,” I said mildly. “I won’t accuse you. Not any of you.” Her young staff had circled behind her as if to have her back in case of trouble. Their dogs sniffed each other’s muzzles and rears in a friendly canine way. The dog handlers formed a charming pack—excluding me.
That was their prerogative. Would they also protect each other, or someone else connected with the film, if they knew who’d actually killed Hans?
“All dogs needed inside,” commanded a female voice from off to the right. I looked in that direction and saw R. G. Quilby. Director Mick Paramus’s assistant was dressed in an attractive red suit and held an efficient-looking clipboard.
Winna stuck her nose in the air as she looked away from me and started following R. G., still holding the leashes of both white poodles.
Of the animal handling assistants, Elena, also in control of a poodle, looked at me with an embarrassed expression on her youthful, pretty face. Once again, I figured she was hoping to be discovered as an actress on the set, since she wore a bit too much makeup like the people I’d spotted, and was dressed in a lovely, flowing knee-length dress. I hoped she wouldn’t have to perform any gymnastics to keep her poodle doing what was necessary for the scene. She quickly followed Winna.
So did the other two handlers, whom I didn’t know. Jerry Amalon hung back. He held the leash of the poodle I felt certain was Stellar—the dog trained to roll over and look scared. He was dressed better than usual today, too, in a button-down yellow shirt and beige slacks instead of his usual T-shirt and jeans.
“Hi, Lauren,” he said in a soft voice. We both started walking after the dog-handling crowd. “I don’t know if I should say anything, but you’re probably persona non grata around here. Everyone was talking about you a lot yesterday.”
“I don’t suppose anyone happened to confess to the murder while they were acting angry that I was pushy, did they?”
The kid laughed. “No, not that I heard. But don’t be surprised if no one else talks to you.”
We’d reached the building housing the soundstage used the last time I’d been here for filming a scene from Sheba’s Story. The others, dogs and people, had already gone inside.
“Why are you talking to me?” I asked.
“Because no one’s looking now, for one thing,” he said. “And because I’m not a real suspect. Ask me anything. I won’t have any answers for you.”
I laughed. “I’ll bet the others recruited you to talk to me to waste my time.”
“I’ll never tell.” Jerry grinned and followed Stellar inside.
The film set was bustling as things were still being organized. I looked around, seeing where the handlers took the dogs. Not much speculation involved. The scene had been designed to resemble an animal shelter—one almost as nice as HotRescues, with a lot of kennel runs with glass gates opening onto a concrete path past them.
There was only one row of kennels, and they all appeared located within one large room, like the way Save Them All Sanctuary was designed. That was the shelter for special-needs animals, which I found particularly appealing, since they took in pets that were hard to adopt out like seniors and the disabled.
I’d helped to solve a murder there recently.
This set was a fictional shelter, of course. Though some of the people working on Sheba’s Story had visited HotRescues, this clearly hadn’t been patterned after it.
Dr. Cyd Andelson arrived and I greeted her. She took Winna aside to discuss any medical issues that had arisen with the dogs. I’d check with her later to see if there were any problems.
After taking in the vastness of this room, I began to zero in on groups of people until I found the ones I was looking for. Off to the side of the kennel set, Dante stood with Niall, Grant, and Mick Paramus. They all were deep in conversation—one in which I wanted to become engaged. Edging through the noisy crew and others manipulating lighting, cameras, and more equipment, I headed in their direction.
Dante moved back from the circle to let me join. “Hi, Lauren. We’ve been discussing how this scene will be shot. No likelihood of danger to the animals. They’ll mostly remain in the kennels, being oohed and aahed over by the people who’ve come to the opening of the shelter to eat, drink, be merry, and contribute a lot of money.”
I met his eyes and smiled briefly, silently acknowledging that he was describing himself—at least the part about making large cont
ributions. “Sounds good. You’re okay with it, Grant?”
Grant wore his American Humane Association vest, but he, too, had dressed up a bit this day in a nice shirt and slacks.
This wasn’t a wrap-party day. There were many other scenes to be shot. But it looked like everyone had decided to act as if they were invited to the pseudo-celebration being filmed today.
“That’s the way it was planned.” Grant smiled warmly, which made me flush just a little. I nodded.
No one else said anything for a long moment. None met my eyes, either.
I gathered I was persona non grata in this crowd as with everyone else, as Jerry Amalon had warned. Oh, well. I could don a pretty thick skin if I had to.
In fact, I could even turn this into a joke.
“So—anyone going to confess on camera today to getting rid of the old director so Mick could take charge?” I asked with a grin while raising my eyebrows.
“Not on camera, I expect,” Dante responded as if I’d been serious. In some ways, I was. “But we’re not being filmed right now. Anyone ready to talk?” He turned to scan the faces around us. No one met his eyes, either. He laughed. “Okay. Lauren and I have talked about her inquiries the other day. I expect that all of us would be relieved to know the truth. Well, all except whoever really is guilty. Maybe the timing’s not right. Let’s hope the killer decides to confess around the time Sheba’s Story is being released. We’ll get an even bigger audience that way.”
As Dante joked—sort of—I looked at each man in this group, in turn. I saw nothing on anyone’s face that shouted a confession of guilt. Oh, well. Clearly my little game the other day had accomplished nothing but making people uncomfortable in my presence.
But they’d have to get used to it. That’s what Dante’s funding told them, as long as he wanted me around.
Things were finally ready. One of those nimble double-jointed cameras on a boom lifted high above the set, and a bunch of guys with cameras resting on their shoulders came close to the kennel area, too. The dogs were already in position.
Mick Paramus moved away from this group and took a position near the set. “Action,” he finally called, and the shoot began.
It was definitely a party scene. Lots of extras flowed in and made a fuss over the kenneled dogs, then went off to sip carbonated water from champagne glasses and look festive as Lyanne Shroeder, playing a beaming Millie Roland, thanked them all for coming and invited everyone to contribute to her new Sheba’s Shelter.
The repetition went on for four shoots.
“Time to take the dogs out for a walk and drinks,” R. G. finally yelled, after a consultation with Mick.
Good call, I thought. Grant Jefferly, who’d been off screen near the kennel area, smiled and nodded.
I’d been sitting in a folding chair beside ones occupied by Dante and Niall. Niall had whispered his cheers and criticisms to Dante after each take.
I kept Niall fairly high on my suspect list, even though he was Dante’s friend. He had a lot at stake with this production, since he’d written it and was one of the producers. He apparently hadn’t gotten along well with Hans. Plus, he seemed to really like the job Mick was doing.
Was that enough reason to have killed the former director?
Then again, there was still Mick Paramus himself. Not to mention that other director Erskine Blainer, who had nothing to do with this film but everything to do with A Matter of Death and Life, the other movie Hans had hoped to direct.
How was I ever going to resolve this?
Or maybe, this time, I wouldn’t be able to. If not, what would happen to Carlie?
I followed the dog handlers while they took the canine stars for a walk. “They’re real troopers,” I told Winna. “So are all of you. I think you’re taking great care of them.”
“Thanks.” Her word was brief but not too curt, so I wondered if she was thawing a bit toward me.
Dante left after three more takes but dubbed me his agent in front of this crowd again. I was sort of glad, but I really wanted to get back to HotRescues.
I nevertheless enjoyed watching the party scene, celebrating the opening of this fictitious shelter. When the scene wrapped, Winna let me take not a minor canine’s leash, but the real Sheba’s to walk her, then take her back to the dog hotel. Too bad I hadn’t brought my camera again today. But, then, I’d mostly wanted to take pictures for Dante when he wasn’t here.
The four young assistant handlers followed us. One moved around to open the gates of the posh kennel areas, which were carpeted and furnished with comfy-looking dog beds.
All of us handlers walked our dogs up to the doors of their living quarters and unleashed them, ready to close them inside—when a loud noise reverberated throughout the room.
I gasped and jumped—and lost hold of Sheba’s collar. I noticed that most of the others no longer controlled their dog charges either. Dogs, seven of them, started running around.
I realized quickly that the noise had been caused by Elena, who apparently hadn’t been watching where she was going and had somehow tripped in such a way that a folding chair near the kennel area had been slammed into the glass front, shattering it.
Clearly, these weren’t built with materials as substantial as we used at HotRescues. Were the dogs’ paws in danger? Elena was, at least, shooing the pups away, using her feet to shuffle the glass into a pile.
Even so, we had a canine riot on our hands.
“Sheba, sit,” I commanded, but the poor dog was clearly too frazzled to listen. Same went for the rest, or so it appeared.
Winna dashed after one poodle waving a leash and commanding, “Sit!” The assistant handlers followed her lead.
That’s when I noticed it. As Jerry followed Stellar, who also ignored his commands, he was obviously as agitated as the rest of us.
So agitated that he reached his right hand over his head to scratch his sandy hair above his left ear in an awfully familiar gesture.
Chapter 26
I stood still for a long moment, keeping my eye on Jerry. He bent to pick up Stellar to keep her paws away from the glass. Noble, and correct. I did the same with Sheba. Good thing they weren’t large dogs.
“I’m so sorry,” Elena cried. She, too, hugged the dog in her charge. Winna was a little farther away so her poodle wasn’t in any danger.
Good thing all the humans, including me, wore rubber-soled flat shoes, since they were what had been recommended for the running around to be done during the filming. Athletic shoes are what I often wear at HotRescues, too. They were substantial enough not to allow glass to get through to any feet.
Jerry didn’t meet my gaze, though I didn’t have the sense he was avoiding me. He seemed oblivious as he carefully picked his way around the glass, helping the other handlers with their dogs.
So why did this apparently nice kid break into HotRescues, let our dogs loose, and show that he could, if he’d wanted, poison our inhabitants?
And did all of this mean he had killed Hans? If so, I had to assume it was because he hadn’t liked how the dogs had been put into danger that last day of Hans’s being in charge. Or was there more to it than that?
How could I find out—and if he was guilty, prove it? Which I had to do, to help Carlie.
Too bad Dante had already left. I wasn’t sure enough that Niall was guilt-free to talk this over with him, nor did it make sense to tell Grant Jefferly or Dr. Cyd.
But I had friends I could discuss this with, even though they weren’t here.
I considered my next move. The filming, at least that involving the dogs, was apparently over for the day.
With smiles at all the others who protected the dogs, I helped to put the canines into enclosures far away from the broken glass. Then I stood off to the side with the other handlers. All of them. Including Jerry.
“I’m glad the glass in the front kennels at HotRescues is more solid than what’s here,” I said to no one in particular, although I kept watch on Jerry fro
m the corner of my eye.
“Really? You have glass on your kennel doors, too?” asked Elena. “I figured that real shelters looked more like the ones I’ve seen other places, with wire fencing and gates.”
“A lot do,” I said. “Even nice ones, although some pretty ratty shelters use fencing that’s dented and rusting. Ours were always nicely maintained, but we recently remodeled at HotRescues. We decided on glass for some of our runs to make it even easier for potential adopters to see our dogs and fall for them.”
Jerry looked at me. “Really? I’ve never seen that, though I don’t get to many shelters. Does glass help?”
“We hope so,” I said noncommittally. I wanted to shout at him about his last shelter visit, but confronting him here wouldn’t be productive.
How could I get him to admit what he had done at HotRescues?
“I’d like to visit HotRescues one of these days,” Elena said. “I heard you’ll be taking in the dogs who were rescued for Sheba’s Story when the filming’s over if they aren’t otherwise adopted.”
I smiled at the young handler, who’d put her dog into one of the kennels and now stood outside its gate. “That’s my hope,” I said. “And you know you all have a standing invitation to see what a real shelter looks like—mine—and to meet my volunteers and staff, in case that helps with the care of the pups here.”
And if they happened to take me up on it now, I would love to see Jerry pretend that he’d never been there before…
I turned to Winna. “When’s the next filming involving these sweethearts?”
She shrugged. “Most likely tomorrow, but I’m not sure. We’re always around to take care of them anyway, at least as long as shooting continues, so it doesn’t matter.”
Not to them, maybe. But I still wanted answers.
“There’ll still be some filming tomorrow even though it’s Saturday?” I asked, recalling that weekends didn’t matter to people busily shooting a film.
“I think we’re off on Sunday this week, aren’t we?” Elena asked.
“Could be,” Winna responded.
Oodles of Poodles (A PET RESCUE MYSTERY) Page 18