“And what about Hans Marford? Did she kill him?” For Carlie’s sake—and to satisfy my own curiosity—I had to ask.
“That’s why I wanted to get together with you briefly now. You’ve got to keep this quiet, of course, since we don’t want anything to screw up our ability to convict her if the evidence does point her way. But till she realized she was bragging too much and stopped talking, she gave me enough to continue a murder investigation involving her as the prime suspect.”
“What?” I asked when he stopped to take a drink from his water glass.
I noticed that Brooke and Matt, too, were leaning over the table in anticipation and almost laughed—but that might have delayed what Antonio had to say.
He ran his fingers through his dark hair as if in bewilderment. His scowl from beneath his jutting brow also looked perplexed. “I don’t know why she said so much. She didn’t seem stupid to me. Maybe she thinks that even having what she said recorded—and I did show her that my smartphone was recording it—she can somehow withdraw or deny it. But she said that Mick Paramus had promised her she would get a starring role in his next film, whatever it was. After she seduced him. She said she hoped he knew that directors who make those kinds of promises to her after sex but renege—like Hans Marford—don’t survive very long.”
“Then she admitted to seducing Marford to get an acting role in Sheba’s Story and ran over him when he didn’t follow through?” That was Matt talking. The expression on his handsome face was more angry than confused—and that confused me.
“She wasn’t quite as clear about it as that, but, yes.” Antonio took another swig of water, obviously wishing it was something stronger. He had to return to the station as soon as we were done eating, though, so drinking alcohol wasn’t on his current agenda. “The thing she seemed most clear about was that she was going to be a huge star someday and would do anything it took to get there. She kept talking—ranting, really. Acted crazy by saying so much, but not nuts enough to get off on an insanity plea.”
“And you believed all she admitted?” Matt demanded. His scowl grew deeper, as if he was filled with doubt. I wondered why.
“No reason not to,” Antonio said. “She had as much access to those cars owned by the studio as anyone else in the film crew, and she knew where they usually hid the keys. The driver of the murder vehicle wore gloves, and she’d worn even more of a disguise when she broke into HotRescues. Plus, she knew about Carlie Stellan’s prior relationship with the director. She’s the one who told the detectives about it when they questioned her. So, yes, I believe it was her. Why wouldn’t I?”
Unlike Antonio, Matt had no reason not to have a drink with dinner. He drank a hefty swig of beer, then looked at Antonio.
“Because some women…” Matt answered, but didn’t finish.
I wasn’t sure what that had been about, but his glance toward me suggested he had something else on his mind.
The rest of our conversation, while we hurriedly ate to let Antonio return to the station, was filled with speculation about how the rest of the investigation would be conducted.
And how easily assistant animal handler—and would-be actor—Elena Derger would be convicted of the murder of director Hans Marford.
Chapter 31
Monday that week was almost boringly normal. I spent the day at HotRescues. I did handle two adoptions, though, so calling the day “boring” was actually inappropriate. In fact, that part was fun. Maybe I should just have left the word “boringly” out and called the day “normal.”
That isn’t exactly appropriate, either. A normal day isn’t one during which I tell my staff, volunteers, and friends over and over, ad infinitum, about how I was okay after being attacked right here at HotRescues by a possible murderer who nearly choked me to death with a leash.
Yes, I’d heard from Antonio, by way of Brooke, that Elena had indeed been placed under arrest for murder. Apparently the cops thought they had enough evidence to convict her. At least somewhat thanks to me, and her nearly killing me, but I didn’t ask for any particulars.
I also talked to Dante. I’d spoken briefly with him on Sunday to let him know all that had happened. He called again on Monday to let me know he was visiting HotRescues on Tuesday morning around ten A.M. “I’ll have someone with me, too,” he said but didn’t elaborate.
I hoped it was someone interested in adopting a pet.
Tuesday started off normally, too. Zoey and I arrived at HotRescues early, as usual, in time to help Pete feed the animals. I left it to him and some of our volunteers to do the usual cleaning of all of our kennels and the grounds. I visited all of our enclosures and greeted our inhabitants. Zoey accompanied me.
Still relatively normal.
So why did I feel as if I was waiting for the next shoe to drop?
I was in my office when Dante arrived, and Nina called for me to come out.
When Zoey and I got to the welcome room, there was Dante, wearing a nice white shirt and dark slacks, obviously dressed for business.
And no wonder. With him was someone who looked familiar, even though I hadn’t ever met him: Councilman Guy Randell.
He was of moderate height, not as tall as Dante. His hair was dark with silver running through it in a manner that gave him a look of maturity instead of age. I wondered if he had it painted in. He’d clearly shaved well that morning, although a hint of a black beard appeared beneath his pale skin. No time for sitting out in the sun—or in tanning salons, I supposed.
In person, he looked pretty much the way he did in TV interviews, not bad looking but not especially handsome. He pasted a huge smile on his face as Dante introduced him.
I was predisposed not to trust him, thanks to his possible mistreatment of the dog we called Hope. But since Dante had brought him to HotRescues, I at least had to hear him out.
“I’d like to visit the dog in question,” the councilman told me. “There has been some confusion about her, and I want to straighten it out.”
The confusion, I thought, was in the way you dumped your poor canine best friend on the streets and then disowned her. But I acted cordial—again because Dante was involved. And also because I hadn’t decided how much I could trust Katrina/Cathy, our volunteer who was apparently this man’s ex-girlfriend.
I preceded the two men down the hall and out into our kennel area. Guy Randell seemed charmed by our facility, and by the first dogs we saw. They all greeted him with barks.
And then we got to Hope’s kennel. Guy stopped and stared. “That’s her,” he said. “May I visit with her?”
I exchanged glances with Dante, who nodded. I wasn’t going to argue. I let Hope out and put her on a leash so she’d stay near us. The councilman knelt, patted her, then stood.
“I know what you’ve heard from Katrina,” he told me. “For your information, I dumped her—Katrina, that is—but not this dog. Ginger—Hope—was hers, but only for a short while. Let’s go somewhere private, and I’ll tell you about it.” The privacy request was because some of our volunteers were around and had obviously recognized him. They were pointing and chattering.
“My office is available,” I said.
Once we were settled there, both Hope and Zoey at our feet, I listened to the politico’s story. Turned out that the whole thing, at least according to him, was devised by his former lover for revenge. She wanted him to look like a nasty animal abuser and set things up so she could make him appear to have abandoned Ginger while she talked to the media about him.
He claimed that she must have given his contact information to the microchip company and that he had never been contacted by them to confirm it. Since the publicity against him was heating up, he’d gotten his legal staff involved with the media—and to contact Katrina for a retraction.
True? I wasn’t sure. But I’d gotten Katrina/Cathy’s claim in writing that the dog wasn’t hers but the councilman’s. She’d also said that, to the extent she saved Hope and became her owner, she was relinqui
shing Hope to our care.
Although abandoning the pup on the street, if she was the one who’d done it, wasn’t a good sign that she’d ever saved Hope in the first place.
Councilman Randell, too, agreed to sign relinquishment papers—not that he admitted to owning Ginger/Hope either.
One way or another, she was now definitely and officially relinquished. To the extent I’d had any questions before, she was now available for HotRescues to rehome. And we had a really good match just waiting for her.
“Thanks,” I said to both men as they left. I looked down at the dog whose leash I held. “And Hope thanks you, too.”
Before Dante left, he took me aside for a minute. “Morton told me to let you know that, once things are settled down, he wants to have a talk with you.”
“If it’s about doing a screenplay based on what happened,” I said, watching Dante grin, “count me out.”
I went to Solario Studios shortly afterward to check in and see how things were going. The cast and crew of Sheba’s Story had had a day to get used to what appeared to be the real story of who’d killed Hans. Did they know why yet?
The guard at the gate let me in, and, not seeing any obvious filming activity on the lot, I hurried to the building where the Shebas were housed.
Most everyone I wanted to see was there. Mick Paramus was talking to the actors about the scene that would be shot later that afternoon. Cowan was demonstrating some of the moves that Stellar would make on camera. The more nervous Sheba lookalike was going to cower when someone abusing her yelled—until the Millie character played by Lyanne yelled right back at him and took possession of the dog.
I stood off to the side and listened for a while, but then Grant spotted me. He came over, as always wearing his American Humane vest, and whispered, “Is what I heard true?”
I noticed then that Winna, who stood with Jerry and some of her other handlers, was staring at us. Jerry’s eyes widened as he saw me and he glared, as if he was angry that I could have believed he’d done the things that his counterpart Elena was allegedly guilty of.
Mick apparently noticed the distraction. He handed his clipboard to R. G. and approached me.
“I heard some pretty nasty things happened at HotRescues when we left,” he said. “Are they true?”
“I—” I saw that a lot of people were starting to crowd around us, so I asked, “Is it okay if I give a brief announcement about it?”
He nodded.
I stepped back to face everyone. “I figure that most of you have heard about Elena. I’m not going to accuse her of anything here, but what I can tell you is that she and I had a bit of an altercation, and the result seemed to indicate that she might have been the person who broke into HotRescues last week.”
“Did she kill Hans?” That was Lyanne, and she looked excited, as if she enjoyed the idea of something sleazy to talk about. She must love the paparazzi who interviewed her.
“I don’t know,” I said. “There have been some allegations along those lines that I understand are being investigated by the police.” That sounded vanilla enough to me that even Kendra Ballantyne would probably approve of it. I figured the media would eventually pick up on Elena’s arrest and give more details than I felt comfortable talking about.
I answered a few more questions just as generally. The crowd seemed disappointed that there wasn’t something even juicier for me to report.
When I was done, I thanked Mick, but before I could get away he said, “The cops have asked me some questions. I was aware that Hans…well, let’s just say that he and Elena seemed to have something going for a while. And then, once he was gone and I was the new director, she seemed to be interested in me for more than telling which scene the dogs would appear in next. I didn’t buy into it, and she seemed to accept it. That’s why I didn’t really suspect her. But then I heard she had set her sights on Erskine Blainer, who’s directing A Matter of Death and Life, the next film Hans was in the running for.”
The director who’d fought with Hans, whom I’d considered a primary suspect…before. Just in case the detectives interrogating Elena weren’t aware of her contacting Blainer, I silently vowed to let Antonio know. Maybe there’d be more evidence against her available there.
Before I left, I joined up with Grant again. “I gather that the filming didn’t slow down because of the new twist in the murder investigation,” I said.
“No, and in fact it’s going well. I anticipate that the actual filming will be over within a week or three.”
“And assuming things go as they have been, you’ll be able to give your certification?”
He nodded. “‘No Animals Were Harmed.’”
I smiled and to my own surprise, and his, too, I expect, I gave him a quick hug. “That’s just the way it should be,” I said.
“Not only that, but the poodles and other dogs that aren’t otherwise being taken in by members of the cast and crew should be available for HotRescues to rehome in about a month. You up for that?”
“I sure am!”
I returned to HotRescues. It was fairly late in the day by then. Even so, I wanted to give an update on everything to Matt.
“I’m on my way there now,” he told me.
“Great,” I said. “We can grab some dinner.”
When he showed up a while later, Nina had already left for the day, and Brooke had arrived and was making her initial security rounds. Of course I made sure they were as up to date as I was on everything—especially Hope.
I was a little surprised that Matt had Rex along when I unlocked the door to let them into the welcome area now that HotRescues was officially closed for the day. He must have taken time to go home to get his sweet dog, but the evening was still young. “Hi,” I said to both of them. When I moved to give Matt a kiss, Rex must have pulled on his leash since Matt was suddenly turned at an angle that preempted any embrace.
“Where shall we go for dinner?” I asked, kneeling to hug Rex instead as Matt patted Zoey’s head.
“Not sure I have the time…Look, Lauren, can we talk for a minute?”
I froze. His tone was so serious, and when I looked up at him so was his expression. I refused to allow myself to start anticipating what he wanted to say. Instead, I just said lightly, “Sure. Have a seat.” I pointed to the small table along the wall, and we each planted ourselves in the chairs facing one another.
My heart was racing, but I stayed placid, at least on the outside. “So what’s up?” I asked.
He pursed his lips, then began, “The other day, when I got to HotRescues and you called for help, and then Antonio and I got there after that woman had attacked you, I—”
He hesitated. Was he about to declare how upset he had been? How worried for me?
How he hated to see that the woman he loved had been nearly killed?
Was he about to propose?
Hell, I hated when my mind went off on tangents like that. But if so, what would I say? My last marriage had been such an awful mistake. But the first one…
“You didn’t listen to me,” he finished. “Again.”
I blinked at him. That wasn’t what I’d anticipated. He was upset because I didn’t obey his orders?
“This wasn’t the first time I wasn’t happy about your getting involved in a murder investigation. You’re not a cop, or private eye, or anything like that. I’m much more of a law enforcement type than you, and not even I try to solve homicides.”
“You try to protect animals,” I said, keeping my tone as light as I could. “That’s even more important. To me, at least.”
I looked down at Zoey and Rex, who now lay at our feet on the tile floor. That was better than looking at Matt’s face. Was he chewing me out? I was still alive.
Was he telling me I had to follow his orders to stay in whatever relationship we had?
I never took orders from anyone. My ex-husband had tried that—and it was one of the things that had caused me to boot him out.
On the other hand, this time Matt had been right. If I’d done as he commanded and waited for him—only a short while, since he was already at HotRescues—I might not have been hurt, and Elena would still have been caught.
“That’s one thing I really like about you,” he said more gently. “We do share a love of animals. But…Lauren, I’ve been thinking. I care about you a lot—and that’s why I don’t like worrying about you. Not the way I do, anyway. About your safety.”
“You don’t need to,” I replied, but I was touched by his caring look.
“No,” he said, “I don’t. Will you promise me something?”
With that soulful expression in his eyes, I’d have considered promising him anything. But of course I wouldn’t. Not without knowing what he wanted. “What’s that?” I asked, trying not to let suspicion enter my tone.
“That this is the last time you’ll put yourself in harm’s way by poking your nose into a murder investigation.”
“I didn’t plan to get involved in any of them,” I reminded him, trying to keep the chill out of my voice. But I didn’t like the way he’d said that. I wasn’t poking my nose anywhere. I was helping myself, or my friends.
“I know. But will you promise?” He took me into his arms as if to bribe me with his closeness.
“I can promise I won’t go looking for trouble,” I muttered against his chest.
“Would you say you’d gone looking for it in any of these instances?” he asked.
I pulled back. “What do you think?”
His laugh sounded rueful. “I know that you’ve convinced yourself that you haven’t.” He held up his hand as I opened my mouth to yell at him. “And maybe you’re right. Tell you what.”
“What?” I asked suspiciously.
“Next time you even think about trying to solve a murder—and I really hope there isn’t such a next time—you’ll tell me right away and we’ll discuss it. And you’ll try to pay attention when I tell you to back off. Or you’ll at least wait before jumping into danger till I can get there to help you.”
He’d scolded me before, and I appreciated his caring. In fact, instead of wanting to yell at him I found myself smiling. “If I can,” I said. “And I appreciate it. But you really don’t have to worry about me, Matt. I have no intention of getting involved in another murder case.”
Oodles of Poodles (A PET RESCUE MYSTERY) Page 22