“Count on it,” Tom responded. “In fact, let’s go back to the party.”
We passed through the large HotPets store, probably one of the best and busiest in the chain. Why not? It’s in Beverly Hills.
In moments, we were back in its vast stock room, where I picked up a flute of champagne from a table near the door.
The place had been reorganized for the party. All the huge crates and other containers holding items sold at the store that weren’t on shelves had been stacked along the edges of the room and draped with metallic fabrics to feign elegance.
The center was filled with partygoers. Songs with animal themes played around us, although the volume on “Hound Dog” and the rest was low enough not to ruin the crowd’s ability to chat.
I quickly rejoined the group of friends I’d brought along: Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services, the really great animal-loving man I’m dating; my good friend, veterinarian Carlie Stellan, who also has a weekly TV show on the Longevity Vision Channel; and her boyfriend Liam Deale, who works at a local TV station.
“How’d it go?” Carlie asked.
“Very well, I’m delighted to say.”
“Glad to hear it.” Our host, Dante, had joined us.
So had his lady friend, Kendra Ballantyne, an attorney and pet-sitter. She wore a lovely sapphire-colored gown, much dressier than I’d ever seen her in before. Of course I’d mostly seen her dressed for one or the other of her careers.
“Lauren, I’d like you to meet more of my staff.” Dante was a good-looking man even when not dressed up in an elegant suit as he was today. His wavy hair was dark and immaculately styled, his expression as pleased as I’d ever seen it as he waved the people accompanying him toward me. “This is the store manager, Marie Ellis, and I think you’ve already met my new administrative assistant, Sheila Sheltron.”
“Hi, Lauren.” Marie was the first to approach. “I’m happy to meet you.” Her voice was high but not shrill, and it seemed to peal with sincerity. “I’ve already met the adorable dogs and cats you have out front for adoption. Thanks so much for bringing them.” Her grin was huge, and her grip, as we shook hands, was firm and quick. If personality helped to sell pet supplies and food, I wasn’t surprised that she ran this huge Beverly Hills store.
“Glad to meet you, too, Marie.” I’d held other HotRescues mobile adoptions at HotPets stores, but this was my first one here—and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
“Hi, Lauren.” Sheila moved around Marie to face me. I had met Dante’s assistant before, since I visited the HotPets headquarters often to keep Dante updated on how things were going at HotRescues. She’d worked there for a few months now. Sheila was a tall, slim woman. She wore a soft gray dress that looked tailored and professional, but her black stiletto shoes yelled out for attention.
“Hi,” I said. “Did you help to arrange this party?” I didn’t wait for her proud smile and nod before adding, “I thought so. It’s wonderful. And,” I said to Dante, “happy birthday to HotPets, and many, many more.”
He laughed. “You’d better be right. Ah, look who’s here.”
Tom and Naya joined us. Naya was, unsurprisingly, hugging little Marvin. “He’s ours now!” she exclaimed with glee.
“He needs a Bling collar.” A guy I didn’t know had joined us.
“Of course,” Naya said. “Lauren, have you met Chris?”
I hadn’t, but I was quickly introduced to Chris Mandrea.
“Are you also with the HotPets Bling subsidiary?” I asked.
“He’s not only ‘with’ the company,” Naya said, “he’s crucial to it. He designs all the collars and other things that will eventually be released and sold.”
I was a bit surprised that Naya was the one to sing his praises rather than her husband. Tom was the manager of the new subsidiary, not her. But it was great to see Naya’s enthusiasm.
“Yep, I’m the heart of Bling.” Chris’s grin was implike in his long and narrow face. He wore a shining lilac shirt tucked into jeans, which, though not as dressy as the outfits most of us wore, still looked sufficiently partyish.
As Dante, Kendra at his side, went off to play host some more, I talked with the Faylers and Chris about HotPets Bling. They were clearly proud of the new products—justifiably, it sounded.
But after a few minutes, Tom said, “I think we have to get ready for . . .”
“For the big secret?” Naya asked, holding Marvin against her cheek. The sweet little min-pin licked her nose.
“What secret?” I asked.
“You’ll see,” Chris said, and the three of them walked off.
I glanced around. My invitees were now off on their own, drinking more champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres displayed on a table in the center of the room. I joined them, still wondering what the big secret was.
I considered mentioning it to my friends, but there wasn’t time. Nearly as soon as I rejoined them, Matt handed me another glass. “The servers said Dante is about to make a presentation and we should all be prepared to celebrate.”
I wasn’t about to resist more champagne. And my curiosity had definitely been piqued.
Tom Fayler joined Dante in the middle of the crowd, while Naya continued to hold Marvin. “May we have everyone’s attention?” Tom called.
Conversations were loud enough that those of us who heard started clapping to encourage silence. Soon, the crowd was quiet.
“I want to thank you all for coming to our celebration,” Dante said. “And right now, I want to add to it. We have something special for all the women who are here.”
Chris walked up to Dante and Tom holding a large box.
“This is both to add to our celebration—and to promote our new venture,” Dante said. He gestured first to Kendra. “Got a little present for you.” When she joined him, he pulled something out of the box and went behind her. With flair, he put the item around her neck and fastened it.
It was a light blue necklace that resembled a sparkling dog collar—a HotPets Bling collar.
“Thank you,” she said. Judging by her conspiratorial grin, she’d known this was coming.
All of Dante’s staff helped to distribute the necklaces contained in the box. I received one identical to Kendra’s—highly appropriate, I thought, since the knit shirts all HotRescues staff members wore, including me, were also blue. Not that I was likely to wear this necklace around our shelter. At least not all the time.
But I really did like it. It was artificial leather containing faux jewels set in the same designs as those in the smaller Bling dog collars—this time, several grinning pooches.
Once all the necklaces had been given out, I decided it was time to make a spectacle of myself. I hurried to Dante’s side.
“Thank you,” I said, loudly enough for the whole crowd to hear. “I’d like to make a toast.” I held up my champagne flute and waited while the crowd had time to figure out what I was doing and hold up their own glasses. “Here’s to Dante DeFrancisco, to HotPets, and HotRescues. And, today especially, here’s to HotPets Bling. I hope that the new products do as well on the market as I’m sure we all believe they will. In fact, I wish them all the success and popularity that we can imagine. May HotPets Bling become the best-known dog collars in the country!”
Chapter 2
“That’s quite a necklace,” Nina said.
I had just walked into the HotRescues welcome room from our parking lot. My number one assistant, Nina Guzman, had remained behind to oversee any visitors to the shelter that day, along with the volunteers who had stayed behind to help. We’d brought with us only a fraction of our pets available for adoption, and there were plenty remaining behind who also deserved good homes.
Plus, since it was a weekend, a lot of visitors typically came by to check out our animals. I’d called Nina on my way back, and she’d confirmed we’d been busy that day.
“Like it?” I asked, fingering it. I intended to change clothes right away, but I k
new the necklace looked good with my dress. I hadn’t had an opportunity to look in a mirror, but I figured the blue of the collar must set off my green eyes, at least somewhat. It would certainly contrast nicely with my dark hair, which I kept short so that I didn’t need to fuss with it while working.
“I sure do. It wouldn’t be an example of HotPets Bling, would it?” She grinned. No one was more aware of the relationship between HotRescues and HotPets than Nina, and she of course knew where I had been.
“What makes you think that?” I said, kneeling as Zoey, my beloved Border collie–Australian shepherd mix, barreled out from behind the welcome desk, which was covered in faux leopard-print veneer. In my absence, she’d hung out there with Nina. “Hi, girl,” I said as I hugged her.
“Just a guess. Don’t suppose you’ve got any extra, do you?”
“Well, I just happen to have . . .” I reached into my tote bag and pulled out a necklace in white for Nina and a dog collar in black, both with the requisite Bling faux jewels in the same cute patterns I’d seen before.
Nina stood and ran around the welcome desk almost as fast as Zoey had. She hugged me, too, as I handed her the necklace. “You’re the best, Lauren.”
“Of course.” I buckled Zoey’s new collar on without removing her old one with its identification information attached.
Nina had come a long way since I’d hired her. She still got frazzled now and then, but nothing like the way she had at first, while she was still recuperating from an abusive marriage.
Now, her former angst had disappeared from her face, ironing out its earlier wrinkles, which had seemed out of place on someone in her midthirties. Her eyes remained large and waiflike, still framed by the bangs of her long brown hair. She was a real animal lover and sometimes volunteered at the L.A. public shelters.
She glanced around. “Want me to go help bring things inside?” She knew the drill. After a mobile event, we had to bring back not only the pets—except for the rare few I allowed to go home on the spot—but also all the fencing, crates, and other equipment.
“That would be great,” I said. “Give me a minute to change clothes first, though.”
I hurried down the hall to my office, where I closed the door behind Zoey and myself and took off my good shoes. I then carefully removed the necklace and hid it at the bottom of one of my desk drawers. At last, I pulled off my dressy outfit and replaced it on the hanger where my HotRescues uniform—the blue staff shirt and jeans—had hung. I put them on, and then my athletic shoes. Now I felt more comfortable.
Dressing up that way reminded me of how I’d worn suits and other professional attire recently while observing some of the filming of Sheba’s Story, about the saving of some stray poodles. The director had been murdered then, and I’d gotten involved with finding out who’d done it.
Never again. Nor had I encouraged the head of the movie studio, who’d hinted about doing a film on how I’d helped to find the killer.
Finally, I returned to the front, Zoey at my heels. Nina was still behind the desk.
“Cinderella back from the ball,” she commented, looking at me in my usual clothes.
“Guess so,” I said. I didn’t make any comments about princes, even though Matt was as good-looking as a prince any day. “Anyhow, if you’re ready to go help, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure.” But, standing, she hesitated. “First, how’d we do?”
I told her briefly how well the event had gone—not only the party, but the mobile adoption, too. “We brought back several applications I’ll need to follow up on. I did allow one immediate adoption—little Marvin went home with the manager of the HotPets Bling subsidiary and his wife.”
“How about Mimi? Did you get many applications on her?”
“One, and I discouraged any more, since the lady’s information looked good. She’ll be in tomorrow to follow up.”
“Mimi’s our last toy dog,” she said, as if she needed to remind me. “And I doubt we’ll be able to rescue any from the public shelters.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “Matt’s still on notice to tell me if any tiny dogs are brought in to Animal Services that need rescuing, and I may also hear about them as a New Hope Partner”—New Hope is a program of L.A. Animal Services where private shelter members are officially informed when pets become available for them to take in—“but lately they’re adopted as fast as any here.”
Nina looked down at the HotPets Bling necklace that remained in her hands. “Thanks to these things.” Her voice sounded wry. “Maybe I should give mine back.”
“Won’t make a difference, and in some ways it’s great to know that at least one class of dogs is safe, even in the high-kill shelters in this area.”
“But not everywhere,” Nina reminded me.
“No, not everywhere.” I let my voice drift off as I pondered the irony. “Anyway, why don’t you go around back and help for a while? Zoey and I will take charge up here.”
“Fine.” I watched as Nina’s slim body, clad almost identically to mine, headed down the hall past my office and out the door into the kennel area.
“Come here, Zoey.” I slid around the counter and sat at the desk behind it, carefully saving everything on the computer screen, including Nina’s e-mail. My dog settled by my feet.
Then I began a computer search.
I’d gotten an idea while talking to Nina about how rare teacup dogs were in the L.A. area these days. We might not have enough to adopt out, but surely other areas of the country had some that were in need of saving and rehoming.
All I had to do was find them and get them here.
Yeah, as if either was easy.
But I found that the first part actually was.
As a long-time private-shelter manager, I’d developed a list of Web sites for other rescue organizations all over the U.S. There were even some online groups where we traded information.
I began with the places I referred to most, where I knew the administrators, or at least had heard enough to respect them.
Nothing on their sites. I sent a group e-mail out explaining our predicament in Southern California.
To my surprise, I got responses nearly immediately. Check out what’s going on in Janus County, Missouri, near Springfield, was the gist of all of them.
I Googled the public shelters in that area and got links to a bunch of media sites and the articles and newscasts they’d published.
There had been a gigantic puppy-mill rescue nearby. The dogs had been bred in huge numbers and horrible conditions, and local authorities had finally shut them down, rescuing those that remained alive.
For now.
There weren’t enough private shelters or fosterers in the area to take them all in. Some help had come from larger cities nearby, but they hadn’t been able to accommodate them all. If they weren’t rescued some other way, a lot of those poor little dogs would wind up being killed.
There were too many teacup dogs there. Not enough here. The answer was obvious—and yet how could I get a large quantity of endangered dogs from Missouri to California?
First things first, though. I checked online to learn who was in charge of the rescue. Unsurprisingly, that was a nearby public shelter. I looked up the person in charge—Director Juliet Ansiger—and sent an e-mail explaining who I was and letting her know that I, and probably others in Southern California, were in the market for a lot of small dogs. I didn’t go into detail, but I mentioned that a recent ad campaign showing teacup dogs had ramped up their local popularity.
I spent a while editing what I’d said, making sure it made sense, and then I hit the send button.
And waited. Not that I just sat there. In fact, a family of four with two teenage daughters came to check out the dogs available for adoption here. I chatted with the Clertons and was glad to hear they were most interested in a midsize dog.
We had plenty.
I couldn’t leave the front desk until Nina returned, so I used the phone system to sen
d out a general page for someone to come up front to accompany some visitors into the dog areas. The person who showed up first was Mamie Spelling, my former mentor. I’d lost track of her for a while, and the now senior citizen had unfort nately become a hoarder. I’d helped to rescue the animals in her possession—and later had also helped to clear her of a murder charge.
The once-confused lady was now much more alert, and she volunteered at HotRescues often.
“Hi, Lauren,” she said, coming down the hall from the door to the kennel area. She was in her late sixties, short, with curly red hair. “Can I help?”
“Sure,” I said. “Please introduce these nice people to a few of our medium-sized dogs.” I rattled off the names of some I thought would be most appropriate—shepherd mixes and Labs and more—and sent them on their way.
I returned to the computer. There were a lot of possibilities, if Ms. Ansiger was okay with the idea of HotRescues helping, but no answer jumped out at me.
A pet airline existed, but it would undoubtedly be prohibitively expensive to rent an entire plane. Even so, I could check with Dante to see if he’d be willing to foot the bill.
The Best Friends Animal Society’s Los Angeles group had begun a system called Pup My Ride, where people drove rescue pets from one area to another. That was a possibility, but even if it could be worked out, it might take a while.
There were also several organizations that flew rescued animals from places where there were few adopters to those where people craved that size or type of pet. That might be the best possibility, but I needed more information.
I decided to call Matt to see if he had any ideas, but I got his voice mail.
Next, I called Carlie. With her veterinary practice and TV show, she was usually a font of knowledge.
Fortunately, I reached her at her hospital in between patients. “I’ve heard a lot about those rescue organizations where volunteers fly from place to place,” she told me. “It’s often done in a relay. I haven’t featured any on my show yet, so I can’t tell you offhand which are the best.”
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