Teacup Tubulence

by Linda O. Johnston

  Zoey and I started walking along the sidewalk, and Matt and Rex joined us. Matt had actually found Zoey, a rescue dog he’d brought to meet me. Of course we had fallen for each other. Zoey and I, I mean . . . although the same held true with Matt and me. Or so I believed most of the time.

  “So, are you going to tell me?” Matt said.

  “As long as you don’t act judgmental.”

  “Lauren,” he said in a tone I couldn’t quite interpret. Suddenly he was right in front of me, his hands on my upper arms. “In case you don’t get it yet, I really care about you. And you keep getting into situations where you could be hurt. I know you don’t always choose to. Well, I don’t always choose to have to worry about you, but I do.”

  I felt the dogs’ leashes around my legs as I framed a response in which I wouldn’t sound overly irritated. And then I saw the expectation in Matt’s gaze, where he obviously knew I was about to scold him.

  Instead, I reached up and drew his head down. Right there on the street, I gave him a big kiss.

  “I know you worry,” I said a little breathlessly when it ended. “I appreciate it. But I still have to deal with things as they happen. I’ll tell you what I can, when I learn it. You don’t need to protect me. Honest.”

  His laugh was rueful. “Yeah, I do. Or at least I feel like I do.” He put his free arm around me and we started walking again, still holding our dogs’ leashes as they, too, walked side by side.

  I love this neighborhood. The houses are upscale suburban, mostly in earth tones, with sloped roofs and protruding entrances. The four-lane street has parking allowed along each curb, but not many cars lined it since people tend to park in their two-car garages or on their short driveways.

  I also like my neighbors—and fortunately didn’t see any outside just now. Nor did any stare out their windows, at least not obviously.

  “So . . . ?” Matt said into my ear. “Tell me.” He wanted more detail than the little bit I’d already informed him about.

  I couldn’t help shuddering as I told him how I’d found Teresa in the quarantine building, on the floor, not breathing. How I’d tried CPR, called Brooke and told her to call 911, and so forth.

  “But she was dead?” he asked gently.

  “Yes. The EMTs confirmed what I had already figured.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone around there. Had you seen her go into the quarantine building, or anyone else?”

  “You know how things were at the party. Fun but chaotic. Frankly, I watched the dogs in the outer kennels a lot more than I watched people. And I, of course, checked on our cats, and on the small dogs—now that we had some again—in their inside kennel building.” I stopped walking for a moment. “You sound as if you’re trying to help solve the murder—assuming that was how she died.”

  “Maybe because I understand that you’re already involved, whether I like it or not. So—never mind the police. Do you have any suspects?”

  “Her boyfriend, Mark, is the obvious one.”

  “And you accused him, so he attacked you?”

  “No. It wasn’t like that at all.” I related to Matt the strange interlude in the parking lot, ending with his eavesdropping over the phone and the arrival of Antonio. “I’m sure the police will want to talk to our volunteer Pam. I do, too. She might provide Mark with an alibi, but I can’t imagine who else around here would have hated Teresa enough to kill her.”

  Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone I knew to be involved. Not this time.

  “One question I’m sure you don’t want to hear, but do you think this is going to prevent you from rescuing the other little dogs?”

  He was right. I didn’t want to hear it.

  But I had already been considering it.

  Our dogs had stopped to both relieve themselves on a neighbor’s drought-tolerant landscaping near the sidewalk—fortunately not too near the closest cacti. I pulled a couple of biodegradable poop bags out of my pocket and handed one to Matt, although I felt pretty certain he had his own. I was able to delay my response until we were done cleaning up our respective dogs’ eliminations.

  I still held Zoey’s sealed bag in my hand as we started walking again, and I held out my hand to take Rex’s. My neighborhood; my access to garbage cans. But it was time to start heading home anyway.

  “I’ve considered whether the head of the rescue organization in charge of saving those little teacup dogs will assume that L.A. isn’t the right place to send the others, and I intend to make sure that those we have are adopted out as fast as I’d originally planned. In fact, the notoriety might even speed the process—but before you say anything, don’t worry. I won’t mention that to anyone else, and even if it does, I totally revile the fact that there was a murder connected to the situation.”

  “I figured,” Matt said. “But you’re right. Don’t repeat that anywhere. People may take it wrong.”

  We were at the walkway through my own yard of low-maintenance plants that included cacti and hedges that didn’t need a lot of moisture.

  “Come on in,” I told Matt. “I’ll serve drinks all around—water for the dogs and beer for us. Assuming you’re okay with that.”

  He stopped and smiled down at me. “Sounds great to me—as long as that beer is a nightcap.”

  I smiled back, glad that, after all that had gone on that day, I wouldn’t be alone that night.

  Chapter 10

  There are times I’m thrilled to have HotRescues in the news. That’s when we do a special event or are otherwise singled out for a particularly touching rescue, or even an adoption of a pet to a star or someone else well known.

  But the next morning was one of those times I would have done nearly anything to keep HotRescues from being the subject of media gnomes’ attention.

  In my kitchen, I kept a supply of the healthful kind of cereal Matt liked to eat for breakfast as well as the equally healthful dog food Rex ate, in addition to Zoey’s and my equivalents. Matt and I walked and fed our dogs first, then sat down at my small kitchen table with our food and mugs of the coffee I’d brewed, and I turned on the television on the counter.

  And braced myself. Last night, Liam had confirmed that the murder at HotRescues had made the news. I knew it would only be worse this morning, and it was.

  “That ridiculous hype is as bad as I figured,” I grumbled to Matt as I used the remote control to switch from one local newscast to the next.

  “Deaths are newsworthy no matter where they occur,” he said, though he didn’t have to remind me of that. “And since this one is suspicious in nature, a possible murder, that makes it even more sensational.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.” I took a sip of coffee, wishing that it were later in the day and I was drinking something alcoholic instead.

  While waiting for my cop interrogation last night, and after calling my kids, I’d also called Dante to tell him what had happened. Kendra and he and their dogs had left the party fairly early, and I wanted to make sure he had a heads-up about the situation. He’d been kind and even sympathetic when I’d told him I had found Teresa’s body.

  To the extent I could, I would minimize publicity about my shelter’s affiliation with HotPets. That was irrelevant to what had happened. But HotPets is a big company, and Dante’s wealth, and the fact he funds HotRescues as well as a sanctuary for wildlife called HotWildlife, have always been thrown out for the world to hear about when anything supposedly newsworthy touches any of the organizations.

  A murder at one was definitely newsworthy. But I also knew Dante had a public relations staff for HotPets that would put as positive a spin as possible on the affiliation.

  No reason for HotPets to be associated with the murder. It was too bad that HotRescues was associated with it.

  This morning, Matt had dressed in his Animal Services uniform: a khaki shirt with green slacks and a jacket decorated with patches and badges that showed he was an officer with people reporting to him within the city department.
/>   We’d spent the night in each other’s arms. I’d needed just the comfort, but I knew he would have made our time together even more enjoyable had I even hinted at interest.

  That could wait until another night. At least I felt sure there would be more ahead of us.

  As long as I listened to him, and kept him informed if I felt compelled to put myself into harm’s way.

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. “I need to get to work, Lauren.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No, but it’s time for me to start dealing with the usual, and I need to take Rex home first.” He rinsed his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, nice guy that he is. Then he returned to where I was just rising. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Of course.” And I would be. I always find a way to deal with issues. But I knew this wouldn’t be my favorite day.

  Then I castigated myself. My day would involve handling all I had to. But Teresa Kantrim, however I felt about her, was dead. She would never be okay again.

  I took a deep breath. Matt must have recognized the change in my mood, and took me into his arms. “Call me if you need a friendly ear. And let’s plan on dinner tonight.”

  “We’ll talk later,” I said, not wanting to commit to any plans. “But thanks.”

  We kissed each other good-bye, and I saw him to the door. I kept it open, watching Rex and him get into his car.

  Then I sighed again. “Okay, Zoey.” My dog, beside me, nuzzled my hand. “We’d better get ready to go, too.”

  • • •

  I was surprised to see Antonio Bautrel’s car still in the HotRescues parking lot. Though he sometimes stays with Brooke when she’s the security person on overnight duty, he usually leaves early in the morning.

  I wondered if the crime scene investigation team was still present. I hadn’t driven past the alley behind HotRescues where they’d parked, so I wasn’t sure.

  Zoey and I went inside, and I locked the welcome area’s door behind us. It was still too early for potential adopters to arrive, and staff and volunteers entered through the back door, where Pete Engersol let them in. Although . . .

  “Come on, Zoey.” I motioned for her to follow as I hurried down the hall. I shut her in my office for now, then headed toward the door to the kennel area. I had to make sure that all was relatively normal, and that even if there were still investigators present, our staff and volunteers could get inside as usual.

  The dogs in the nearest kennels greeted me with barks. I saw that some had bowls inside their enclosures, which meant they’d already been served breakfast. Plus, their kennels were clean. It didn’t appear that I’d need to help out this morning.

  As I passed the building on the right, the door opened. Antonio and Brooke emerged. Neither was dressed up as they’d been last night. Brooke wore her black security shirt and dark slacks, and Antonio had on a gray T-shirt and jeans.

  “Good morning,” I called, then stopped. Brooke would know if there’d been any issues about our usual people getting inside. “Is everything okay in the kennel area?”

  “It’s pretty much back to normal,” she told me. “There’s still crime scene tape around the entrances to the quarantine building, but no one’s still around, at least not right now.”

  “And everyone who needs to can get inside through the back?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I noticed that Antonio’s craggy features seemed even more pinched than usual.

  “Is everything else okay?” I looked directly at him.

  “Let’s all walk through the grounds.” That made me feel positive there was something he knew that I didn’t want to hear—but that I should hear anyway.

  I glanced at Brooke. She was watching my face, her expression sympathetic.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The investigation . . .” Antonio looked at me. “It’s going in a direction I didn’t anticipate. If you want me to tell you more, you need to promise this won’t go any farther. You can’t tell anyone. The suspect or suspects will have a sense of what’s happening soon, but word’s not to get out yet.”

  I froze. We were near the end of the first walkway, toward the area outside the large storage building. Some of our volunteers were diverging, heading for the kennels. They were going to pick up empty bowls and start taking dogs for walks.

  All as usual.

  But things weren’t all as usual here at HotRescues. And since I knew I wasn’t going to like what Antonio had to say, my mind started racing around who he was hinting at as a suspect.

  Me? I’d found Teresa’s body.

  Mark, her boyfriend? Despite his claimed alibi in Pam, he still seemed most likely to me. But Antonio wouldn’t be considering breaching his obligation of silence if it were Mark.

  A lot of people had been around yesterday. I had no idea how anyone could have slipped inside the quarantine building without being noticed, but Teresa apparently had.

  And so had her killer.

  Was one of our staff members or volunteers the prime suspect? But why? They hadn’t known Teresa. If the woman had been abusing any of our residents, then maybe there’d have been a reason to confront her, yet surely they’d have told me about it.

  Others present had been potential adopters. Were any of them suspects, or were the people who had relocated from Missouri?

  But for Antonio to act like this, his main suspect had to be someone I knew.

  Teresa hadn’t exactly been friendly toward anybody who’d been here. But she’d only been particularly nasty to a couple.

  I suddenly began quivering. I thought I knew what Antonio was going to say. But there were still too many people around for him to say it.

  “Hey,” I said as brightly as I could. “I need to go check on the little teacup pups. Want to come with me?”

  They were inside the building around the corner of our facility. I could easily chase out any people inside.

  Which I did. A few of our volunteers, some of the younger ones, were inside the kennel areas socializing the small dogs. I thanked them, then asked them to go walk some of the midsize dogs and come back later.

  When they were gone, I turned to Antonio. Brooke’s gaze at me remained sympathetic.

  “Okay,” Antonio said. “Here it is. There are two persons of interest involved here, one more than the other.”

  “But they are a couple,” I said, “aren’t they?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I guessed. I don’t believe they had anything to do with it, but I’ll bet I know who you’re talking about.”

  Antonio pursed his lips, and the way he looked at me appeared sympathetic and admiring.

  “I’ll bet you do, too,” he said. “It’s—”

  “Naya and Tom Fayler,” I finished.

  Chapter 11

  After sharing his information, Antonio left. I didn’t. Instead, I entered the kennels and sat on the hard, recently cleaned cement floor with the first set of little dogs—Amethyst, a black Pomeranian, and Lapis, the black-trimmed reddish silky terrier.

  We’d tried to have the dogs’ gem names fit their appearances somewhat, but that didn’t really work, considering the actual coloration of some of the jewels. For example, amethysts are generally purple, and lapis lazuli is blue—neither colors of dogs’ coats. But I still thought those were cute names for our new little charges. And of course, whoever adopted them could change their names anyway.

  For now, all I wanted to do was hug them and give them attention—as much for me as for them. I let each of these two jump onto my lap, lick my face, demand to be petted, try to distract me.

  I didn’t let them know they didn’t fully succeed.

  I felt frustrated. I had learned something important but couldn’t say anything. Like warn the Faylers.

  Warn Dante.

  I hated that.

  I suspected, though, that if Antonio had been able to find out that the Faylers were major suspects,
they might already know. They’d at least have been questioned by the police. Had they been careful with their answers? Had they hired a lawyer?

  Had one or both of them killed Teresa Kantrim?

  Yes, I now wondered that, too. The police might not always zero in immediately on the right person, but they were certainly accurate most of the time.

  I’d seen Teresa goad the Faylers without understanding why. Had they argued on the flight here from Las Vegas? It sounded that way. But if so, about what? Was it serious enough for one or both of them to have killed Teresa?

  Maybe I could get that answer, at least, from the Faylers. Assuming that I would be able to talk to them.

  That they weren’t under arrest.

  “Good morning, Lauren.”

  I jumped, startled at the voice from outside the kennel. My motion scared the two little dogs, and they leaped off me. But not to be deterred from their quest for attention, both hurried to the front gate and wagged bodies and tails at Angie Shayde, our veterinary technician. She smiled back at them, her cherubic face lighting up beneath her wavy hair as she observed the excited dogs. She wore a bright, new turquoise lab jacket over her jeans.

  “They’re so cute!”

  “So you’re back from vacation.” I rose to my feet. It was time for me to move on anyway. To visit more dogs—and to move my train of thought onto something I could act on right away.

  “Yes, I got back last night, and—” She hesitated. The distress on her face told me what she wasn’t saying.

  I gave the two dogs each a good-bye pat, then maneuvered my way backward out of the enclosure, and Angie helped to make sure that neither of my recent companions escaped. Then I turned around.

  “And what?” I finally prompted Angie, even though I didn’t particularly want to talk about it. But even if I couldn’t tell our staff and volunteers much about the situation, I wanted to ease their minds as much as I could—even if I had to make things up as I went along.