Teacup Tubulence

by Linda O. Johnston

  This conversation was interesting, but it wasn’t netting me any helpful data for figuring out who had killed Teresa.

  I wanted to press the Faylers some more, without promising to help them. I still didn’t think they’d killed Teresa, but I couldn’t prove who else had done it because I really didn’t know.

  Could I add Sheila and Chris to my suspect list? Not likely. Although—

  “I agree,” Chris responded to Sheila. “You know, she found out that I was the head designer for the Bling collars and used the opportunity to tell me what a waste they were. Collars already existed that had shiny designs in them. And how dare I be involved with an organization that was so wild to publicize their product that they endangered little dogs?”

  “Endangered?” Sheila all but shouted. “All HotPets did was to make little dogs more popular around here. They were endangered in her part of the country. We—you, Lauren—were saving them.”

  I couldn’t disagree with that. In fact, I very much agreed with it.

  But Chris’s response had made me wonder. Especially when he continued to express his anger, especially about how the woman just wouldn’t shut up, even when there were a lot of other people present, like at the HotRescues party.

  Surely that wouldn’t have given him a motive to kill her.

  Or would it?

  His anger made him more of a suspect than the Faylers, based on what they had described.

  I wasn’t sure yet exactly where, but I would be adding Chris Mandrea to my suspect list.

  Chapter 20

  My mind was reeling as I headed back to HotRescues that afternoon, but I was quickly distracted from the murder as I saw the wonderful chaos there. Even though it was a Thursday and not a weekend, a lot of people were visiting. I could tell by the number of cars in our parking lot.

  “Our volunteers are really busy today,” Nina warned me as I entered the welcome area. “We’ve gotten half a dozen applications already, too—mostly for the remaining little dogs.”

  “I’ll take a look at them. Are any of the applicants still here?”

  “As far as I know, they all are. Most of them wanted to hang out with the dogs they hoped to adopt—maybe to ward off others who were interested, too.”

  Interesting. No one had mentioned, at the HotPets office, that there was a new round of Bling ads going out, but maybe the existing campaign hadn’t stopped attracting people to taking home teacup-sized dogs.

  “I think I’ll go take a look. Is Zoey in my office?”

  “Yes. I shut her in there. There was a lot going on, and I was afraid she’d get an application put on her!” Nina smiled so I knew she was joking, but I also realized that, with all the tumult going on at HotRescues, Zoey was better off staying out of the way.

  I did go in to see her and give her a hug, then said, “Stay, girl. I’ll be back soon.” Of course, she obeyed.

  I went down the hall and out the door into the kennel area. It wasn’t as jammed as when we’d held the party here, but there were still a lot of people around—which was a good thing, especially in that location, since it was where medium to large dogs were housed. Maybe this group was working its way toward the building with the small dogs, but perhaps some would fall in love along the way. Or even in the cat house around the back corner.

  Almost as soon as I got outside, Mamie Spelling approached from the crowd. She looked harried, which wasn’t good for this senior volunteer who’d had some mental issues that had led to her being an animal hoarder. I didn’t think she’d start hoarding again—no, I knew she wouldn’t, because I’d helped to arrange her current living situation in a senior center that allowed few pets—but I didn’t want her former confusion to return.

  “Hi, Mamie,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  “Sort of. But—do we have any of those HotPets Bling collars for sale here?”

  We did have an area where adopters could buy a few things, like leashes, collars, and food, but only regular collars—so far. “No, we don’t,” I told her.

  “Well, we should. Almost everyone is asking to buy them, especially people interested in those little teacup dogs.” The frown on her wrinkled face as she looked up at me caused her chin to lift almost belligerently, and I kept myself from smiling. No, she wasn’t confused at all. In fact, she seemed to have a mission.

  “I like the idea,” I said without mentioning that I’d thought about it, too. “I’ll look into it.”

  She took me over to a family of potential adopters whom she had introduced to Mabel, the setter mix in one of the nearby kennels. “We’d come here to see the little dogs,” the mother said, “but Mabel is so cute . . .”

  I could only smile back at her. Her kids appeared to be in their early teens, which could be a good fit with a moderate-sized dog. “Yes, she is. And well behaved. I’m sure Mamie can tell you the process if you’re interested in putting in an application to adopt Mabel.”

  I continued walking through our kennel area, and my smile only broadened. So many people looking longingly at so many dogs . . . I wondered how many adoptions would result.

  When I finally reached our building housing smaller dogs, I grew even happier, even as I felt just the slightest amount of concern as Pete Engersol came up to me, his hands filled with papers. “We’ve got applications on nearly all the rest of the teacup dogs now,” he told me. “Some more than one. I was just bringing them to Nina.”

  “Do the potential adopters seem like good fits?”

  “I think so. A bunch of them are still here. Want to meet them?”

  “Sure.” I held out my hand for the applications. I’d make notes on the ones with which I’d talked to the people who’d filled them out.

  Good thing I didn’t need to make a decision on the spot, but of the six remaining dogs from the teacup rescue, five had applications. Of those, four of the people wanting to adopt were still there.

  They were all single, living in condos or apartments. Two were men and two were women. Their ages ranged from twenty-one to twenty-six.

  Their applications seemed quite good.

  And yet . . . were they too good?

  I wasn’t sure what struck me as being a little off here, but I was glad that I wasn’t approving adoptions on the spot. Instead, I talked to the young people individually about where they worked and why they wanted to adopt a dog.

  They all sounded good enough that, had I wanted to, I’d have felt fine about letting the adoptions go through fast . . . except that I needed some time to absorb what was going on. I didn’t know why yet. Maybe it was just all too many, too fast.

  But each time I pulled one of the little dogs out of his or her kennel area and put him or her into the would-be adopter’s arms, there were so many hugs and licks that I almost tossed out my misgivings as just a reaction to a bit of stress.

  Almost.

  As Mamie had warned me, several asked about the HotPets Bling collars, whose ads had gotten their attention and sent them here to adopt. “Do you have any here to sell?” asked Sissy, who had put in an application on Opal, a sweet little white Maltese.

  “Not at the moment,” I told her, “but I hope to get some soon.” In fact, I’d call Dante or Tom a little later, once all this chaos died down a little and I could return to my office.

  All the potential adopters seemed to support one another. None was too pushy with me, but the group encouragement somehow made me feel like putting the brakes on even more.

  Which I did.

  “Sorry, guys,” I told them all. “I know you’d like things to go as fast as possible, but that’s not how we work here at HotRescues. Why don’t you go home now, and I’ll be in touch with each of you so you can come back and we’ll go over your applications. It shouldn’t take long, but I need some time.”

  None appeared too upset, fortunately, but they traded glances that I read as being not so thrilled by the shelter manager’s overprotectiveness.

  Well, tough.

  Eventuall
y, it was late enough that I could justifiably invite them to leave because it was the end of the day’s visiting hours. The animals had to be fed and their enclosures cleaned.

  And I needed some time to think.

  As I walked back through the shelter grounds, I saw my staff and volunteers also gently herding our visitors out. When all of them had gone, I thanked the HotRescues gang. “This kind of day is a good thing, but not easy,” I told them. “I really appreciate your help.”

  “Not doing it for you,” said Bev, her words softened by a large grin. “We’re all for getting the animals into new homes.”

  “Amen,” said Gavin Mamo, our dog trainer, who happened to be around this afternoon. He was a large Hawaiian who knew just how to get animals to do what he wanted by rewards, not by any kind of punishment.

  “I get it,” I told them with a grin of my own. “It’s all about our pets.” I waved to everyone as I finally headed back to my office.

  Zoey was loose now. Nina had released her after the outflow of visitors had passed through our welcome building. She greeted me at the door and accompanied me down the hall where I thanked Nina, who was about to leave.

  I’d gathered the applications filled out that day and combined them with the ones other potential adopters had left earlier. Then Zoey and I returned to my office, where I sank down onto my desk chair. I didn’t feel as if I’d done very much, but I was exhausted anyway.

  My plan was to go through the applications and make notes about what other questions I needed to ask each person or family.

  First, though, I had a phone call to make.

  Using my cell, I rang Dante. He didn’t answer, so I left a message, requesting that he get back to me as soon as it was convenient.

  I then called Matt. I didn’t reach him either, but I left another message.

  Then I got to work studying the applications.

  As I’d anticipated, five were for teacup dogs. On impulse, I next called Tom Fayler. He, at least, answered. “We’re adopting these little guys out fast,” I told him, even though I’d yet to approve any of the current applications. “Are you and Naya still available for Sunday?”

  They were, so I did as I had last time and also confirmed once more with Juliet Ansiger that the second batch of dogs would be available to transport, and with Mike Relfer to ensure that Airborne Adoptions had pilots to handle the flights from Missouri to Las Vegas.

  All was well.

  And on impulse I called Tom back. “Feel free to say no if you’d like,” I said, “but I’d love to be a passenger while you pick up the latest load of pups.”

  “Not to speak ill of the dead,” he quipped, “or maybe so, but as long as you promise not to act as nasty as Teresa, you’re more than welcome.”

  “Well, as long as you tell me if I start acting nasty, that’s fine with me.”

  I smiled as I hung up and returned to the applications.

  A short while later, my ring tone sounded, and I looked at the caller ID. Matt. We arranged to get together for dinner that night, although he wouldn’t be available till late. He’d come to my place with Rex, and I’d bring in a pizza.

  While we were ending our conversation, my phone indicated another caller. I quickly said good-bye to Matt and answered. This time it was Dante.

  I told him how busy things had been at HotRescues today. “If all goes well, I’ll have a bunch of adoptions to finalize.”

  Which pleased him—and why not? This was his shelter, too.

  I then described how eager visitors here seemed to be about buying HotPets Bling collars. “How would you feel about my stocking some to sell?”

  “It’s a great idea,” he said. “In fact, how would you like to join me tomorrow at our City of Industry manufacturing facility to pick up a bunch there for you to sell?”

  “Really?” That sounded like fun.

  We arranged for a time to meet the next day.

  I’d never seen any of the HotPets merchandise being produced before. A lot of it was food, and the facilities were located all over the country.

  Then there were the other things pets needed: toys, collars, leashes, and more. Once again, I figured that the manufacturing plants could be anywhere. I hadn’t thought about whether any might be nearby. That wasn’t necessarily of interest to me anyway.

  But the Bling collars? I wouldn’t admit to being any more interested in them than I was with the other HotPets products . . . but I was. They were special.

  And the advertising for them had certainly resulted in keeping me busy.

  I really looked forward to seeing how they were made.

  Chapter 21

  I’d passed the City of Industry before but had never stopped anywhere to visit. When I looked it up on the Internet before heading there, I noted that its human population was quite low, but that didn’t apply to its population of industrial facilities. Nearly all of its streets were lined with commercial buildings, mostly for manufacturing—not surprising, considering its name.

  I programmed the address of the HotPets Bling plant into my GPS before heading there, then drove on freeways that took me east of downtown. As usual, L.A. traffic going in that direction wasn’t exactly fast, but I nevertheless arrived there on time.

  The building where HotPets Bling was manufactured appeared very unassuming on the outside, as did most of its neighboring buildings. They looked like . . . well, factories.

  I parked my Venza in a fairly empty lot at the building’s side, noting that Dante’s silver Mercedes was already there. I got out and went around to the front sidewalk.

  The structure was long and low and gray, with symmetrical blocks of green windows. There was no grand entryway, just a sidewalk lined with low hedges that led up to a double glass door.

  I walked up to the door and found it was locked. I saw a call box on the wall beside it and pressed the button.

  “Yes?” said a hollow voice.

  “This is Lauren Vancouver. I’m—”

  “Come on in, Lauren.” A buzz sounded, and I heard a snap like a door unlocking.

  Chris Mandrea met me in the small, shadowy entry with decoration-free beige plaster walls. “Hi, Lauren. Dante told us you were coming.” The grin on his narrow face was rather pert as he looked me up and down. I felt a little self-conscious in my usual HotRescues blue knit shirt and jeans, but that was ridiculous. I’d been to my shelter earlier and would head there again, and there was no reason for me to dress up here. Besides, he didn’t look especially professional, either. He wore a green shirt with the tails out over dark blue jeans.

  “Did he mention that I’d like to have some of the Bling collars to sell at HotRescues? People keep asking about them, so I feel I’d be helping both them and HotPets.”

  “Sounds good to me. Let me show you where we assemble them.” He gestured for me to follow him, then opened a door on one side of the room.

  We entered a long hall that was lit much better than the entry. It had doors opposite one another in a long row.

  “We’re just getting started,” Chris said, “so only a small part of the facility is up and running right now, but we’ve got plenty of room to expand if the collars sell well.”

  “How can they not sell well?” I asked. “People are already climbing over one another to buy them, thanks to your ads.”

  “That’s in L.A.,” he reminded me, stopping at one of the doors. “Everyone here wants to impress his friends and neighbors, so the buzz we’ve started with our ads works great in Southern California.” I opened my mouth to respond, and he put one of his long-fingered hands in the air as if to stop me. “I know, word of mouth will help, and there should be a lot of other areas of the country where we’ll do well, too. We’ll just have to see.” He pushed the door open and stood back, politely waiting for me to precede him.

  The room was vast. The first part was laid out mostly with noisy machinery. There were quite a few people inside, too, observing what was going on. I saw one guy approach the n
earest machine and push a button, so I figured the human supervision wasn’t completely extraneous.

  The part of the room where we entered had to be the beginning of the assembly line. But things seemed to change near the middle of the large space, since people started outnumbering the machines there.

  It appeared that the colorful leather collars were put together with their buckles first, and the designs were added later.

  The designs were undoubtedly the most interesting part. I saw Dante off to the side near the room’s middle. He apparently noticed me at the same time and waved.

  “Let’s go talk to Dante,” Chris said in my ear so he could be heard over the mechanical din. I nodded, then followed him, watching the gadgets, the people, and a conveyor line of collars off to our left as we proceeded.

  “Hi, Lauren,” Dante yelled as we got near him. “Is this what you expected?” He was dressed for his main, more formal office in slacks that were probably part of a suit, although he wasn’t wearing a tie and his shirtsleeves were rolled up beyond his wrists.

  “I didn’t know what to expect,” I yelled back, “but this is fascinating.”

  “Come on. Let’s not stop here.” He started walking away in the direction I’d been heading.

  As we passed by, I could see intricate patterns on the computer screens in front of the people decorating the necklaces, in the unique designer shapes of dog bones and ears, rag toys and more. Squinting intensely, those people attached small, gleaming gems within the thickness of the leather with some kind of tool I’d never seen before. I watched as one skinny blond man finished putting a bone together, then placed the collar on a conveyer belt, where a woman removed it and started working on the pointed-ear design that showed on her monitor.

  “Amazing stuff!” I said to Dante, knowing that my awe was showing.

  “Yeah, it is.” He smiled.

  “Thanks.” That was Chris, and I grinned at the designer, understanding the pride he took in having helped in the creation of these fun collars.