Teacup Tubulence

by Linda O. Johnston

  He described the way he had checked out the homes he allowed the dogs to go to. We always charged a minimal amount for adoptions at HotRescues, and he had been able to get around a thousand dollars each for the four he had found homes for. “I gave my friends each about five hundred,” he said.

  I looked at Janice. “That’s a pretty small amount for you to get to take on so much potential liability.”

  Her eyes teared up again, and I looked away. Pity had no place in this room.

  We talked a little more about what they’d done and how they had done it.

  Meanwhile, I pondered what I would do to rectify the situation.

  Eventually, I pulled one of the wooden chairs over from where it sat near the base of the TV mounted on the wall and sat on it. I turned it to face them and picked up Sapphire, hugging the Chihuahua as I talked.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” I told them. “First, you’re going to return these three dogs to HotRescues.”

  “But—” Marshall began.

  “I realize you might have bonded with them, and I’ll hold them for a short while. If you meet all my other criteria, then we’ll see about whether you can legitimately adopt them. To keep.” I looked at the doleful Janice, who also nodded. I’d gathered that she left Sapphire here some of the time so she and the other little dogs would continue to have their own pack.

  “Next, you’re going to give me all the information about who now has the other four dogs you adopted out. I’ll check them out this week. Hopefully, I’ll find them all acceptable and won’t have to go through efforts to get the dogs back. If I do, part of that will be your reimbursing the people who need to return the dogs. Got it?”

  Marshall nodded dolefully. “They’re all good. I checked them out. But I understand.”

  “And finally, I want to set up a meeting with you and all the other people who conspired in this. I intend for you to learn more about the process of caring for orphaned pets, and that means you will all need to take our orientation, then volunteer for a minimum number of hours I’ll establish at HotRescues. Got that, too?”

  “Yes,” Marshall said, not objecting.

  I looked at Janice. “Yes,” she parroted.

  We talked for a short while longer. It was getting late, and I wanted to go home to Zoey. But this needed to be as finalized as possible for now.

  Eventually, I said good night to the people and dogs. “E-mail me tonight before you go to bed with the information about the people you adopted dogs out to,” I told Marshall. His classes tomorrow didn’t start till the afternoon, he informed me when I asked. “Good. Bring these guys to HotRescues no later than nine o’clock AM.” I figured that would give them time to say good-bye to them, at least temporarily. “Make sure you contact all your friends who are involved, too, so we can arrange for them to volunteer and set up the initial meeting at HotRescues.”

  As I left, I felt as if I’d really accomplished something important that day, although I still had work to do during the next week, to check on the affected dogs and make sure all who weren’t put back into my possession were now in good home situations. I’d also need to confirm that all of the conspirators followed through and became supervised volunteers at HotRescues to atone for their misconduct.

  Yes, a lot of work, but at least I’d no sense that any animals were in danger. Plus, my figuring this out and dealing with it gave me confidence.

  But I was no closer to determining what was going on with the HotPets Bling collars . . . and solving Teresa Kantrim’s murder.

  Chapter 32

  The next week was one of the busiest ever at HotRescues.

  True to his word, Marshall provided me with the information about where the four teacups he had adopted out had found new homes. First thing I did was to contact the supposed new owners and arrange to visit them.

  Fortunately—and amazingly, considering his underhandedness with HotRescues—Marshall had in fact discovered good fits between dogs and adopters. Although I explained to each of them what had happened—with the idea that they could claim their exorbitant adoption fees back from Marshall if they wanted to—they all chose to keep their new babies. As far as I knew none regretted the payments they’d made.

  I also let everyone at HotRescues know what had happened, and I scheduled a meeting upstairs in our conference room on Tuesday night with Marshall, Janice, and the other college students who’d come here to adopt our teacups and turn them over to Marshall for rehoming and cash.

  They all looked familiar, of course. And each one appeared embarrassed and sorry. Or at least they gave that impression, even if they only assumed it because Marshall had told them to.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do, gang,” I said to all the sad faces over our upstairs conference table. “For one thing, you’re each going to become HotRescues volunteers. That way, I won’t pursue any further action against you, like turning you over to the police for animal endangerment or worse, suing you for fraud and breach of contract.” I told them we would hold a volunteer orientation, and we agreed on the following Saturday, which fortunately worked for all of them.

  Also fortunately, I was aiming for my next teacup rescue, with all its other attached baggage, for Sunday.

  Next, I got them all to agree to their minimum volunteer obligations. “I’ll have one of our volunteers who’s here today show you around when we’re through and give you a rundown of all that being a volunteer can entail.” Like not only socializing dogs and cats and feeding them, but also cleaning up after them. “And you’ll be subject to strict supervision while you’re here.”

  I asked if this was, in fact, the entire group of kids who were involved in this conspiracy to make money from our little rescue dogs. They claimed they were—but I knew I’d continue really scrutinizing all the applications we’d gotten in for our current group of teacup dogs, as well as questioning all those people and any more to come.

  I turned Onyx and Sapphire back over to Marshall and Janice, who made it clear that they each intended not to sell these little guys but to keep them themselves.

  I didn’t let them take Garnet back, though. The poor little poodle would be returned to our kennels in the small-dog building—but I knew it wouldn’t take long to find her a new, real home.

  I eventually sent them off with Bev, who would set them straight about the ethical, diligent, and, most important, caring obligations of volunteers here. She’d been one of those I’d explained the current situation to, and she had expressed as much outrage and disgust as I’d felt. She would be perfect for this task.

  I found, to my relief, that there were still plenty of people who wanted to adopt our little teacups besides the ones who’d conspired with Marshall to achieve ill-gotten gains by reselling them. By the time the weekend rolled around, all the dogs we’d named after jewels, and nearly all of the ones we’d given tea names to, were either adopted or ready to go to new homes.

  With applicants, and homes, that I’d studied even more carefully than usual.

  All was well.

  And I was ready for our next Airborne Adoptions flight.

  I only hoped it would give me not just more little dogs to rescue and rehome—but all the results I was looking for.

  • • •

  This time, I planned in advance for my trip with the Faylers as part of the Airborne Adoptions rescue. Not just the part that involved the dogs. I was already quite organized about that.

  But I also spent some time figuring out how to handle the other aspect of the trip: dealing with the HotPets Bling collars.

  I confirmed with Tom Fayler that he would once again be meeting with some of the Las Vegas store managers and would hand over samples.

  Samples I would ride with in the back of the plane.

  Samples that just might not be what they purported to be: attractive dog collars whose designs incorporated look-alike jewels. No, some might be the real thing—or at least there might be some unknown people who’d be
lieve so.

  Happily, despite my near-revelation about my knowledge of real jewels at the last HotRescues party, no one had confronted me. Matt had been royally peeved when I’d told him after the fact what I’d intended by what I had said—getting a guilty reaction from someone. I’d promised him I’d be careful, and I had. I hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything on my own since then—or at least not much beyond confronting Marshall Droven about his teacup plot. And Matt had spent several evenings with me.

  My ploy had been for naught. I’d suffered no attacks—a good thing, of course. No attempted poisonings, either. But neither had anyone admitted that at least some of the collars used real gems in their patterns.

  Now, I was going to push even more for answers.

  I also realized that my verbal digs at the party could have made whoever was guilty back down. Or give up. Or change tactics.

  I, for one, readily admitted that I couldn’t tell costume jewels from the real thing—although the ones I’d seen had apparently all been set within the one pattern: tiaras and dog noses. I could watch for them, at least.

  And I had a plan. One that might not work, of course, but I was going to try it.

  First, though, I had to reveal it to Brooke’s guy, Detective Antonio Bautrel.

  And Matt.

  • • •

  Here I was yet again. I helped Tom and Naya load a bunch of small-dog crates into the back of the plane, along with three cartons of HotPets Bling collars. One was even sealed with red duct tape.

  I held on to the arms of my seat as we took off, even though I was now a lot more used to flying in a small plane. My nerves were much better than the first time, but they remained somewhat on edge.

  The noise as we flew was still loud and annoying, keeping me from having much of a conversation with the two in the front seat. They both appeared relaxed, which felt good, since they’d be tense or worse if we were in trouble. They looked alert, too, which was also good. They were in charge and would know what to do if we ran into trouble. I hoped.

  This time, as we flew, partly to distract me but even more to prepare for what was to come after we landed in Vegas, I once again sorted through the cartons of HotPets Bling collars.

  The assortment of designs seemed to have increased. Now, in addition to the ones I’d come to understand as the costume Bling that were blue leather with dog bone and dog ear jewel designs, and black ones possibly containing real gems with designs of tiaras and dog noses, there were also some red ones with ring shapes and balls; dark brown ones in a larger size, decorated with dumbbell and splayed-out-chicken shapes, like some stuffed toys for dogs; and lighter- brown leather ones that were inset with designs of cat heads and disks like those thrown for dogs to chase.

  All were done attractively, the shapes artistic yet well set, the collars themselves functional.

  And I had no idea which ones had real jewels set into their designs. If any. Or all.

  I still wanted to—had to—trust the Faylers. I leaned forward so my mouth wasn’t too far from Tom’s right ear. “I assume you know all about these latest HotPets Bling designs, don’t you, Tom?” I asked.

  He turned his head a bit, and I saw his proud smile. “Of course. Chris stepped up his artistry, didn’t he? We love them and want to introduce them to the Vegas managers, since we’re about to do our initial rollout there.”

  “I’ve seen them, too, Lauren,” Naya said, also raising her voice to be heard. “They’re cute and unique in the industry the way they’re done, and I’ve been told the ads will be just as much fun as the ones in L.A.—which means teacup-sized dogs will become popular in Vegas soon, then all over the country. This could be your last rescue like this.”

  “I’d hoped that anyway,” I told them. I leaned back in my seat for just a short while, pondering what to say next. And then I again moved toward them. “I know you both heard what I said at our last HotRescues party about the paste jewels in the collars—or at least the possibly faux gems.”

  “You suggested they’re real, or at least some of them,” Naya said. “All of the HotPets people there discussed that before we left.”

  “But we didn’t tell you,” said Tom. He moved forward to push a button or two on the console in front of him. I had no idea why, but the plane seemed a bit more level afterward, and I could hear him better. “Maybe we should have, but what you said . . . well, it seemed so off base. We of course only use the pretty-but-cheap stuff.”

  “Of course, that’s what you think,” I contradicted. “But what if some of it is real?”

  Tom shrugged his shoulders. “All of us in the Bling subsidiary have traded some laughs about that. But where would we get real stuff? And why would we use it in the collars, especially at the prices we charge for them? We’d have to develop a whole new pricing structure.”

  “Maybe you’d better,” I said. “There’s something I maybe should have told you before, too. Or Dante should have. But even though we trusted you, we—or at least I—couldn’t be certain.” Was I doing what Matt would chew me out for later—endangering myself knowingly?

  But I really did believe in the Faylers.

  Besides, if something happened to me on this trip, everyone knew who my pilots were.

  “What’s that?” Naya asked. Since she was the copilot and didn’t have to keep everything under control all the time, she turned so she could look me in the eye.

  “Before I tell you, you need to swear to me that you really are legit and want to know the truth, too.”

  “Of course we are.” That was Tom, who turned enough that my stomach lurched. Was he still in control of the plane? But we still moved forward just fine, and he looked ahead immediately.

  “Yes, of course,” Naya agreed.

  “And you don’t know anything about real jewels being used in the collars?” I said.

  “I’ve a feeling you’re going to try to convince us that they’re genuine,” Naya said, her voice, still loud, sounding full of irony.

  “You’re right,” I said. “Then—”

  “The first we thought about the possibility was when Dante came around to the factory and asked to take a peek at the jewels, and offhandedly asked questions about their origin. Which is a paste jewelry manufacturer somewhere in China.”

  “Did you check?” I asked.

  “After Dante left, I did,” Tom said. “The place is staffed twenty-four/seven, so I was never all by myself there, but I checked the boxes that were unpacked to create the designs and didn’t see anything out of order. All of them looked pretty much the same.”

  “Even so . . .” I told them about Carlie’s cameraman’s assessment. “I’m no expert, but I gather he is.” I hesitated. “I’ve told Dante, of course, and he has confirmed that some of them are real jewels. I understood that of the collar designs you’ve taken to Las Vegas before, some contained the standard attractive costume-jewelry collars and some were the real thing.” I didn’t tell them which. “Now, though, there are more designs, plus, since I said something that could have worried whoever is playing games with your collars, there may be some kind of switching or mixing that only the perpetrator knows about.”

  “If any at all,” Naya said.

  “If any at all,” I agreed. I paused to think about the situation a little more. “I’ve got a suggestion, though. One you’re not going to like.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’d like to take this entire shipment of collars back with me and have it checked out by Carlie’s cameraman before handing them over to Dante, so I’ll know what to tell him.”

  They exchanged a brief glance before Tom again looked out through the front windows. “That makes sense, at least this time,” he allowed.

  “Good.” I started to sit back in my seat.

  That’s when Naya’s body seemed to freeze, her shoulders hiked up as if she expected a blow. What? Were we about to hit something? Nosedive? I felt myself begin to quiver.

  But when she spoke, it
was something else altogether that made me tense up.

  “If what you’re saying about real jewels is true—or even if someone is claiming it is . . .”

  “What, honey?” Tom asked as she tapered off.

  “Yeah, what?” I demanded.

  “What if that was what Teresa was talking about, as if she was aware of it and thought we were, too?”

  Chapter 33

  So I wasn’t the only one on the plane now wondering if the two things could be related.

  But we were getting ready to land, so that was pretty much the end of the discussion. For now, at least.

  When we were on the ground, the scenario began as it had the last couple of times. Some ground crew guys came over to unload the plane.

  This time, Tom and Naya had already agreed to bring the collars back to L.A. The only things to be taken out were the crates for the little dogs.

  We exited the plane down the steps after the crates were on the tarmac. Another similar plane was, once more, also sitting there. The pups had arrived before us again. Dwayne and Nelson Hannover came over to say hi.

  “How are all our little passengers doing?” Naya asked after we’d all greeted one another.

  “Great!” said Nelson. The bald father and son again wore flight jackets with their jeans. They grinned in unison and I was again struck by how much they resembled each other.

  “So what are you going to name these dogs after?” Nelson asked me. “You’ve already done gems, you told me. And, oh yeah, what were the last bunch named after?”

  “Teas,” I said. “And we haven’t decided yet about this group. I told my staff and volunteers to come up with a good theme. Any ideas?”

  “Why not types of small planes?” Dwayne asked.

  “Like what?”

  They all brainstormed then, the Faylers and the Hannovers, pilots all. Some names were fun, but I wasn’t sure I liked each they came up with. I nevertheless dutifully jotted every one of them down in a notebook I pulled out of my purse as they spewed out eight, the same number as our latest group of rescue dogs: Beech, Cessna, Challenger, Dash, Falcon, Gulfstream, Lear, and Piper.