Once the woman had left, Nina allowed Zoey out from behind our welcome desk, and my dog rushed at me like she hadn’t seen me in ages.
It had been a long time—since early this morning. I gave her hugs while she kissed my face.
I didn’t take the time to go visit our residents. Not now. Instead, I thanked Nina for handling everything in my absence, and then Zoey and I went to my office.
There, at last, I called Dante. I told him what had transpired so far that day, including my holding on to the boxes of collars originally destined to be left in Las Vegas.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “Tom phoned me before. He told me a bit about what you had in mind, but I didn’t quite follow it.”
“It’s gotten even more complicated,” I told him. I let him know about my meeting with Darius, the gem-recognizing cameraman.
“No!” he growled in such an angry tone that I bent over in my chair and hugged Zoey. Even though his mood was not directed at me, I somehow felt it. “Now, that surprises me. Why would whoever’s involved send more collars with real jewels to Vegas now that word’s out about our suspicions? Don’t they realize they’ll get caught?”
“They’re obviously pretty brazen—or they somehow don’t think they’ll be identified. Or they don’t think they have a choice.” I described the little I’d made out of the argument I’d heard between the ground crew and others at the Las Vegas airport. “Maybe they’re committed to bringing the real jewels there, no matter how they do it. Or maybe it’s simpler than that—they just figure that giving away real jewels that look like the paste ones isn’t a crime.”
“Depends on whose jewels they are—and where they came from. Somehow I don’t think this is just some kind of altruistic prank.”
It hit me then. “Do you recall the news a few months ago about some jewels being stolen from L.A.’s downtown jewelry district?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” Dante said drolly. “I’ve a feeling that, when we catch whoever it is, they’ll have some fun explaining the jewels’ background to the cops. And me. Definitely me.” Dante’s low, determined voice made me shudder. “I put out the word before that some questions about the stones’ authenticity had been raised, but that of course the ones being used were the manufactured kind we’d imported. Period. I did it in a way that should have left no doubt that anyone doing otherwise wouldn’t have a job here any longer. And that would be the least of their worries.”
“But who is that ‘anyone’?” I asked him gently, my right hand still splayed in the warmth of Zoey’s long fur. Her tongue was out as if she were laughing in pleasure, which made me smile despite the gravity of the conversation. “Until we know who they are—assuming we can figure it out—they’re safe.” Before he could say anything, I added, “But I do have an idea how to identify them.”
I explained it to him. All of it. Tomorrow he would let everyone at HotPets know that I’d brought the collars back because I’d been so upset about the way some adopters had acted with our little teacup dogs. While I was dealing with that situation, I wanted everyone who even had a thought about visiting HotRescues to know I would be giving out HotPets Bling collars not only to all our adopters this week—whom I’d check out even more carefully than before—but also for their other dogs they brought in, to make sure those they were interested in adopting got along with existing family pets. Some of the smaller Bling collars would even go home with cats, even though they hadn’t been designed for them.
But because of the events recently, and before, that had been problems at HotRescues—such as Teresa’s murder, not to mention the break-ins that had occurred when I was looking into another murder not long ago—I was locking those Bling collars in my office, since, with all the ads, they might be susceptible to theft. Not that anyone but my HotRescues “family” was going to be told that, but Dante and others who cared about the Bling collars and their reputations should know.
“Which means, I take it,” Dante said, “that you’re expecting someone from here, whoever’s messing with the collars, to break in and steal these back.”
“I expect someone to try,” I acknowledged. “And when they do—”
“We’ll have our culprits.”
• • •
I told all of this to Antonio Bautrel when he came to stay over with Brooke that night.
Zoey and I walked through HotRescues with Cheyenne and them as they did their initial check of the evening, and then accompanied them upstairs to the security apartment.
I was pleased at how well Brooke appeared, especially when she shared smiles with Antonio. I thought she grew even prettier over time, just as her health continued to improve. Antonio looked like . . . well, a cop, with his usual jagged features outlined in the apartment lights and the expression on his face intense when I started to speak.
As we all sat in the small living room and each drank one bottle of beer, I gave them a rundown of all the day’s happenings. The dogs lay together in a small pack on the area rug on the hardwood floor.
“Do you happen to have any contacts in Las Vegas who can check things out from that end?” I asked Antonio when I was done.
“I don’t personally, but all police departments cooperate with one another, at least somewhat. I’ll get that started.”
“And will you be able to make sure someone’s here watching the security cameras downstairs?” Brooke asked. We have a really nice setup with monitors there, in a room on the first floor. We don’t use them every night, but they’d helped in an earlier incident where there’d been break-ins at HotRescues relating to a killing that hadn’t happened here, but which I’d helped to solve. And tomorrow, after Dante made his pronouncements at HotPets, would be a really good time to use those monitors again.
“You and I can do that,” Antonio told Brooke. “And I’ll alert some of the guys at the Devonshire station that I might need backup.” That was the closest LAPD station to HotRescues.
“Great,” I said, and thanked him in advance.
“Will you really lock the collars in your office?” Brooke asked. She leaned forward from where she sat on the couch beside Antonio, holding his arm as she picked up her beer mug and took a swig.
The dogs stirred and looked up at us, then both settled back down on the rugs, obviously realizing we weren’t going anywhere yet.
“No. Maybe I shouldn’t even tell you where they’ll be.” I grinned.
“Maybe not. I like the idea of real jewels in a collar. Don’t you, Cheyenne?”
Her beautiful golden retriever looked up at the sound of his name and appeared to smile. Zoey stood, as if she felt left out of the conversation. I held out my hand, and she came over to me.
“Get a good night’s sleep,” I told the two humans. “Tomorrow may be a busy night.”
• • •
But it wasn’t. Brooke and Antonio took turns watching the security monitors from dusk till dawn, or so they informed me on Tuesday morning. I’d also warned EverySecurity management to be on alert and to monitor the cameras, too.
That Monday night, though, nothing at all out of the ordinary happened at HotRescues.
I had told Matt what was going on. He told me to go home and stay out of the way if someone happened to appear, then scolded me over the phone when I said I was staying at HotRescues for the night. I felt a little bent out of shape when he told me he had plans that night and couldn’t stay there, too, to be with me.
He told me about a nighttime animal rescue exercise that had been on his schedule for a while. He needed to be there to observe. I wasn’t thrilled, but I understood.
But I didn’t obey his command to leave and allow the security people and cops to deal with whatever happened.
I took pleasure in telling him, the next day, that nothing at all had occurred. But that was the only pleasure I derived from our exercise in futility.
I’d slept curled somewhat on the little couch I used for meetings in my office, with Zoey on the floor to s
tart with, but a couple of times when I woke up—since I’d told myself to awaken at any kind of noise—I discovered her sleeping on top of my feet.
I didn’t mind. I appreciated her company.
I’d thought about taking a walk through the shelter to check for any unwanted visitors, but at that moment any visitor would have been wanted—because there’d be only one motive for him or her to be here, looking for the collars.
Besides, with the word out that the collars were in my office, I was in the ideal locale to catch the suspects.
But no one even attempted to sneak in.
We had another busy day on Tuesday, showing off cats and dogs who were available for adoption. The third group of teacup dogs was ready to be picked up from Carlie’s, but only for the dogs to start their quarantine here. I was tired, but I brought Pete along to help me take the little guys to their new temporary home.
Even though it was Tuesday, public school apparently hadn’t started yet, since the family who wanted to adopt Wellington—both parents and kids—all came in and bonded with him.
I went over their application with them in great detail. Wellington wasn’t one of the little teacup dogs, but I felt as if I’d been burned by those kids adopting for profit, so I was even more careful than usual.
Eventually, I allowed this family, the Agustins, to take Wellington home with them—with the usual proviso that I could visit at any time.
Which I definitely would.
I also made good on the promise that was getting publicized a bit more. I gave them one of the HotPets Bling collars for Wellington—one of the original designs that Darius hadn’t found any actual jewels on.
The day went quickly.
Evening arrived. So did Brooke, Cheyenne, and Antonio once more.
Matt did, too, along with Rex.
We ordered in pizza. Brooke and her crew retired early to the building with all the security monitors.
I told Matt that he didn’t have to stay here with me—but of course he thought he did. There were no training exercises that night.
Rather than staying in my office with its compact sofa, we went upstairs to Dr. Mona’s office. The shrink’s couch we had there was much roomier.
I only hoped we’d hear it if someone came in looking for the Bling collars.
It turned out we did, thanks to the dogs.
Both Zoey and Rex woke at maybe two in the morning. Both growled first, then started barking. We both shushed them quickly, although someone visiting a pet shelter, legitimately or not, should expect to hear dogs around.
“Stay here,” Matt ordered me as he untangled himself from my arms and stood, straightening his clothes.
I just gave him a look intended to say “Yeah, right,” and got up, too.
We both leashed our dogs. I let Matt precede me down the stairway, since he did have a weapon—a gun that wasn’t supposed to be used on people, only on severely injured animals suffering too much to be transported to a vet, but if he needed to use it, it would obviously be for self-defense.
When we got down the steps and turned down the hall toward my office, we saw that it was unnecessary to use any kind of weapon. Antonio had someone in custody, and the EverySecurity people also helped to surround whoever it was.
I wasn’t happy that I couldn’t see the person. At least I couldn’t at first.
But as Matt and I, and our dogs, got closer, Brooke touched Antonio on the shoulder and nodded in our direction.
He glanced our way, then grabbed whoever it was by the shoulder and swung him around.
Really? I supposed I should have guessed, since he had more opportunity than anyone else to play games with the collars—he was their chief designer.
The person who’d broken into HotRescues, presumably to steal back those collars, because some of them had real jewels in them?
It was Chris Mandrea, the main HotPets Bling designer.
Chapter 36
I’m not a law enforcement professional. I recognize that, and I have no interest in becoming one.
I was nevertheless a little miffed that I wasn’t allowed to listen in on the initial interrogation of Chris. After all, this was my shelter. And it was my plan that had resulted in his being apprehended.
Plus, I’d helped the cops before in solving murders. And as I’d learned over the past weeks, I wasn’t the only one who thought that the oddity about the HotPets Bling collars could somehow be connected to yet another murder, Teresa Kantrim’s.
But I wasn’t even permitted to hang out in the next room when the detectives who’d come at Antonio’s behest started to question Chris.
The only thing that made me feel a little better about it was that the EverySecurity guys who’d shown up to help were also exiled from the interrogation.
At least they let Antonio sit in. He was law enforcement, one of their own. And I knew him well enough to feel certain he’d tell me anything he legitimately could.
Which, of course, might be nothing.
I sat in the welcome area with Matt and Brooke and our dogs and waited. And waited.
Eventually, after over an hour, Antonio joined us. “Mandrea is being taken into custody. We’ll have a team stay here to check the shelter out as a crime scene, at least for his breaking and entering.”
“Is it okay if I go look in on our residents?” I asked. This wasn’t the same horrible situation as a murder, so surely we wouldn’t be entirely on lockdown.
“Yes, although I’ll come with you,” Antonio said.
Both Matt and Brooke said they would, too. We left Zoey, Rex, and Cheyenne in my office and headed out the door to the kennel area. Some cops milled around under the lights that were still on at full blast rather than dimmed for the night. I noticed with interest that a bunch of the officers were leaning toward the glass kennel doors, looking over the dogs inside.
The dogs, in turn, were all fairly quiet now, mostly standing and wagging their tails at the attention.
I wondered if any of the officers would return to meet any of the dogs up close and personal, maybe even look into adoption.
But that was premature, and not the reason I was here. I looked over the men’s and women’s shoulders toward the kennel inhabitants, assuring myself that all was well.
I had to excuse myself to go around a couple of the police so I could clean out those kennels, but they were all nice, and in fact one woman helped me use rag towels to scrub down a couple of the floors with disinfectant. Not just her, though. I really appreciated how Matt chipped in to help, and Brooke and Antonio, too.
I continuously looked around, but the police had apparently taken Chris out the back door. It was unlocked, and some crime scene tape had been stuck to its frame, but the cops still used it for coming in and out.
We stopped outside the building containing the small dogs, and despite my exhaustion, I went inside. The eight newbies from our latest rescue hurried to the fronts of the kennel runs they shared, but their lack of energy suggested they were as tired as I was.
For the moment, there weren’t any cops around except for Antonio, so I could ask questions without attracting glares.
I leaned against the mesh gate of the nearest enclosure, Matt standing close to me, and asked Antonio, “I know you’re not supposed to say much, but I’m going to ask anyway. Did Chris admit to anything—even the break-in here tonight?”
“No.” Antonio crossed his muscular arms as he smiled at me. That looked like a mixed message—holding me back with his off-putting gesture but expressing amusement at what I’d said.
“Then he didn’t get into how the gem exchange was done, or why?” I pressed.
“Lauren, I don’t think you’d better—” Brooke began. She took her place beside her boyfriend. She’d been here long enough, and we were good enough friends, that she knew I would listen to her warning, even if I didn’t like it.
“I know,” I broke in. “But you’ve got to understand how curious I am.”
“I get
it,” Antonio said. “And I’d tell you more if I could, but I honestly don’t know much else. Not yet. But what I can tell you is that it sounds as if Chris is hoping to negotiate some kind of plea deal already.”
“What do you mean?” That was Brooke, stating exactly what I’d been about to ask.
“He keeps saying he could tell us something we’d be a lot more interested in, and who’s involved, but he won’t do it until he can be sure that he’ll be treated fairly and released. He’s asked for a lawyer to help him negotiate it, and that’s the way he’s phrased it, too.”
“Does that mean Teresa’s murder is somehow related to the jewelry situation, and he knows who killed her?” Matt asked. “Assuming, of course, it wasn’t him, and it doesn’t sound like he’s admitting that.”
“That’s our speculation,” Antonio said. “I’ll keep you all informed about how things go, at least as much as I can.”
• • •
Matt had an early morning meeting the next day—or actually today, since it was already past midnight. He was taking Rex and going home for whatever sleep he could manage.
I drove Zoey back to our home. I parked in the garage, pushed the button to close the garage door, then approached the door into the kitchen.
Before I could use my key to get in, Zoey stopped and growled.
“What’s wrong, girl?” I kept my voice low. She didn’t act this way. Not usually.
There could be a simple, if nasty, explanation, like a mouse or bird in the kitchen. But I doubted it.
Just in case, I reached for my phone in my pocket and pushed the button that went automatically to Matt’s line.
I gasped as the door opened, and shoved the phone back where it had been—but I didn’t end the call.
Whatever was going on, I hoped that Matt heard it. And figured something out if I wound up needing help.
Which I immediately figured I did.
“Hello, Lauren.” The woman facing me had a gun, and she aimed it at my chest.
It was someone I really hadn’t expected to be involved, although as my mind raced to figure out what was happening, some things suddenly appeared to make sense. Maybe.
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