Beaglemania

by Linda O. Johnston

  With the evident media coverage, it was unlikely that potential adopters would visit today. If they did, I’d be wary of placing any of our residents with them anyway, since that kind of person would have to be nuts to run the media gauntlet, or might be just publicity seekers. Not likely, either way, to be good candidates as new animal parents.

  With Officer Plummer at my side, I ventured through the crowd to the first enclosure. Elmer, the black Lab mix, lay dejectedly on a nice, fluffy dog bed from HotPets until he saw me, and then he dashed to the front of his cage, wagging his tail so hard it looked as if it could act as a helicopter rotor and lift him from the ground.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I said, glancing inside. The surface of his habitat needed a good cleaning. His water bowl required a refill. And he was undoubtedly hungry.

  My responsibility—and pleasure—now. Pete would want to help, and so might any volunteers who got through, but I couldn’t wait to see if I’d have any backup. Physically, I’d have no trouble doing everything myself. But I hated to keep any of our residents waiting.

  Unless . . . “Officer Plummer, do you happen to like animals?”

  She was about my height and weight but only about half my age. Her previously blasé expression suggested that she wanted to appear as if this all wasn’t fairly new to her. But now her feigned nonchalance disappeared into a broad grin. “I have a golden Lab at home, Ms. Vancouver. Her name is Trixie.”

  “Great. This is Elmer. Can you help me take care of him? I’ll want to keep on the move, since he’s just one of a whole lot of dogs and cats who need some care right away.”

  “Sure!” She demonstrated her sincerity by talking softly to Elmer as she took the pooper scooper from me and slipped inside the enclosure when I opened it. She picked stuff up and placed it into the biodegradable bag I handed her. I wondered if she’d get in trouble for suddenly assuming the role of a HotRescues volunteer.

  I did the same in nearby enclosures, using only bags, not a scooper, for the initial cleaning. Hosing things down would undoubtedly have to wait until later. When I was able, I headed toward the back of the shelter area, skirting around where I’d seen Efram without looking down, as if he were still there. His crime scene outline might be. His blood . . .

  I needed to get food for the animals from our shed.

  Pete was still near there, talking with the probable lady detective. He looked up at me with concern adding new wrinkles to his already lined face. “Are you okay, Lauren?”

  “As good as possible under the circumstances,” I assured him.

  “We’re done, aren’t we?” he pleadingly asked the woman. “I need to help take care of the animals.”

  “All right.” But she didn’t sound entirely convinced. Even so, she let Pete go.

  Together, he and I took care of all our charges. A couple of cops besides Officer Plummer helped with the feeding, although no others assisted with cleaning.

  I assumed that no one else who belonged here had been allowed through the police lines yet. They were probably being interrogated as they appeared.

  Eventually, the cops apparently finished with all they needed to do. Detective Garciana again joined me. He asked if we’d covered a security camera for any reason, and gestured up toward one that had something tossed over it that appeared to be a dog blanket. Otherwise, it might have filmed what had happened here.

  Shocked, I said, “I’ve no idea how that got there. Maybe Efram did it when he broke in. He’d have known how to angle himself to stay out of the camera’s way until he covered it.” It certainly explained why the picture had suddenly disappeared at the EverySecurity offices.

  “Maybe.” Garciana didn’t sound convinced or enthused. Just skeptical. He didn’t ask any more questions, thank heavens. He didn’t assure me he’d never be in touch again, either. In fact, he gave me a business card, told me to call if I thought of anything he should know. I glanced at it, saw that his first name was Stefan. My assumption was that Detective Stefan Garciana and I would get to know each other a whole lot more than I’d ever want to do over the coming days and weeks, until whatever happened here became clear.

  As the crime scene folks’ presence receded, Nina and some volunteers rushed in, including Ricki and Sally.

  I was quickly the center of their attention, including Pete. I assured them that I was fine, and so were all our residents. And I extracted from Pete that he, too, was doing okay.

  Knowing the animals would need him, he’d come in through the back entrance near the shed—and, yes, the gate hadn’t been locked. There’d been cops around, sure, but he’d somehow talked his way inside, bless him. He only wished he’d been able to start helping our residents faster.

  When the group started asking me what had really happened to Efram, all I said was, “I wish I knew. But whatever you think, whatever you hear, you can believe that I didn’t touch him.”

  While most of my crew nodded sympathetically, I have to admit, but only to myself, that the skepticism I thought I saw on a few of their faces hurt a lot.

  Chapter 7

  As the morning inched along, more control of the property was returned to me. I realized this was a concession not always given so fast at a crime scene, but the nature of our rescue facility made the difference. Maybe I should have felt grateful. Instead, I just wanted the whole official crew gone. They were still disturbing our residents.

  Not to mention me.

  But they weren’t our only tormentors. I thought about letting Nina or the volunteers handle the endless phone calls from the media, but I’m no coward. And I had no doubt I’d dispose of them more easily than anyone else.

  Capitulation wasn’t in my vocabulary.

  But irritation definitely was. As I sat at my desk, the blinds pulled so the crime scene people couldn’t watch me, I had to stop myself more than once from shrieking, “Leave us alone,” into the HotRescues phone. Fortunately, no one had gotten my BlackBerry number . . . yet.

  I didn’t give a damn whether I was raked over the coals on TV or in the press—except that it might anger Dante. There was no job in the world that I wanted more than this one. Plus, I thought I did a damned good job of taking care of our animals. Symbiosis. I didn’t want the paparazzi to ruin it for any of us.

  So, with each call, I went through a litany in my mind: What’s the best way of getting rid of this creep without giving HotRescues a poke in the eye? Or, What would Dante want me to say here?

  As it turned out, I was given the perfect opportunity to find out. Dante was one of the seemingly endless callers, but he was the only one who called my cell. I was calm and professional when I answered, and I agreed with pleasure to meet him for lunch and give him an update.

  When I hung up, I sagged in my desk chair. How could I put as good a spin as possible on this deplorable situation?

  I’d just tell the truth. Dante was no fool. He was fully aware of the hell occurring around here.

  And the idea that I might be suspected of murdering Efram?

  Well, he’d been a murder suspect, too, not long ago. At least that was what the media jackals had howled. No apologies to him after the real killer was found, of course.

  Just as there wouldn’t be to me now, by the cops. But I sure hoped the truth flashed to light soon.

  The situation was hurting more than just me.

  Dante’s office for his HotPets pet-supply store chain was in Beverly Hills. HotRescues was located in Granada Hills, in the northern San Fernando Valley.

  I was, in some ways, Dante’s employee. He could easily have insisted that I meet him near his offices. But he was kind enough to suggest someplace in between, more or less.

  We met at a restaurant in Encino.

  It didn’t surprise me that we weren’t alone. His main squeeze, Kendra Ballantyne, joined us. I wasn’t sure where she lived or pet-sat, but I’d heard that her law office was in Encino.

  I didn’t mind her presence. In fact, I was sort of relieved to have a lawy
er to speak with, under the circumstances.

  Not that Kendra represented me. If anyone, she represented Dante. And, maybe, HotRescues. She’d once represented all of us, when Efram threatened to sue, but her loyalties now lay more with the others, not me.

  I’d always appreciated Dante’s lifestyle, as I saw it. He didn’t insist that we meet at the most expensive brasserie in the area, although he could have. And since he was treating—as always—he could have selected anyplace at all.

  He chose an eatery that was part of a family-style restaurant chain. His only concession to wealth was to slip some money to the hostess as we walked in, buying us a table in a corner, as private as possible under the circumstances. I couldn’t tell how large the tip had been, but the hostess became really attentive, really fast.

  Dante was a bit of an old-fashioned gentleman, holding chairs for both Kendra and me before seating himself. He was definitely a good-looking guy, with wavy, dark hair and intense, deep brown eyes. He was dressed somewhat formally in these days of business casual—a white button-down shirt—but at least he wore no tie or jacket. Here, at least. I suspected he had them available at his office, if not in his car.

  “Let’s order first,” he said quietly. “Then we’ll talk.”

  I nodded and picked up my menu.

  “Unless you’ve got something you want to say right off,” Kendra contradicted. Obviously she wasn’t impressed, or cowed, by the authority granted by his wealth. Probably a good thing, considering their relationship.

  He just shot her an indulgent glance, one that made me smile. I was glad to see Dante so happy.

  Although I admitted, but only to myself, that I wondered why he’d settled his heart on this particular woman. Oh, it wasn’t that Kendra was anything but lovely. Her face was youthful, her blue eyes sparkling and inquisitive, her light brown hair skimming narrow shoulders clad in a stylish gold blouse tucked into dressy brown slacks. I had the impression that she loved giving the right appearance, no matter what the occasion, but not in an obsessive or arrogant way.

  But someone as rich as Dante could have his pick of women. Mostly, anyway. Although I admired the guy, he wasn’t my type—assuming I even had a type anymore.

  We all ordered as soon as the server came over—very quickly, probably cued in by the hostess. I opted for a grilled chicken sandwich with a side salad—and figured it would make a good dinner of leftovers, too. With everything that had happened over the last—was it only twelve hours?—I really hadn’t much of an appetite.

  The black coffee tasted good, though. Hopefully, the caffeine would keep me awake. Or maybe the company would be enough, since I’d have to remain focused on the conversation.

  “So,” Dante began. “Fill us in on what happened.”

  “You mean you haven’t heard all about it on the news?” Sarcasm wasn’t really called for, but I knew I could get away with it around him.

  “Of course. And if I paid attention to it, I’d figure you lured that S.O.B. Efram to HotRescues in the middle of the night and skewered him with a knife. And set it up so you could claim you did it in self-defense because he threatened you, but that wasn’t credible since he was stabbed in the back.”

  Yes, that was what the reports were claiming now. I hadn’t seen the actual location of Efram’s stab wounds, but if that was true, no one—me included—could believably claim self-defense. Not that I intended to.

  “Did I leave anything out?” Dante’s grin was full of ironic pleasure.

  “Yeah,” Kendra said. “How about, she’s not allowed to discuss it without her lawyer present. So . . . would you like me to refer you to a criminal lawyer, Lauren? It’s not my area.”

  Interesting that she would say that. I’d intended to ask her for just such a referral.

  I shouldn’t need a lawyer, of course, since I hadn’t done anything wrong. But the smattering I knew about the legal system was enough to tell me to mistrust it.

  “Yes, I believe I’d like a referral. But let me tell you my side, and you advise me if it’s necessary. Let me know if you think anything I’m saying would lead to any kind of self-incrimination, and I’ll plead the Fifth Amendment right here and shut up.”

  Dante laughed as Kendra said, “I gather you like to watch crime shows on TV or the movies.”

  “Enough of them,” I admitted. I’d already told Dante a little, so for Kendra’s edification I described Efram’s visit to HotRescues yesterday, ending with his threats. I let them both know that I’d decided to stay there last night . . . and all that had happened since.

  “So you weren’t aware when Efram came onto the HotRescues property?” Kendra asked.

  “Only when the dogs started barking.”

  “And as far as you knew, you were the only one there—human, that is,” said Dante.

  “Right.”

  “Then what’s your opinion about who killed Efram, and why? And how they got in.” Kendra stopped and waved one manicured hand in the air. “Forget I asked. That’s something you should probably only talk to your own counsel about.”

  “But do you have any ideas?” Dante asked.

  I shrugged. “Not really . . . not yet, at least.”

  Our lunches arrived, and I found I had more of an appetite than I’d originally believed.

  Our conversation turned to other things—like the puppy mill rescue, and our current batch of HotRescues residents and how we were seeking homes for them.

  I mentioned the situation about Brooke Pernall and her dog, Cheyenne, too, but told them I hadn’t yet started to get the information Dante wanted about her background or illness.

  Inevitably, the topic returned to what had happened at the shelter and how it might affect our ability to rehome some of our inhabitants.

  “Sometimes being in the news could be a good thing,” Kendra said. She looked at Dante, whose expression looked almost sour.

  “Or not,” he said. I had the impression that this was a subject they had discussed before. I already knew that the HotRescues benefactor, though well known as a wealthy mega-mogul of the pet industry, preferred to let others hype his stores, products, and generosity in the media. I gathered it was because there was something about his past that he wanted to downplay, and I’d never asked.

  “Whatever,” Kendra replied. “But, Lauren, as you may know, I . . . well, I feel a little responsible for what’s happened to you.”

  “What?” I stared at her, even as Dante laughed aloud.

  She mumbled something that I couldn’t quite hear, then took a quick bite of her sandwich.

  “Pardon?” I said.

  “I’m a murder magnet,” she said more loudly.

  I gaped at her. Oh, sure, I’d heard that she’d once been considered a suspect in a murder or two. And I, of course, was well aware that Dante, too, had been the subject of a murder investigation. Then there were other rumors about her friends and acquaintances either becoming murder victims or suspects, but I’d always chalked that up to jealous gossip of other women who wanted her out of Dante’s life.

  But she had just admitted it—as bizarre as that was. And unbelievable.

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, Kendra,” I said. “But I promise I don’t blame you for my being a suspect in Efram’s murder.” That even sounded odd to say. But since her guy was my boss, and more, I needed to make my opinion clear.

  “Well, thanks for that,” she said. “Look, you may not know it, but I’ve had a number of friends who were investigated as potential murder suspects. I helped them all clear themselves. So . . . well, I’d be glad to look into Efram’s murder, see if I can figure out what really happened to him.”

  I managed to smile at her. Then I looked Dante straight in the eye. “I can’t tell you both how much I appreciate your confidence in me. I want to stress that, whatever happened to Efram, I didn’t do it—not as a murder, and not even in self-defense. If it turns out that the cops really zero in on me as a suspect . . . well, Kendra, I really wou
ld appreciate your giving me a referral to a good criminal attorney. Otherwise, I’ll keep your very kind offer in mind, but there’s no sense in your wasting your time looking into this.”

  For years, I had relied only on myself to figure out solutions in my life, and in my kids’. And I genuinely hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Sure, I’d despised Efram and what he’d done to animals, especially being involved in that puppy mill situation.

  But I hadn’t killed him.

  And if that Detective Garciana or other cops decided to try to pin a murder on me, I’d find a way out of the mess.

  In other words, if I needed to figure this out, I’d do it myself.

  Chapter 8

  My mind darted from one topic to another as I drove back to HotRescues, like balls on an animated pool table in a computer game my son, Kevin, used to play. My responsibilities at HotRescues. That lady, Brooke, who needed help. The puppies who’d been saved, both from the storm drain and from terrible living conditions. Their parents. The wonderful Animal Services folks who rescued them. The likely puppy mill owners. Where had I seen them before?

  Efram and his threats.

  Efram’s death.

  My relief at Dante’s ongoing support.

  By the time I pulled my car into the HotRescues parking lot, it was only midafternoon but felt like late night. I was dragging. But my responsibilities here trumped my discomfort, or anything else. A bunch of wonderful dogs, cats, and some other small animals needed new homes.

  Of course, when these guys were adopted out, they’d be replaced by other equally needy creatures. Who’d be replaced by others. Then others. Till I dropped—and even then, more people would take up the HotRescues gauntlet.

  I couldn’t stop people from failing to take proper care of their pets or get them all to spay and neuter to prevent so many unwanted animals from being born, but I could do my part.