The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  But before I got very far, my BlackBerry rang again. It was Matt.

  “How are you today?” he asked first thing, and the sweet gruffness of his voice reminded me of last night.

  “Full of happy memories,” I said.

  “Which we’ll add to one of these nights soon,” he said with a laugh. “But I need to talk business with you now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing you can’t help with. Mamie’s lawyer called to say he has the signed document for her surrender of the animals. Their relinquishment will be official today. I’ve gotten word that some of the animals will be available tomorrow for private rescuers to take in.”

  “Are they in immediate danger?” My tone must have reflected my concern, since Zoey sat up and put her head on my lap. I petted her distractedly as I waited for Matt’s response.

  “No, but unless you hear otherwise from me, you and any others you choose should come to the Northeast Valley Animal Care Center tomorrow afternoon to pick up the first batch.”

  Chapter 15

  Needless to say, I was thrilled. I’d had no idea it could happen this quickly. I wondered if Matt had pulled strings to allow private rescue facilities to start taking some of the animals—or was it simply the best way to ensure their safety?

  After hanging up with Matt, I hurried down the hall to our welcome area. “Nina, I need you,” I called.

  She leaped up from her chair behind the counter. “What’s wrong, Lauren?”

  “Everything’s right!” I countered. “Well, not everything. But I need you to do a resident count and let me know how many enclosures we can make available right now to bring in new dogs, and also how many cats we can fit into our kitty rooms. Both after quarantine, of course.”

  Her eyes widened. “What’s—Oh, I get it. Are some of your friend Mamie’s animals getting released from city care?”

  “Sounds that way. I’ve no idea how many yet, but I need to know numbers that we can take in. Meanwhile, I’ll get in touch with administrators of the other rescue organizations who said they could help out.”

  Which was an even better thing. It gave me a really great excuse to call Cricket Borley.

  “Too bad the timing worked out this way,” Nina said later.

  “It could have been worse,” I responded.

  We were back in the welcome room. She’d given me a rundown of enclosures that could be made available, and then I’d gone with her to confirm.

  We had room to take in about half a dozen dogs, since they mostly had to be housed individually until we could test compatibility with others. The cat situation was perhaps better, if we got our current inhabitants to squeeze a little—maybe eight or so.

  With the stable of friends I could contact via the Southern California Rescuers Web site, I wouldn’t need to overdo taking in animals, despite how much I wanted to save them all.

  Maybe a situation as emotionally compelling was why Mamie, already fragile, had started hoarding.

  Could I start hoarding?

  I shrugged off the question. I knew better.

  I’d post a request for help if I needed to. But first, I waited for Cricket to return my phone call.

  She could be genuinely busy. She could also be avoiding me as a result of her being miffed that I’d been the rescuer chosen as the primary contact when any hoarding subjects were ready for new rescue locations.

  That could mean I’d need to use another way to get her to talk to me about Bethany and her friends and enemies.

  “In a few more weeks,” Nina said, “just think of all the extra room we’ll have.” That would be when the new building was finished, and new enclosures were added to its remaining property.

  “It’ll be great. Meantime, though, we’ll make do as we always have—including getting other rescuers involved to the extent we need them.” My BlackBerry rang. “Here’s one now.” I recognized Cricket’s number from the caller ID.

  “Tell me what time to be at the care center,” she said. “I’ll have a whole bunch of our network people there to be sure no animal is left behind.”

  I couldn’t help smiling as I hung up. Cricket might have been trained in egotism by Bethany, but when it came to animal rescue, she was evidently an administrator after my own heart.

  The next day, Pete and I stood outside the Northeast Valley Animal Care Center a few minutes before the time Matt had told me. I nevertheless sent him inside to be sure we were the first from the private rescue organizations to arrive. I hadn’t contacted anyone outside Pet Shelters Together, since Cricket had promised that her network could handle as many animals as were available.

  Pete and I had brought the large van, filled with crates for more animals than we were likely to be picking up here.

  We’d also stopped at a HotPets on the way, after I spoke with Dante. Thanks to his ongoing generosity, the van was filled with food, bowls, bedding, and toys to be meted out to the organizations who also took on some of the animals.

  The media had heard about the situation, too. I didn’t know how, but I suspected that, once again, Cricket had followed her mentor in snapping up publicity for their organization in as many ways as possible.

  If that was the worst evidence of her inherited selfcenteredness today, I’d live with it.

  And with the publicity. I do anything I have to when notoriety can help find homes for our residents.

  “It’s nearly the scheduled time, Lauren,” Pete reminded me. “I told the people staffing the place that we’re here, but maybe we should go inside.”

  “Just another minute.” I’d wanted to greet people, maybe even have an opportunity to talk with Cricket first. I couldn’t control their timing, though. Since saving the animals was paramount to everything, I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers of the city shelter’s personnel. Even if they cooperated now, I didn’t want them to think bad thoughts about HotRescues or me the next time there were animals we needed to pick up fast to keep them from being considered among the expendables.

  In less than a minute, Cricket; Darya and her husband, Lan; and a few others I recognized from Bethany’s meeting strolled around the corner. I had the sense they were making a grand entrance, a show of strength and unity, whatever. If so, I didn’t understand why they thought it necessary.

  Maybe another holdover from Bethany and her ostentatious ways.

  “Hi,” I greeted them.

  They stopped near the door—a photo op for the media photographers milling in the area. A pang of guilt shot through me. Maybe I should have told my friend Carlie about this situation. But I didn’t think she’d be particularly interested, for her show, in private-shelter administrators picking up rescued pets from a city facility. It happened every day.

  “Hello, Lauren.” Cricket was dressed in blue jeans decorated with embroidery beneath a shiny gray blouse that would have done Bethany proud. Facing the cameras as she smiled, she continued, “Let’s go save some animals, PST people!”

  The crowd around her, all Pet Shelters Together members, yelled, “Let’s do it!” and they flowed inside, leaving Pete and me in their wake.

  I gave him a look, shrugged my shoulders, and followed. Even if I was theoretically the rescuer in charge, I had a feeling that Cricket, in her rebellious way, had taken over.

  But inside, Matt was already there. Smiling, he gestured for me to follow him. I maneuvered around Cricket and the PST gang, feeling their leader’s spiteful glare searing my back—and, I admitted to my own officious self, enjoying it. Pete stayed behind me.

  The media folks stayed right behind him.

  Matt took us not to the same area we’d seen before, but into a back room where a dozen or so cats and dogs of various sizes were in crates. It was a place the media wasn’t welcome, and he shut the door behind us.

  “Here are the animals that are ready to leave with all of you,” he said. “Their health has been checked. I’ll make sure you get the paperwork on the ones you take, including veterinary
clearances.” He looked over my shoulder toward the other administrators, then back at me. “I’ll leave it to you to figure out who’s taking which animal.”

  I glanced at Cricket. I conceded that she might have authority over the others in her network, so I said, “I could fit most at HotRescues, but I’d be delighted if, instead, you and the rest could take as many as nine or ten.”

  “Done.” Cricket nodded vigorously and motioned for the others to join her. I listened cursorily to their discussion as I walked over to Matt. From where I was, it sounded as if Cricket was telling her minions which animals each would get, like it or not.

  “I’m not sure I ever heard a final count on how many animals, total, were rescued from Mamie’s. Will there be any more relinquished to private hands?”

  “Probably, but the ones today not only have health clearances but are also those that our folks decided might have less of a chance of being adopted in time.” I read between his lines—and in the grim yet official way he looked at me: In time not to be euthanized to provide room for more inmates in the system.

  Cricket moved away from her group. “We’ve got it figured out.”

  “Great,” I said.

  Matt nodded. “Go into the office, and we’ll do the paperwork.”

  I walked beside Cricket, with Pete again trailing behind. Matt was in the middle of the other rescuers, who peppered him with questions about the animals whose custody we were about to take over.

  “Let’s exchange information,” I told Cricket. “That way, if any of us gets any potential adopters that might work out for animals in the custody of someone else, we can send them to the right spot.”

  “Fine with me.”

  I’d also find time to visit as many of the other shelters as possible. I’d no reason to believe any of these pups and kitties would be mistreated, but I wanted to assure myself of their well-being.

  The paperwork took a little time, especially since there were five people from Pet Shelters Together besides Cricket, but we soon had it completed. I asked Pete to load the three pets we were rescuing—a senior Rottweiler mix that had checked out as nonaggressive, a medium-sized dog of unknown heritage, and a skinny gray cat—into the van. I stayed with Cricket, ostensibly to help her load the three cats she was taking to Better Than Any Pet Rescues into her SUV.

  “I’m just so glad all the animals from Mamie’s appear to be thriving now,” I said. I carried one of the three small crates, and Cricket carried the other two. “I just wish . . . well, I may be in the minority, but I still doubt that Mamie hurt Bethany. Do you know of anyone besides her exes and her boyfriend who might have been upset with her for any reason?” Like yourself, I thought, or any of the animal rescuers who might not have adored prima donna Bethany and her attitude.

  But that would hardly have been a good motive to kill her.

  Cricket shook her head as she looked at me. By now, we were outside, and the media was snapping pictures and shouting questions about the animals and how they were doing and where they were going. We ignored them. So did the group of Cricket’s affiliates who trailed behind us.

  “Friendship’s a nice thing, Lauren. I can understand why you want to help Mamie, but she’s a bitch. You heard her yell at Bethany.”

  I couldn’t believe that Cricket didn’t have other suspects in mind, but she obviously wasn’t about to reveal them to me.

  “Maybe,” I said neutrally. We had gotten into the parking lot, and she’d popped the back door of a silver SUV. “Now, let’s get these sweethearts inside, and we’ll be off.”

  I helped her arrange the crates. One of the cats started meowing, and I pulled the top off the crate and patted it.

  “I need to get out of here,” Cricket snapped. I closed the lid again, and Cricket slammed the door closed. She got into the driver’s seat without another word.

  I stood there watching. Darya and Lan Price joined me. He held a leash attached to a golden Lab mix, and she had the leads for two small terriers. The media had mostly left, but I saw a flash or two from a couple of remaining cameras.

  Much taller than me, Darya leaned over and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Lauren. About Cricket, I mean. I know she means well, and it’s got to be hard to try to take over everything after Bethany, but . . . Well, I heard you asking about whether Cricket knew of anyone else who might have wanted to hurt Bethany. A few adopters got angry with the way Bethany pushed them about how to take care of their new pets, but I doubt any of them did anything drastic about it. And I know we told you about Bethany’s boyfriend, Miguel, and her two ex-husbands?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, then. That’s it. Except . . . I know I shouldn’t even mention this, but at some of our recent PST meetings, there were times that . . .” She tapered off. “Never mind. I don’t think it’s important.”

  “Even so,” I said, “as I told Cricket, I want to eliminate other possibilities, if just to satisfy myself. Who else did you think of who might have wanted to harm Bethany?”

  “Well . . . Cricket and Bethany mostly were really close friends. Bethany was in charge, of course, but Cricket was her second in command. But lately . . .”

  “Lately?”

  “Lately, they seemed to be arguing a lot—nothing serious, you understand. But Cricket was second-guessing some of Bethany’s management decisions, and you can imagine what Bethany thought about that.”

  “Fireworks?” I suggested.

  “Kind of. But if either of them was going to hurt the other, I’d have guessed that Bethany would have fired Cricket.”

  Unless Cricket instead had fired at Bethany in a preemptive maneuver . . . ?

  Chapter 16

  Pete and I stopped on our way back to HotRescues at my buddy Dr. Carlie Stellan’s clinic in Northridge—The Fittest Pet Veterinary Clinic. I’d called ahead, and Carlie, fortunately, had been there. She’d told me, last time we’d spoken, that she would be heading off soon to Oregon to film a segment of her Pet Fitness show. She’d asked me for some pet shelter contacts there, since it seemed that, in Oregon, more rescued animals got adopted per capita than in Southern California and she wanted to explore why.

  I loved Carlie’s pink stucco veterinary building, wrapped around a parklike setting where the vet techs could take dogs outside for light exercise and air—those who were well enough, and those being boarded. Inside, as always, it was bustling with activity.

  Thanks to the Internet and personal contacts, word was out already that we had just picked up a few animals who’d been saved from the hoarding situation last week. Both staff and visitors made a fuss over the two pups and kitty we brought in, who seemed a bit overwhelmed by all the attention.

  We were soon shown to an examination room, and Carlie came in a few minutes later. She wore one of her usual white veterinary jackets, and her blond hair just skimmed its shoulders.

  “Pete, how good to see you!” she effused. The tall man looked a little awkward as she hugged him. “And Lauren, you sly devil. Not only do you get Animal Services to save a bunch of animals from being hoarded, but you talk them into releasing the babies so quickly into the hands of private rescuers.”

  She knew the details of getting Mamie to relinquish them, so she was purposely making it sound easy—and my doing. “Not all of them,” I said solemnly. “At least not yet. But I feel relatively sure that none will be euthanized for lack of room. I’ll at least be called first.”

  “Good girl!” My turn for a hug. Then Carlie knelt to look at the two leashed dogs on the floor beside us. I’d lifted the crate holding the cat onto the examination table. “Hi, fellas.” She looked up at me. “Do they have names?”

  “If so, we don’t know them. We’ll give them temporary monikers once we get back to HotRescues.”

  “Let me. This one”—she pointed to the Rottweiler mix—“is Hale, and this one”—the unknown middle-sized pup’s turn—“is Hearty. The cat will be Fitzwalter, a takeoff on fit, and therefore my show. Assuming, of cou
rse, that they’re all as healthy as they should be after being released by Animal Services.”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out, but the names are fine by me.” I looked at Pete, who nodded, too. The guy was indispensable to HotRescues, and I always listened to his opinions.

  Carlie called in a couple of techs, who took the animals to get them weighed. Meantime, she glanced over the paperwork I’d brought and sent it out to have copies made. In a few minutes, the animals were back. She noted their weights on charts she had started, then examined them.

  “I’ve looked over the results of the blood tests and other samples taken by Animal Services,” she said when she was done. “All looks fine to me, but I’d suggest you keep them in quarantine for a while like always.”

  “Of course.” Pete and I got ready to leave. “How’s Max, by the way?” Carlie’s spaniel mix had always been a favorite of mine—and not just because he’d been the first dog ever adopted at HotRescues.

  “As adorable as ever. So . . . when are you going to let me interview you on my show about the hoarding situation?”

  “Around the same time I let you interview me about the puppy mill situation.” That had occurred a few months ago, and Carlie was still waiting.

  “I figured. Well, let’s do lunch soon. My next trip’s in three weeks, by the way.”

  “Let’s aim for before then.”

  “Fine. Oh, and one more thing.”

  Her tone, and how she phrased her apparently casual comment, made me wince. I knew her well enough to figure that she really gave a damn about what she was about to say. “What’s that?”

  “How’s your investigation into the murder of that Bethany person going?”

  Too bad I’d already winced. Now I felt like shriveling under her amused gaze. “What makes you think I’m investigating?”

  “Because I know you. And I know that you somehow feel responsible for Mamie Spelling—even though you shouldn’t. Who’s your best choice of a suspect now—Mamie or someone else?”