I wanted to believe her even more now. I felt so sorry for her—for everything.
“I can’t promise to figure that out, Mamie, but I’ll keep looking.”
She smiled up at me, her expression now one of trust. “I know you can do it, Lauren. I saw the news about how you did it before, how someone was killed right here and you helped to catch that murderer.”
“Well . . . yes. But that doesn’t make me an expert. Let me ask you a couple of questions. Who do you know that also knew Bethany and, in your opinion, is the least likely to have killed her?”
“Besides me?” I nodded. “And you?”
I laughed. “Yes, besides us.”
“And besides Dante?”
“Yes, besides him. I don’t think they were really acquainted anyway.” Although I remembered that Dante said Bethany had contacted him.
“Oh, but Bethany knew everyone. Especially everyone with money and power and anything else she thought she needed to be the most important person in the world.” She nodded knowingly. Even though she acted ditzy and confused at times, I suspected that was an act. She clearly still retained a lot of insight.
“I gathered that,” I said. “In any event . . . who, among all the people you think she knew best, was the least likely to have killed her?”
“Well, I think she really loved her boyfriend, Miguel. I heard they argued a lot, but I think he loved her, too. So, maybe he’s the least likely.” She leaned over the table toward me. “Especially since I heard that she was supporting him, but she didn’t leave him much in her will.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Insight. This woman was one shrewd and perceptive senior citizen . . . sometimes.
“I get it,” I said. And I did.
I intended to have a little conversation soon with Bethany’s main squeeze before her death, Miguel Rohrig.
Mamie stayed long enough for me to treat her to dinner at a nearby family restaurant. She ordered meat loaf. If she always ate as little as she did then, she’d be able to dine on the remainder, boxed for her to take home, for the next two evenings.
I’d been virtuous and ordered a salad. Even so, it was large enough that I, too, got a doggy box for the remainder.
What did we talk about? Pets, of course. I’d left Zoey at HotRescues, and Mamie waxed eloquent about how wonderful she was. I, of course, agreed.
Which got Mamie sighing over how much she missed her own special pet, who’d been taken by Animal Services along with the rest of the hoarded animals.
“I just wish they had left Herman with me,” she said sadly as we walked to my car. “Just one dog, that’s all. I could have taken perfect care of him, especially if he was the only animal around. I always treated him specially, which was most likely unfair to all my other babies.”
“I know he’s special to you,” I said sympathetically.
She looked at me with a hopeful expression lighting her face. “Was he one of the dogs that you could pick up before?”
“No, but I’ll check on him again.”
“Thank you so much, Lauren! For everything. You are the absolute best.” She hugged me again, then got into my car.
Back at HotRescues, I saw her to her own automobile, which looked as elderly as she was beginning to appear—an old Chevy sedan with lots of dings, its red paint faded and scratched. “A vintage car,” I said, half in jest.
“It’s my baby, too, like Herman. It’s gotten me where I’ve needed to go for years.”
“Well, I’m a worrier. Why don’t you give me a call when you get home?”
“You think this senile senior citizen can’t drive worth a damn?” She said it lightly, as if she wasn’t offended at all if that was indeed what I thought. Close enough.
“I worry about everyone I care about, Mamie. You sound like my kids—except for the ‘senile senior citizen’ part.”
She laughed. “I’ll call you,” she promised. “Count on it.”
Which she did, maybe an hour later.
I was still at HotRescues. I’d received a message on my office phone from Kathy Georgio, asking why I didn’t contact her and the usual gang from the Southern California Rescuers loop to help take in the hoarded animals released that day by Animal Services. I called her back and explained that I was motivated by hoping to appease some of the shelter administrators involved with Pet Rescuers Together, without going into detail—like, I wanted information from them to help clear Mamie.
Kathy wasn’t mollified. “That prima donna Cricket seems as self-important as her former boss, doesn’t she?”
“I’m not arguing with that,” I said. “For now, though, I’d like to maintain a cordial relationship—with everyone. I’ll contact you next time, okay, Kathy?”
“I’ll consider that a promise.”
When I left my office with Zoey for our last walk of the day around the shelter area, Brooke Pernall showed up with Cheyenne. At her urging, I gave her a rundown of my so-far useless and disorganized investigation into Bethany’s murder.
“I’ll have some more information for you tomorrow about the men in her life—from Antonio and also the Web. I’ll get a better rundown on Miguel before I hand it over to you. That seems a little too obvious, though.”
“You’re a believer in the least likely suspect as the killer, too?”
She laughed. “Not always.”
When Zoey and I returned to the main building, Mamie called on my cell phone. “I’m home safe and sound,” she said. She paused. “Any news about Herman?”
“Not yet,” I said, “But I promise I’ll ask after him.”
I called Matt right after we hung up, but had to leave a message. “I’d like an update on the dog Mamie particularly considers hers—the one I pointed out to you before,” I said. I nevertheless described the terrier mix.
If I did get Herman turned over to me, I’d tell Mamie that it was under the condition that he stayed at HotRescues for a while. Even if she could take care of a single dog adequately, doing so might mess up her defense in any prosecution for hoarding.
Zoey and I drove home then. Matt called me a little while after I arrived.
He still didn’t know when or if Herman might be available for pickup by a private shelter, but he’d ask again—and tell me about it tomorrow night, when we met for a drink and dinner.
Fine by me. That was when I would ask him about the idea I’d had to satisfy Dante with a demonstration to take place at HotRescues.
Chapter 18
I got to HotRescues early the next morning, in time to see Brooke—but not necessarily the way I wanted to see her.
Dressed in her black security T-shirt and jeans, she was stalking through the parking lot, carrying two small reddish pups—probably Pomeranians—one under each arm. Pete was following her, looking equally stormy.
I caught up with her. “Are those—?”
“Supposed owner relinquishments,” Brooke muttered so low that I could hardly hear her.
“Found ’em out back like the others.” Pete waved some paper that I assumed was a note like the one left with Shazam.
“Then did you—?”
Brooke stopped in front of me at the doorway into the welcome area. “I’ll double-check, but whoever left them managed to stay pretty much out of range of the new security camera.”
After we’d talked about how Shazam and the others had been left here, Brooke had said she’d take care of it—at least so we could identify whoever was leaving the animals, owner relinquishments or not. She’d mounted a new security camera outside, then camouflaged it with decorative trim that was being used on the new building.
Apparently the supposed relinquisher had seen through the disguise—although that was what Brooke would be checking out. Me, too.
Zoey stayed beside me, obedient as always, but her nose was in the air as we neared Brooke and the dogs she held. “Cute,” I said. “Why would an owner relinquish them?”
“They were most likely abandoned,” Brooke contradicted, “no ma
tter what the damned note says. No microchips. I scanned them.” We’d recently gotten a scanner to keep here. “And you know better than to ask anything like that, Lauren. Why would anyone abandon, relinquish, or abuse any animals? Because some people are crazy. And because they can.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
We all trooped into the welcome room, and the little dogs began squirming in Brooke’s arms. “Want me to take them to the vet to be checked out?” Brooke asked. “I can drop them off on my way home, and someone can pick them up later if the visit will take much time.”
“Fine.” I looked at Pete. “So, what are their names?”
“Pint-size and Tiny, according to this.” He waved the piece of paper, then leaned toward Brooke and the pups she held. “Hey, which one of you is Tiny?” Neither stopped squirming. “Pint-size?” Still no change. “What do you want to bet that whoever found these two made up the names to make this look like a relinquishment . . . again?”
“Not a bet I’d take,” I said. “But I still think it’s better for them to stay here once their health is checked out. I’ll call Matt to let him know about these latest ‘relinquishments,’ though, to make sure he’s okay with our hanging on to them.”
I helped Pete find some standard leashes with loops at the end for dogs that weren’t wearing collars, and we attached Pint-size and Tiny—or whoever they were—to them back in the welcome area. “Let me know what happens. I’m not sure whether Carlie will be at the clinic, but—”
“All the vets there are good,” Brooke said. Another statement I couldn’t argue with. “I’ll let you know who we see and what the results are.”
They left, and Zoey and I followed Pete back into the shelter area. He continued toward the storage building at the end of the path to get our residents’ breakfasts ready. Zoey and I took our stroll, making sure everyone looked healthy, although most of the dogs appeared lonesome and in need of a pat. Then we went inside the center building, and after greeting the toy dogs in enclosures there, I looked for an empty cage where our new dogs would eventually stay after their quarantine, assuming they were healthy. Also assuming that Matt wasn’t as tired of this scenario as I was and used it as a reason to insist that I turn them over to Animal Services. I’d fight it—but I didn’t dare fight too hard. I had to stay in their good graces, for the sake of our residents.
I preferred staying in Matt’s good graces, too—but if it came down to having to end whatever relationship we had entered into, or helping more pets, the animals would win. I felt sure he had the same attitude, too.
At least we had room here for these two new ones, since I hadn’t taken on many of the pets made available from Mamie’s surrender.
Back in my office, I saw that Brooke had been busy last night, even before she’d rescued those two Poms from our back alley. There were printouts on my desk from research she had done online about possible suspects in Bethany’s murder.
She had also left a list she’d gotten from the police about people they were considering as suspects. Presumably Antonio had been her source, although that wasn’t obvious from the paperwork. The list included nearly everyone I’d met, and many I hadn’t, who’d known Bethany.
Mamie was, unsurprisingly, at the top, although it wasn’t stated to be in the order of who was the most likely candidate. Bethany’s guy, Miguel Rohrig, was next, then her two ex-husbands, Cricket, all administrators whose shelters were part of PST, some people who’d adopted pets from Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and others who’d been involved with her cosmetics company.
There were a lot of possible murderers out there.
A thought crossed my mind. I’d already booted up my aging computer, and it had chugged to life. I did an online search for Bethany Urber’s obituary and learned that her funeral would be on Saturday, two days from now, at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, the resting place of many stars. I figured that Bethany must have left instructions for an ostentatious send-off that she would love. Too bad she wouldn’t be there to watch.
Could be that most of those on the list Brooke had obtained would be present. I’d be there, too, I decided on the spot. But I was unlikely to do much more than observe the suspects who also attended. Long conversations about their relationships with Bethany were unlikely to be feasible.
So . . . I flipped through the papers that Brooke had left. When I’d glanced at them before, I’d seen she had located Miguel Rohrig. Though I’d heard he was an out-of-work actor being supported by Bethany, he was apparently an in-work waiter at the moment, at an upscale Westwood restaurant.
Good excuse for me to call Matt. That, plus our new upcoming residents.
First, though, I got a call from Brooke. The pups needed to stay there for a few hours till they got the results of some blood tests, but the initial vet exam suggested they were fine. I arranged for Nina to pick them up later that day.
I then placed my call to Matt, but just reached his voice mail. I left a message inviting him to dinner.
I heard back from him nearly immediately. “It’s a date, Lauren,” he said. “Got some stuff to talk to you about, too. And I’ll be interested to hear the reason you chose Esplendido as our restaurant for the evening.”
Like his former girlfriend, Miguel apparently enjoyed milking any situation for all the publicity he could. Maybe he thought it would help him get his next film role.
I’d been concerned that he might be taking some time to himself after Bethany’s death, not working, staying in seclusion to mourn. But Googling him yielded a majorly pretentious Web site, linked to Twitter and a Facebook page. He’d let the world know he was facing his loss bravely, still maintaining his job, missing Bethany, the works. And if anyone wanted to have him serve their table at Esplendido, they just had to ask—and, of course, leave a big tip.
Well, he didn’t really add that last sentence, but I felt certain that was his intention.
His Web site also linked to Esplendido’s, and I swallowed hard when I saw the prices. I’d invited Matt, so it should be my treat. I wouldn’t argue much if he suggested paying for it. Maybe we could go Dutch, but even so I was still in for a large tab. The price of helping Mamie, I supposed.
I departed early from HotRescues, changed clothes, and left Zoey at home. Matt and I were meeting at the restaurant at seven.
I found a metered parking spot along a neighboring street, avoiding the cost of a valet, at least. I’d thrown on a rather nice dress, black with sequins decorating the neckline, and thought I looked pretty good, even as I took my time walking on my not-quite-stilettos the two blocks to the restaurant.
Catching Matt’s sexy gaze when he first saw me, I figured I’d made a good choice.
I took his hand and we walked inside. Esplendido had large picture windows to the street, overlooking a series of tables of different sizes covered with pristine white tablecloths and surrounded by patrons. I loved the spicy odor that greeted us as we entered, but I could have done without the loud buzz of conversation.
The place was brimming with people. We were met nearly immediately by a maitre d’ dressed in an attitude of subservient responsibility: white shirt, black trousers, and a small black apron. “Dinner for two?”
“Yes. And we’d like to sit at a table where Miguel Rohrig will be our server.” I’d spotted the guy I believed to be Miguel about halfway down the long room, talking to some patrons. He looked like the wannabe-star photos on his Web site, and everyone was looking at him with interest and concern.
“I’m afraid he is quite busy already. You could wait for one of his tables, but it might be a while.”
I did see a couple of empty tables not far from where he stood, but that didn’t mean he was assigned to them.
“Oh, but I really want him to be our server. We have some friends in common, and I especially want to convey my condolences on his loss.” I stared into the maitre d’s eyes. He seemed to know what I was talking about, but he didn’t budge.
Until Matt pulle
d a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket and slipped it to the guy. “We really don’t have much time to wait,” he said. “Could you possibly seat us now?”
“Of course, sir.”
I glanced at Matt, who only smiled. I should have figured that was the answer, but I didn’t eat out at this kind of place very often.
Did he? There was a lot about him that I still didn’t know.
The table to which we were shown was only one away from where Miguel stood still conversing. I wondered whether any of the patrons he was serving would actually receive any meals that night. Like us.
“So that was your ulterior motive,” Matt said as we took our seats and lifted menus that had been placed on the table. “That guy’s Bethany Urber’s former boyfriend?”
I looked over Matt appreciatively. He cleaned up well, too. He wore a charcoal suit with a burgundy tie, and his dark hair seemed to be getting a bit longer than I’d seen it before. He mostly wore it in a short military cut. It looked great on him either way. In fact, I’d concluded from the moment I’d first met him, at the puppy mill rescue, that he was one handsome guy.
“Yes, he is,” I said as Miguel approached us.
“Good evening.” He appeared to be in his early thirties, younger than Bethany had been. He had long, gleaming black hair, an obvious five o’clock shadow, and thick, dark brows. A Latin lover sort? A gigolo? Probably all of the above. He wore an outfit similar to the maitre d’s. “My name is Miguel, and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to drink first?”
I ordered a glass of the house wine, and Matt ordered beer. Then I said, “Miguel, I was a friend of Bethany’s. Or at least an acquaintance. We’d only recently met. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He looked at me, and his eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you. She was a wonderful woman. I will miss her, and I’m sure you will miss that you didn’t get an opportunity to know her better. Are you coming to her funeral?”
“I plan to.”
The More the Terrier Page 14