The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  Finally, the meeting appeared to be drawing to a close. “Is there any more old business we should discuss?” Cricket asked.

  Silence.

  “Any new business?”

  My turn. I raised my hand.

  “Lauren?” Cricket sounded surprised as she recognized me.

  “May I join you up there?” I asked. “I have something I’d like to discuss with everybody.”

  She didn’t say no, so I joined her at the front and turned toward the crowd.

  “I may be speaking out of turn, but there’s something I’d like to do, to recognize and thank Bethany. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. And”—I didn’t need Mamie’s approval or forgiveness for what I was about to say, and I intended not to criticize her here . . . too much—“a lot of animals would want to thank her, too, if they could, especially the ones recently saved from a terrible hoarding situation.”

  That earned me some applause again. These people were definitely enthusiastic. Maybe that would help with what I was about to do.

  “In recognition of Bethany, I’d like to do something special. What I have in mind is to create a Web site in her honor, or maybe just a separate Web page for the Pet Shelters Together and Better Than Any Pet Rescues sites.” They were separate, but already linked together. “I want to collect any photos all of you have of her, and have some of the best posted. Also any recollections you have of her. I’m going to pass out my e-mail address for HotRescues, and I’d like for every one of you to send me at least one quote I can use, preferably more.”

  I paused but made sure my expression didn’t waver—even though the crux of my request was pending.

  “It doesn’t have to be all pats on the back,” I continued. “I’d like to know your recollections of her, good and bad. I’ll edit them, but I want to include a genuine snapshot of who she was. How did you meet her? When did you join Pet Shelters Together? Which seemed to be her favorite member shelters and why? Which of you administrators did she seem to favor, and why? Did she give you any directions to change your approach to pet rescues? Did you know her personally? Did she ever talk to you about her love life?” I laughed at that, even though I was serious. “Did you meet people she’d selected for adoptions of animals from Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and what did they say about her?” Did any complain . . . enough to sound as if they had a motive to kill her? “Whatever.”

  Their responses, and attitudes, might give me a lot to look into . . . but these people, as a group, probably knew Bethany well. At least a few might have disliked her, or have valid suspicions about who disliked her more.

  “Should we throw in anything about how we saw her get along with your friend Mamie Spelling?” Sylvia called. Her snide expression suggested that she was determined to become a thorn in my side. On the other hand, facing issues head-on was always my style.

  “Why not?” I responded. “I don’t want to libel anyone with what I put together to remember Bethany, but if you have an interesting anecdote, send it along.” Even if it was about Mamie. I couldn’t rule Mamie out. If I got enough evidence against her, I’d let her lawyer know, at least, before turning it over to the cops. I turned to Cricket, whose smile looked thin as she watched me. “Thanks,” I said.

  As I’d hoped, my request generated some comments as we all trooped out of the room. Sylvia Lodner was the first to join me. “Bethany wasn’t always easy to get along with,” she said. “You know that your attempted pat-on-the-back to our deceased leader may bring up a lot of bad stuff instead.”

  “I think it’ll be a good thing to get a full perspective,” I said. “I may even write a biography of her. She was certainly an interesting person, with her starting and selling a successful cosmetics company, then taking charge of pet rescues that way.” I stopped on the porch. “I’ll bet you’ll have a lot to contribute about her. I’d love to quote you on the site and, maybe, in the book.”

  The face I’d considered unreadable before now looked as pleased as if I’d offered to write a flattering biography of her. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, waving one of the business cards I’d handed out.

  Good, I thought. She didn’t seem the type to mince words.

  I noticed the Prices exiting the door, talking to one another. “How about you?” I asked. “Can I count on you to send me some quotes about Bethany?”

  “Good or bad?” Lan laughed. “I don’t get why you’d want anything less than happy stuff, but I’ll bet that, if people are honest, the bad’ll way outweigh the good.”

  “Lan!” Darya sounded upset. “Bethany was a nice enough person. She had a kind heart for animals, at least.”

  Her attitude was the same as I’d heard before. Nevertheless, I’d follow up with this couple to learn more about their time with Bethany.

  I talked to some of the rest, too, as they left, including the other person I’d walked in with, Raelene.

  As the place emptied out, I found myself standing on the porch with Cricket. “Great meeting,” I said. “I’ll look forward to many more.”

  “Will you?” she asked, much too shrewdly for my comfort. “What’s that Web page thing really about, Lauren? Are you still trying to help that lunatic Mamie?”

  I didn’t try to defend Mamie. Didn’t even want to, since she genuinely might be a lunatic. She’d definitely harmed animals, which made her repugnant to everyone who’d been here tonight. Even, in that respect, me.

  “I’m not trying to help anyone,” I said, which was largely true, since all I might do is underscore all the evidence against Mamie. “But I feel bad about my attitude toward Bethany before she died, and this is the only way I can think of to make up for it.” Especially if I happened to figure out who killed her.

  Cricket shook her head slowly, but even so her curls bounced around her face, looking too perky for the sorrowful expression she wore. “Bethany was a complicated person, Lauren. I suspect that, once you start receiving the quotes you asked for, you’ll drop this project for lack of nice things to say about her.”

  I couldn’t resist—especially since I deemed Cricket to be one of my best suspects. “How about you?” I asked. “Will you have anything nice to say about her?”

  “Me?” She looked shocked. “Of course. She was my friend. My boss. She taught me so much about pet rescues. I just hope to do an adequate job of filling her shoes.” I thought this lady did protest too much.

  “And is there anything not so nice you can add to that?”

  Cricket just glared at me. “No one’s perfect. Good night, Lauren.”

  She nodded in the direction of the parking lot, obviously intending that I head that way.

  Perversely, though I didn’t want to hang around, I walked slowly, not wanting her to feel in control. Never mind that I’d encouraged her somewhat by indicating I would join the network of pet rescuers she now ran. Before I descended more than a couple of steps, I heard a noise behind me. I turned back.

  Miguel Rohrig was there. Where had he come from? Once I’d learned that Bethany had lived in an apartment upstairs, I’d assumed Miguel stayed there with her . . . while she was alive. I’d no idea where he lived now. Here, still?

  And where had he been on the night of Bethany’s murder?

  He suddenly joined me on the step I’d reached. “Lauren. Hi. Got a few minutes? I’d like to chat with you.”

  I glanced up toward the porch where Cricket remained. She glowered at me, her look stating that she wanted me gone. Immediately. Just as her words and actions had suggested only a minute ago.

  Only one response I could make. “Of course, Miguel. I’d like to talk to you, too. Where—here, on the porch?”

  He glanced at Cricket. “Why don’t we go grab a drink?”

  His meaning was obvious. He didn’t want her to listen in.

  “Fine with me,” I said. “See ya.” I waved to Cricket and walked down the steps more spiritedly, Miguel beside me.

  Chapter 24

  I agreed to drive, s
ince my car was right there, in the parking area near the walkway from the porch. Miguel said his was in a garage behind the building.

  I’d hoped to do another walk-through of the shelter area while I was there that day, not because I figured any animals were being mistreated, but because seeing residents was always important to me when I visited a rescue facility. It hadn’t worked out this time, but I’d probably be back. Soon.

  Plus, I needed the final count of how many animals the members of PST could take in from the hoarding release. Kathy Georgio had already promised to take in as many as five dogs and an equal number of cats.

  “Nice car,” Miguel said as he got into the passenger seat of my Venza.

  “Thanks.” I wondered whether he was just trying to put me at ease before he killed me, as he’d done with Bethany.

  Yes, I was suspicious of him, but levelheaded as well. If he wasn’t trying to kill me, he might help me narrow down suspects, assuming I could subtly move our conversation that direction. Besides, he was aware that Cricket knew we were planning on getting a drink. It’d be stupid to harm me when a witness could tell the cops we left together—especially a witness who didn’t seem to like him.

  Unless it was an act, Cricket and Miguel were lovers, and they’d both planned to get rid of me this way . . .

  I don’t usually have a murderous imagination. I doubted that either of these people believed I had zeroed in on them as favored suspects in Bethany’s murder. My stupid musings were getting me nowhere.

  I pulled the car onto the road. “Where are we going?”

  “An Irish pub okay with you?”

  It was fine, and the only speaking we did for the next few minutes involved his guiding me to our destination, O’Henry’s on Century Boulevard, located inside a shopping center. I parked and we headed for the small bar.

  Although it was busy, the crowd seemed tamer than I was used to seeing in pubs—or maybe it was a time that there were no sports of interest that could be shown on the TVs mounted high on the walls. The lighting was muted, and nearly all the tables were occupied. We sat at a small table and both ordered Guinness beers imported from the host country, Ireland. Miguel, despite being a waiter by profession, seemed quite at home as a euphemistically called “guest” instead.

  “So,” Miguel said when our server had left. “You still think I killed Bethany, don’t you? But you’re wise enough to check into other possibilities, in case the cops don’t ultimately see things your way.”

  I felt myself blink at him, as if he’d suddenly found a way to copy a page of my thoughts onto a computer and print it out. “I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet,” I told him, then added honestly, “and I find it really frustrating.”

  He laughed. I could see why Bethany had chosen this younger man as her boyfriend. He wasn’t just cute and sexy, with his dark, wavy hair and handsome appearance, but he seemed smart. Direct in what he had to say, in a disconcerting but charming way.

  “I’m not sure trying to set all those women on each other will get you what you want to know,” he said, “although it’s a good approach. At least most are female. More women than men appear to run shelters in this area—or maybe it’s because Bethany was more inclined to invite women administrators to join her network.” At my wary gaze, he said, “I was eavesdropping, of course.” His smile was disarming. “Bethany got me involved with it when she was alive—maybe more than I wanted to be, then. I thought it took too much time from my auditioning for film roles. That was one of our main bones of contention—appropriate term for someone involved with saving dogs, don’t you think? She also wanted me to do more to help manage BTA, too. We argued about it, yes. Now that she’s gone, I’d like to do more, in her memory, but Cricket wants me to butt out—which gives me even more incentive to stay involved. Somewhat, at least. I like animals, don’t want to see them suffer, but I leave the rescue stuff to people like her. And you.” His smile deepened.

  Did he suggest that we get together tonight so he could try to convince me of his innocence? If so, was it because he was guilty?

  I’d ask him. What was the harm? We were in public, and I was interested in his response.

  Our server placed our filled glasses on the advertising coasters that were already on the table. When he had left again, Miguel raised his drink in a toast.

  “Here’s to finding the truth. May it not be any more painful than the loss of Bethany.”

  I noticed the dampness sparkling in his eyes despite the dark atmosphere in the pub. I remembered his emotionalism before, too, and how I’d not been certain of its veracity—or if it was just a sign that he was a good actor.

  “I’ll drink to that.” I sipped my lager. It was good and dark and cold, and it went down smoothly. Seemed appropriate, considering who I was with.

  I didn’t need to pose my question. He directly addressed what I was curious about. “So here’s my take on it, Lauren. I assume you want to hear it?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve already told you that neither Bethany’s ex-husbands nor I killed her. Have you talked to either of them?”

  “No, but I intend to.”

  “Good. Then you’ll know I’m right.”

  “Maybe.”

  He smiled again. “Of course. You don’t take anything for granted.” I felt my eyes dart toward the table, in case that elusive computer printout of my thoughts was there . . . “Okay, then. My opinion? If it wasn’t Mamie, I’d choose Cricket as the murderer. If not her, there are a few members of PST who argued with Bethany even more than I did.” A fond expression softened his hard features. “She really loved being in charge and telling everyone what to do. It was part of her charm.”

  Everyone to his own tastes, I thought. That would be a big turn-off to me in a relationship—someone even more demanding than me. But I said to Miguel, “Who else did she argue with?”

  “There was one person who adopted a dog from BTA who was always calling to complain. She asked for Cricket a lot. She loved her dog but nitpicked about things like food and training he’d been given while he was there. She also claimed she wanted Bethany to leave her alone, not call her all the time and give orders about how to treat her own dog.”

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “Her name is Nalla Croler, I think. Strange name. Stranger woman. She adopted a pit bull mix—a really sweet dog she renamed Pitsy.”

  “Have you spoken with her? Do you have any contact information?”

  “I doubt she’s the killer, but, yes, I can e-mail you her data if you give me your address.”

  I pulled a HotRescues business card from my purse and handed it to him.

  “And who did Bethany argue with most at PST?” I asked.

  “Most? Probably Raelene Elder of Redondo Rescues. Darya Price was new with the group, and I know she and Bethany had some disagreements, too. Then there’s Sylvia Lodner, another member. I’ll try to come up with some more. If Bethany didn’t argue with someone, there was probably something wrong with them.”

  “Got it.” I tried to think of a tactful way to address what I wanted to ask next, then gave up. Tact wasn’t really necessary anyway. “I gather that you lived with Bethany. Were you home on the night she was killed?”

  He laughed. “I figured you might ask that. The police sure did. The answer is no. There was a huge private party at Esplendido that night. It lasted way into the wee hours, and those of us who worked were put up in a nearby hotel for what was left of the night. I didn’t have a roommate, so I can’t prove I didn’t leave and come back. But I swear to you, I didn’t kill Bethany.”

  “Okay,” I said, as if I completely bought into his alibi. I soon finished my beer, and so did Miguel. On our way back to BTA to drop him off, I pretended to be teasing as I asked more about his disagreements with Bethany. He parried all with humor—and ease.

  Sure, he could be the killer, but I tucked him at the bottom of my list, just above Mamie.

  Even so, I remembered w
ell what the detective who’d been after me for murder a few short months ago had said. Detective Stefan Garciana had confided his investigation methods to me. He did an exercise with every case he was assigned, analyzing how each of the least likely suspects could have done it, then erasing them as he eliminated aspects like genuine opportunity and realistic motive. I’d told Carlie, and she’d recently reminded me of what he’d said.

  I couldn’t wholly discount Miguel as a suspect, nor the people he believed couldn’t have killed Bethany.

  As a result, I made a couple of calls the next morning, after arriving at HotRescues. Not first thing, though. I had to check my e-mail, see what kinds of praise and accusations the members of PST had sent along to me about Bethany.

  There were already quite a few. Most were tactful, starting out by saying how much they appreciated Bethany and all she’d tried to do for the pet shelter community. Few said anything about what she’d done for the animals, though.

  As I’d already figured, whatever Bethany had done, it had all been about her.

  Several administrators described how rosy they thought the future of PST would be under Cricket’s auspices.

  Then there were a few I decided to follow up on. Interestingly, those people included Raelene, Sylvia, and Darya. Maybe they’d been more honest than the rest, since I’d actually spoken with them. But even when they said good things about Bethany, the way things were phrased suggested an undercurrent of distaste for at least something in the way she’d handled situations. I needed to know more.

  After printing out the interesting e-mails, I called and made appointments to meet with Bethany’s ex-husbands. Both surprisingly agreed when I explained who I was. The second I talked to, John Jerremiah, clarified why: Miguel had been in touch.

  I got together with John first. He was a film executive who’d gotten to know Bethany in her cosmetic sales days. I went to his Hollywood office, off Sunset Boulevard, to chat.

  I’d noticed at the funeral that he was much older than Bethany had been, maybe in his seventies. Interesting that she’d changed her taste in men so much. Or maybe she’d needed someone with more age to guide her until she reached the level of success she had.