The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  As soon as I’d finished giving her my statement, I’d gone back into the main part of HotRescues. By then, poor Zoey was frantic, and I gave her a lot of hugs before checking on our residents.

  I called Matt, too. Though his voice was groggy, he’d awakened immediately. This wasn’t an event that needed Animal Services help, but I craved his moral support.

  Besides, I felt certain he’d hear about the situation on the news, and wanted to let him know myself. When I’d peeked out the window from our welcome area, I wasn’t surprised to see that media vans had already started pulling up on Rinaldi Street in front of HotRescues. Whatever their system for keeping track of police activities, they’d already done it that night.

  Now, I sat on my office sofa, Matt beside me, his arm around my shoulders. Brooke sat on a chair facing us. Both Zoey and Cheyenne lay on the rug that protruded from under my desk.

  “There wasn’t much I could tell the cops,” Brooke was saying. “I’d finished my rounds and had come back to the sleeping quarters, such as they are, in the middle building when you called, Lauren. You didn’t give me many details.”

  “But you did as I asked and called 911.” My smile couldn’t have looked especially bright, as tired as I was, but I wanted her to know how much I appreciated her help.

  Our protocol required that she notify EverySecurity, since the outfit that sent patrols to all of Dante’s businesses was still our official security provider. One of their representatives was downstairs talking to the authorities.

  “Our SmART team members will be surprised when they arrive tomorrow,” Matt said, “to see that one of their ropes was cut that way.”

  “Today,” I said, glancing at my watch. “Only a few hours from now. I gathered that they always take a belt-andsuspenders approach and have a lot more gear than they’re likely to need, but I’d suggest that you call Renz and make sure they bring a replacement.”

  “Sure will.” Matt’s arm around me tightened, as if he was picturing how that rope got severed and when. The vision hadn’t left my own imagination since I’d landed on the ground.

  Alive and unhurt.

  And angry. But Lan would pay for it. Even if no evidence appeared to prove his story about who’d killed Bethany, he’d at least be charged as an accessory—as well as for his attempted murder of me. That was what I’d been told by Detective Greshlam.

  Both Darya and Lan would probably pay for Bethany’s murder. It would be interesting to hear what Darya’s role had been, if the cops ever sorted it all out. Had she been the killer, with Lan trying to protect her—or had he committed the murder as he’d claimed when he came after me? Either way, Darya knew the details, and her reactions around me indicated she had played a major role, even if it was just covering up the truth on behalf of her husband.

  In any event, Cricket would be able to continue in Bethany’s footsteps as the high-handed, demanding administrator of Better Than Any Pet Rescues and the Pet Shelters Together network.

  PST would have to survive without HotRescues’ membership.

  And somehow I would make sure that all the animals now at Happy Saved Animals were saved again.

  Brooke had started to droop. Sometimes, considering how well she was doing, it was easy to forget that she’d been hired by Dante only after he’d picked up her medical expenses and she had begun to get better.

  “Go home and get some sleep,” I told her. “I’ll stay here for the rest of the night and make sure everything’s okay.”

  “No, you won’t,” she said. “I’ve already made arrangements for the guy downstairs from EverySecurity to stay here on watch—and cooperate with the cops as long as they’re around, too.”

  “Great. Then I’ll head home. You, too, Matt.”

  The look we shared made me wonder whether he took that as an invitation to join me at my place.

  Turned out he did. But, much to my regret, we were both too tired to do anything but sleep in each other’s arms.

  A few hours later, Matt ran back to his place to take care of Rex and to change clothes.

  It was Sunday now, the day of the planned SmART demonstration and fund-raiser at HotRescues. Fortunately, the cops hadn’t suggested that I postpone it—which I would have hated to do. A lot of planning had gone into it. Plus, it was important to a lot of people—including me.

  I’d made certain last night that Detective Greshlam and the other police were aware of the event, and that we’d need to take control of that part of HotRescues again no later than eleven o’clock that morning.

  No one had objected. But I knew always to expect things to go wrong, so I headed to the shelter as early as I could drag myself out of bed, figuring I might have to make some waves to get control back.

  Turned out I didn’t.

  First thing when I woke, I called Tracy and Kevin. Like everyone else, they’d see the news. They had once viewed me on YouTube, which wouldn’t be the case this time, but I nevertheless assured my kids that their mom was fine. “And I now know how to ride a zip-line,” I told them.

  Neither sounded thrilled, but they were sweet enough to thank me for letting them know I was okay.

  Then I drove to HotRescues. The guy from Every-Security—Ed Bransom, whom I’d dealt with before we hired Brooke and who was, surprisingly, still a manager there—met me in the welcome area and told me all was in order. The cops had left an hour ago. Ed walked with me through the shelter and onto the new property. The nearly finished building looked completely innocent in the light of day. The ropes set up by SmART remained in place, including the sliced one now rolled up on the ground.

  Even the yellow crime scene tape had been cut away, though some shreds remained tied around a few items on the new property, including the tripods set up by SmART. I didn’t attempt to remove them. They gave the place an extra air of showmanship, which could be a benefit to the fund-raiser.

  They also reminded me even more of my own close call.

  I wondered if Detective Greshlam would attend. I’d invited her, and she had sounded enthused. But I guessed that she’d have a lot of work to do today, after the latest arrest in Bethany’s murder.

  By the time Ed, Zoey, and I returned to the welcome area, a lot of our regular crew had arrived—more than usually appeared on a Sunday. I’d expected the whole gang because of the fund-raiser, but I knew they’d come this early because of the news. All of them—Pete, Nina, Angie, Mona, and even Gavin, not to mention our group of volunteers—were full of questions.

  Ed left, and the rest of us took a quick walk to check on the residents.

  The SmART team was next to arrive, all in their uniforms. Renz told me that Matt had called and they knew they had to redo their equipment. He looked at me without his usual smile, his dark eyes keenly studying me. “You’re okay, Lauren?” he asked.

  “Absolutely, thanks to your setup.”

  He did smile then, as did the other team members. “Too bad we weren’t here to see it and take pictures for our Facebook page and YouTube,” he said.

  I laughed and gave him a friendly shove. “Go to work,” I told him.

  I left Zoey in the office as the crowd wanting to attend the demonstration began to arrive. Cynically, I wondered whether we’d get a larger turnout than we otherwise would have, thanks to last night’s news. But as long as we raised funds for animal rescue, including a hefty donation to SmART, it didn’t matter.

  Although if I’d been able to prevent what I’d gone through here last night, I still would have . . .

  I was standing in a crowd near our leopard-spotted welcome table when Davie Tarbet arrived with his mom, Margie.

  “Hi, Lauren,” Davie said. He looked as youthful as he was in his “Animals Rule” T-shirt and jeans. Little did he know what I had in store for him today. “I saw HotRescues on the news this morning. What happened here?”

  “If you saw the news, I expect you have a pretty good idea. It’s usually pretty uneventful here, though—except for all the animals
we take in and rehome.” I looked into Davie’s innocent blue eyes. “Like a lot of owner relinquishments that have been dropped off here in the middle of the night lately. Would you know anything about that?”

  “Of course he wouldn’t,” Margie said. She spoke firmly, but the pinkness in her round cheeks suggested she now knew what her son had been up to.

  “Come with me,” I said. They glanced at each other, as if debating whether I was about to flog them—or turn Davie over to Animal Services . . . or worse. Let them worry. Davie, at least, deserved it. But they did follow me.

  First, I led them outside to the parking lot, and then to the alley behind HotRescues. Pete was out there unloading some food from the van. He looked at us.

  “He the one?” he asked me.

  “That’s what I think,” I responded.

  “Well, look, young man.” Pete approached and glared down with all the fury possible in a thin senior citizen who happened to love animals. “Those pets could have been stolen by someone else when they were left outside here. And even if they were okay, we have to follow the law, so if Animal Services had decided we couldn’t keep any, we’d have had to turn them over . . . and their lives would have been in danger if they got into an overcrowded city shelter.”

  “But they were owner relinquishments,” Davie protested. Then, more weakly, he added, “Weren’t they?”

  “You know the truth,” I said, “no matter what the notes left with them said. I remembered that I told you the difference between our ability to take in strays and owner relinquishments during the time you and your mom started coming in while thinking about adopting another pet. You started asking a lot of questions about animal rescues. I suspect that the first animal you left here was before you had that bit of knowledge, since a stray mysteriously appeared one night, and the next time there was a note that it was a relinquishment. I talk about the difference a lot, so I didn’t realize the connection with you at first.”

  I paused and looked him directly in his eyes—not easy, since he kept them downcast, and his face was even more flushed than his mother’s. But he said nothing.

  “You’d mentioned hearing about the troubles we had here a while back, and we talked about security, so you knew to look for cameras and disguise yourself.”

  Still no verbal response from him. I was getting even more irritated, but I’d already decided how to handle this.

  Besides, I understood the kid. Not that I’d tell him, but I’d been known to do things in the interest of saving animals that weren’t always appropriate—like not looking too hard for a stray dog’s identification where it was clear his owner had abused him.

  “Was Shazam really the last dog’s name? How did you learn it?”

  His eyes still downcast, he mumbled, “He was wearing a string around his neck with a note on it. I wasn’t sure it was real, but when I called him Shazam, he answered.” Davie glanced up, aiming a pained look at my face. “I fed him but left him there for a week, hoping his owner would come back and get him, but no one ever did.”

  Poor kid. His heart was in the right place. But he still needed to learn reality. “Saving stray animals from the park where you’re working is definitely commendable, Davie.” I’d assumed that was where he found them all. “But you have to be careful if you really want them to survive. And that’s why you’re going to learn what to do. Officially. As a volunteer here at HotRescues. Okay, Margie? It’s better than having Animal Services learn what really was going on.”

  She gasped. “You wouldn’t tell them that . . . whatever you think, would you, Lauren?”

  “We’re having a volunteer orientation starting here next Saturday. Since it’s summer and Davie isn’t in school, this would be a perfect time for him to learn all about HotRescues and how our volunteers help out with our residents. It takes two sessions, and then we can set him up with times convenient for him to volunteer here when he’s not working at the park’s day camp—although you’ll need to be here with him, Margie, since he’s a minor. You can come at times convenient to both of you. I figure he’s at least sixteen, has access to a car and a license, and knows the way, or we wouldn’t have had those ‘relinquishments,’ so it should work out well for all of us. Okay?”

  They again looked at one another. I wasn’t certain of what they communicated, but it must have been something good.

  “It sounds great to me!” Davie turned back to me and rushed forward, giving me a hug. “I don’t see a lot of stray animals in the park, but the ones that are . . . well, I worry about them.”

  It wasn’t exactly an admission, but it was close enough. “We all do,” I said. “That’s one reason we need to follow the rules. Even if they don’t have a collar or chip, they might have worried owners who won’t know where to look for them if they’re not in the official system. That’s why it’s usually best to take them to Animal Services . . . and then we’ll take them in if they’re not found or rehomed from there. If not us, I’ve got a lot of friends and acquaintances who are rescuers that I can get in touch with.” Even members of Pet Shelters Together.

  We went back inside. It was nearly time. I walked them onto the back property, where the crowd had gathered. I stayed on the ground this time, although I figured I could have given the SmART members competition if I’d decided to do my own zip run down their lines again . . . not.

  My zipping days were over.

  Matt was already there. He stood with Dante and his girlfriend, Kendra Ballantyne, a lawyer and pet-sitter who had been involved in some dangerous situations of her own. She had brought her dog, Lexie, a tricolor Cavalier King Charles spaniel. The three of them hurried over.

  “Glad to see you’re okay, Lauren,” Kendra said. Lexie sat down and panted a tongue-hanging smile.

  “Same here.” Dante took my hand and squeezed it before letting go. “But next time you want to encourage a crowd to show up at one of our fund-raisers, how about finding a safer way?”

  We all laughed, and Matt again put an arm around me.

  Carlie arrived with a camera crew. I went to greet them near the gate to the new property and gave her my version of what had happened here the night before.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, studying me. I assured her I was. “Can I interview you on camera?” My baleful look was my answer. “Okay, another time. Right now, I’ve got the SmART demo to film.”

  I used that as my excuse to return to Dante. “So what’s our estimated take?” I asked him. Each person here was to donate at least a few dollars to get in, and judging by the crowd around us, we’d gotten a bundle.

  “A lot,” he said. “And I intend to triple it—in addition to what’s needed to finish up this new area.” He waved toward the building and the areas around us where new enclosures would be set up for rescued pets. “Some will go to SmART for more equipment, including a replacement rope. As we already discussed, you can help me figure out what other good causes the rest will go for. Mostly, I just wanted to make certain that the community sees HotRescues and all the good you do here.”

  “Like zipping down buildings in the interest of saving animals,” I said with a smile.

  “Like that,” he agreed.

  But it wasn’t me who zipped just then. Renz was the first SmART team member to come down the line to rescue MARTE, their stuffed animal.

  “That’s amazing,” said a high voice behind me. I turned. Mamie stood there, her red curls looking freshly washed and her black shirtwaist dress immaculate. I hadn’t seen her arrive.

  “It sure is,” Dante said. “Welcome, Mamie.”

  I introduced her to Kendra, Matt, and the other HotRescues folks who stood around us.

  “I walked through the shelter to get back here, Lauren,” she said. “It really is wonderful. I even saw Herman in one of the enclosures. I reached in and petted him but wanted to hug him. I miss him so much. I . . . I’m really sorry for what I did. I know I said I’d come here more, but I’ve been so sad . . . Can I start volunteer
ing here now?”

  I knew she wanted to reclaim Herman, too, but I’d get Mona’s psychological take on it first, and Matt’s official one, too.

  I glanced toward Dante. This was something we’d discussed. He knew how concerned I was about her living alone—especially in the place where she’d started hoarding before. She seemed to have improved, but without counseling, who knew if it was permanent?

  Besides, I might have saved her from a murder rap, but I still felt responsible for her. I’d hated to acknowledge it to myself, but after all that had gone on around here, I’d let myself recognize it. A little. Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone else. But sometime after Mamie drew me into the situation, I’d started feeling a touch guilty for being part of the event that was the last straw in her difficult and lonely life, the thing that had plunged her into hoarding along with her marital woes. Not that she should have been chosen to run HotRescues. But now, I didn’t want to just turn my back on her again, no matter what.

  “If you’re willing to move to an apartment complex for seniors near here,” I said, “I think volunteering often at HotRescues will work out well.” I’d checked out the assisted living complex. It was one where pets were restricted to one per person, and the residents were supervised. Plus, social workers were on call.

  Dante and his employees would help Mamie sell her property, if she wanted, and the funds would go toward her living expenses. Dante would pick up the rest.

  “Leave my home?” she squeaked.

  “If you’re not living there,” Matt said, “but at the place Lauren has in mind, there’s more of a possibility that we can get the okay for you to take Herman back—someday.”

  My former mentor threw herself into Matt’s arms. Good thing she was small, since she nearly knocked him off balance. “Oh, that’s so wonderful!” she exclaimed. “When can I move?”

  “We’ll get you a place right away,” Dante said. Even if there wasn’t space, I knew that he’d find a way to do it. His degree of wealth convinced anyone of anything . . . fast.