Beaglemania Read online

  For the best chance at a good adoption, Hannibal needed to be a lot better behaved. Si, great trainer that he was, had willingly taken on the task.

  Forgoing my usual cherished petting of each dog along the way—for now—I hurried toward Si. So did Nina.

  “Let’s go into the rear visiting area,” I suggested. It was at the far side of the storage shed, a place where we always had potential adopters meet with the animals they’d chosen to see how they got along in a location of less stress than the enclosures. We also took advantage of it for other uses—like now.

  Nina and I let Si and Hannibal precede us. I watched as the big dog moseyed quietly at the trainer’s side, heeling as if he’d been brought up from puppyhood doing it. Yay, Si! I thought.

  I’d have hurled a lot more “yays” at him, too, if I hadn’t worried about breaking Hannibal’s concentration a short while later. The visitors’ area was charming and parklike, with a small grassy area along one side—one that didn’t take a lot of water to maintain in drought-stricken Los Angeles but was large enough to permit abbreviated doggy games of chase the ball. The rest was paved but contained a picnic area with benches and a table.

  Nina and I took seats on a bench while Si put Hannibal through his paces—sit, stay, down, roll over, heel, and speak. Nothing unusual or outrageous, but the formerly rambunctious large dog was clearly eager to please his trainer. Surely he’d be even happier to obey a new, loving owner.

  “That’s so great!” I told Si when the demonstration ended. Nina bent to give equal congratulations to Hannibal. “You’ve done a fantastic job.”

  “Thanks.” Si looked down toward the walkway almost modestly, then turned his gaze back at me. “You know you’re welcome to watch me give lessons here, or at my own place. I can teach you what I do. It’s not hard, especially for someone who loves animals the way you do. Anytime.” His tone was calm and bland, but there was almost a pleading in his expression.

  “I appreciate it, Si. But with all your wonderful work, I don’t need to become an expert at training animals. I can spend my time figuring out how to save more.”

  My turn to lavish attention on our new star Hannibal. But I could feel Si’s hurt as I turned away.

  “Hey,” I said. “Maybe Nina would like to learn. How about it?”

  “You’d teach me how to train animals? Would you really, Si?” She sounded so enthusiastic that it was contagious.

  “She could help work with the ones you both train when you’re not around, Si.” I grinned at him.

  His smile wasn’t nearly as eager as ours, but he said, “Great idea. Next time I’m here, we can work out some lessons.”

  “Thank you!” Nina rushed toward him and gave him a hug.

  I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before.

  I couldn’t help feeling a little smug as I headed back toward my office. I saved animals. That was my life’s work. All I’d ever wanted to do.

  But besides being my second in command, Nina had seemed a bit unfocused here. Maybe she could have a whole new direction by learning to be a trainer.

  Later that afternoon I sat in my office staring at the computer, wondering where to look next. Not here, though. I’d been following links to news sites that discussed Efram’s death and the ensuing murder investigation.

  My name appeared a lot.

  I’d just walked through the shelter area again. Wanted to do it once more. The animals’ company made me feel better.

  Maybe I should take lessons on training from Si after all.

  I realized then that I was succumbing to unfortunately familiar emotions that I totally hated, a growing sense of despondency and resignation. I was a murder suspect. How could I take control and fix that?

  The worst-case scenario part of my mind had taken over.

  I’d felt equally helpless years ago, during my second marriage, when I wasn’t sure what to do.

  But I’d decided then to make a change, retake control over my life. End that fiasco of a marriage. Yet nothing as relatively controllable as a divorce could help me now.

  What could I do?

  I minimized the latest news page on the computer, one taunting me that it was just a matter of time till I was arrested. My computer wallpaper appeared—a photo of the first dog who’d been adopted from HotRescues: Carlie’s dog, Max, part cocker spaniel and all adorable. Around Max, the icons on my desktop glared up at me like a bunch of irritated kids demanding attention.

  Icons that included shortcuts to HotRescues’ online business folders.

  Folders I’d started years ago, as a result of the plan I’d developed to impress Dante so he’d choose me to be the start-up shelter’s chief administrator.

  I suddenly stood, my legs casting my chair backward, as I stared at all those icons.

  I needed the equivalent of an investigator’s business plan! A way to take control of my own search for Efram’s killer.

  I’d start with an organizational chart, then determine what kinds of information I’d need on potential suspects, how to approach and gather it . . . and how all that knowledge, studied and digested, should surely lead to the murderer. Or at least give me enough ammo to get the cops looking another way.

  My BlackBerry rang, and I picked it up from my desk where I’d laid it after making some calls.

  Carlie. I was never a believer in out-there things like ESP, but she often called when my mind was hyperventilating—and even more when she was the focus of some of my thoughts.

  “Hi,” I said. “I was just thinking about you. Or at least about Max.”

  “Yeah?” she said. “He sends his regards—his barks, rather. So . . . how’s your murder investigation coming? Have you solved it yet, saved your own hide, and gone on to bigger and better things?”

  That was Carlie—always intuitive, always to the point.

  “I’m just getting started,” I told her. “By the time you get back here, I’ll have my strategy all put together. It’ll knock your socks off!”

  Chapter 14

  It was late, but I was eager to begin.

  First, I went through some files, both computer and paper ones, to locate the original HotRescues operation plan that I’d created more than six years ago.

  Putting together a strategy for figuring out who committed a murder wasn’t exactly the same thing as devising a business plan for opening a well-funded no-kill private animal shelter. But the concept was similar: define the goal, then write down, in detail, all matters that had to be accomplished to reach it—after researching the items that were necessary.

  Goal: Find the person who killed Efram Kiley.

  Rationale: To ensure that I was no longer a suspect.

  Method: Determine all other persons, or at least as many as possible, who had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill Efram. I’d already begun a nebulous version of this one in my mind, but I needed to get more organized about it, including making detailed notes on each person I checked out.

  Short-term strategy: I started on the list of all the steps I’d take to reach that elusive but utterly vital goal.

  Best-case scenario: The police would solve this murder right away—correctly eliminating me as a suspect.

  Worst-case scenario: I’d be arrested, unable to follow up.

  Overall strategy: Being the kind of person who always assumed the worst would happen, I had to keep telling myself that, if I worked hard, I’d achieve what I needed to. The best-case scenario might sound good, and hopefully it would occur, but relying on the possibility would be foolish—and foolish wasn’t the way I worked. I had to keep going to ensure that the worst-case scenario didn’t happen.

  For each person I thought could be guilty—beginning with the Shaheens from the puppy mill—I would create a new page in my file and jot down everything I knew that made them suspects.

  Unfortunately, nothing stuck out at me as being the irrefutable answer. But there were more potential suspects to come, more blanks to fill in, until
I had all I needed to solve the case.

  That night, I learned that both my kids were coming home that weekend. And both were really concerned about my latest bit of notoriety as a possible murder suspect.

  I admit I felt rather misty when I poured myself a beer after dinner, sat down in front of Kevin’s big TV, and thought about seeing them. I’d certainly done one thing right in my life: bringing them up to be loving, wonderful people—and to give a damn about their mother.

  Then again, maybe they really just wanted to see this aging YouTube star in person.

  I also learned I was invited on Friday to go see the rescued puppies at that unopened shelter in the Valley. While I was still seated on my couch, Matt Kingston called to let me know. And to ask how I was doing. To see if I’d recuperated from my visit to the Shaheens. And to surreptitiously inquire if I’d been arrested yet.

  Well, maybe not the last one. I just chose to read things into his questions. He sounded concerned, but I knew he was being nosy, too.

  I did the appropriate thing and questioned him right back. He’d probably have chosen a different location if he’d been the one to kill Efram, but he had nearly as much of a motive as I did. Matt loved animals. Efram had tortured animals. Matt had arrested him, but Efram got out on bail. I wasn’t sure when he would have been scheduled for trial, but there was always the chance that a jury would bog down in an unsupportable theory of “reasonable doubt” and acquit him. Though I felt certain Efram had thrown those pups into the storm drain, there could be a convincing argument that it was, instead, the Shaheens.

  Matt could have waited for months for Efram to be put on trial, then expend hours testifying and worrying about the verdict—and still not get Efram punished.

  All of that still made my blood boil, even though it was now impossible. And I wasn’t one of the good people who’d had a hand in arresting Efram. But Matt was.

  It was a reasonable motive for him to kill Efram.

  I just wished, if it was him, that he’d done it somewhere other than following Efram to HotRescues. But just in case, I’d add a file on him to my suspect collection tomorrow.

  “You think I what!” Matt shouted into my ear. Guess I’d been thinking aloud—accidentally on purpose.

  I smiled at the phone, then said into it, “That makes as much sense as my killing him.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  I heard him stewing, which made my grin broaden. “Anyway, I’ll look forward to observing for myself how the pups and their moms and dads are thriving. See you Friday.” I hung up.

  I knew I was elasticizing reality so I could develop and expand my brand-new suspect files, but if I wasn’t creative, I’d never learn who killed Efram. I couldn’t rely on the police to determine the truth with someone as handy as me locked in their sights.

  Which was why I showed up at the law office of James Remseyer bright and early the next morning.

  I’d called yesterday to set up this appointment. But I knew better than to come in as myself and try to talk to the attorney who had represented Efram in a situation where I’d been involved as an opposing party.

  My name, to get me into the office, was Laura Brown. In fact, Lauren Brown had been my maiden name, before I’d married my dear Kerry Vancouver. Ah, the nostalgia . . . But no time to dwell on it.

  The law office was in Northridge, not very far from HotRescues in Granada Hills. I walked into the reception area and gave my name to the young lady behind the desk. She told me to have a seat, which I did, and looked around.

  A minute later, an even younger lady wearing a very short skirt came through the inner door and said, “Laura Brown?” I rose, and she motioned for me to follow. “Come with me, please.”

  We walked down a narrow hallway and turned a corner. “Right in there.” She pointed to a door.

  My intent hadn’t been to impress the lawyer, but I figured looking somewhat professional wouldn’t hurt, so I’d worn a no-frills shirt tucked into a skirt, and low heels. I’d change as soon as I got back to HotRescues.

  I entered the moderate-sized but otherwise unimpressive office. Seated behind the unimpressive desk was James Remseyer. And, yes, he looked unimpressive, too. At least until he opened his eyes wide and glared at me.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Vancouver?” His tone could have stabbed me if he’d been throwing the ice in it in my direction. “Ah, yes, I see. I’m expecting someone named Laura Brown. Would that happen to be you? And if so—”

  “Yes,” I interrupted calmly, breezing forward and planting myself in a chair facing his desk. I remembered that the guy liked the sound of his own voice, since he’d kept using it nonstop when we all met to settle Efram’s ridiculous claims against HotRescues, Dante, and me. “I figured you wouldn’t see me if I told you who I really was.”

  He had apparently not wanted to display all his lawyerly splendor to the woman he thought Laura Brown was—odd, since she could have been a potential client. When we’d all gotten together, including Dante and Kendra, he’d worn a dark, expensive suit. Now, he was clad in a dressy white shirt without a jacket but adorned with a red-striped tie. I wasn’t sure of his hairline’s contours, since he’d shaved off his hair. I did note a five o’clock shadow, though, way back on his head.

  “Of course I wouldn’t have admitted you. It’s unethical. You’re on the opposite side of a matter from my client, and you’re represented by counsel.”

  “But your client is dead, and so is the matter you represented him on. And I’m not represented by anyone about that situation now.” No need to mention that I’d had to take on another lawyer because I was a murder suspect. He’d figure that out, though, if he hadn’t already. “I came today to talk to you about Efram Kiley. I assume you know what happened to him.”

  “Yes, I know about Efram. I also know you’re a suspect in his murder. So why are you here? I’m sure it’s not to express sympathy.”

  “In a way, it is,” I lied, trying to stick earnestness on my face as I assumed he did when he argued a client’s untenable position in court. “Did he have any family? Friends? I’d like to contact them, let them know how sorry I feel about their loss.” Which could, in fact, be true. I knew what it felt like to lose someone I cared about. The difference was that those I’d lost, like Kerry, had been good people, worth the emotions I’d spent on them. If there’d been a lovable side to Efram, I certainly hadn’t seen it, but others might have.

  “He had a girlfriend but lived alone, which made your stealing his dog even worse. And you know—”

  “Like I said, that matter is over,” I said. “But to again set matters straight, I didn’t steal his dog. Someone found it and brought it to another shelter first. When it got to HotRescues, I took appropriate steps to try to learn where the poor, obviously abused guy came from.”

  Never mind that I’d worked my way around the system, since HotRescues isn’t supposed to take in strays. And I’d chosen not to see if he had an ID chip.

  “He became one of our rescues, and I found him a new, loving home. That’s all. But look,” I said as the lawyer opened his mouth, apparently ready to start spewing his client’s side of things again. “All that doesn’t matter now. We settled it without a lot of hassle. Efram volunteered with HotRescues as he was supposed to. He didn’t comply with all the conditions, but since he’s gone that no longer matters, either.” Unless he had heirs and Dante chose to try to recoup some of the money Efram didn’t earn from them.

  Oops. That might be a reason this lawyer wouldn’t give me any information. Did he automatically represent everyone in Efram’s family?

  “So he did comply, at least in part?” Despite his shaved head, Remseyer did have eyebrows, which rose as his face took on an expression that seemed paradoxically innocent on a lawyer. “And I assume, with a deep pocket like Dante DeFrancisco on your side, that he was paid as agreed.”

  Interesting comment. Wouldn’t he know for sure? Or maybe Efram would only have told him if he hadn
’t been paid.

  A question sprang to my mind and dived from my lips before I thought it through. “Did you receive your fees from Efram, James?”

  Innocence segued to a glower. “That’s not your business, Lauren.” Ah. He’d called me by my first name—my real first name—as I’d been doing with him. Before, he’d stuck with the formal Ms. Did that signify anything?

  My assumption, right or wrong, was that it did. We were now communicating. Unless it was a device he was using to throw me off guard.

  But wouldn’t he have told me immediately if he had been paid? What would have been the harm in that?

  “Maybe not.” I lowered my head, pretending his chastisement had been effective. There might be other ways to find out whether James had been paid. “As I recall, he was an air-conditioning repairman when he wasn’t helping out at HotRescues. Do you happen to know what company he worked for?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I do. But I don’t know what you’re looking for, Lauren. Your giving his friends and acquaintances sympathy is a bunch of bull. You’re a suspect in his murder. I’ll bet you’re trying to get as much as you can about him so you can blow a lot of smoke into the investigation. Am I right?”

  “Not exactly.” I still tried to sound humble. “Not smoke. Just information. As a lawyer, you must know you can’t believe everything you hear on the news. I didn’t like Efram, but I didn’t kill him. If I can give the police other suspects to look into, maybe they’ll figure out who really did it. I know you don’t have to tell me anything, but I’d really, really appreciate it. Where did he work? Who were his family? His friends?”

  “You can’t always discount all you hear on the news, either, Lauren.” He shot me a patronizing grin that looked like he was sure I was the killer. “But what the hell. I won’t give you anything that’s privileged information, but if you do more digging on your own you’d probably figure out his job and family and all.”