The More the Terrier Read online

  Liar! I wanted to shout. But I could only guess at her real agenda, and I was sure it had to do with garnering her lots of favorable publicity.

  “Right.” I no longer wanted to try to be civil to this woman. “Would you walk me to my car, Matt?”

  “Sure.”

  As we started down the sidewalk, I heard Bethany call, “Nice to have met you, Lauren. You, too, Captain Kingston.”

  I hadn’t parked far away. As we stood at the door of my car, I said to Matt, “Can you tell me now—I mean, what’s likely to occur with Mamie and the animals?”

  “Well, basically, the animals are considered to be her property. The best-case scenario for them and for her would be if she decided to surrender them, but most hoarders don’t do that. If she wants, she can contest the legality of the seizure. She’s not likely to win. A seizure is considered legal if the officers conducting it believed that immediate action was necessary to protect the animals. After the hearing, assuming it’s decided against Mamie, she’ll start being assessed fees for the care of the animals, and if she doesn’t pay, she’ll be deemed to have abandoned them. With that number of animals, the cost will get pretty steep, so eventually she’ll probably have to stop paying and lose legal ownership of them anyway.”

  “I see.” I wondered if I could convince Mamie to surrender the animals right away. She seemed lucid at least part of the time.

  But as much as I found myself worrying about what would happen to Mamie, I was even more concerned about her supposed property.

  “You’ll keep me informed, won’t you?” I asked Matt. “About how all the animals are doing? And you’ll make sure that someone—”

  “Calls to let you know if any is in danger of being euthanized. Of course. That’s my main assignment from you these days, isn’t it?” Though his words were sarcastic, he sounded amused.

  “Sure is,” I agreed with a smile. The truth was that I enjoyed Matt’s company. Enjoyed our relationship, whatever it was. Just friends with benefits? A prelude to something more? Not as far as I was concerned.

  “I figured.” He glanced around, as if assuring himself that no other Animal Services folks were around, then bent and planted a quick kiss on my mouth. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I drove back to HotRescues as quickly as I could, trying not to think too much about what I’d just experienced.

  By then, it was late afternoon. I pulled into my designated spot in the parking lot and got out of my car—my dark gray Toyota Venza crossover. I loved this car, partly because I’d gotten it with a variety of pet-friendly accessories, which worked well for the director of a pet rescue facility.

  The air, unsurprisingly, was filled not only with the usual sounds of a few barking dogs, but also by mechanical and hammering noises.

  I smiled to myself as I got my purse from the car floor and used my key fob to lock the door. Those had been the usual sounds for a couple of months now. I was thrilled about the new building Dante was having constructed at HotRescues after buying the property next door.

  After the terrible things that had gone on at HotRescues a while ago—including a murder—I’d been certain that, despite having a security company on call, we had to have someone here at night. Having better sleeping quarters would be wonderful.

  The main buildings on the original HotRescues site consisted of our office at the front, a middle building containing other offices and some of the rescued animals, and a storage structure at the back that also contained our laundry facilities. There was no good place for someone to hang out overnight.

  Hence, the new building. The existing center building’s second floor, where the overnight security people slept on a couch in an empty office, would be converted into an apartment. All the offices currently located there would move into the new structure when it was completed, and there would be room for more small animals downstairs. The new property next door would also be fixed up with more kennels for larger dogs.

  HotRescues was growing.

  I walked through the side door into the welcome area. Nina was there at the table behind our attractive leopard-print reception desk, working on the computer. She turned just as Zoey, from somewhere near her feet, dashed toward me. I knelt and gave my dog a hug, hanging on as she wriggled in my arms and licked my cheek. Under other circumstances, her enthusiasm at our reunion would have made me laugh. Not today.

  “What happened?” Nina demanded. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  With a final pat on Zoey’s head, I rose. My face must have reflected my angst. No matter what that egotistical brat Bethany was claiming, she hadn’t done anything to save those poor animals. She certainly hadn’t acted fast enough, once she suspected what was going on.

  I’d been the one to call in the authorities. Not that I gave a damn about who received any public kudos. I knew I’d done the right thing. But I couldn’t help wondering about how all this would really affect Mamie.

  “Do me a favor, will you?” I asked Nina.

  “What’s that?”

  “Check on the Internet to see all you can find about why people who care about animals become hoarders. And what usually happens to them after they’ve been found out. I know what’s likely to happen with Mamie officially, since Matt told me, but I want to know any unofficial scoop. Do they hoard again? Do they hurt themselves . . . ?”

  “You found a hoarding situation there?”

  I nodded and sighed. Putting my bag on the floor, I lowered myself into a chair beneath the window, at the small table where we asked people interested in pet adoption to fill out initial forms. Zoey lay down at my feet.

  I glanced around at photos we had hung on the bright yellow walls—lots of happy pets with their new adoptive humans. That made me smile. It always did.

  Nina joined me. “Tell me about it, then I’ll go online.”

  I gave her a thumbnail version of who Mamie had been to me and what had happened that morning.

  “I think you need a hug, Lauren,” Nina said when I was done, and I let her make good on the offer.

  “Any visitors today?” I asked. “Potential rehomings?”

  “A couple of real possibilities.” She described a young lady who had just gotten her first job and post-school apartment and had fallen for one of our kittens, and a couple whose dog had recently passed away and were looking for a new companion.

  “Great,” I said, cheering a little. “I’ll talk to you more about them later.” I crossed the welcome room to the hallway with Zoey at my side, then turned back toward Nina. “No hurry about finding statistics on hoarders. Even if there’s something that can be done to help them, Mamie’s in the system now, at least, undergoing psychological evaluation.”

  “I hope they hospitalize her forever,” Nina spat. “Or throw her in jail. Sorry, Lauren. I know she was your friend, but—”

  “You’re absolutely right,” I told her, then headed toward my office. But maybe you’re a little wrong, too, I couldn’t help thinking.

  I sat down at my desk. To help understand my own hypocrisy, I decided to call Dr. Mona but only got our semiresident shrink’s voice mail.

  I still wanted to discuss this with someone official. The HotRescues vet tech, Angie Shayde, was sweet and young and would have an opinion, but I decided instead to call Carlie. As a veterinarian, she’s a wellness aficionado. Besides, her TV show is on the Longevity Vision Channel, a cable network that focuses even more on human life than animals.

  I explained to her what I’d seen today, as well as my strange ambivalence.

  “You poor thing.” Her immediate sympathy made me feel a little better. “I’m nearly done here for the day. Want to get together for dinner?”

  “As long as it includes a bottle of wine.”

  Chapter 5

  Before I left the office, I made some phone calls. Matt had said that Mamie was likely to be released in a few days, although he had assured me that if she appeared suicidal to the doctors, they would continue to monitor her. He h
ad checked in about their initial assessment, though, and extending the seventy-two-hour detention seemed unlikely.

  Assuming they didn’t keep her, where would she go? Home, no doubt.

  She’d be lonely, but as sad as that was, she’d have to deal with it. In fact, I’d tell her outright that she had better not start collecting animals again. She’d be watched—not only officially, but by me, too. I’d suggest that she get some kind of counseling, and would at least pop in on her now and then to be sure all was well.

  One thing I could do for her now was to make sure the home she returned to was livable. So, I called a cleaning service I’d used and got their price and availability. Then I called Dante to see if our benefactor would be willing to help in this kind of situation, too.

  “It may help keep animals safe if we can make things as nice as possible for Mamie—and trash all the reminders that might make her start collecting again.”

  “Interesting image,” he said. “I’m picturing your having to make over her whole house to get rid of any reminders. Maybe everything else in her life, too. But go for it.”

  I contacted Matt to find out when the cleaning could start without stepping on any official toes and ruining any evidence that needed to be collected. He promised to get back to me on the timing but believed that tomorrow would work out fine. Plus, he indicated he’d be able to get someone to let the cleaning crew onto the property, since the authorities retained access to it as a crime scene for now. He agreed with my opinion, though, that even though she wasn’t reachable yet, it would be best to get consent from Mamie.

  Instead, I contacted her niece, who was thrilled by the idea and granted permission from the family. Did she have the right? As far as I was concerned, she did. Mamie might have another opinion, but by the time she could assert it, her place would be clean.

  Finally, I set up the day and time with the cleaning company and agreed to pay for rush service, since I didn’t know when Mamie might be released. I was sure Dante would be okay with that.

  Then, at long last, I went to meet my friend. I needed the distraction.

  Not to mention the wine.

  I wasn’t very hungry, so I let Carlie choose our meeting place. She usually picked restaurants closest to her veterinary clinic, The Fittest Pet, in Northridge. Since Granada Hills wasn’t far from there, that was okay with me.

  But this time she chose a location nearer to HotRescues—an Italian restaurant I hadn’t tried before.

  “One of my patients recommended it,” she’d told me as she gave me the address.

  “Really?”

  “Actually, the owner of one of my patients. But I equate them, you know?”

  I did know. Pets were family members.

  The restaurant looked appealing from the street, with a few tables located on the sidewalk outside. Some were occupied on this warm June evening. I wished I’d brought Zoey, but, not knowing this place’s amenities, I’d left her with the early evening crew at HotRescues.

  The place was crowded. Carlie was already there and, bless her, a glass of red wine sat on the table in front of the vacant seat she’d designated as mine.

  “Merlot.” She held up the bottle.

  “Perfect.” I sat and took a sip, and she did the same from the glass in front of her.

  I’d met Carlie six years ago, when she was the first person to adopt a pet from HotRescues just after we opened. She often mentioned her beloved Max, an adorable cocker spaniel mix, on her TV show.

  I could have started disliking Carlie because, though she was my age, she was a lot better preserved—and not artificially, unless you counted her highlighted, shoulder-length blond hair. She had lovely violet eyes, and softly chiseled features overlaid with smooth skin.

  Not that I looked antique. My dark hair has almost no gray in it—naturally. I keep it cut short, since it stays out of my way as I care for animals, and I don’t have to look glamorous in front of TV cameras the way Carlie does. I’ve kept my weight low, I exercise some—mostly by walking dogs—and I have high cheekbones that would look good if I ever guest-starred on one of Carlie’s Pet Fitness shows . . . which I didn’t intend to do.

  We studied the menus briefly, then ordered. I chose a small salad followed by mushroom ravioli. I’d get a doggy box for my predestined leftovers—for me, not Zoey. She’d get her own food, but maybe extra treats, since I’d been away from her so long that day.

  When the server walked away, Carlie said, “Okay, tell me about your hoarder.”

  I hadn’t said much when I’d phoned for commiseration, but I did mention that the hoarder was the friend who’d gotten me interested in pet rescues in the first place. Now, I briefly related how Mamie had helped me when my life had been so awful—when I’d needed a new career direction and impetus to divorce my second husband, whom I’d mistakenly married to give my kids a new dad after my beloved first husband, Kerry, had died.

  “I didn’t think I could make a living at pet rescuing, though it had a lot of appeal. Then I heard Dante DeFrancisco was opening a new animal shelter and funding it, so I put together a business plan and applied, and—”

  “And the rest is history. So tell me, did your friend Mamie think she should have been the one to open HotRescues?”

  I blinked at Carlie. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. She was nothing if not perceptive—and maybe a little psychic at times. “Yes. She pretended not to care, but she snapped at me a lot when we talked. Then she stopped returning my calls. So we lost touch . . . and sometime after that she became a hoarder.” I fidgeted with my wineglass’s stem before I took a swig of the pungent, fruity drink. “I want to hate her now for what she did to those poor animals. I certainly hate how she treated them. And I’m really angry with her.” I shook my head. “But I don’t hate her.”

  “That’s because you’re a kind person.” Carlie poured us both more wine. “You have to be, or you wouldn’t be an animal rescuer.”

  “But I have no qualms about hating people I know are animal abusers, like the people who ran that puppy mill I watched being shut down. This is just another form of abuse.”

  Carlie nodded. “True, but it’s also a psychological defect. Mamie is probably an obsessive-compulsive person.” I’d heard that from Matt, too. “From the way you described her, she at least started out as an animal lover. Probably still is, in her warped way.”

  “I suppose.”

  Our meals were served, and I decided to change the subject—at least a little. “Have you ever heard of Pet Shelters Together?”

  Carlie laughed. “Have I ever. Its CEO keeps contacting me. She wants me to feature her organization on one of my shows. I’m going to do something on your hoarder—” She raised her hand as I started to object. “We’ll talk about it first, and I’ll be more or less kind. But to do a show on what seems to me to be a Pac-Man kind of association that gobbles up animal shelters in its path . . . Well, let’s just say that Bethany Urber wouldn’t like my take on it, so she ought to just back off.”

  “I have the sense she doesn’t back off on much of anything.”

  “You’ve met her? Has she tried to drag HotRescues into her web?”

  My laugh was both bitter and wry. I explained how Bethany’s apparent threats and attempts at coercion had been the impetus for Mamie’s awkward attempt to seek help. “Bethany knows who I am, but she didn’t overtly attempt to recruit HotRescues. Not yet, at least.”

  “Watch out for her. Do you know her background?”

  “Just generally,” I said, recalling Mamie’s description. Carlie told me that she’d been the founder of Better Than Any Cosmetics. “Hey, I use their stuff sometimes.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Carlie described how the well-known manufacturer had recently been bought out by a huge conglomerate. While she was the owner of the company, Bethany had participated in fund-raisers for animal rescue groups and apparently had gotten hooked on the idea—or at least that was what she had said in a lot of TV intervie
ws that I had fortunately missed. After selling her cosmetics company, she’d decided to devote her life to pet rescues. “She got the idea of combining smaller shelters, using economies of scale to help get better funding and other benefits. It’s gotten mixed reviews.”

  “I know. And if she’s the media hound she appears to be, I won’t want to be bad-mouthed in public—any more than I already am.”

  Because of the connection with Dante, HotRescues was occasionally mentioned in the news—and therefore I was, too. The recent events at the shelter, including a murder, had also been considered newsworthy. I’d even gotten to know a paparazzi-type reporter for the National NewsShakers tabloid TV show, Corina Carey. I shuddered at the thought.

  “I’ll definitely watch myself around Bethany,” I finished, “especially if she tries to go after HotRescues.”

  I picked up Zoey at HotRescues on the way home. That gave me the opportunity to say hi to Brooke Pernall, too.

  Brooke, a former P.I., was now the security director of HotRescues, having been hired for that position by Dante—after he had also paid her expenses to deal with a life-threatening heart condition. I had first met her when she came to HotRescues to relinquish her beloved dog, Cheyenne. She had lost her job and her home, and had thought her life in danger, too. But she was a lot better now. She had even added herself to the stable of security people she hired to stay at HotRescues overnight.

  She also supervised EverySecurity, the company hired by Dante to watch over his entire business empire. They’d done a less-than-stellar job at HotRescues before. Now, under Brooke’s watchful eye, they handled whatever she needed just fine.

  “Hey, Lauren, tell me about that hoarder situation,” Brooke said when I walked into the welcome area. Her color was good, her formerly mousy hair in a nice, becoming style, and she had even put on a little weight beneath her black security staff T-shirt and jeans.