The More the Terrier Read online

  Now, Ricki absolutely beamed. She was a college-age African American who’d been volunteering here for quite a while. Like all our volunteers, she wore a yellow HotRescues knit shirt. She was about to start school to become a veterinary technician.

  The two people with her were also African Americans, older than her, and they seemed to mirror her pleasure.

  Still, despite the seemingly perfect application, I needed to be as sure as possible that this couple was a good match for the kittens.

  “Wonderful, Ricki,” I said. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson.”

  “Frank and Jen,” the woman contradicted with a smile.

  “Frank and Jen, would you mind coming into my office for a few minutes so we can talk?”

  “Sure thing,” said Frank.

  I left Zoey with Nina. The Andersons and I sat in my upbeat and well-decorated conversation area. The adoption counseling discussion went swimmingly. They’d owned cats before, but had recently lost a beloved pet to old age. No kids at home, so I wouldn’t need to meet the rest of the family. “We want to get two so they’ll have each other as company,” Jen said. They would remain indoor kitties.

  I believed they were serious about taking the cats into their hearts. Plus, they had been here before and come back. Therefore, a little while later, after making it clear I could drop in anytime to make sure the kittens had a good home, I made the rare decision to allow them to leave right then with two of our youngsters—plus a supply of food and other supplies from Dante’s HotPets shops. The kittens had already had preliminary shots and been microchipped but would need to be neutered when they were a little older—a vow the Andersons made.

  Life was good.

  Except that, when I was alone once more in my office, organizing the paperwork for filing, my mind again wandered to Mamie and her desperate situation. Too soon for me to visit her.

  But maybe . . .

  On impulse, I used my BlackBerry to call Matt Kingston.

  “Sure, Lauren. It’ll be fine for you to visit at least some of our unhoarded rescuees this afternoon—but there’s a price.”

  “Dinner?” I guessed, since it had been a price before, one I didn’t mind paying.

  “That’s it,” he confirmed.

  “I’ll look forward to it.” I grinned.

  The West Los Angeles Care Center was located on West Pico Boulevard. It was a relatively new building, with curb appeal from the outside and, much more important, efficient and well-maintained facilities for caring for animals on the inside.

  Matt met me in the animal receiving area, and he took me to visit some of the pets that had been rescued from Mamie’s.

  I vowed not to think too much about Mamie just then—how she was, whether she was under arrest . . .

  Matt looked a lot more relaxed than I’d seen him yesterday. I felt a lot more relaxed than I had then, too.

  Matt was a good-looking guy, tall and muscular from his training with his special Animal Services groups, with brown eyes and an angular, masculine face. I couldn’t help smiling back when he looked around, then bent down to kiss my cheek. For the moment, there were no other Animal Services folks in the area to observe the act, which could be regarded as unprofessional. Even so, the brief, friendly kiss whetted my appetite for something hotter. Did I mention that I found this guy pretty sexy?

  “C’mon,” Matt said. “A few of the dogs and cats are still at the vet’s, but they’re all doing okay. The rest are here. A lot of them. They’re in quarantine for now.”

  He led me to a crowded area where there were multiple enclosures, and I saw some doggy faces that looked familiar—some Chihuahuas, some terriers, Great Dane mixes, and more. The haunted, hungry looks I’d seen in their big, brown eyes previously now appeared a little less intense, or so I thought. They looked better fed, curious, and perhaps a little lonesome. In need of new forever homes where they would get a lot of personal attention.

  I’d do all I could to ensure that their dreams came true.

  We went into a different area where I got to see some of the cats, again looking much healthier than when I’d last viewed them.

  Yes, I felt sorry for Mamie and what she was going through—especially since I didn’t see her as the kind of person who might shoot someone else, even someone she hated. But I was thrilled that these animals had survived despite her actions. That they had a future.

  I’m sure I was beaming as Matt and I walked back through the shelter area toward the entrance. Of course there were a lot of other animals there as well. As always, I wished I could save them all. But I was nothing if not realistic.

  We left my car in the care center’s parking lot, and Matt drove us to a fun pizza place we’d eaten at before, not far from the shelter.

  We sat in a booth in the crowded joint, and I ordered a beer along with our everything-goes pizza. When we’d been here before, we’d sometimes sat outside and I brought Zoey along. Occasionally Matt also had his dog, Rex, a black Lab mix. But Rex wasn’t with us, and I’d left Zoey at HotRescues.

  “Do you want to talk about the Bethany Urber situation?” he asked once the server had brought our drinks.

  “Not especially,” I said. “You can get the tabloid version on TV and online, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m only interested because of its effect on you. I did hear that Mamie Spelling was found at the crime scene. Do you think she did it?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I can’t believe it of her, but she’s so different from the kind mentor I used to know.” I took a sip of beer.

  “Are you going to do anything more about the situation?”

  He and I both had gone through the angst of being potential murder suspects. Did I want to get involved again?

  But if I didn’t look into what had happened, would anyone pay attention to the fact that Mamie just might be innocent?

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s change the subject.”

  I expected him to get into something personal, but was surprised—and maybe a little relieved—when he said, “Have you found anyone to bring in to HotRescues as a new animal trainer?”

  To make our residents, especially dogs, as adoptable as possible, it was important to have a part-time trainer on staff to help modify their behaviors. Our last trainer had gone a different direction with his life, and I’d been looking for a replacement.

  “No, I haven’t hired anyone yet.”

  “I’ve got a recommendation.” He proceeded to give me information about a trainer whom he’d come in contact with in some recent meetings, a guy named Gavin Mamo. “He’s Hawaiian by background, I think. I saw him in action with a couple of pit bulls that had been brought in from a dog fighting rescue. He calmed them pretty quickly.”

  “I’ll check him out,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Our pizza was served, and we talked about a rescue Matt had attended that the Small Animal Rescue Team, known as SmART—one of the Animal Services teams reporting to him—had undertaken that day. “Some kittens were born in a tiny area between buildings in a schoolyard. It wasn’t easy, but our team rescued them all.”

  I smiled. “Please congratulate them for me. They’re an amazing crew.” Ever since I’d seen them save those baby beagles from the storm drain at the puppy mill site, I’d watched SmART’s accomplishments on their Facebook page and YouTube. They did everything from climbing trees to rappelling down mountainsides.

  When we were done eating, Matt took the bill from the server. “My turn,” he said.

  “This time,” I agreed.

  We went back to the West L.A. Care Center, and he parked his official Animal Services car beside my Venza. Sadly, he had to go back to his office in the Valley and complete some paperwork, so spending time together that night wasn’t going to happen.

  “Like I said, I’ll keep you informed about the status of the animals rescued from the hoarding situation,” he told me. “It would help if your friend Mamie gave up any supposed legal rights to the
m, but that never happens. And . . . well, will you do something for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Stay away from Mamie and all that’s going on with her.”

  With my hand on the car door handle, I glared. “Why?”

  “Because I think there’s a lot of potential for you to be hurt, Lauren. The lady may be your friend, but she’s also, possibly, a nutcase. She may really have killed Bethany Urber.”

  But what if she didn’t? my mind niggled.

  There must have been something resistant in my look, since Matt sighed and reached for me. He held me tight, which was okay here. We were alone in the parking lot, since visiting hours for the shelter were over. I reveled in the feel of him against me, despite the controversy in our discussion.

  “Okay, let me amend what I said.” Matt spoke into my hair. “You know I worry about you, Lauren.” When I moved away, ready to state, as I often did, that I wasn’t ready for anything serious between us, he said, “I know. I’ll back off. But if you decide to get more involved in the murder investigation, will you at least let me know?”

  “Okay.” I nodded. That sounded fair.

  Matt’s concern filled me with warmth. I really had started caring for him—much more than I was comfortable with. I wasn’t sure where things might go from here but appreciated that he seemed to understand and never pushed me.

  We gave each other some pretty sexy goodnight kisses, and I got in my car to head back to HotRescues to pick up Zoey.

  Chapter 9

  The time was nearly nine o’clock. I felt exhausted, ready to go home. Almost. I could never leave HotRescues without a final walk-through of the shelter.

  Zoey greeted me inside the welcome area, leaping around as if I’d been gone for weeks, not just a couple of hours. Smart and obedient pup that she is, she immediately settled down when I said “Sit.” Her butt wriggled on the tile floor, though, and her beautiful amber eyes never left mine. She wanted my approval, which she got. A hug, too.

  I went to put my purse in my office. When Zoey and I came back down the hall, we were greeted by Brooke Pernall and Cheyenne.

  “Hey, Lauren,” Brooke said as I gave Cheyenne a pat in greeting. Unlike how I felt, Brooke appeared wide awake and alert, and I marveled again at how much she had improved since she had first come here ill and ready to relinquish Cheyenne for the pup’s own good. “You’re just getting here? Are you taking on a security job? This is like the hours my guys and I keep.”

  “Just picking up Zoey and taking my last walk-through of the day. Care to come along and do your security thing?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Inevitably, Brooke asked me about the Mamie situation. Word had gotten out. I told her what I knew, which wasn’t a lot.

  “They were still questioning her? Do you think she did it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” But the same thoughts kept reverberating in my mind—along with the germ of a crazy idea.

  By then, we were in the outdoor shelter area. Our chain-link kennels on both sides of the walkway were nearly all full, particularly here, near the front. I stopped at the first on the left to pet Hannibal, a Great Dane mix, and Babydoll, a shepherd, in the one beyond. With both, as always, I waited until they were calm, then slipped inside their enclosures, rewarding them for behavior that might ultimately help them get adopted. Then I went to the cages on the right side and did the same with Dodi, a sheltie mix. Junior, a Doberman, woofed at us from the left as we started walking past the center building. I didn’t acknowledge him till he’d quieted down, and then I greeted him, too. Despite his breed, he wasn’t aggressive. We always tried to avoid taking in aggressive dogs, since they were less adoptable.

  The area was crowded with dogs that needed loving homes. I’ve always believed that letting visitors see as many residents as possible right from the get-go was more likely to trigger compassion than allowing them to feel they weren’t needed because we couldn’t fill our habitats.

  The enclosures were well built and maintained, partly due to Dante’s generous support of HotRescues—and lots of bedding and toys, and, of course, food from his stores. In addition, I always prided myself on making each enclosure as welcoming as possible. Naturally, each animal had plenty of water—in bowls from HotPets.

  For ease of keeping things clean, the kennels resembled cages, each with dual parts: a roomy outside run that led to a door into a narrow temperature-controlled building. Toy dogs were all housed in our center building, beyond the first row of enclosures on our right, but in separate rooms from our kitty locales. Most cats hung out together in areas filled with climbing toys and litter boxes, with a kitchen in between. We also had rooms for other kinds of small pets like rabbits and hamsters, but all we’d sheltered recently had been adopted.

  Dogs were kenneled together, or allowed to mingle in our visitors’ park, only after observation to make sure they got along well. That minimized the possibility of fights.

  The four of us—Brooke and I and the dogs—continued down the path toward the back shed, turning the corner so we could visit the enclosures at the other side of the uneven U formation.

  “There’ll be a lot more room here soon,” Brooke observed. “More potential security issues, too.”

  “Will you need more people here overnight when the two properties are joined?” I asked.

  “Nah. I think we’ve got that EverySecurity bunch under control now. They report to me first, and they’re already planning to add cameras and all to the new building and animal enclosure areas.”

  “I hope so.” My prior experience with EverySecurity also hadn’t been great. In fact, there had been a murder here at HotRescues as well as other security breaches, and the company hadn’t helped much in resolving them.

  That’s one reason Dante had hired Brooke, a former P.I.

  Her background was now feeding the idea that had taken root in my mind.

  We looked through the gate toward the construction on the property next door. “The building’s nearly done,” I commented. “At least the outside.”

  “Couldn’t be finished fast enough for me,” Brooke said. “I’m a little tired already of using that office upstairs in the center building as makeshift sleeping quarters. I’ll be glad when the other offices are finished in the new building and the whole upstairs is remodeled into a real apartment.”

  That was because someone always slept here at HotRescues—now. We’d survived six years with only a security company on board till the problems that had occurred a few months ago, though I’d always been concerned about whether more watchfulness was needed.

  Brooke had a few part-time security employees who took turns with her in being our overnight contingent, although she now most often stayed here herself.

  Finishing our visits to the canines outside, we entered the back door to the center building, where we looked in on the smaller dogs, as well as the cat rooms. All the animals seemed fine, if, perhaps, a bit lonely. But Brooke would walk through again at least twice more to check on them.

  I was heading home.

  First, though, as we strolled back toward the entrance, I asked Brooke, “How’s Antonio?” Detective Antonio Bautrel was her new boyfriend. He happened to be with the LAPD, in the Gang and Narcotics Division.

  “He’s fine.” Her voice went soft and mushy, unusual for our security specialist, but only for a moment. “Why, do you need me to ask him something on that situation with your old friend?”

  She was nothing if not perceptive. “I don’t need it, but I’d appreciate it. I’d really like to know what the cops think happened to Bethany Urber.”

  I explained briefly what I knew about Bethany, a little about her Better Than Any Pet Rescues, and her network of Pet Shelters Together.

  “The cops might have zeroed in on Mamie as the killer, and it may be true . . . or not. I’d like to know something about any evidence they have against her besides just her presence, although I know a lot of that is ke
pt confidential. Also, the media are saying that Bethany was allegedly killed with her own gun. Is that true?” I’d been wondering whether she’d taken it out herself and her killer had gotten it away and used it in self-defense . . . or whether the killer had been around Bethany’s place enough to know where the gun was hidden.

  “I’ll see if Antonio can tell me anything.” Brooke’s grin was suggestive. “Of course, I can be pretty convincing.”

  I laughed. “I’ll just bet you can.”

  She sat down behind the counter in the welcome area, and the dogs stayed with her.

  I retrieved my purse from my office and checked my cell phone. I’d received a call from an unknown number. The person had left a voice mail message, and I listened to it. It was from Gavin Mamo, the dog trainer Matt had told me about. He’d said he was available until eleven that night, so I pushed the button to return the call. We arranged for me to visit him at his training facility on Monday afternoon.

  Then Zoey and I left HotRescues for home.

  The usual lights, on timers, were turned on in our small but comfortable house in its gated Porter Ranch community. I missed my kids, as always, but was glad they both liked their colleges enough to take summer courses. They’d found jobs, too. Tracy was working in a Wal-Mart, and Kevin at a car repair shop. Both were responsible kids. Both were wonderful.

  I also kept in close touch with my parents, and with my brother Alex and his family. They all lived in Phoenix. I hadn’t talked with them for about a week and would call them soon.

  “Let’s go to bed,” I told Zoey as we entered the house from the garage.