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  Then Matt leaned over and asked quietly, “Are you okay, Lauren? I tried some official channels to learn all I could about that guy Kiley’s death and heard that some of the garbage in the media may have been true.”

  “What, that I killed him?”

  “Only if you’ve literally backstabbed him.” His eyes, a much deeper brown than the drink the server now set in front of him, bored into mine, apparently trying to read my mind.

  “Not guilty.” I kept my tone light as I took my first sip of the cold, fruity cocktail I’d ordered. It tasted great, though its alcohol content needed boosting.

  “What about killing him in self-defense? I’m playing devil’s advocate here—maybe he turned around fast.”

  I stood and glared down at Matt. “So you do believe the crap those damn reporters are spewing to improve their ratings? I had nothing to do with what happened to Efram Kiley. He made threats against me, my employees, and my animals. I made him leave, told him never to come back. I hung out at HotRescues to protect everyone that night. Then I found him there, in the middle of our shelter area. I didn’t even wish him dead, just incarcerated forever. I’d rather he’d have had lots of time to think and suffer over what he did to those animals. Now, unless there really is a hell, he’s free.”

  “Whoa.” Matt waved me back to my seat. I ignored him. I’d come for information about those poor dogs. If he wanted to insult or even tease me, he could drink alone. “Sorry. I figured Kiley was enough of a jerk to threaten you. That was the part of the news stories I bought. As to the rest, I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you had rammed a knife into him and twisted—especially in self-defense. But I believe it when you say you had nothing to do with it.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.” I said each word slowly and with feeling, but I did sit down again. I took another sip of margarita as my blood pressure slowed just a little.

  “Got it. So . . . any idea who did kill him?”

  “Not really.” Not yet, at least. I had a feeling I’d be considering the possibilities even more, though, unless the cops started acting like the knowledgeable pros they were supposed to be—and stopped treating me as the most likely suspect. Sure, I happened to be with Efram when they showed up, but that wasn’t proof I hurt him, for any reason. “The only thing I can figure is that maybe someone was following him and caught up with him at HotRescues. Maybe those people who ran the puppy mill.” A thought struck me. “Is that possible? Your folks arrested Efram but he was out on bail. Were they released, too?”

  Matt nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  As I sipped my margarita, I pondered the inequity. Humans were much more likely to harm other beings than most pets were, and they got away with it too often—no matter whether those beings were other people or defenseless animals.

  I considered Nina and the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her ex. Her restraining order was valuable only to the extent that particular jerk chose to heed it. Fortunately, he’d apparently moved to another city.

  And I was relatively fortunate, too. My ex, the dishonorable Charles Earles, hadn’t laid a hand on me. Only on my already slim bank accounts so he could have a grand time feting his sexy young paramours. The louse.

  Why the hell was I even thinking about him now, while in the presence of one really hot guy? Not that I was into hot guys, or any other kind of guys, these days. Charles had weaned me of any interest.

  But this particular hot guy could help me resolve my current dilemma. “So what’s the talk around Animal Services? Does anyone think those puppy millers—the Shaheens—killed Efram? Or maybe another animal lover who hated what he’d helped to do to those pups? Or—”

  “Right now, everyone’s applauding you, Lauren. Under the assumption, of course, that he went there to attack you and the animals, and you defended yourself.”

  “Oh.” So they, too, were taking the easy way out. Good thing they weren’t investigating Efram’s death.

  “But I meant what I said. You told me you had nothing to do with it, and I believe you.”

  He caught my gaze and held on—till I looked away. Felt my face grow pink. The guy was flirting, even as he essentially accused me of killing someone. No matter how he denied it.

  Time to change the subject. I first took another long swig of margarita, only to find I’d nearly emptied the pretty but shallow glass. I frowned as I set it back on the table.

  “Another one?” Matt asked.

  “Well . . . it looks like you’ll take a while to finish your beer. So, yes, please.” I wanted to blame it on him.

  But I’d be careful. I still had to drive back home. And I certainly didn’t want to be pulled over by the cops with everything that was going on.

  Matt waved over a server and ordered my refill. Then I said, “I’d thought, when you asked me to meet you, that you wanted to talk about the rescued pups. How are they doing now? And their parents?”

  His smile lit up the angles of his face as if he were a proud parent. “Amazingly, they’re all just fine. I’ve seen larger puppy mills, and ones that abused the animals even more. This one wasn’t so bad, all things considered.”

  “Not all things considered,” I reminded him. “Some of those guys were thrown into the storm drain.”

  “Yeah.” His tone underscored his sudden anger.

  “Did anyone admit to doing it?”

  “No, although the neighbor who called in the complaint told us, and not just the media, that it appeared to be one person, probably male, who trotted out of the gate at least twice. The description she gave fit Efram a lot better than Bradley Shaheen, and both Shaheens swear it was Efram. But they also swear that they just love animals and that they took good care of them and made sure any pet stores they sold puppies to—at inflated prices, of course—promised only to resell them to people who would give them loving homes.”

  “But of course.” I enjoyed Matt’s grin at my obvious sarcasm. “Too bad you nasty folks at Animal Services impounded them. I assume you’ll have to hang on to the whole lot as evidence in prosecuting the Shaheens, right?”

  “For now. But I can assure you they’re being well cared for.”

  “Can I come visit them?”

  “They’re all being housed for now at a shelter in the north Valley that hasn’t had enough funding to open to the public. That way the pups can grow to adoption age in peace.”

  “So . . . can I come—”

  “Visit them? Sure. We’ll work out a time next week. I have an office there. But only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want a similar pass to visit HotRescues. I’ve heard great things about it, for a private shelter. I’m always looking for new ideas for the public shelters, so maybe we can exchange suggestions.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I smiled. “And you’re right. HotRescues is a great private facility. Let’s touch base early next week to see when we’re both up for meeting?”

  “Fine.”

  For the rest of our time together, we talked about animal rescues in general, trading war stories.

  Later, Matt reminded me of our “date” sometime next week as he held my car door open for me.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing HotRescues,” he said.

  Cynic that I am, I wondered if he was most eager for me to show him the spot where I’d found Efram Kiley’s dead body.

  Chapter 10

  I arrived at HotRescues bright and early the next morning. I even beat Pete Engersol, usually the first there. He mostly arrived around seven A.M., even on Sunday, the better to check on the animals and start cleaning enclosures before mealtime.

  My preferred hour to appear wasn’t usually until eight thirty, but it was barely six thirty now. Despite my exhaustion thanks to all that had happened, I hadn’t slept well—big surprise—and had even called the security company to make sure they were complying with their promise of extra patrols. And to ask if the cameras were all working, and whether they
were monitoring them closely during hours we weren’t open. And to ask if they saw anything unusual. They assured me that all was well.

  Even so, I was still considering alternatives as the result of their prior failure. A replacement security company? A person hired to be here all night?

  Would Dante buy into either?

  It was obviously too late to save Efram from being killed here—and to save HotRescues from being the subject of a media frenzy for reasons other than its awesome dedication to saving animals. But I still didn’t know who’d killed Efram or even how the killer and the victim had gotten onto the HotRescues property the night before last—although I gathered that it had been via the back entrance near the storage shed.

  Worse, I didn’t have a clue about the killer’s motive. Did Efram die because of his ill treatment of animals? I could understand that. If it was something else, though, the animals we were caring for could be at risk.

  As I parked, I considered walking into HotRescues without entering the security code. I’d test EverySecurity by letting the armed system send its silent alarm. But I wasn’t sure how helpful that would be now.

  Instead, I called them again as I entered. Turned out they were genuinely on the ball, since Ed Bransom, the company’s main representative to HotRescues, got on the line fast. “Take a look at your parking lot, Lauren,” he told me. Key in hand, I’d been about to open the side door to the main building. I turned to see an officially marked EverySecurity vehicle turning in, its driver waving.

  They had, in fact, been watching . . . now. Even so, they still hadn’t explained the presence of Efram and whoever killed him the night before last.

  As far as I was concerned, they were still on probation.

  I slipped inside and flicked on the lights, since dawn was just starting to rip nighttime’s blackness from the sky, turning it gray instead. Not much light filtered into our welcome room, especially since I had been careful to close the narrow slats on the rust-colored window blinds when I left the night before.

  Usually, I appreciated any solitude I could get in the HotRescues admin building. Not now. I kept thinking about the eeriness of staying there the other night. How startling the dogs’ barking had jarred me in the wee hours of the morning.

  How I’d shaken in fear when I’d discovered Efram—and been confronted by the cops.

  Okay, so my nerves were still on edge. Too bad. I had animals to check on.

  I headed for the shelter area—and rehashed my drink with Matt Kingston last night. What would he think of HotRescues?

  Unsurprisingly, the dogs began greeting me aloud from their enclosures, all of them in the outdoor portions to see what was going on. “Hi, Honey,” I said to the adorable Westie mix who was now in the first pen on the left as soon as she grew quiet. She all but purred when I reached in to scratch behind her ears.

  I stroked each dog in turn, including Elmer, as I headed toward the rearmost enclosure along this path . . . and kept maneuvering so my back faced the place on the ground where Efram had lain. Even so, I glimpsed his outline—but, fortunately, his blood had been cleaned up.

  The camera facing that area was no longer covered. I waved at it. I turned the corner at the back of the shelter, heading along the storage building toward our next doggy row. When I reached it, its inhabitants, too, barked in acknowledgment of my presence. I laughed aloud. Nothing like an enthusiastic welcoming committee.

  Not that I’d directly encourage their barking. It could make them less adoptable.

  As I knelt to say good morning to the now-silent Babydoll, a shepherd mix whose coat coloration suggested that she wore a skirt, something grabbed my shoulder. I gasped, stood, and pivoted.

  Pete stood behind me, his features startled and his face ashen. “Are you okay, Lauren?” he asked.

  I glared. “I was till you grabbed me.”

  “Sorry. I called out but guess you didn’t hear me with the dogs barking. I didn’t expect to see you here so early. Is . . . is something else wrong?”

  I all but hugged him. His aging face seemed braced to handle anything I might tell him. “Just my worry,” I said. “After yesterday, I needed to get here early to reassure myself everything was okay now.”

  “Same goes.” He looked a lot more at ease now. “Do all our residents seem okay?”

  “I’ve only checked the first row of dogs,” I said. “I’ll help you look in on the rest.”

  “Great. Don’t suppose you’d want to give me a hand cleaning kennels, too, would you?” His lopsided grin told me he was kidding.

  “Nope. Good try, though.”

  But as I continued down the next row of dog enclosures, I couldn’t help wondering if there was another reason for Pete to show up here half an hour early.

  Okay, I was getting paranoid. Reading things into signs that didn’t even exist.

  Pete was a sweetheart. He’d been here helping out from the very first, when HotRescues had opened. He had no reason to harm anyone—not Efram or the animals or me.

  Even so, I temporarily locked the center building’s door after going inside to check on the animals housed there. I took my time, enjoying my visit. A couple of volunteers always showed up a little while after Pete did. I’d feel more at ease when there were a bunch of us here today, keeping close watch on each other.

  But the rest of the day was uneventful. It was Sunday, after all. We didn’t have many visitors, although those who came were great! With the diligence of my staff looking into the Tylers, their home, and the other information they’d supplied, we approved their adoption of Elmer, and they returned for him almost as soon as I’d hung up the phone. As they left, I felt like waving a sad goodbye, although my usual personal heartache at losing a resident to adoption was always countered by sublime happiness for the animal I might never see again—if I sent someone else to do the follow-up at the new home.

  Two cats and another dog had visitors who fell in love and applied to adopt them that day. We’d see if they worked out, but I felt optimistic.

  With all that had happened, I’d been neglectful in the situation with ailing Brooke Pernall and her golden mix, Cheyenne, but I finally remembered to call her from my office and obtain the information Dante had requested about her health condition and lender.

  “I’ve been working to get someone’s attention at the bank to try to negotiate something, but no one will talk with me.” Her defeated tone suggested resignation to the inevitable.

  I wished I could reassure her, but I couldn’t . . . yet. I had seen how Dante’s strengths often included achieving the impossible in his business and charitable endeavors, but I couldn’t guarantee his success this time.

  “It won’t hurt to try,” I told her. “Give Cheyenne a hug for me.” When we hung up, I realized that her sense of futility had somehow traveled over the phone connections to perch on my shoulders, and I shrugged it off.

  I called Dante’s cell and relayed the information to him. “Anything you can do would be great,” I told him.

  “We’ll see.”

  I kept busy at HotRescues for the rest of the day, refusing to dwell on that sad interlude. Later, though, when I left for home, it vaulted back into my mind, once more sharing space with the Efram situation, which had never left. That night, I talked to my kids before calling my friend Carlie, who was still out of town. I’d have liked Carlie anyway, just because she was a veterinarian, TV star, animal lover, and genuine all-around nice person. But since she had given the first forever home to an adoptee when we opened HotRescues six years ago—a Cocker mix named Max—I especially cherished her friendship. She answered right away, sounding harried but cheerful. At least reaching all of them helped to uplift my mood.

  It rose even more after I talked to the guy on duty at EverySecurity before I went to bed. No signs of problems there, he promised. I even slept a little that night.

  Paranoia could become my watchword, I thought the next day. I dashed to HotRescues early once more to check on
everything—and fortunately spotted no problems.

  A little later, I called ahead to check with Esther Ickes, making sure we still had an appointment scheduled for one o’clock that afternoon. The criminal lawyer confirmed it, so I eventually headed in a timely manner for her office in Westwood.

  It was an appropriate place for her. I’d Googled her—sure, I trusted Kendra’s referral, but being armed with information could only help. Esther had gotten her law degree at UCLA quite a few years back, and the university was located in Westwood, too. I hadn’t thought to ask Kendra about Esther’s age. Not that it mattered. The more experience, the better.

  Her office was in a building on Wilshire Boulevard. Esther came out to greet me in the reception area.

  Yes, she apparently had a near lifetime of experience. I guessed she was seventy or older. She looked somewhat frail, definitely a senior citizen.

  Could she really do a good job representing me if I was actually arrested for harming Efram?

  That paranoia swelled like a tidal wave when she ushered me into her office, with its files and law books scattered everywhere. Was she of an age that she felt more comfortable with the old-fashioned stuff like physical volumes than research done on the Internet? Even I knew there were a lot more resources available online these days. Keeping as current as the opposition was surely as necessary as experience.

  Esther wore a peach linen suit. Her hair was nicely styled, but definitely gray. Her face looked grandmotherly.

  I took the seat she motioned toward with her aging hands, wondering if I should instead excuse myself graciously and scurry out.

  “So here’s the thing, Lauren,” she said as we faced each other. “I talked to Detective Garciana. He wants you to come in for another interrogation, and he doesn’t sound happy that you’re now represented by counsel. Tough shit, right? Anyway, it’ll be tomorrow. Right now, I want to go over everything from day one with you. When you were born. Where. When you first met the victim. Why you hated his guts and probably don’t mind the fact he’s dead, but how you happened to find his body without your actually slicing and dicing him. All that.”