Oodles of Poodles (A PET RESCUE MYSTERY)

by Johnston, LindaO.

  Since I owed him now, for several reasons, I just said, “I’m not a cop, Morton, or anyone else in authority. And I certainly don’t profess to know what I’m doing. What I tend to do is shuffle the names of suspects around in computer files. You were never near the top of those files, and now you’re definitely near the bottom.”

  “Just near the bottom and not off the radar?” he demanded.

  Dante broke in. “This lady never throws anyone’s names out if they’ve got anything at all to do with whoever the murder victim is. Just in case she’s wrong, or at least that’s the way I understand it.” He shot me a glance, and I nodded. “But I’m associated with the last production Hans Marford was on, so I’m undoubtedly in her files, too.” He looked at me more intensely and I knew I was supposed to understand his unspoken message. “Where am I compared with Morton, here?”

  “Oh, a page or two above him now. You had money involved, plus I know how much of an animal lover you are.” I smiled sweetly and was gratified to see just a hint of a nod. I’d done what he wanted me to.

  We gabbed a bit longer about Sheba’s Story, plus I got a little more background information on Solario Studios’ intentions regarding the production of A Matter of Death and Life. That was perfect timing, since there was soon a call on Morton’s desk phone. “Yes, send him right in,” he said, then turned to Dante and me. “Erskine’s here.”

  A split second later, the office door opened and a large, beefy man in an unzipped green fleece jacket with a Solario Studios logo on the pocket strode in. His jeans were ragged—whether by a fashion statement or age, I couldn’t tell. He had a round face with prominent lips that called attention away from the wispy yellow hair on his head.

  My first thought was that he would have been more than a match in a fight with the skinny Hans Marford. But Hans had been killed by a hit-and-run driver.

  “Hi, Morton,” he said, ignoring Dante and me to clomp past us and offer his hand to the studio’s CEO. I noticed then that he wore low-top boots that enhanced his overall strangely artsy appearance.

  “Erskine,” Morton said, standing and shaking hands. “Glad you could make it. I’d like you to meet a couple of people.”

  Only then did Erskine turn to look at us. His expression was assessing at first, then dismissive. He clearly didn’t think we were actors Morton was about to ram down his throat, so he didn’t care who we were.

  Yet.

  “This is Lauren Vancouver,” Morton continued, chivalrously mentioning the woman first even though I was the least impressive of the two of us. He didn’t explain who I was or why I was here.

  “Hello,” I said, without offering to shake hands.

  “And that’s Dante DeFrancisco.”

  Erskine’s lack of expression changed into a huge smile. “Dante. How wonderful to meet you.” This time, a hand was proffered and Dante courteously shook it. I wondered if Erskine had any pets and knew Dante because of his HotPets stores, or because he knew Dante had money that he had just invested in his first Solario Studios film.

  “Hi, Erskine,” Dante said.

  “Please join us.” Morton pointed toward an empty wooden chair by itself under the window. Erskine obediently retrieved it and planted it in front of Morton’s desk. The closest spot was beside me. I swallowed my cat-and-canary smile. Little did Erskine know what he was about to endure.

  Well, okay, I wasn’t going to do my worst interrogation here, not with Morton Lesque guiding the conversation. I was unsure how Dante would feel about my questioning Erskine, but I figured he’d mind it less than my butting heads with Morton.

  I let the men start the conversation. For a while they talked about general movie topics, which soon began to focus on A Matter of Death and Life.

  Then it really got interesting.

  “Dante, I know you’re one of the co-producers of that…er, wonderful upcoming production of Sheba’s Story,” Erskine said, looking over me toward Dante. Had he really been about to denigrate the movie that he knew Dante was involved in? Or was his catching himself that way by intention, to indicate that what he did was even more wonderful? “I’d love to tell you more about my vision for A Matter of Death and Life. It’ll have some of the emotion of that cute dog picture, but it’s more likely to become a blockbuster. It’s got sci-fi elements, and it’s a thriller, and—”

  “And it was just so convenient that Hans Marford died when the two of you were arguing over who could do the best job of directing it.” That was me, cutting into the discussion.

  All three men stared at me. I had to turn my head to ascertain that, but it was what I’d intended.

  Then both Dante and Morton looked at Erskine, clearly waiting for his response. As if we’d scripted it earlier in our conversation.

  His glare almost hid his brown eyes in his fleshy face. “Are you insinuating that I wouldn’t have been selected if Hans…” His voice tapered off, and he glanced toward Morton in apparent embarrassment. He forced a laugh. “I won’t put you on the spot, Morton, by asking who you’d have chosen if Hans was still around. But I’m going to put together a fantastic production. Just wait and see.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Morton’s tone sounded placating but abrupt, as if he waited to see what I’d say next.

  I hoped I didn’t disappoint him. Not that his approbation was critical, but he had gotten Erskine here to meet me.

  “I’m a bit curious,” I pressed, looking right at Erskine. “I assume the cops have asked where you were on the night of Hans’s death. Can you tell your boss, Mr. Lesque, in case he’s wondering? Loss of Hans on the current production of Sheba’s Story could have resulted in a major delay, and therefore money lost to Solario Studios.”

  Erskine lifted his hefty form a bit from his chair. “Are you accusing me of killing him, Ms.…” He obviously had forgotten my name, which was fine with me. “Er, are you accusing me?”

  “I’m just asking some questions,” I said offhandedly. If I’d run into the guy in a dark alley I might have been nervous, considering his size and quick temper. But I doubted he’d attack me here with people around whom he wanted to continue to impress.

  Those furious eyes closed for an instant, and I wondered if he had a method for getting his anger under control. It occurred to me that since he hadn’t been told who I was, only my name, he might wonder if I was a cop. Or a lawyer. Either way, he apparently decided that coming clean was a good idea.

  “Okay, it’s like this,” he finally said, lowering himself back into the seat. “Hans Marford and I argued, yes. He started it, since it was becoming clear that I was going to be chosen to direct A Matter of Death and Life.” I noticed that he didn’t look toward Morton for confirmation. “We both walked away from the argument before we came to blows.” Really? I’d have to confirm that. “But he had more reason to kill me than I had to kill him. And I didn’t kill him, if that’s your next question.” This time he did hazard a glance toward Morton, who nodded encouragingly. Did he believe Erskine? It didn’t really matter.

  “It was,” I said. “Thanks for answering it.”

  “I would like to hear more of your thoughts about Death and Life,” Morton said to Erskine, obviously ready to change the subject. “Let me see these people out, and then we’ll talk.”

  Dante and I rose. I was ready to leave, ready to put Erskine Blainer near the top of my suspect files notwithstanding his denial. Maybe it was a gut feel, based on his attitude more than anything he’d said, but I didn’t trust the guy.

  Morton accompanied us to the outer office, where his secretary still sat at her desk.

  “Thanks for coming,” he told us both politely. “We’ll talk again about Sheba’s Story soon, and maybe about Death and Life and Erskine, too.” He looked at me. “And I’m still not ruling out doing some kind of biopic, or even a fictionalized version of you, Lauren. It’s been fun.”

  Chapter 18

  “Hi, Mom.”

  I’d just gotten into my car to head back
to HotRescues for the rest of that Saturday afternoon when my phone rang. It was Kevin.

  “Hi. Where are you?”

  “I’m here at HotRescues. Where are you?”

  I didn’t want to go into a lengthy explanation of my visit to Solario Studios, although the kids knew I was helping to keep an eye on the production for Dante. I just said, “I’m on my way there now. See you soon.”

  I wouldn’t say I exactly speeded. Not since the most direct way was taking surface streets, and it was usually easier to speed on freeways—at the rare times there wasn’t much traffic. But I did get there as fast as I was able.

  I parked in the side lot and rushed to the welcome area door. But the only person in there was Nina, behind the leopard print desk as usual. Her deep brown eyes were usually huge and waiflike, but now they were narrowed thanks to her huge smile.

  “I take it you know that Kevin’s here,” she said, standing and facing me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Where is he?”

  “I let him go back into the kennel area. He’s family to all of us. But—”

  I felt my body stiffen. “But what?”

  Those eyes of hers widened in a look I thought to be sympathetic, which immediately worried me. “He’s not alone. Did you know he was bringing a friend?”

  “No,” I said, but he had brought friends here before. Why did that merit such an expression on Nina’s face? And then I got it. “A girl friend?”

  She nodded. “A very pretty girl friend. Maybe even a girlfriend.”

  She didn’t have to explain what she meant by the duplication of words. Her attitude made that clear.

  I chose not to ask why she thought that Kevin’s friend could be, well, more than a friend. “I’ll go say hi,” I said. “Is Zoey in my office?”

  Nina nodded, and I went to get my dog. She was always my companion around here.

  She might also lend me moral support if I needed it.

  Zoey leaped around in joy when she saw me, even more so when I snapped a leash on her collar. At the door leading to the kennel area, I stopped just long enough to gather my courage, then opened it.

  I immediately saw that a couple of volunteers were showing potential adopters around, accompanying them through the first part of the kennel area and stopping to point out the inhabitants of some of our dog runs. One was Bev, a senior citizen in a yellow HotRescues knit shirt whose slight stoop indicated she could have osteoporosis, but if so she didn’t let it slow her down. She used to just volunteer here once a week, but now she came more often. She was showing around two twentysomething guys who were looking into one of the kennels where a golden Lab mix named Flash peered out at them.

  I hurried toward the group and said hello. The expression on Bev’s lined face didn’t look especially optimistic, so I assumed these young men might just be starting their quest for a new pet and weren’t about to zero in on one to adopt that day. Or maybe they had nothing better to do on a Saturday than visit a pet shelter.

  Things looked a little more encouraging when I reached our volunteer Sally, a short, vivacious brunette who only came in on weekends. With her were a couple in their thirties with a child who appeared around ten. They had stopped outside the kennel holding Bailey, a Jack Russell mix. Fortunately, Bailey was mellow enough that he might be a good fit with a family with a relatively young child. I hoped that they were interested enough to have Sally take the dog out and let him interact with them in our yard.

  I waved at them as Zoey and I passed, which was when I saw Kevin standing outside Hope’s kennel. With him was, as anticipated, a girl about his age. She was nearly the same height as my slim, tall son who looked so much like his dad, my beloved first husband, Kerry. Like Kevin, she wore snug blue jeans, but her T-shirt was gold and tight, unlike his loose black one.

  And, yes, she had female curves. I was sure my son had noticed. I certainly did, but I couldn’t hold that against her. She held Kevin’s arm with one hand and pointed with the other inside the kennel where Hope stood on her hind legs. She was laughing. She was pretty. And Kevin had a huge smile on his face, too.

  I sighed and stuck on my not-so-overly-protective mama demeanor as I approached them. “Hi,” I said heartily. “Great to have you home, Kevin.”

  Would I embarrass him by giving him a hug and kiss? Well, so what if I did? I maneuvered around the girl a bit and kissed his cheek.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, then stepped back. “Mom, this is Mindi Baranca. She goes to Claremont McKenna, too, and her family lives in Encino.”

  That address gave the immediate impression of a nice, middle-class family. Maybe upper-middle-class. Not Beverly Hills rich, although they could be, of course.

  Or not.

  And I quickly shut down that part of my brain. They were friends. Kevin had only recently turned nineteen. They weren’t engaged or anything like that.

  I hoped.

  “Hi, Mindi,” I said. “I’m Lauren. Welcome to HotRescues.” I tried to make my greeting warm but not too warm.

  “Hi, Mrs.…er, Lauren. Nice to meet you. This is such a wonderful shelter. Kevin has told me all about it.”

  The ice inside me started to thaw, whether or not I wanted it to. The girl had taste. First, she obviously liked my son. Second, she liked HotRescues. Third, she had started to address me politely and formally. Although if she’d only referred to me as Mrs. Vancouver, I’d have felt like she was telling me I was old—and I’m only edging up to middle age.

  Mindi looked about Kevin’s age. She had straight, ebony hair that framed her face then touched her shoulders. Her facial features were attractive, and she didn’t wear a lot of makeup.

  “Thanks.” I saw Mindi’s gaze go back to the kennel where Hope had sat down. The auburn cocker-poodle mix had a poodlelike long tail and was wagging it hopefully. “Would you like to play with Hope?”

  “I’d love to!” Mindi exclaimed right away. Then she looked at Kevin. “We have time, don’t we?”

  He looked at me. “We’re here to go to a birthday party for a friend from college whose family lives in Burbank,” he said. “There’s a dinner first, and we need to get ready. But, sure.” He turned back to Mindi. “We’ve got time. Can I let Mindi into the kennel for now?” At my nod, he manipulated the gate covered in shatter-free glass and carefully swung it open. Mindi slipped inside while Kevin waited with me.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said and gave me a hug.

  Kevin’s red-brown hair was, interestingly, a similar color to Hope’s. He had intense brown eyes beneath straight brows and a ready smile.

  We both watched as Mindi sat down on the tile flooring and Hope slid beside her and turned over for a tummy-rub. “Mindi loves dogs, and hers just passed away. Her parents were keeping him, of course, but he was old and got sick, and she’s so sad. She really likes Hope, though. She’ll need to bring her parents back here, but is Hope available for adoption?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly. “Although…” I gave him a very abbreviated description of how Hope had come here as a quasi-owner relinquishment and that I was still having a check run on whether the councilman had really abandoned her in the first place.

  “Then he may reclaim her?” Kevin looked as crestfallen as if I’d told him that I had to turn our Zoey over to someone else.

  “Not likely. But I’ll step up our inquiry. I’d love to see Hope get a good home. Have you met Mindi’s parents?” This, at least, gave me a good reason to inquire rather than just being a nosy, and concerned, mother.

  “No, but I’m going to drop her off at their place now so I’ll scope them out as potential adopters, and their home, too.”

  I laughed and hugged Kevin again. “You know what’s on my mind, don’t you?”

  “Yep.” He looked straight into my eyes with his laughing brown ones, drew me aside, and spoke quietly. “And I know what else you’re wondering. Yes, she’s kinda my girlfriend. But it’s not too serious yet, so don’t worry.”

  I didn’t worry. Not eve
n when Kevin didn’t return home after their party that night till two in the morning. After all, I’d no idea of the hours he kept at school. Or what Mindi and he did, or didn’t do, there.

  Well…okay, I did worry. I’m a micromanager of things I can control and hate being in the situation of having no say over something important.

  Being a mother is great. I love it. I love my kids.

  But, yes, I do worry.

  Maybe not so much about my daughter, Tracy. She’s had a long succession of boyfriends and seems to know how to handle them. She wasn’t ever particularly serious about any, but they were handy accessories going to parties and school events. Far as I knew, that hadn’t changed.

  Kevin, though? Well, he’d dated some in high school, but not a lot. And the few girls he had taken out had seemed able to manipulate him. I’d tried to stay cool about it but, hey, I’m his mother.

  I did like this Mindi, though—at least, the little I had seen of her. Maybe it was the way she loved dogs.

  Plus, I rather enjoyed meeting her parents the next afternoon when the kids brought them in to HotRescues to visit Hope.

  The Barancas were a little older than me, a nicely dressed couple who both used baby talk when socializing with Hope in our special outdoor visitors’ area just beyond the rear storage shed. I sat at the picnic table watching the four of them tease and play with Hope, who seemed to lap up the attention and beg for more.

  Eventually they all had to leave. Kevin and Mindi were heading back to school, and the older Barancas back to their Encino home.

  The students took off first, having already packed Kevin’s car. I took him into my office briefly, Zoey at our feet. “So glad you came this weekend,” I said, giving him a hug. “Mindi seems very nice. Drive safely on the way back and give me a call when you get there. I love you.” The last two sentences were a reiteration of what I told him every time he came home.

  “Yes, Mom,” he said resignedly but then a huge smile lit his face. “Love you!” And then he raced out the door. I smiled back in that direction, then sighed and followed.