Oodles of Poodles (A PET RESCUE MYSTERY)

by Johnston, LindaO.

  “No,” Katrina said softly. “But I’ve wondered. And worried. Poor Ginger…well, I really loved her. But Guy—the councilman—he decided it was best if no one ever knew he’d even tried owning a dog. And that was fine. He was acting in everyone’s best interests.”

  Really? It didn’t sound that way to me.

  And Katrina/Cathy had seen Ginger recently at HotRescues. But she might not have realized it was the same dog, even despite their resemblance.

  I hadn’t told our volunteers how we’d come to take Hope in other than to say she was an owner relinquishment.

  “Then you don’t really know whether the councilman ever found Ginger a good home.” Marissa was really pushing this point. Hard. Which made me wonder.

  Had interviewer and interviewee gone over topics before they began?

  If so, did Katrina have an agenda that included a discussion of the councilman’s adopting then giving up a dog? And a further discussion about her not really knowing what had happened to the poor thing?

  Was this real, or was it an attempt to make the councilman look bad in the public’s eye?

  One way or another, I wanted more information.

  And I vowed to myself that, no matter what the answers, I wouldn’t allow poor Hope to suffer as a result.

  As we left about a half hour later, after the interview had ended, I didn’t tell Liam what was going through my mind.

  He clearly sensed that something was, though. He looked down at me quizzically as we rode in the elevator with a bunch of other people from the audience. I’d tried to rush onto the stage to confront Katrina, but there’d been too many people going the other direction and I hadn’t reached her.

  Guards had told me that neither of the people who’d been onstage were available for further interviews or discussion, so I’d had to leave.

  Out on the sidewalk in front of the building housing the studio, Liam finally asked, “What’s wrong, Lauren?”

  I decided to dissemble. I didn’t know Liam well, but I did owe him since he’d gotten me in to the interview in the first place. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I was just interested in that discussion about how the councilman might or might not have had a dog before, and might or might not have found it a good new home.”

  “Could that be your Hope?” he asked. He’d heard enough at our dinner conversation, and maybe through Carlie, too, to know my concerns.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Possibly. I’ve got more research to do, though. That’s for sure.” I even considered attempting to call the councilman again to let him know about this interview, but I felt certain he either knew about it or would learn soon—possibly from that nasty interviewer Marissa, who might seek his public response. She would doubtless hope for something antagonistic, which would draw in even more of an audience.

  “Well, I’ll keep an eye on things from my perspective. And I’ll send you any links to discussions or whatever about the councilman’s possible ill treatment of an animal. It might be interesting.”

  Speculation gleamed in his light brown eyes, and I couldn’t help recalling that this man was, before anything, a media representative. I didn’t know for sure that KVKV liked to focus on scandal—but, then, these days, what news organization didn’t? And I had even seen him occasionally on-camera discussing gossip.

  He was a good possible resource, but I needed to do my own snooping before involving him again.

  I went home to pick up Zoey before heading to HotRescues. By then it was past noon, so I went through a drive-thru line to pick up a hamburger for lunch.

  And yes, I did give Zoey a taste. I felt bad for leaving her alone all that time, and she deserved at least a small treat to try to make up for it.

  As soon as I arrived and parked, Zoey and I walked into the welcome area. Nina wasn’t there, but our longtime volunteer Bev was behind the desk. A delightful senior citizen, she had a history at HotRescues and we trusted her to greet people and answer the phones.

  “Hi, Zoey,” she said as my dog sneaked behind the desk for a pat. “Hi, Lauren.” Bev looked up at me. Her lined face beamed as if she expected me to react to her greeting Zoey before me, but I understood.

  “Hi, Bev,” I said simply, then inspiration hit me. I leaned over the counter. “Bev, do you happen to know a new volunteer named Cathy Thomas?”

  Her brow puckered even more than usual as she thought. “I have met someone here lately named Cathy. Why do you ask?”

  “I just…ran into someone who reminded me of her. Have you seen her socializing any of the dogs or cats?”

  “I think so…Yes, I think I saw her in with Hope the other day.”

  This just got more interesting all the time.

  Nina came in just then, and I asked her to join me in my office. With Zoey lying at my feet, I asked Nina to pull the volunteer application, attendance record, and any other info we had on Cathy Thomas.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked right away. She knows me well enough to recognize when I’m concerned.

  “Just some discrepancies,” I waffled. “I’ll tell you about them later, once I figure a few things out.”

  “You’d better,” she said, then left.

  I couldn’t spend all day worrying about how Hope happened to have gotten here. She was here. And I’d make sure that nothing bad happened to her ever again.

  Better yet, she might even find a new home with the Barancas, but I’d have to wait on that, for now.

  I was itching to take my first walk of the day through HotRescues. First, though, I needed some information to be able to plan the rest of my week.

  I called Grant Jefferly. I reached him immediately, so I figured there was no Sheba’s Story filming going on at the moment.

  But there would be again, tomorrow afternoon.

  “I’ll be there.” After I hung up, I called Carlie, intending to leave a message to let her know I was taking some positive steps to try to help her.

  To my surprise, she answered the phone. Her voice sounded hoarse, though.

  “Where are you?” I asked. Had her latest interrogation by the police been short, sweet, and absolving her of suspicion?

  “I’m in the bathroom at the Devonshire station,” she hissed softly. “Taking a potty break. I just needed to get away. They’re asking the same kinds of questions as if they expect me to fold and tell them what they want to hear—like that I did kill Hans. Which I didn’t.” She paused. “Have you found out anything to help me, Lauren? Is that why you’re calling?”

  “I wish,” I said. “But I’ll definitely try harder tomorrow. I’m going to the next filming.”

  Chapter 21

  It was late on Wednesday morning. I’d just completed an adoption at HotRescues. The match seemed like a good one—a cat going home with a really nice retired schoolteacher. Trite, maybe, but they’d already bonded. I was happy for them both.

  I’d just placed Zoey into Nina’s able care and left my real shelter to head for the fictional one put together at Solario Studios.

  I reached Woodland Hills fairly quickly, then turned onto the street where the film studio was located. As before, I hesitated an instant, staring at the large SOLARIO STUDIOS sign over the entrance gate before driving up to the security guard.

  I’d talked briefly to Dante on my way over here. He wasn’t coming over today, but he vested me with whatever authority I needed to ensure that the filming progressed as well as possible.

  Including the perfect treatment of the dog stars and extras.

  I didn’t mention my other plans to him, and he didn’t ask—although I was sure he wouldn’t be surprised by them.

  After parking and glancing around at the large number of people heading for the soundstage where the day’s filming was to occur, I headed toward the building where the temporary kennels were housed.

  Jerry and Elena were walking poodles—what else?—on the small patch of lawn around the building’s front door. They had stopped while the dogs sniffed the ground, and
seemed to be engrossed in a conversation when I arrived—the people, not the dogs. Shaking his head, Jerry reached out toward Elena with his free hand and she caught it, gripping it tightly. Obviously these two did have a relationship outside their studio work.

  I hated to interrupt them, but Elena noticed me and smiled. “Hi,” I said, then stooped to pat the dogs. Pretty young Elena, who again wore a Solario Studios T-shirt and jeans, held the leash of the real Sheba today. Jerry, less officially dressed in a shirt that featured some musician I’d never heard of, had Sheba’s counterpart Stellar, who did so well in looking scared.

  How did I tell the two white poodles apart? Well, I am a pet expert and could distinguish their features.

  But besides that, the collars they wore now, while off the set, had each of their names attached in bas-relief metal.

  When I stood again, I asked, “Are both of these girls scheduled to be filmed today?”

  “Sheba is,” Elena replied enthusiastically, nodding so her soft brown hair bobbed. “There’s a scene where Millie argues with one of the people at that miserable shelter where Sheba’s been jailed. I can’t wait to see her get mad and tell the shelter person off, even if it is just Lyanne in the role. Poor Sheba actually went through something like that in real life before she was brought to the shelter where she was chosen for this film. And the dogs? They’ll just be watching, probably from inside their kennels, but I’m sure the cameras will shoot their reactions. It’ll all be so cool!”

  I loved her enthusiasm over the filming. Would she ever be able to participate on camera? As I’d noted before, I had no doubt that was her ultimate plan.

  “And they may need some extras on the set,” she continued, “playing people visiting the shelter looking for a new pet. I’m hoping I’ll be able to help out.”

  Of course she was.

  Jerry, on the other hand, seemed more laid back despite his obvious interest. “It should be a fun day,” he said. “I don’t care if I get to be an extra, but these dogs will need special attention if they’re going to be locked up most of the time.”

  By then, Sheba had squatted to relieve herself, but she was still sniffing the grass and didn’t seem in any hurry to go inside.

  “When do you need to take these two to the soundstage?” I asked.

  Elena shrugged, and Jerry said, “Don’t know for sure. I think one of Mr. Paramus’s assistants will come for us and go inside to talk to Winna about the other dogs who’ll be needed.”

  We continued to stand there. I figured I should go inside and talk to Winna myself, or maybe to Grant, who’d undoubtedly be there watching over the dogs. Except—

  “You know, I’m looking for some information,” I said impulsively, looking at both young assistants. “This experience with Sheba’s Story has inspired me, and I’m working on a screenplay that’s a fictionalized version of Director Marford’s death. What I’d really love, though, is to expose the real murderer. Of course, the police will hopefully figure that out before I do, but I’m still doing my research. Who do you think ran him over, Elena?”

  She frowned pensively. “Well, honestly? I don’t know. But that veterinarian Dr. Stellan and he were arguing. And the American Humane representative, Grant, too.”

  “They’re too obvious. How about…well, for the sake of my research, if you were the killer, Elena, why would you have done it?”

  Her shining green eyes opened wide in what looked like shock. “Me?” she squeaked. “I would never—I don’t like your research, Lauren. Use your own imagination. I know a film script is supposed to be all made up, but don’t turn perfectly innocent people like me into killers.”

  “I’m just asking questions to get ideas,” I said. “Okay, Jerry. Your turn. Tell me who you think did it—and if it could have been you, why would you have killed him?”

  “Let’s make this fun,” he said with a grin. “Mmm—I think you did it, Lauren. Because he threatened the animals. But if I’d done it, it would have been because…I thought the film needed more publicity while it was being shot, so killing the director was a good way to get some.”

  Clearly it was a joke to him. That was fine. Except for the part where he accused me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think. Anyway, I’m going inside. See you later.” I left the two of them talking. Actually, it appeared that Elena was doing most of the talking and Jerry just stood there shaking his head.

  I was soon in the area that I’d come to consider a doggy hotel, a poshly furnished locale in the middle of the building. Lots more poodles were in their kennels, with soft bedding on the wood laminate floor. Other dogs, too, who had smaller roles in the film.

  As I passed by their enclosures, most barked. The few who didn’t looked at me so hopefully that it was all I could do to keep walking.

  But there were humans at the end of the long row—Grant and Winna, as well as some other young handlers whom I didn’t yet know.

  “Hi, all,” I said. “Everything under control here?”

  “It sure is,” Winna said with a huge grin. The chief animal handler was dressed entirely in white that day, which underscored the redness of her curly hair. I wondered how she expected to keep her outfit clean around all the dogs—or maybe she considered a bit of dirt a sign of her competence. “We need to take most of this gang over to the set in a few minutes since there’s going to be a scene in the fictional shelter.”

  In contrast, Cowan, the trainer-in-chief, was dressed all in black, which only served to accentuate the compactness of his stature and girth.

  “Yes, I know,” I said to Winna. “Where Millie confronts one of the shelter staff who’s mistreating Sheba.”

  “Exactly.” Winna looked impressed.

  “But of course none of the animals will really be mistreated,” Grant said, making sure that the American Humane presence was remembered. I was sure that he was saying that to caution Winna and Cowan as well as to make a statement.

  A few minutes later, I helped this gang, including assistants, put a bunch of the dogs on leashes and walk them out of this building and to the nearby one where the scene would be shot. I wished the camera staff Carlie always brought with her for filming were around. I thought we all created a delightful picture, crossing the studio lot. Too bad I hadn’t brought my own camera. I hadn’t been taking photos for a while. My phone? Maybe, but I hadn’t become skilled in using it that way.

  Since I had a few minutes where everyone would be somewhat distracted, as they should be, by the dogs, I managed to blurt out the same questions that I’d asked of Jerry and Elena. They’d been strictly an impulse then. Now, I thought they could actually help me to help Carlie.

  Or just seem stupid. And I hated that idea. In fact, I wasn’t happy at all with the game I’d begun playing, but I hadn’t yet come up with a better way to try to clear my good friend Carlie. As a result, I did it again.

  “You know,” I said, “I’ve decided to work on a screenplay about Hans’s death. Can anyone tell me who you think killed him and why?”

  I got a dirty look from Grant, who was right beside me. I felt bad for an instant since I liked the guy. But only for an instant. “Me, of course. I’m a suspect since I argued with Hans. But guess what? Even if I had a bit of a motive, I didn’t do it.”

  “Right,” I said. I looked beyond him toward Winna. “Did you do it? And if so, why?”

  She guffawed as she maneuvered the two leashes in her hand. She had two dogs, a Yorkie mix and a poodle, under her control. “I’d have been on Grant’s side, against the scary scene with those dogs on the street. Did I kill him?” She paused to spread out her arms, notwithstanding dogs and leashes. “Do I look like a killer?”

  Cowan was less exuberant in his response. Walking at my left, he shot me a glare even angrier than Grant’s. “What the hell are you doing, Lauren? I liked the guy, actually, even if I didn’t like that particular scene set-up. You want a suspect to throw into your damned screenplay? Use your buddy the vet.”
>
  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  Inside the soundstage, the crew was busy moving lights and taking final steps to make the place look like a shoddy kennel where animals might be abused.

  Dr. Cyd Andelson was there since Carlie wasn’t. To start things off, I approached and asked if she’d despised Hans Marford enough to kill him, making sure that others like Niall were around. Of course Cyd denied it. So did Niall when I played my little screenwriter game with him. He seemed outraged—because I questioned him, or because he’d already started working on a similar screenplay himself?

  Would that have given him a motive to kill Hans?

  The scene at the pretend shelter was filmed at least a half-dozen times before I left. Grant was in the middle of it all, ensuring that every one of the dogs was well cared for, given sufficient water to drink, and so forth.

  Mick Paramus was hard to take aside for my silly confrontation, but I managed to do so. He seemed distracted, but he laughed and agreed he had one of the best motives of all to do away with Hans. He was having an absolutely wonderful time as director of this film. Killing someone to get such a fantastic appointment? Well, sure.

  That attitude made me slip him figuratively toward the bottom of my suspect files, although I didn’t eliminate him. He could just be playing along.

  The problem with all the questions I’d asked so close together was that, even in reflection, I couldn’t say for sure if I now could zero in on any of these people as top suspects.

  After I eventually returned to HotRescues and took a quick visit around the place, I sat down at my computer for a while and listed my recollections of everyone’s feedback when I’d all but accused each of them.

  Niall, maybe?

  Winna. Of course.

  I shuffled who was where in my files, then gave up, and Zoey and I headed for home.

  I’d done all I could that day on Carlie’s behalf but I still had no real answers, just more questions.

  Had I stirred the real killer up by making him, or her, think I knew who it was but was just playing a silly game to put that person off guard?