Teacup Tubulence

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I just called the head of the shelter in Missouri where they’d been taken,” I finished, “to see about getting more here for rehoming. I think she’s on board, but I want to have a rescue set up as fast as possible. Do you think the Faylers will be available to fly the last leg of a plane relay?”

  “We’ll discuss it with them over lunch tomorrow, if that’s okay with you,” Dante said. “I’ve already scheduled getting together with them, and you can join us if you have the time.”

  “Definitely.”

  “The Faylers are still free to do what they want . . . for now, at least.” I heard concern in Dante’s voice. “I know they’re potential murder suspects. And Tom’s one of my—Never mind.” He changed the subject, apparently not wanting to discuss the possibility of one of his subsidiary’s executives becoming unavailable permanently.

  We talked for a short while longer about HotRescues and HotPets, including HotPets Bling. “So far, our initial local rollout of those collars here has gone extraordinarily well,” he told me. “The dog collars, not those special people necklaces, which we’re not selling. In any event, that’s what we’ll be discussing at lunch tomorrow. Our designer, Chris, will be there, too. It’ll soon be time to start pushing more into other venues, like Las Vegas. Tom’s been following up with the HotPets stores there whose managers received that area’s first Bling samples and they’re apparently thrilled, too.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll look forward to hearing more about it.”

  “Good work with all those adoptions, Lauren. You’re doing a great job. And it’ll be wonderful to get some more of those little teacups here to be saved.”

  “Yes, it will.” When I hung up, I looked at Zoey. “He’s worried, girl, even if he didn’t say so. And I hate to see Dante worried.”

  Chapter 13

  Of course, even lunch presupposed that Dante was right and the Faylers were permitted to get together with business associates and friends.

  But Dante, with his knowledge and connections, was surely aware of their legal status. Lunch must be doable. Whether the Faylers could pilot a leg of an Airborne Adoptions Rescue, leaving town even for less than a day, might be another story.

  The next day, on my way to lunch, I realized that it promised to be interesting in more ways than one.

  Since I’d last spoken to Dante, I’d been home with Zoey for what I’d hoped would be a good night’s sleep. Instead, my mind kept me awake with thoughts on rehoming dogs, getting more little dogs out here to save . . . and murder.

  I’d then spent my morning at HotRescues, finished reviewing some applications and set up a few adoptions for that afternoon and more for tomorrow. Zoey was still at the shelter, and I would return to work, and her, as soon as I could.

  But now I was driving toward Beverly Hills and the HotPets corporate offices. Dante had chosen a restaurant near there for us to meet.

  I soon reached the high-rent, boutique-filled area, where the people who strolled along were dressed as if they’d bought all their clothes in the expensive designer shops. Some were probably just tourists filled with wishes, but they’d at least realized how near Hollywood they were and dressed the part.

  Assuming their jeans were high-end and not the economy kind like mine. But I’d at least buttoned a professional-looking olive-green blouse over my HotRescues T-shirt.

  I knew that parking wouldn’t be easy, so I decided to splurge and drove into the restaurant’s lot, where a valet all but bowed to me as he took my keys and my car.

  Not my usual way of doing things, but I was, after all, about to dine with one really successful man and some of his staff. I might as well get into the mood, even though it would cost me.

  But knowing Dante, the charge and tip would be reimbursed. He was that kind of person. He’d even given me a couple of raises when I’d needed extra money to send my two kids to college. This amount was chump change to him.

  The restaurant was called BH Sinful. It was in the middle of a block and didn’t look especially sinful, or even especially good, from the outside. But I had no doubt that Dante had eaten there before. It was only about three blocks from the tall building where HotPets was headquartered.

  I pulled open the glass door and went inside. As I’d anticipated, it was crowded. It was also decorated as poshly as—well, a Beverly Hills restaurant. There were a lot of tables but not too crowded together. Each sported a silky-looking beige tablecloth, and many were occupied by decorative china plates and a crowd of diners eating from them. There was a combined aroma of grilled meats, citrus fruit, and expensive perfumes and aftershaves, but subtle, not overwhelming.

  I quickly spied Dante holding court at a table at the far end of the dining room. “Thanks,” I told the approaching maître d’. “I’m joining the people over there.”

  The suited man gave a large grin. “Oh, you’re with Mr. DeFrancisco. Welcome.”

  If I hadn’t been sure Dante had been here before, I would have been now.

  I edged my way through the busy restaurant, ignoring the loud hum of conversations as I approached the table, aiming for the empty chair across from Dante. Both Faylers were already there, but not Chris. Seated beside Dante was his assistant, Sheila, and she had a regular steno notebook in front of her, not a laptop or iPad. Old-fashioned or not, I assumed this was a working lunch for her.

  “Hi, Lauren.” Dante stood, and so did Tom Fayler, who pulled my chair out gallantly.

  “Hi.” I looked around to include everyone. A server handed me a menu and asked for my drink order. I chose water. “What’s good?” I asked Dante.

  “Nearly everything,” Sheila responded. She, too, had been here before, then. Did Dante treat his assistant often? When I saw the prices, even at lunchtime, I figured the staff wasn’t likely to frequent the place often except on an expense account or boss’s treat.

  The group discussed possibilities, and I decided on a Cobb salad. Chris joined us as the server returned with my water and to take our orders.

  Unsurprisingly with this group, the conversation turned immediately to HotPets Bling. And animals, of course. At least for the latter, I felt right at home.

  Dante intended to publicize how the Bling campaign had led to increased interest from local people in adopting, especially small dogs like those shown in the ads. That would be good for encouraging even more people to adopt—and it wouldn’t hurt Bling sales, either.

  They were generating a model for other cities, too, as the Bling collars were rolled out.

  Sheila continued to take notes as Tom and Chris batted ideas off Dante. Even Naya jumped in with suggestions.

  And me? All I did, for the moment, was grin. This was good stuff. I loved anything that helped to save animals’ lives.

  Our meals were soon served. Unsurprisingly, my salad was delicious. The others had chosen everything from appetizer-sized plates to enormous burgers. It all looked great. No wonder Dante chose the place.

  As we ate, the conversation started up again. I still stayed out of most of it, and Naya also didn’t get very involved. She sat on the opposite side of Chris from me, so it wasn’t particularly easy for us to converse, but I nevertheless started talking with her. I needed to know what was going on with Tom and her, and if they could fly again very soon to help save more of those little dogs.

  “You know,” I began, “we’re well on the way to adopting out those little teacup guys you flew here. We have applications on at least half of them already.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Her face lit up, emphasizing what I’d noticed before: her expression looked strained, her face more lined than before, and she really wasn’t a whole lot older than me. “I’m so glad we could help.”

  “I was wondering if you could help again.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “I can’t tell you how much I’d love to. Maybe . . .” She looked toward Tom, but he was talking with Dante. She turned again toward me. “Things are . . . well, you’ve probably heard in the news. W
e’re ‘persons of interest’ in Teresa Kantrim’s death.”

  Chris’s attention was apparently caught by that. He’d been staring toward Dante and the others, but he looked at Naya and then toward me. “The cops interrogated me, too,” he said.

  The conversation between Dante and Tom didn’t stop, and now there were two discussions at the table.

  “Why do they seem to be focusing on you and Tom, Naya?” I asked.

  She gave a little shrug of her narrow shoulders. “That Teresa—I certainly didn’t wish her dead, but she acted so . . . well, nasty to us. Not just in the plane, but afterward, too.”

  “Yeah, and people heard it.” That was Tom. He and Dante were now looking toward us. “Someone must have told the police, and they somehow assumed that gave us a motive to kill her. But if I killed everyone I know who’s nasty, there’d be a lot fewer people around me.” He gave a smile that I figured was intended to convey humor, not irony, but it fell short. “I’m not speaking of anyone here, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dante said.

  “I just wish I’d understood what she was talking about,” Naya said. “She kept saying things like, ‘I know what you’re really doing.’ And, ‘If you don’t help me, then I’ll make sure things go bad for you.’ But when I asked her to explain, she’d just smile really nastily, and say, ‘Oh, you know exactly what I mean.’”

  “And the cops think that something so obscure would have given you a reason to kill her?” I knew I sounded amazed. I shouldn’t have. I’d unfortunately been involved in helping to solve enough murders lately that nothing should surprise me about the process.

  “I guess so.” Tom no longer sounded humorous. “I kept suggesting that they look into other people, like her boyfriend and cousin, and those other people who came here from her area. They knew her a lot better than we did. Maybe one of them hated her, or had some real reason to kill her. We certainly didn’t.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d spoken with her boyfriend, Mark—or that I hadn’t completely ruled him out, either.

  “That’s such a shame.” Sheila, no longer taking notes, shook her head. “I just hope the police come to their senses and leave you alone.”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “We’ve got Bling to create and sell. We don’t need that kind of distraction. Teresa had nothing to do with us.”

  “Except that she flew with Tom and me,” Naya remind-ed him.

  “Have the police given you orders not to leave town?” I asked Tom. “That’s what they all say on TV to people they claim are primary suspects.”

  “Not really. But I think I’d want to tell the detectives in charge of the case if we decide to leave town even briefly.”

  “I hope you have their phone number or e-mail address,” I said, then explained how I hoped to do another plane relay of teacup dogs from the Missouri rescue as soon as the next weekend. “First, though, I guess I’d better ask if you’re willing to do it.”

  “Absolutely,” Tom said. Then he looked at his wife. “You agree, honey?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “As long as it doesn’t get us into any more trouble.”

  When Tom said he’d check with the detectives and confirm whether they could do the run this weekend, I wondered if I could help. Could I come up with other suspects and motives the professionals hadn’t thought about within the next few days?

  Dogs’ lives could be at stake. And so could the Faylers’. They were nice people. Animal lovers.

  They needed to fly next weekend for lots of reasons. And they’d be a lot more likely to be able to go if someone else hit the cops’ radar harder than they did.

  Maybe I could help.

  Chapter 14

  For now, though, I accompanied the gang back to the HotPets offices.

  Dante had indicated that he wanted to talk to me. Which was a good thing, since I wanted to talk to him, too. And not with this crowd around.

  I left my car in the restaurant parking lot. I wouldn’t be long.

  The building wasn’t far away. Unsurprisingly, it’s an attractive office structure, even for Beverly Hills—six stories high, with a glass and concrete façade that has lots of character, not just an up-and-down look to it. Dante checked me in with the downstairs security guard. That was when Naya gave Tom a quick kiss and left.

  I joined everyone else in the elevator, which only stopped on the top floor, where the HotPets executive offices were located. I hadn’t been here for a while and immediately noticed the signage they’d posted for HotPets Bling in a wing of the main offices—no digital lighting, but a definitely noticeable indicator of pride in this new subsidiary, considering the size of both the sign and the apparent square footage designated for this new venture.

  I’d always figured that Dante was well liked by his employees, and this visit confirmed it. Every time we got near anyone, they hailed him with friendly greetings that all seemed genuine, not like just sucking up to the boss.

  “Need me for anything?” Sheila asked as we reached the CEO’s office suite.

  “Not right now,” Dante told his assistant, “but stay tuned. There are some things pending this afternoon, and I’ll buzz you as soon as I have some free time to tell you about them.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said, “but not idly.” She shot her boss a grin, then turned and walked away.

  I followed Dante inside his office. Not surprisingly, it was pretty nice, with a sleek wooden desk with hardly anything on top, surrounded by chairs and a sofa that all had matching carved legs. They looked antique—and pricey. But price never seemed to matter to Dante.

  And, nice guy and animal lover that he was, he was always ready to give away some of what he had to save animals—and help people.

  He waved me to one of the chairs and took his own seat behind his desk. “Excuse me for a second.” He ran his computer mouse along his desk, presumably checking the screen for important e-mails. He then glanced at his phone. The message light was blinking. I’d no doubt that at least some of those callers had something imperative for him to deal with, but he didn’t check.

  Instead, he looked at me. From the time I’d met him a few years ago, when he’d been seeking someone to run HotRescues, I’d considered him a handsome guy, with his wavy, dark hair and intense, deep brown eyes. “So, Lauren,” he said, “what’s on your mind?”

  “I’d rather hear what you wanted to talk to me about first, Dante. Mine can wait.”

  “So can mine—maybe.” He leaned forward, increasing that intensity in his gaze. “I really liked how that first rescue of those teacup dogs went. The whole idea of a network of pilots shuttling animals from areas where they’re not wanted to places they’ll find new homes—I definitely like that. I want to help support it.”

  “Great!” I said excitedly. “HotPets’ reputation for helping needy animals will soar even more than it already does. And HotRescues’ ability to get involved and save pets would benefit from it, too.”

  Internally, though, I pondered for a minute. What did Dante have in mind? Would he put his own pilot Tom Fayler in charge of whatever HotPets would do? But who would run HotPets Bling, then?

  And who knew if Tom could fly much longer—assuming he even could now?

  “I’m going to look into this more. I’d like you to introduce me to the person in charge of Airborne Adoptions. Maybe I’ll invite him out here for a meeting sometime. Meanwhile, since Tom and Naya are too busy to do all the flying I’m hoping will be done in Southern California by this service—assuming they can continue at all—I’ll check with Tom for names of friends we may be able to recruit here. We’ll probably have to ease into it, though—find the right people to help and all that.”

  “Sounds good. And if I can do anything besides introductions—like helping to coordinate which animals can be sent where for new homes—I’d love to do it.”

  “As long as it doesn’t take too much time and distract you from HotRescues.”

  “I was just about to menti
on that.” I smiled at him.

  “Anyhow, I’ll follow up with Tom on this later. I don’t want you to get your Airborne Adoptions contact too excited until I’ve looked into the possibilities, though. Why don’t you stop in Tom’s office before you go and sound him out on what he thinks of the idea?”

  “I know one restriction he’s likely to want.”

  “So do I,” Dante said. “Don’t necessarily allow people to accompany the animals, especially those who could become murder victims.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I said.

  “So . . . what did you want to talk to me about?”

  I laughed. “Pretty much the same thing you wanted to talk to me about. It’s such a shame in so many ways that this long-distance rescue was tainted by someone associated with it getting killed. But I wanted to verify with you that you’ve no problems with HotRescues getting involved with more of that kind of animal rescue.”

  “You’ve got my opinion,” Dante said. “Go for it!”

  “I just hope Tom and Naya will be able to help with the relay I intend for next weekend.” I stood. “I’ll do all I can to make sure of it.”

  “I knew there was a lot I liked about you, Lauren.” Dante stood, too. “When it comes to saving the lives of animals, you don’t let anything, not even a murder, stand in your way.”

  • • •

  Tom Fayler’s office was a lot smaller and much less decorative than Dante’s—unless you counted the Bling. As the manager of the subsidiary, he had used the theme to a wonderful degree, with magnified photos on the walls of a lot of the designs I’d seen on the collars: faux jewels in the shapes of dog bones and ears, dog faces, and more. Though for all that, his desk was fairly ordinary, and so were his chairs.

  He waved me to one distractedly as I came in and asked if he had a few minutes to talk. “Sure, Lauren. Just give me a minute.”

  He was working on his computer, too, with a smartphone beside him on his desk. His attention seemed to jump from one to the other.