“Why don’t you call Antonio and ask him to bring us all some dinner?” I asked. “On me.” I’d feed Zoey here. Unsurprisingly, we had a lot of dog food around, and it was excellent quality, since it came from HotPets.
“I’ll call him,” she said. “But would you care to elaborate on what this is all about?”
“No,” I said. “See you soon.”
• • •
“I know it’s not my responsibility,” I told Antonio a while later. The three of us were eating upstairs in the main administration building, on the conference table in the middle of the room. Lots of people who’d adopted pets from HotRescues smiled down at us from photos on the yellow walls. It was because of those pets, and the many more to come in the future—especially those from the teacup rescue—that I felt I had to do this. “But an executive at HotPets is involved, and the murder took place right here.” I waved my arm expansively, to take in all of my shelter. “I want to help figure this out.”
He laughed. “I know you do, Lauren. And all of us in the department appreciate it, and the murders you’ve solved in the past. But—”
“Sure you do,” Brooke said dryly. “That’s not the way you’ve described it to me.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Her highlighted brown hair enhanced her features as always, and she wore her uniform, consisting of a traditional black T-shirt that said SECURITY STAFF, over matching black jeans.
Brooke, a former P.I., had been ill the first time I’d met her. She had come here to relinquish Cheyenne for rehoming since she didn’t think she would survive much longer. Instead, I’d found her help—with Dante’s assistance—and she’d regained her health, kept Cheyenne, and been hired here at HotRescues as our primary security provider.
She had brought Cheyenne today, and Zoey and he were at the side of the room lying on the floor near each other, obviously bored with the conversation. Both had already eaten.
The look on Antonio’s jagged features was no longer amused. “Okay, I’ve taken a little heat over encouraging you now, and before on other cases. I don’t mind that. But this case is still under investigation, and nothing has been determined yet—except that Teresa was, in fact, killed by cyanide poisoning.”
“All the more reason to just give me a little information to use as I’m looking into things. I’ll let you know if I find anything useful so you can take credit for it. That’s not what I’m after.”
“I’m not, either. But I don’t want you to put yourself in danger or to interfere in a police investigation.”
He sounded like Matt did when he was trying to discourage me from checking things out my own way. They were both officers, though of different organizations. They had their own official agendas.
I had my own unofficial one. But even so, to get what I wanted, I had to figure out a compromise.
But Brooke was the one who got Antonio back in the spirit of things. “Look,” she told him, “you can just save Lauren a few steps here, and if she learns anything useful, everyone will benefit. Do you think that your not answering her questions will stop her from pursuing this?” She looked toward me, and I shrugged as I grinned at her. “Now, don’t you get all smug, Lauren.” My grin faded. “Antonio is right. And so is Matt. And—well, me, too. The good thing is that we’re all concerned about you. The bad thing is that you seem to forget that you’re not an officer of the law or otherwise trained to protect yourself or others. If Antonio does get the information you’ve asked for, you’d just better do as you promised and keep everyone informed about what you’re up to and what you learn. Agreed?”
I was taken aback by what she said and by her take-no-prisoners attitude, as if she were the boss and I were her employee, instead of vice versa.
On the other hand, I supposed that what she said was right. And an indication that she, like Matt and Antonio, gave a damn.
“I agree,” I said sheepishly, leaning against the table and taking a sip of my cola, to give myself a breather. Then I turned back toward Antonio, who sat at Brooke’s other side. “So . . . how soon can you get me the information?”
Chapter 17
Antonio was quick. I had to grant him that.
While Brooke and I cleaned up after our dinner, he went downstairs. I assumed he was making a phone call, and that assumption proved true, I learned when he met us as we walked down the steps behind the dogs.
“Okay, here’s what I found out.” He glanced at a small pad on which he’d apparently written notes, as Brooke took the trash both she and I had been carrying and headed out toward the covered garbage can in the parking lot. “Mark Black has been told not to leave town, and he is staying with Teresa’s cousin Elsa Martin in Hollywood. They’ve both been cooperating with the investigation. They remain persons of interest but appear to be less so than some other people connected with the case.”
“Like the Faylers,” I surmised.
“That’s right. And also that brother and sister who were here at the party, the Kriegs.”
“They’re brother and sister? I assumed they were a married couple.” Whoever they were, they’d clearly had a gripe with Teresa, so Antonio’s reference to them wasn’t surprising.
“No, they’re siblings. They both attend USC and share an apartment near the campus.”
That was most likely why they’d left Missouri. But they hadn’t left their biases there.
“I don’t suppose you have phone numbers or addresses that you can give me,” I told Antonio as Brooke returned inside, giving both Zoey and Cheyenne, who’d stayed with us, a pat.
“Nope. I’ve already given you more information than I should.” He paused and glared at me with his edgy brown eyes. “And you remember your promise, don’t you, to keep me informed about everything you’re up to?”
“Yes, I remember. And—Antonio, I really appreciate your help.”
As he, Brooke, and Cheyenne left the building to check out the shelter before retiring for the night in the security quarters, I gathered Zoey’s leash and my own thoughts.
Was I really doing the right thing by pursuing this? In the other murder cases I’d gotten involved with, I’d had a closer relationship to the suspects—or at least in most of them.
But I wasn’t only doing this for the Faylers, I reminded myself as I opened the door to my Venza and let Zoey jump in. All of HotPets was somewhat involved, and I definitely owed its CEO a lot.
And besides . . . the faces of the teacup dogs who’d already arrived here inserted themselves into my mind yet again. Others like them also needed help, and my assisting the Faylers could lead to their obtaining wonderful futures.
I vowed to dig out the contact information for all the people Antonio and I had discussed and to make some calls tomorrow morning.
• • •
The next day, Mark Black walked into our welcome area at HotRescues late in the morning. I hadn’t expected him, but I was glad he was there.
I would get his phone number this time.
Nina, at our entry desk, had sent an e-mail to my computer as soon as Mark walked in the door: “Do you know why Teresa’s boyfriend is here? Is he going to become as intrusive as she was about our little dogs?”
I responded quickly, “We won’t let him,” then hurried to greet him, Zoey at my heels.
He’d seemed rather ordinary to me before, with his thin build and large and expressive brow. Now, I almost expected devil’s horns to emerge from somewhere beneath his milk chocolate–colored hair.
Which told me I’d already drawn a conclusion regarding his guilt. Even so, the police had questioned him but hadn’t taken him into custody. They were the experts. I was only an interested bystander who wanted to protect the Faylers for reasons of my own. Assuming they were, in fact, innocent.
“Thanks for coming,” I told him, attempting to smile. “How have you been? I imagine that things have been difficult for you. I’m sorry for your loss.” Even though I hadn’t known Teresa well and hadn’t especially liked her, she’d
been this man’s girlfriend. I had seen him after Teresa’s death but hadn’t expressed my condolences.
Besides, I wanted to see his reaction.
“Thank you.” He bowed his head as if in pain. Genuine, or an act? When he raised it again, he looked me straight in the eye, his gaze sad. “Lauren, can we talk?”
“Sure. Would you like to come into my office?”
“Could we walk through HotRescues instead? I like your shelter, and maybe seeing all the animals will help cheer me a little.”
“All right.”
I left Zoey in Nina’s care, wanting to fully concentrate on my pending interrogation.
As we walked out the door into the first shelter area, I said, “You’ve been here before, so I won’t turn this into a tour, but feel free to ask any questions. Do you have a pet at home?”
“I do—an Irish setter mix named Bopper. My family’s taking care of him while I’m here. I didn’t think this trip would be good for him, since it was such a long drive. And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring him. I’d no idea I’d still be here—and for such a hard reason.”
His dog wasn’t teacup size. I wasn’t surprised. And the segue from his response into my further questions wasn’t difficult.
“Once again, I’m sorry—even more so because Teresa died here. I just wish I really knew what happened, who hurt her.”
We were on the walkway between the kennel area and the first building on the right, which contained the HotRescues security facilities. The cameras might be on and recording, but no one would be watching them. Nor would they capture our voices. Not that I expected Mark to blurt out a confession right here, but just in case . . .
“Me, too,” he said, “although I think we both know.” He’d stopped walking and turned to face me. “From the time I got here, she kept talking about Las Vegas, and transferring the dogs into the Faylers’ plane, and the fact that they were so obviously hiding something, although she didn’t tell me what it was. Do you know?”
“I heard her insinuations, too,” I told him, “but, no, I’ve no idea what she meant.”
“I told the police that, hoping they’d let something drop, but I got the impression they didn’t know, either. But I’m going to find out.”
Interesting. I still didn’t feel sure about his innocence, but I now had the impression that he, too, might be conducting an investigation into Teresa’s murder—or at least that he wanted people to think so, possibly to shift their suspicions away from him.
I decided to play along, at least for now. Act like we were both on the same side—as he appeared to be doing with me.
“To be honest with you,” I said, “my hope is to clear the Faylers of suspicion, since they’re now helping to bring rescue dogs here for Airborne Adoptions. Plus, as I’m sure you’re aware, Tom works for HotPets, and most of HotRescues’ funding comes from the CEO.” That was a matter of public record, so I wasn’t in any way harming Dante by mentioning it.
“I know. I’ve checked. Cute dog.” Mark’s gaze had moved beyond me to the nearest kennel. Inside was Shazam, the Doberman.
“Yes, he is. Sweet, too. He’s about to be adopted—going home today.”
“That’s a good thing in more ways than one. I won’t be tempted to bring him home with me.”
An attitude like that made me feel like my impression of him was thawing. I had to remain cautious. It could all be an act.
But acting friendly with Mark Black remained on my agenda, too. If he was guilty, he’d probably drop a clue. I’d need to be able to recognize and interpret it.
And if he wasn’t—well, maybe we could form some kind of alliance to dig up the truth.
“As you said, it’s a long ride,” I reminded him. “Besides, how would Bopper feel if you brought someone else home with you?”
“He’s pretty good about getting along with other dogs we meet, but you’re right.”
We started walking again.
“About the Faylers,” he said, “I honestly don’t know—not yet, at least—what Teresa was talking about. But I gathered it had something to do with that flight, or something they discussed . . . but she didn’t go into detail other than to say she was going to do something about it. She hinted it would be something she’d be happy about. Maybe saving more animals? I just don’t know.” He looked at me. “Any ideas?”
I wouldn’t have told him even if I’d known anything—but I didn’t. I shook my head. “Sorry. I wish I did.”
We started walking again, and I pointed out how great our volunteers were about getting inside the kennels and socializing their inhabitants.
“I’m becoming even more impressed with HotRescues, Lauren,” he told me. “But I’d still like some answers.”
“Me, too. In fact—well, you know better than me, but what is Elsa like? I mean, Teresa was staying here with her cousin. Did they get along all right?”
He laughed. “Elsa is probably the least likely to have killed Teresa of anyone. Not that Teresa didn’t give her a hard time. She gave me and everyone else a hard time. But Teresa did have a good heart, especially when it came to protecting animals. And Elsa? Well . . . you know what? Are you available for dinner tonight?”
“Maybe, but—”
“I’ll get Elsa to come here and we’ll all go out and talk.” My expression must have seemed dubious, since he added, “Believe me, I’m not hitting on you. Teresa and I—Anyway, bring a date if you want. We’ll all talk about what happened and who we think did it. Not that we’ll reach any good conclusions, but I’m sure I’ll prove to you that whoever killed Teresa, it wasn’t Elsa.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
We continued our stroll around HotRescues, and I pointed out more of our attributes, introducing him to dogs, volunteers, and staff—and even cats, after we turned the corner to the other part of the shelter and our building that housed felines.
I felt certain that Mark intended to put me off guard with our pending dinner so that I might start to doubt that he could have killed Teresa.
But I would keep an open mind.
Chapter 18
From later that morning through the afternoon, my time at HotRescues was delightful. Six adoptions! I barely had time to breathe, and loved it that way. Of course I skipped lunch.
The first two adoptions involved more of the little teacup rescues. One, Rhinestone, a pale brown Pekingese, went home with a senior couple who’d bonded with her right away. The other, Garnet, a tiny reddish male poodle, was adopted by an attractive twentysomething woman who was a computer programmer and worked near her home.
The next adoption was particularly special to me. Shazam, the well-trained Doberman, finally went home with a couple who were engaged and about to be married. They seemed so thrilled to be increasing their new family this way, since they’d immediately fallen in love with Shazam, and they promised to leave him with the bride’s loving parents during their honeymoon.
Next, one of our cats, Abyss, a part Abyssinian with a dense, attractive coat, was adopted by a college student who said she needed company at home while she did her homework. Abyss had a caring personality but was also independent, so it seemed like a good fit.
And then two more teacup dogs, both Yorkies: Aquamarine, who had a long brindle coat, and Topaz, whose fur was primarily yellow. Aquamarine couldn’t stop licking the face of the stocky young man who picked him up. I had initial reservations when the guy immediately rubbed his mouth with a sanitary wipe, but he laughed and said that, though he was a germophobe, he hoped that owning a dog would help cure him. The guy lived in a Valley apartment that allowed pets.
Topaz’s new owner was a young woman who also had a nearby apartment. She giggled a lot and looked adoringly at the small Yorkie, hugging her tightly as if she worried about losing her.
As I watched them leave our welcome area, I heard Nina behind me. “What a day. Are you okay, Lauren? You look exhausted—rightfully so.”
“What a
nice compliment,” I said, sinking down onto a chair at our table beneath the window. “But, yes, I’m really tired. In a good way. So many new homes just today. I’m so happy for the animals.”
“Me, too.” She came out from behind our leopard-print counter and stood there with her hands on her hips, grinning. “Too bad all days aren’t like this.”
I rose, too. “I need to go get Zoey and take her for a walk. Maybe if we did so many adoptions every day, I’d be used to it enough not to feel pooped. Wouldn’t that be great? I’d love it. But I still have half of our teacups to send home—and I’m hoping for another rescue this weekend.”
“Those Bling ads keep going,” Nina said. “I see them on TV and on a lot of streets in commercial areas. That’s so good for finding little dogs new homes, and it’s likely to stay that way.”
“I agree.” I picked up the paperwork I’d been collecting for all the adoptions and started walking toward my office and Zoey. It seemed that the ads were attracting more young adult adopters than any other age range, but I supposed that made sense. Younger people were more attracted to contemporary technology like the digital HotPets Bling outdoor ads.
Even so, I decided I’d start asking the teacup adopters how they’d heard of HotRescues and why they’d chosen the small rescued dogs over others, just because I was curious.
• • •
I perked up considerably that evening when Zoey and I met Matt and his dog, Rex, at our house. Together, all four of us headed to the family restaurant with the dog-friendly outdoor patio where I’d arranged to join Mark and Elsa for dinner—and some serious discussion about Teresa.
They were both there already, and they had saved an outdoor table despite how crowded the place was—both with human patrons and their companion dogs. The patio was large and surrounded by tall hedges, and there were no other tables available.
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