Teacup Tubulence

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Discussing that is one of the reasons,” Tom said. “Let’s go talk about it.” He turned to me. “I’ve told those guys to put the boxes in the back of their vehicle for now and leave it parked here. They can cover the boxes with a tarp so they won’t be obvious.” He gestured toward a small motorized contraption nearby, then turned to the store managers. “We’ll grab a smaller cart so you can take the ones I’m leaving to your cars when we’re done talking.” The group then headed along the tarmac to the terminal.

  Another plane landed nearby, its sound almost deafening, and the wind it created bouncing even my very short dark hair around. I held my ears, careful to include my hair, as I walked toward the other small plane nearby that Tom had designated.

  Two men stood outside it, talking. “Hi,” I called as I approached. “Are you with Airborne Adoptions?”

  One of them, who looked quite senior and had no hair to blow in the still potent wind, smiled. “Yes. You, too?”

  “Indirectly.” I held my hand out. “Lauren Vancouver. I’m the chief administrator of—”

  I didn’t have to finish. The other gentleman, also bald but a lot younger, said, “HotRescues, right? We’ve heard about how you got this rescue together. My kudos to you, Lauren.”

  He introduced them both. They were Nelson and Dwayne Hannover, father and son, and both loved animals and flying—a good fit. They lived in Albuquerque, and this was their seventh Airborne Adoptions flight.

  Both men looked like carbon copies of each other, except for their ages. They wore similar dark blue jeans and silver flight jackets. Their smiles were identical and showed off teeth that were large and bright white. They were the same height—maybe four inches taller than my five foot six.

  The major difference was that Nelson’s face had the look of age: divots around his long nose and mouth, and wrinkles beside his eyes. Dwayne clearly knew what awaited him in another twenty or thirty years.

  We spent the next half hour removing a dozen animal crates from their plane and walking the little dogs who occupied them, handing each some treats and hugs, and making sure, before we put them back inside, that their crates held bowls containing water.

  “You’re sure you’ll be able to find homes for all of them?” Nelson asked, bending to hug a Chihuahua who resisted going back inside her crate. Who could blame her? “It won’t be a lot longer, precious,” Nelson told her, then pushed her gently inside. He quickly locked the gate, then turned back to me. “I mean, your reputation precedes you, and we know you initiated this rescue, but . . .”

  “But you haven’t seen the ads that have made this all possible,” I said, walking a little silky terrier around in circles near him. I described the HotPets Bling TV and digital-sign promos with their adorable tiny dogs. “Nearly everyone in L.A. is apparently ready to adopt teacups,” I said. “I’ve had no trouble finding homes for the first little dogs. We named them after jewels, and that might have helped, too.”

  “Are the ads really that spectacular?”

  “The ads are. And the collars are really nice, too. Would you like to see some?”

  “Sure. Let’s take these guys over to the other plane first.”

  I helped them carry crates while talking soothingly to the little dogs inside. They each carried one crate in each hand. I only handled one at a time so I could keep it near my face and watch each of my small charges.

  Their plane wasn’t parked far from the Faylers,’ but there was a runway in between. It took some time to move the dogs, since we had to avoid a couple of taxiing small craft. I wanted so badly to hold the pups’ ears so they wouldn’t have to suffer the noise that we did—worse for them, considering the sharpness of dogs’ hearing—but there were too many of them and too few hands, and we’d put them back in their crates after walking them.

  “This’ll get better, too,” I told those I took care of.

  Since I hadn’t seen the Faylers exit the terminal with the HotPets personnel, I figured I could show off some of the collars on my own. “Are you ready to see those HotPets Bling collars?” I asked the Hannovers after we’d moved all the crates onto the tarmac near the wheels of the Faylers’ plane.

  “Of course,” Nelson said.

  “Any possibility of our buying a few to take home with us?” Dwayne asked. “We could show them off. Will they be available online or in New Mexico HotPets stores?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” I said. “But I’d imagine so eventually, though not today.”

  I looked around to see if the Faylers were returning yet, but I didn’t spot them. I felt sure that they, and Dante, wouldn’t mind if I showed off some of the HotPets Bling to people who might talk about the collars in an area where they might not be available for a while. The buzz might make them all the more popular later, when they could be bought anywhere.

  Only then did it dawn on me that I didn’t see the baggage vehicle where the boxes had been temporarily stored. I started to panic on Tom’s behalf as I looked frantically around. One just like it was parked against a nearby hangar. Could that be it? I hurried toward it without telling Dwayne or Nelson what I was up to.

  Fortunately, it was the same one. A tarp over the contents in the back pulled up easily to reveal the familiar three boxes.

  “Here they are,” I called triumphantly as the Hannovers followed me. I pulled the flaps off the nearest carton and brought out a couple of the collars of the most familiar type, in shades of blue and yellow, decorated with the shining false gems in the designs I’d seen most often.

  The two men each took one from my hands and looked them over. “I’m not usually excited about dog collars,” Dwayne said. “Who is? But if I was going to make a big deal about any, these could be it. They’re really nice, as long as they’re for little cutesy dogs, not the working dogs we tend to own.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “That’s probably why the ads I described focus on the little guys.”

  About a minute later I noticed the Faylers leading the men and woman who’d met them before toward this area. So they didn’t get upset the way I had, I waved to them, pointing toward the baggage vehicle. They headed this way.

  One of the men was pushing a cart, the kind that’s easily available in the baggage claim areas for a price. When they reached us, Tom and Naya showed off the collars, including the ones the Hannovers passed to them.

  “Like these?” Tom asked Nelson.

  “We just told Lauren how nice we think they are—for little dogs, like the ones we flew here.”

  Naya looked at me. “I see a lot of crates under our plane. Are all the dogs there?”

  I nodded. “They’ve all been taken care of, too.” I mentioned the walks, treats, and water.

  “Then let’s get them inside and head home,” Tom said.

  We all shook hands with the Hannovers and the HotPets folks. Tom picked up the box of collars I’d unsealed previously. He pulled out a couple of the types of collars that were in the other boxes, too, to show to the HotPets managers, but he didn’t display any of the ones I’d been told weren’t available yet. When he then returned them to their container, he carried the box into the plane. The store managers received the other two boxes and split their contents, all in the same designs Tom had just shown to them.

  “Now, you be sure to get our Bling campaign started here right away,” Jose told Tom.

  “That’s right,” Wanda seconded him. “We’re really eager to do more than just show those collars off. We’ll sell a lot of them, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll let management know,” Tom assured them. “They’re aware of my contact with you here, and I’m pretty sure we’ll get the green light soon.”

  “Be sure to keep us posted,” Bud said, looking from Naya to Tom and back again. “And our three stores are just a drop in the bucket around here. There are more than a dozen HotPets, and we’ll do well selling those collars.”

  They said their good-byes—farewells, really—and left the tarmac.


  Tom, Naya, and I then took the dog crates one at a time into the plane.

  I couldn’t help it. As we loaded the dogs, I asked Tom, “Obviously the collars were a major subject of your conversations, but did anyone mention another aspect of your last trip here—Teresa?”

  We were both inside the plane then, and he looked at me ruefully. “Oh, yeah. Those managers all asked about what happened.”

  “They’d met her even before you did, hadn’t they?”

  He nodded. “I think she gave them a hard time, too, since they’d all had to wait for our late arrival on the last flight.”

  “Did they have any ideas about who might have disliked her enough to kill her?”

  “Not that they told me about—although I had the sense that they were glad she was murdered in L.A. and not here, since that way none of them could be accused.”

  “Unlike you and Naya,” I said.

  “Yeah, unlike us.” His tone, and expression, were grim.

  We finished loading the dogs after that with no further discussion of the last voyage.

  The flight back to L.A. seemed a lot quicker than the one to Vegas. Maybe that was because I had such delightful company in the back of the plane.

  Not that I had anything against the Faylers, but holding a tiny poodle on my lap, followed by a Chihuahua and a bichon frise, then passing them around so the Faylers, too, had company sitting on their laps as they flew, then trading them for three more little guys . . . well, that was even more spectacular than the view below.

  When we landed in Van Nuys, the Faylers helped me load the dog crates into the back of the HotRescues van.

  “Thanks so much for letting me come along,” I told them as we stood in the airport parking lot.

  “Thank you for all you’re doing for those little guys.” Naya nodded toward the closed back door of the van. “They’re all so wonderful. I’d love to adopt another one.”

  “But our little Marvin is quite a handful,” Tom interjected. “Our daughter’s been great as our sitter when we’ve taken these trips, and we’re ready for another whenever. Assuming we can, of course.” He paused, his glance at me rueful. “Thanks also for being a whole lot nicer a passenger than our last one on this kind of trip.”

  “You’re welcome.” His words slapped me with another reminder of how much I wanted to help them clear themselves of any suspicion in the death of Teresa Kantrim. Having spent this additional time with them, I was even more convinced of their innocence. “Look, now that you’ve done the same thing again, did it bring to mind anything at all that Teresa said or did that could help lead to who really killed her?” Though Tom and I had talked about it before, Naya hadn’t been involved in that conversation, so I looked mostly at her.

  But she shook her head. “I wish. How about you—did you get any ideas?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. But I’ll keep looking into it—as long as I have your assurance that it really wasn’t you.”

  Naya looked hurt. Tom looked peeved. “I thought we’d convinced you of that before,” he said.

  “Just checking,” I said lightly, then smiled. “It’s time for me to take these little guys to the vet for a standard checkup. They should be back at HotRescues in our quarantine area within a few days, then available for adoption about a week later.”

  “Are you planning another party?” Naya asked. Her tone was soft, her expression too bright to reflect what she was really thinking.

  The strain was back, and I’d helped to remind them, too.

  “Could be,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Oh—and Lauren,” Tom said. “Once Dante gives the go-ahead and we roll out our HotPets Bling campaign in Las Vegas, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s a surge in adoptions of teacup-sized dogs there, too. If you know any shelter owners there, you might warn them.”

  “That’s exactly what I have in mind,” I assured him.

  Chapter 24

  “They’re all adorable. Just like the last bunch.” Carlie had just finished doing a preliminary health check of each of the latest dozen dogs I’d brought in for her assessment.

  We sat in her office at The Fittest Pet Veterinary Hospital. It wasn’t a very large room and in my opinion didn’t mirror the charm of the rest of the one-story pink stucco facility, but it was utilitarian, with a nondescript desk and somewhat comfortable chairs facing it.

  Still, it seemed rather a let-down for a TV star like Carlie to spend her time in such an ordinary environment when not curing animals or advocating their proper care on her show, Pet Fitness.

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” I told her. “In fact—want to place a bet about how long it’ll take me to find them all new homes?”

  “Only if I can put my money on the lowest number of days. Do you have any left from the first group?”

  “Three, but a couple already had applications, and when I checked in with my HotRescues gang while you were examining the dogs, I was told that an application was being filled out for the last one, too.”

  “So . . .” She checked written notes she’d made in a folder. “Twelve little dogs again—a poodle, two Yorkies, one Pekingese, one Pomeranian, two Chihuahuas, one bichon frise, one shih tzu, one Maltese, and two silky terriers, if I’ve got them right.” She looked at me for confirmation.

  “Sounds right, but my list was done in a hurry when I parked here and got help bringing them inside. I’ll confirm it with your bill and also double-check when I get them to HotRescues.”

  “Should be okay to take them in a few days, assuming nothing changes. They all seem healthy, but we’ll need the results of their blood tests to feel more sure. Are you going to name these guys after bling, too?”

  I laughed. “I talked to Nina about that, and she’s been sounding out our volunteers and staff. We’d have to dig pretty deep, so to speak, to come up with another dozen types of jewels we like, so the consensus appears to be naming these teacups after—guess what?”

  Carlie laughed. “Tea?”

  “You got it,” I told her. “They’re working on a list for me now.”

  “Good thing your adopters don’t have to keep the names you pick if they don’t want to,” Carlie said. “I mean, I’m assuming there’ll be an Oolong and an Earl Gray.”

  “And a Jasmine. That one could be a keeper.”

  Carlie placed her file on her desk and leaned back. “So when are the HotPets Bling collars going national?”

  “I’m not sure, but Matt and I are having dinner with Dante and Kendra tonight. That’s one of the questions on my agenda. The HotPets managers in Las Vegas are raring to go. I’ve seen the manufacturing facilities in the City of Industry, and I gather it won’t take long to ramp them up to increase production exponentially. Obviously the sales have been great in the test market here—but what do I know?”

  “That’s what I’m asking.” Carlie smiled. “And here’s another thing I’d like for you to question Dante about: I’d like to do a segment of Pet Fitness on your amazing phenomenon—the creation and promotion of the Bling collars here leading to the adoption craze for little dogs, the Missouri rescue, the Airborne Adoptions flights—the whole thing. I’ve got my producers on standby to air it nearly as fast as it’s filmed, both to help publicize the dog rescue and because it’ll undoubtedly boost my ratings—not that they’re hurting, mind you.”

  “I didn’t think they were. But, sure, I’ll ask Dante. It sounds like a win-win-win-and-more-wins situation for everyone, especially the dogs.”

  “And you? Have you figured out yet who killed Teresa Kantrim?”

  Had I discussed my latest investigation with Carlie? If so, I hadn’t told her much. But she knew me well. “Still working on that,” I told her.

  • • •

  Having dinner with Dante and his girlfriend Kendra doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I know he’ll be in a good mood. Plus, he’d acted pleased that Matt would be with us, too, as I’d hoped.

  The
four of us have a lot in common, after all. We all make our livings via the pet industry, although we run the gamut of aspects of it.

  Dante, of course, founded and is the chief executive officer of the entire HotPets chain. He also champions shelters, since he founded and now pays for HotRescues. That’s my great love, too—private shelters. Matt works for the public sector, and he’s particularly proud of the improving, although far from perfect, no-kill attitude that L.A. Animal Services has undertaken.

  And Kendra both pet-sits and acts as a legal advocate for animals.

  Tonight, we met at a premier Greek restaurant in the San Fernando Valley, and all of us were primed to discuss HotPets Bling and the many, possibly unexpected, results of its success—like what had happened in the animal-rescue community in L.A. as a result.

  I’d dressed up for the occasion in a navy skirt and silky blue blouse, and although I wore pumps, they had low heels, as much for comfort as appearance.

  Kendra, though, wore stilettos with her tailored dress, even though she wasn’t as formally clad as she’d been last time I’d seen her. Both men had donned suits, and although I kept it to myself for now, I thought that Matt looked particularly delightful.

  The last time I’d seen Kendra, she had brought her Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Lexie, to the party at HotRescues. “We’re thinking about another party next weekend when the latest group of teacups is ready for adoption. You can bring Lexie then if you’d like.”

  I’d taken Zoey home before coming here. Matt had left Rex at his place, and since we were eating in the Valley, I doubted they’d be my overnight guests tonight, although watching Matt and appreciating how wonderful he looked all dressed up . . . well, I hoped we’d get together alone again soon.

  Dante had ordered us a bottle of Greek wine, and we all toasted one another and HotPets Bling as we sipped the delightful varietal out of crystal glasses while sitting around a round table covered in a white damask cloth.