I’d make sure it wasn’t . . . somehow. But where was the little dog? He obviously wasn’t living where his adopter had claimed they’d be.
What also worried me was that Onyx might not be the only one. I needed to put together a list of all the addresses of people who’d been adopting the teacup dogs.
Now that I’d started worrying, the feeling mushroomed. I hadn’t been overly concerned at the time, but I’d noticed that several of the adopters had similar backgrounds: young, around the same age, some with work-at-home jobs. Theoretically ideal pet owners. And maybe they actually were.
I’d figured that the adorable little dogs in the HotPets Bling ads had particularly appealed to folks like that.
But now I wondered whether there was something else involved.
I was going to find out.
I entered my office rather than doing my usual tour of the shelter. That could wait, especially with the caliber of staff and volunteers who’d be in the kennel area socializing the animals and doing everything else necessary to take care of them.
Including showing them off to potential adopters?
I froze before sitting down. Maybe I’d better go see who was there.
On the other hand, no adoptions would go through without my okay. And I would be a whole lot more careful from now on.
Definitely more careful than I’d thought I’d always been . . .
Damn. I got into the files on the computer once more, then called Brooke.
“Hi,” I said when she answered. “I need you to put on your P.I. hat right now.” That had been her background before I’d hired her as the HotRescues Security Director.
She must have heard the tension in my voice, since she didn’t question what I’d said. “What do you need?”
“I need you to find out who Onyx’s adopter Marshall Droven is—his real background, why he gave a private P.O. box as his address, and where he has put Onyx.”
I heard her sharp intake of breath. “What happened, Lauren?”
I told her. Then I said, “Just to be safe, I want a background check on the other teacup adopters, as well as their confirmed addresses.
“Really? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I hope, except that there has been a mix-up with Onyx. But I need to make sure.”
And before I hung up, I made it very clear to her that I needed all the information yesterday.
• • •
I waited for Brooke to appear later at HotRescues. I’d already checked, and she was the security person scheduled to be here overnight.
I’d taken a couple of walks around the shelter by then. Checked on all our dogs and cats. Particularly hung out for a while, without Zoey, in the small-dog house, where I played with our current teacup residents.
We had gotten four applications on them after our party. With all that had been going on, I hadn’t reviewed them yet.
Now, I would scrutinize them even more carefully. And for the moment, until I had more information about Onyx, I wouldn’t approve any adoptions.
• • •
I’m not usually impulsive. But despite the fact that it was eight o’clock on a Sunday night and not an ideal time to go calling on a stranger, it did have its plus side.
From what Brooke had found out—and assuming Marshall Droven had in fact used his real name—he was a student at Santa Clarita College.
Santa Clarita is just north of the San Fernando Valley. It’s reported to be the third largest city in Los Angeles County, one of the fastest growing cities in California. Both statistics surprised me, but I looked it up online before heading there.
I looked up the college, too. It was small, and its majors included liberal arts and technology.
Nothing about dog-adoption fraud, or at least nothing I could see from its Web site.
I doubted that Marshall had any classes that evening. He might be home studying.
He might be out drinking. Or doing something I wouldn’t like with Onyx. That was why I’d decided to go right away.
Maybe he really was a dog lover and had felt, somehow, that he had to lie or I’d never have approved him.
Given a choice, I wouldn’t approve him now. But I had to see what the situation actually was. If he and Onyx had bonded, his apartment allowed dogs, and he explained his lies in a way that didn’t make me want to strangle him—any more than I wanted to now—then maybe I’d just leave it alone.
Maybe.
Otherwise . . . well, if there was a problem beyond his lying, then I’d have to fix it.
Was this somehow related to the real bling collars? I didn’t see how, and I doubted it. I’d seen no indication that Marshall had any connection with HotPets, just with Onyx. And he’d come back to look at more teacup dogs, not collars.
Why the heck hadn’t he been honest?
Brooke hadn’t found his school schedule. I hadn’t expected her to, and it was most likely irrelevant on a Sunday night. But helpful former P.I. that she is, she’d found his address and phone number.
I chose not to call to see if he’d be around. That would allow him to elude me.
Not that I could be certain of seeing him now. But I had to try.
His apartment was on the third floor of a building on a street lined on both sides with similar structures. I wasn’t sure if Santa Clarita College provided dormitories, but I’d first driven by the school, saw, in the fading August daylight, the attractive façade of a tall, marble-looking building that shouted academia and was surrounded by other, shorter buildings that helped to bolster the atmosphere.
For now, I parked my car on the street about a block away from the apartment building.
I looked around. I saw a student-aged guy walking a golden mix just ahead of me. Not a teacup dog. It wasn’t Marshall anyway. This fellow was skinny and short.
I heard some shrill chattering to my right and glanced that way. Three girls had exited the closest building and were gabbing excitedly. I kept walking.
It didn’t take long to get to Marshall’s building. It was one where I’d need to push a button to get buzzed in, darn it. Most places were like that these days, for security. I wasn’t surprised, and had considered the possibility already. I decided that I was delivering a pizza. No matter which unit he was in, it was unlikely he’d be able to see this entrance from his place. There weren’t any windows positioned suitably.
But to my relief, those three girls had been headed to this building. One of them had a key and let the others in. They were so busy still chattering that they didn’t notice, or care, that I slipped in with them.
I took the elevator with them. They got off at the second floor, and I continued to the third.
I got out and checked how the apartment numbers went. Marshall’s was to the left. I stalked down the hall, getting myself into the mind-set of being prepared to chew him out if he happened to be home.
I rang the bell.
No one answered. But I heard the barking of more than one yappy small dog.
Onyx wasn’t alone.
Chapter 31
If someone had another pet in his home, we tried to make sure our adoptee and that animal got along well together.
Marshall hadn’t admitted to any other pets.
My irritation grew, and I knocked on the door again. Of course, the yapping inside increased, but no one came to see who was disturbing the peace.
At least not from inside Marshall’s apartment. I did hear a door open across the hall and turned, figuring it would be a peeved resident who’d want to tell me to get lost and stop riling the dogs.
She might have, indeed, been a peeved resident, but she was one I recognized. As I recalled, I’d thought she looked younger than the twenty-one years she’d put on her application. She was in a shirt with cropped-off sleeves and jeans and looked pretty young now. Her long brown hair draped around her face and shoulders. What was her name? She’d come to HotRescues at the same time as Marshall and had adopted another of the teacups,
Sapphire. Unsurprisingly, I remembered my animals’ names better than I recalled people’s.
At the instant I turned and recognized her, she apparently recognized me, too. Her face went white as her mouth opened.
“Hi,” I said calmly. “Do you happen to know where Marshall is? I have some questions for him. And I think I have some for you, too . . . er, sorry, but what’s your name?”
“Janice,” she whispered.
“Right. Janice. How is Sapphire?” I had an odd feeling that little Sapphire could be one of the dogs I heard with the one I assumed was Onyx. I believed something was going on here, and Janice’s attitude confirmed it, but I didn’t yet know what it was—besides their lies about their addresses.
“She’s . . . fine,” Janice said haltingly. I watched her gaze dart in what appeared to be fright up and down the hall, as if she sought someone to rescue her from me.
Fortunately for me, no one else emerged. Not yet, at least. But I figured they would soon if the dogs didn’t quiet down.
“I don’t suppose you have a key to Marshall’s apartment, do you?” I asked.
“Well . . . yes. How did you know?”
“I just figured,” I lied. Since I had no comprehension of whatever I’d apparently uncovered here, I was merely guessing. “Why don’t you get the key and we’ll check on the dogs, okay? I’ll bet your neighbors would like that.”
“Okay,” she said huskily. As she ducked back into the other apartment, I stepped up to it and stuck one foot inside, in case I had to prevent her from slamming the door shut. But that didn’t happen.
In a minute, she returned, a key in her hand. The dogs had quieted down a little, but I didn’t mention that. I wanted to go visit with them.
I’d also noticed that Sapphire hadn’t run out the open door, underscoring my belief that she was in the other apartment with Onyx. It sounded like there was another dog in there, too.
Janice preceded me across the hall again, and she opened the door, squeezing her way in so as not to allow tiny dogs to skyrocket into the hallway. I acted as her backup, just in case. And then I followed her in.
Onyx, the black Pomeranian, and Sapphire, the light brown Chihuahua Janice had adopted, were there. So was another little pup, one who looked like Garnet, the little poodle we’d also adopted out from the rescued teacups—to a young woman who was a computer programmer, if I remembered correctly.
“What’s going on here, Janice?” I demanded. “Something doesn’t smell right, and I don’t mean the dogs. Did you all lie on your adoption applications? Should I call one of my cop friends?”
I wanted to scare her so she’d open up. I might take the dogs back, but I probably wouldn’t report her—not unless it appeared that the dogs had been abused. They all looked okay, but I still needed to know why they were here and together.
“No, please,” Janice squeaked. “It’s nothing bad. Not really. We just . . .” She started to cry.
I sighed. Getting information out of a crying child—for she was hardly a stalwart grown-up—might not be easy. “Let’s go into the living room and sit down,” I said. Through an open doorway I’d spotted a couch in a room with a TV, a sofa, and a couple of upholstered wooden chairs sitting on a hardwood floor, a pretty sparse excuse for a living room.
She obediently led me inside and sat on one end of the stiff black leather sofa. The dogs followed and leaped up beside her. She grabbed Sapphire and began crying even harder into the dog’s fur.
I took the other end of the sofa and waited.
When her crying eased a little, I said, “Okay, Janice. Tell me what’s going on.”
She looked up at me with bloodshot and wet hazel eyes. “We just . . . well, we’re all in school, and it’s expensive.” Her tone had taken on a defensive quality, and her lower lip jutted out.
“So you did . . . something . . . for money.” I tried to keep my own voice level, but if she was about to tell me something horrible they’d done with the dogs, I might need to call the police after all—to restrain me from doing something awful to her.
She closed her eyes for a minute and hugged Sapphire against her face again. Onyx and Garnet—for I was pretty well convinced that the little poodle was also one of the dogs I’d rehomed—came over and lay down on my lap. I stroked them as I waited for Janice’s response.
When she opened her eyes again, I glared at her and thought I saw her shudder. But she did start talking.
“It was those ads for those nice decorated collars. You know, the HotPets ones with the jeweled designs. The ads had all those cute little teacup dogs, and we kept hearing on the news that people loved the ads as much as we did, and that none of the shelters could keep as many small dogs available for adoption as there were people wanting to adopt them. We just figured . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?” I demanded, then made myself say in a calmer voice, “What did you figure, Janice?”
“Marshall had the idea. We also heard on the news about that rescue that brought a lot of small dogs from . . . where was it? Missouri?”
“That’s right.”
“They said all of them were going to HotRescues, and Marshall told us that if we got some of those dogs, we wouldn’t have to pay too much to adopt them from a shelter, but other people might pay a lot of money for those cute little things while it was so hard to find them.”
My turn to shudder, and I hugged the pups that were still on my lap. I wanted to yell at her. The money didn’t matter; the well-being of those cute little dogs did.
But I mentally patted myself on the back as I stayed outwardly calm. “And is that what you did—adopt them, then sell them?”
“Some of them, yes. But it wasn’t as easy as Marshall originally thought. We—”
The front door opened then. We both turned to look up as the little dogs bolted from our laps and ran toward the new arrival. It was Marshall. He didn’t look the way he did when he’d taken me in by taking in Onyx—somewhat nicely dressed, with light brown hair—but as he had the last time he’d been to HotRescues and I’d thought I had recognized him, with darker, possibly dyed hair and somewhat grungy casual clothes.
He noticed us immediately, which wasn’t surprising. “What the hell?” Ignoring the dogs who pranced around his feet and yapped, he approached us. “What’s going on, Janice?” But he was looking at me, not her.
“She came here and heard the dogs and wanted to know what was happening with them.” Janice started to blather. “And I thought she needed to know the dogs were okay, and she said she’d call the cops, and—”
“Shut up,” he growled, finally looking at the young woman. Not unexpectedly, Janice started to cry again.
He took no time to reach us. I’d stood up, not wanting to be in a position of weakness as he stared down at me, but he was tall and broad enough that I still felt a little intimidated. Only for a second, though.
I placed my hands on my hips and let all the belligerence I felt show. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing, Marshall, but I want to know what you intend to do with these dogs—and you’d also better tell me what other ones you and your friends adopted, and what you’ve done with them.”
“That’s none of your business,” he retorted. “They’re ours now.”
“Not completely true,” I contradicted. “You and all of your friends who are involved signed contracts. There are minimum standards of care in them, and I have the right to take the dogs back if any of those standards aren’t met. There’s more than that in them, too. I can at least get a lawyer involved and sue you for breach of contract if anything’s not met, and I’ve got all the resources of Dante DeFrancisco behind me if necessary.” Not entirely true, although I knew that Dante would back me up. “And there’s always the possibility that you broke the law, in which case I’ll get some of my cop friends involved. Janice and I already discussed that a bit.”
With each word, it seemed, Marshall wilted a little. As I finished, he took a few steps
backward, almost stepping on Onyx. I swooped down and picked up the little Pom.
“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong,” he said to the floor. “I like dogs. I figured I could find them good homes, too, and make some money while doing it. No one would get hurt, especially not the dogs, and I was even sharing with my friends who helped out. We’d all have some help with our school expenses for the coming year.”
“Do you all attend Santa Clarita College?” I asked.
“That’s right, and the tuition just went up. Again.”
That, unfortunately, was the norm for all higher education these days. Probably all education altogether.
But feeling sorry for them did not trump how I felt about what they’d been doing with my little rescued teacups.
“So, tell me what you’ve been doing with them. How many of my adopted-out rescues are involved, and where are they now?”
“We haven’t had as much luck adopting them out as I’d hoped,” Marshall admitted. He moved around me and sank onto the couch. Janice, too, sat back down and watched us.
I remained standing, my arms crossed, regarding Marshall sternly.
“Go on,” I said.
He explained that he and his friends had adopted seven of my teacups from HotRescues. These three hadn’t been rehomed by them, but the other four had: Aquamarine, Opal, Topaz, and Amethyst. “But some of the potential adopters wanted copies of their pedigrees. I know they were rescued from puppy mills, so there was probably some kind of documentation like that, but we didn’t get it from you so I couldn’t really provide it—at least nothing that would be at all legitimate.”
“I didn’t get their pedigrees either, if they had any,” I told him. Occasionally I received that kind of paperwork in puppy-mill rescues, but it was irrelevant to adopting from a shelter so I never insisted on it, even when I suspected or knew that a dog was a purebred.
Teacup Tubulence Page 20
