So the fact that I was exhausted? Irrelevant.
Hearing voices as I opened the door from the parking lot, I slipped into our welcome area. Nina was there with a middle-aged couple, who sat at the window table apparently filling out forms. We required a lot of paperwork, including a contract adopters signed to make sure they knew what we expected of them.
Nina turned toward me. “Hi, Lauren. Remember the Tylers? Frannie and Morris. They were here last week looking at pets to adopt, and they really fell for Elmer.”
“We’ll probably change his name, though.” Morris was a bit flabby, with more hair on his eyebrows than the top of his head. His broad grin looked almost sappy as he spoke about our resident, and I couldn’t help smiling back. That kind of caring was what I really liked to see.
“If that’s okay.” Frannie, equally chubby, was dressed in a loose Pepperdine University T-shirt. She looked worriedly from Nina to me, as if we’d snatch Elmer back from their waiting arms out of anger that they might dare to name him something else.
I wouldn’t, of course—not for that reason, anyway. But I needed to know more about them than the way they completed our adoption papers. “So . . . has Nina asked questions about your home, if you have any other pets, and where Elmer will sleep?”
“She sure did,” Morris said.
“They have a house with a nice yard, no other pets—and Elmer will sleep in their bedroom,” Nina added. All the things we wanted to hear, although other compatible pets were fine. If we didn’t get these answers, or other suitable ones, we wouldn’t allow our visitors here to adopt.
“And after you were here last week and met Elmer, how many other shelters did you visit?”
A flush crept up Frannie’s cheeks. “A few. But we didn’t meet any dogs we liked as well.”
“Great.” I still had another question, though. I leaned back against our reception desk and folded my arms. “Did you come back today because you saw HotRescues on the news?”
Morris stood, frowning. “We almost didn’t come back because of it. But we couldn’t blame poor Elmer for what happened here.”
“He needs a good home, away from all the excitement,” his wife asserted, also confronting me. “I know the reporters are saying you’re a ‘person of interest,’ or whatever, in the death of that man found here. The main thing is that we’d already decided to come back, see if we could adopt Elmer, so all that really made no difference to us.”
I smiled. “Just the kind of people I look for as possible dog adopters!” I still had to officially okay them, of course, and my standards were high. But so far, approval seemed likely.
Both appeared to relax. Me, too.
“Okay, then.” Relief erased some of the tension from Nina’s face. “We still have formalities to go through, even after you fill out the paperwork. We’ll want you to meet with Elmer in our visitors’ park, away from the stress of his cage and having all the other dogs so close. We’ll see then how you get along. For minor issues, our part-time animal trainer is here to help.”
So Si had come in today. That was a good thing.
“We’ll also want you to meet with our adoption counselor. She’s due here in about an hour. Okay?”
“Whatever it takes,” Frannie agreed. “We brought some pictures of our home, like we were asked to last time we were here, so you can see where our dog will live.”
I watched with pleasure as Nina accompanied them into the shelter area. I suspected all would go well between them and Elmer—or whatever they later named that sweet black Lab.
I marveled at the fact that another thing, besides lunch with Dante and Kendra, appeared to be going right that day.
I was in my office later when someone knocked on the door.
Better that kind of interruption than all the phone calls I had been ignoring. I’d learned from my kids how to silence the ringer on my BlackBerry when I went to meetings or shows. They’d taught me about apps as well; some I used a lot and others I used less.
Today, I’d glanced at my gadget now and then to check the list of missed calls and return those of people I actually wanted to hear from.
I’d let one of the volunteers—Bev today, a senior citizen who came here at least once a week, usually more—answer my office phone when not outside walking dogs or performing other duties, and she let me know if it was someone I wanted to talk to.
But now, Si Rogan stood at my door.
“Hi,” I said. “Have you met with the Tylers and Elmer yet?”
“I sure did.” His broad smile told the story he was about to relate, but I could hardly wait to hear it anyway.
“Have a seat.” I pointed to the two chairs facing my crowded desk.
He maneuvered his way into one so quickly that I hardly had time to blink. Not surprising. The guy was a dog trainer, skilled in teaching agility. That meant he was nimble, too.
Today, he wore one of his own company’s T-shirts: Rogan’s Dog Obedience Studio.
“So tell me all about it,” I said. “How did the Tylers get along with Elmer?”
“Great! Elmer is a pretty enthusiastic guy, like most Labs, but he was willing to obey some pretty basic commands—come, sit, down, whatever. When he wasn’t moving, you could tell from his eyes and the beat of his tail that what he really wanted was to leap up and shower them with attention. They loved it! I did give them pointers, like making sure to be disciplinarians right away so he’d consider them the alphas of his new pack. They can let up in the future, if they want.”
“So they’re still enthused about Elmer?”
“Looks that way. We’ll see if Mona approves them later.” Si’s smile drooped. “I’d planned to come here today anyway, Lauren. What really happened here last night?”
“You mean you don’t believe everything you hear in the news?” I didn’t attempt to keep the irony from my voice.
“Not even when it’s consistent stuff, but the reporters were all over the place in what they were saying. What really went down?”
I told Si my version of what went on here in the middle of the night. His expression grew more and more sympathetic. He even stood and leaned over my desk toward me, as if he wanted to give me a hug.
Under most circumstances, I wouldn’t let that happen. But at that moment I wasn’t averse to sympathy.
Even so, I broke away quickly and sat back down. “Thanks, Si. It’s good to have so many friends in my corner, like you.”
A tiny look of hurt passed across his face, replaced by a sad smile. “You can always count on me, Lauren.”
A little while later, volunteer Bev popped her head in to say that Dr. Mona Harvey had arrived. Bev had taken the Tylers upstairs to meet with our chief adoption counselor.
“How long ago did they start talking?” I asked.
Bev was short and thin, and had just a touch of a slouch that suggested osteoporosis. But she had as much energy as any of the volunteers a third of her age. She looked at the outsized watch on her skinny wrist and said, “Ten minutes or so.”
“I’ll go see how they’re doing,” I said.
Si walked out with me on his way to see what he could do to help. I left Bev staffing the welcome area and headed upstairs. Passing the conference table, I knocked on the door of Mona’s office but didn’t wait for her invitation before entering.
Mona looked relaxed behind the small wooden desk. The Tylers, too, did not seem overly stressed. I gathered I’d interrupted a mutually enjoyable conversation.
“So how’s everything going?” I directed the comment to our part-time shrink.
She pulled her glasses off and rested them on the desk, a gesture I’d learned was positive. If she was unhappy, she generally used her glasses to hide behind as she frowned.
“Did you know the Tylers have had Labs in the past? They know a lot about the breed and the dogs’ temperaments.”
Actually, I did know. Our application forms required that prospective adopters tell us about pets they’ve had be
fore as well as current ones. But Mona’s second sentence told me more.
“We lost our last one about a year ago,” Frannie said sadly. “Morris wanted us to adopt again right away, but I thought we needed a mourning period.”
“Frannie jumped in to start looking for a new dog as soon as she thought enough time had passed,” Morris said, beaming.
“So we don’t have to go through as hard a period as this again, we might even consider adopting another Lab, or a Lab mix,” Frannie added. “Plus it would be great for Elmer, as you call him, to have a friend. Please keep us in mind if you get any others as wonderful as he is.”
I aimed another quick glance at Mona, who nodded.
It looked as if Elmer was about to find a loving home, whatever his new name might be.
Mona and I watched from the parking lot a little while later, while the Tylers drove off without Elmer.
No matter how good potential adopters seem, we almost never allow the placement to occur on the day they first make their decision about which pet they want. At adoption fairs—well, we allow it sometimes, as long as we really like the adopters and make it clear how intrusive we’ll be in their lives until we feel comfortable a rehoming is working out.
Generally, though, we continue to review applications for a day or several, often visit homes, and give people the chance to change their minds.
But I felt fairly certain this one would work out, especially since the Tylers had come back so enthused after meeting Elmer before.
“I’d like to talk to you about what happened here last night,” Mona said as we reached the door. She seemed to examine my face, as if she could read my emotions. Maybe she could. She was, after all, a shrink.
“If you’ve seen the news, you’ve gotten the gist of it. I found Efram. He’d been stabbed, possibly in the back. The cops found me with him and assumed I’d been the one to stab him.”
“But you didn’t, of course.”
“I didn’t. I had a motive, though.”
Mona nodded. “His threats. If the cops look at that as the motive, though, it would fit everyone here. The animals, too.”
I returned her smile. “You going to tell them that?”
She sobered immediately. “Probably. I’m scheduled to talk to a detective. He’s meeting me at my office, and I’m already running late. Oh, well.” She didn’t sound at all repentant.
“Is his name Garciana?”
She nodded.
“I take it you didn’t sneak in here in the middle of the night and stab that miserable excuse for a human being, did you? If you admit it to Garciana, you’ll get me off the hook.”
“Even if I did it, I’d never admit it, Lauren. Not even to save you.”
We were both joking. Darkest humor.
Even so, someone had done it. Right now, everyone I knew who was connected at all to Efram was a suspect, no matter who the cops leaned on.
“Some detective has been calling you,” Bev told me when I returned to my office.
“Garciana?”
“Yes,” she confirmed.
I reached into the pocket of my jeans for a card I’d gotten from Kendra at lunch. It had information on the lawyer she had suggested I contact if I needed guidance in dealing with Efram’s murder investigation. I glanced at it. The name was Esther Ickes.
“Thanks,” I told Bev. At my desk, I called Esther right away. She was in her office and told me that Kendra had given her a heads-up that I might be in touch.
“I’d suggest that we meet, maybe . . . How’s one o’clock Monday afternoon?” It was Saturday now.
“Fine, unless I have to speak before that with the detective who’s been calling me. The one who asked me questions last night, when I found Efram’s body, left me a message.”
“Don’t talk to him any more without my being with you,” Esther cautioned. “Go ahead and return his call, but let him know you’re now represented by counsel.”
“So I’ve ‘lawyered up’?”
Esther sounded both amused and kind. “That’s right.”
I’d have stayed at HotRescues that night if it had been in the best interests of our animals, no matter what had happened there with Efram.
But I’d been in touch with our security company. Though they’d done a crappy job last night, allowing Efram to get in—and his killer, too—and not staying in touch with me as they should have, they were still under contract with HotRescues. Without admitting any responsibility, they had checked out our on-site cameras and offered to send even more patrols to the area that night.
Plus, I figured the cops would still have a presence in the area.
Before I left, Pete Engersol and I went through the facility enclosure by enclosure, making sure everything was clean and secure, that every animal’s records indicated they’d eaten when they were supposed to, and that they all had plenty of water. Then I’d walked through again and headed home.
My place was in Porter Ranch, not far from the Granada Hills location of HotRescues. It was a pleasant house in a gated community, a good place to have brought up my kids. I knew my neighbors, at least to wave to and to give treats to their pets as they went for walks in front of my house when I happened to be home during the day. That was now a rarity, especially since my kids were both away at college.
I’d had pets at home before, when the kids were younger—dogs, hamsters, cats. The last, a Boston terrier that Tracy had especially loved, had died six months ago. I’d been here alone then. Grieved deeply over poor Bosley. Hadn’t wanted to grieve again that way, so although I’d considered adopting a pet from HotRescues, I’d not done so. I had definitely empathized with the people who’d adopted Elmer that day, though.
Tonight, alone here after all that had happened, was the first time I really regretted having no pets to greet me.
Now, I just wanted to head straight for bed. I’d picked up a salad at a fast-food restaurant’s drive-through, though, so I decided to eat first.
I turned on the TV and sat through the beginning of a cop show, chewing on the irony of it along with my dinner. Then I pulled my BlackBerry out of my pocket and used its online function to view news about what had happened at HotRescues, and finally checked it for anyone whose call I should return.
My friend Carlie’s number, my kids’, parents’, brother’s, and Nina’s, appeared with a bunch I didn’t recognize. Some of the unknowns had called a few times.
I tried returning Carlie’s call first. As far as I knew, she was still on her trip to the east to film a segment for her pet health TV show. It was three hours later there—after eleven o’clock—so she’d probably have her cell phone turned off, but I could leave a message.
To my surprise, she answered. “Can’t talk now,” she whispered. “In a meeting about what we’re doing tomorrow. But”—I heard voices in the background, then Carlie said—“you’ve been a busy girl. In the news here. You okay?”
“Yes, but—”
“You kill him?”
“No!” I practically shouted.
“I figured. Talk to you soon.” She hung up.
I stared at my BlackBerry for nearly a minute, willing Carlie to call back, but, of course, she didn’t. Sighing, I next checked in with family, although I’d spoken with all of them earlier, too. I again assured them all I was doing fine. Then I returned Nina’s call.
“Everything okay?” I asked. I knew she was doing her regular volunteer work at a city shelter that night.
“Fine. But Captain Matt Kingston got in touch with me. He said he’s left you several phone messages, but you haven’t called him back.”
“I’ve only returned a few other calls besides to you,” I told her. “And none was to him. Which one’s his number?”
She told me, and I pushed it into my cell phone. It was fairly late, so I expected I’d just have to leave a message, too, but at least I now would recognize it when he called back.
But he answered right away. “It’s about time, Lauren. Lo
ok, I don’t want to talk to you over the phone. Meet me for a drink.” He named a place not far from HotRescues. “There are some things you should know.”
To hell with my exhaustion. I let curiosity and the need to be in human company—especially the company of Matt Kingston—outweigh common sense and agreed to meet him in half an hour.
Chapter 9
We met at the bar of a great Mexican restaurant where I’d eaten lunch occasionally. The place was crowded—it was a Saturday night—but we still found a table for two along a wall.
I was tired enough that I considered ordering something nonalcoholic, but not long or seriously. I deserved one drink, as long as it wasn’t too strong. A strawberry margarita whet my appetite and it would soon wet my lips. Matt chose a Dos Equis beer.
I’d taken time to shower fast and change out of the HotRescues outfit I’d worn for nearly two days, sometimes with the hoodie for warmth and sometimes not. Now, I wore a yellow long-sleeved shirt tucked into khaki pants. I’d decided to throw on something that would make me appear cheerful. I was afraid that what Matt wanted to see me about had something to do with the disposition of the animals from the puppy mill—in a manner I’d hate.
That would only add insult to the injury of being a suspect in killing a wretched member of the human race who’d hurt them in the first place.
Last time I’d seen Matt, he’d worn an Animal Services uniform. Now, he had a sport jacket on over a shirt and slacks. Trying to impress me?
More likely, he’d been to some kind of meeting before.
When our orders were taken, we chatted amiably for a while, loud enough to hear one another over the endless thunder of conversations in the bar. I knew we were here on business—the very important business of saving animals. Even so, we edged into some personal small talk about our favorite things about LA, our jobs and mutual acquaintances. I hadn’t dated for a while, but this felt a bit like what I remembered.
Beaglemania Page 8
