Beaglemania

by Linda O. Johnston

  He pulled slowly from the hospital, driving as if he feared that any jostling would catapult me into greater pain.

  “I’m fine, Matt,” I told him, as if he’d asked again.

  “You don’t look it,” he muttered.

  I laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

  His turn to laugh. The tense atmosphere melted, replaced by the warmth of a late spring night in Los Angeles.

  But congeniality wasn’t exactly on my agenda. “What did the cops ask you?” I said casually.

  We were stopped at a light, and he peered at me with suspicion, as if I’d made an official complaint against him. “They seemed to think I set the whole thing up at HotRescues, and that I even called my own cell from there so it would look like someone else was there, framing me.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any truth to that.”

  “Lauren, why the hell are you with me now if you think I could possibly have done that?”

  The light changed, and he accelerated slowly, not looking at me.

  “I don’t. But I’d like you to tell me you didn’t.”

  He was silent for a long time. I didn’t think it was an admission of guilt, but I squirmed a little nevertheless.

  “I didn’t do it,” he finally asserted. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly, unsure whether I was fibbing. “No need ever to mention it again. So, I really appreciate your coming to pick me up. My leg is sore but it’s bandaged, I’m a little bruised, and I have painkillers. No need to mention that again, either. Nina is waiting at HotRescues. I asked her to make sure that Honey is okay. You can just drop me off there. I won’t be alone.”

  We’d turned onto Rinaldi and were only about a minute away.

  “I want to go home and get some sleep,” he said. “But don’t argue with me when I say I’m walking in with you.”

  I didn’t.

  I was both delighted and scared when I saw Carlie there waiting with Nina, both sitting at the visitors’ table in the welcoming area. “Is Honey all right?” I asked immediately. Why would a vet be there at that hour except to take care of an injured animal?

  “She’s fine,” Carlie assured me, rising. “I was waiting for you.” She eyed Matt, and I introduced them.

  I hadn’t seen my closest friend for a while. She looked as attractive in her jeans and “Pet Fitness Forever” T-shirt as if she was ready to be filmed for a show. Carlie was about my age, wore her highlighted blond hair shoulder length, and looked as youthful with her softly chiseled features and bright violet eyes as if she’d had plastic surgery—which she hadn’t.

  “You’re on that animal health show on LVC, aren’t you?” Matt asked.

  They chatted for a minute as I sidled toward Nina. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “I hope so,” she replied. My second in command looked pale and even more drawn than usual. “I was really frightened when you called, both for you and for Honey. I called Carlie when I got here, just to be sure. She says Honey’s fine. Are you?”

  “Definitely.”

  Matt and Carlie ended their discussion and looked across the table at Nina and me.

  “Looks like you’re in good hands,” Matt said. I noticed then, in the inside lights, that he appeared as exhausted as I felt. It harshened his features, made him appear more masculine, and maybe more handsome.

  I should have been too tired to notice.

  “I sure am,” I told him.

  “Good. I’m leaving.” He approached, took me into his arms with all other eyes in the room on us, and gave me a kiss. A brief one, to be sure. But it felt like more than a pleasant contact between friends. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” He said goodbye to the others, then left.

  “So why didn’t you tell me about him?” Carlie demanded, motioning for me to sit down. She joined me at the table.

  “Is it okay for me to leave now?” Nina asked from behind the counter.

  “Sure. One question first, though.”

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and looked down at me. “What?”

  “Were there any animals that you learned are scheduled for euthanasia first thing tomorrow when you were at the East Valley Care Center this evening, before you came here? Any we can rescue?”

  “Oh. Well, I wound up not going tonight.”

  She hadn’t mentioned that before. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Sure. I just . . . I mean, I checked and they had enough other volunteers tonight, so I went home.”

  I didn’t know where the thought came from, but I realized that Nina could easily have sneaked onto the HotRescues property and put Honey into the storage building under those awful circumstances. She’d have no trouble lifting those bags, attaching the knife. She might have known I’d been with Matt and could have called him. Set him up.

  I’d demanded answers from him, but I was too tired to get into it with her.

  Besides, I had no idea what her motivation could have been.

  Throwing her onto the pile of suspects had to be an offshoot of all the insecurity floating in my brain. A result of painkillers gone awry. Whatever. But when I wasn’t so tired, I just might type up a page on her for my Efram files.

  “Thanks for checking on Honey and everything,” was all I said.

  She bent and gave me a quick hug, then left.

  “So you’re really okay?” Carlie eyed me critically, as only Carlie could do, with her veterinarian’s appraising glare.

  “More or less.” I could be honest with her.

  “I’ve checked on Honey more than once and taken a peek at the rest of the animals,” she told me. “Everyone appears fine. Time for you to go home and get some sleep.”

  “I agree.”

  “You up for lunch tomorrow? I want to interrogate you about this whole situation.”

  “You and the cops,” I said with a doleful shake of my head.

  Carlie reached across the table, rested her hand on mine. “Number one: no matter how miserable that Efram slime-ball was, I know you didn’t hurt him. Number two: whoever did kill him probably is now out to hurt you; hence the incident tonight. Number three: you’re too tired now to be coherent, but tomorrow we’ll discuss your plan of attack to make sure whoever is doing this is caught.”

  “Number four,” I said, smiling faintly. “You’re a hell of a good friend.”

  I allowed myself to sleep in a bit the next morning.

  When I woke, I ached all over. First thing, I called HotRescues and learned that Nina wasn’t there yet, either, but Ricki, the volunteer who answered the phone, assured me that everything was fine. “Pete Engersol came in early as always. He and I are holding down the fort.”

  As long as the fort included the entirety of HotRescues, that was great. I dressed quickly, ate a quick bowl of cereal so I wouldn’t take my painkillers on an empty stomach, and hurried there.

  I did my first walk-through right away. Honey was right where she belonged, cute as always, and I entered her kennel to give her a hug.

  “I’m going to concentrate on finding you a new home,” I assured her. “I doubt anything else bad will happen to you here, but you deserve someone who’ll pamper you all the time.”

  The possibility of taking her home myself darted through me. But I wasn’t the right person for her . . . even if she’d been the right dog for me. Which she wasn’t.

  I contacted EverySecurity. Spoke with Ed Bransom, who’d come in early, too, despite his late night. He said they still didn’t know who had gotten into HotRescues last night but were looking into it, checking out the camera feeds, et cetera.

  Of course they were. We paid for services that I’d considered adequate . . . before. Now, they had to prove they weren’t completely useless—and I suspected that would be as impossible as ensuring that every abandoned pet in the LA area had a loving home by tomorrow.

  But even if I wanted to fire them, I would need Dante’s okay. He was good buddies with their CEO at their corporate
headquarters in Chicago.

  Next, I thought about calling Matt. Instead, I phoned Carlie and arranged to meet her for lunch at a restaurant specializing in pies, located halfway between her veterinary clinic and HotRescues. I wasn’t after dessert, just a salad. Same went for her.

  We both arrived on time. “So,” she said after a server had taken our order, “you’re doing better today, right?” She gave me a critical once-over again. She was dressed pretty much as she’d been last night—casually. I knew she wore a white veterinary jacket while seeing patients and also, often, on her show. Right now, she was off duty. But that didn’t mean she was off my case.

  “Well enough.” I knew better than to try to convince her everything was perfect. Besides, the knife wound still hurt.

  “Then tell me everything—but keep it brief and to the point.”

  I did, describing the rescue from the puppy mill, my reason for being there, how much I’d wanted to strangle Efram . . . and how I’d found him at HotRescues without harming him myself. “There’s a homicide detective who seems to think otherwise, though.” I sighed.

  “You’re not just letting life batter you around that way, are you?” She looked at me shrewdly. We’d learned a lot about each other in the six years since she’d been the first adopter of a pet from HotRescues and we’d become friends.

  “Not hardly.” I told her even more succinctly about the unofficial investigation I was conducting on my own behalf.

  “That’s my girl!” she exclaimed. “I’ll want to see those organizational charts and files one of these days, in case I can give you any helpful ideas.”

  “We’ll see,” I said as our lunch was finally served.

  Carlie was definitely insightful, and her input might be helpful.

  Though I always preferred taking care of things myself, I wasn’t above seeking assistance when I needed it.

  And in this situation, I definitely needed it.

  Chapter 21

  I returned to my office. Discussing the whole mess with Carlie had inspired me to leap right in and update my written plan to unearth the killer. I sat down at the computer and began creating the new electronic files I’d been considering, including one for Matt.

  I also started a separate new file for last night’s incident. I tried to analyze what had happened—and what the perpetrator’s motive could be.

  My initial guess? I must have spoken with whoever it was since Efram’s murder—a thought that both made me shudder and cheer inside. All I had to do was figure out who it was—out of my ample list of suspects.

  That person might now believe that I knew he or she was the killer and that it was just a matter of time until I proved it.

  As a result, that person tried to thwart me by harming me in multiple ways.

  First, potentially hurting one of my pet charges at my sanctuary. Which especially riled me.

  Second, hurting me. I could live with that . . . as long as it eventually led to answers.

  Third, setting things up to appear as if I had created the whole scenario myself, as if in an attempt to get the cops to focus their suspicions on someone other than me—and also making it look as if I’d botched it. That would only make the cops more certain I’d murdered Efram.

  The whole thing made me furious. Sure, it was complicated—which made it all the more likely that the cops would buy into the ludicrous plot and continue to suspect me. How else could last night’s fiasco have happened, especially with our security company on high alert? Once more, I’d been the only one around that they knew of, thanks to their ineptitude. Except, maybe, for Matt.

  A knock sounded on my door. Before I could drag my eyes from my computer screen and respond, Nina popped in.

  “Hi, Lauren,” she said. “How are you doing today?”

  I took a deep, calming breath before responding. No need to confront Nina with my anger . . . or concern. “I’m okay. My leg’s healing well—hardly hurts at all. So—how are you doing?” Like, why did you come in so late this morning?

  I didn’t ask, though. She was probably exhausted, too, after last night.

  When I glanced her way, Nina looked as miserable as if she was one of the dogs sometimes brought in off the street: abused-looking and forlorn. The ones we particularly hated to turn over to a city shelter in compliance with the terms of our operating permit. Dogs like the one Efram had claimed to own . . .

  “Everything okay?” I repeated.

  “Sure.” She lifted the edges of her lips as if she were a marionette with a sad clown’s face, being controlled by a puppeteer. “What are you up to?” She walked in and looked over my shoulder at the computer.

  I didn’t try to minimize the screen. She was a lot more tech-proficient than me. Maybe she could help. “I’m working on my plans to figure out what happened to Efram,” I told her. “What happened here last night has to be connected. I’m trying to analyze everything I can about all possible suspects. If you have any other ideas, let me know.”

  I prepared to show her exactly what I’d done so far, when I heard a strange noise, like a sob. Facing Nina once more, I saw how distorted her face had become. She was crying.

  “What’s wrong, Nina?” I stood and took her arm, leading her gently toward one of the chairs facing me.

  “You . . . you need to add me to your list,” she gasped out.

  I stopped, staring at her. “What do you mean?”

  She sat and looked at her hands in her lap, obviously avoiding my gaze. “I was late today because that detective who’s questioned you—Garciana?” I nodded but she couldn’t have seen me with her head bowed. “He was asking me questions again about Efram and you and—”

  “He’s still questioning you about whether I killed Efram?” I felt as horrified as if he was badgering my kids about whether they thought I could murder someone I loathed. Nina wasn’t my child, but she was my subordinate here, which had its similarities.

  “Well, yes. But it was more than that.” She looked up at me with flooded waiflike eyes. “They really suspect both of us, Lauren.”

  Not just me, then. “Why do they suspect you?” I asked softly.

  “Efram . . . I didn’t tell you, but he threatened me after the puppy mill rescue.” Her voice was a quiet siren’s wail of a moan.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d told you about it and you were there, and you said you’d have Dante DeFrancisco stop paying Efram for his work here at HotRescues. I was scared. The first threats . . . well, they were anonymous and general, and I thought they were from my ex . . .”

  Her abusive ex-husband. No wonder she was a cauldron of emotions now. I didn’t recall her being particularly emotional between the time of the puppy mill incident and Efram’s death. Even so . . . “But it wasn’t him, it was Efram. How did you find out?”

  “They were e-mails from an address I didn’t recognize. I think Efram knew about my past. Maybe someone here had mentioned it when he was around. I don’t know. But he was playing games with me at first. After sending a couple, he called me. Said it was him, and wasn’t this a fun game? I hung up on him. But then he called back and said if I didn’t listen, if I didn’t fix things with you and with Dante, he’d do even worse things to me than my ex did. I was considering whether I should call the cops, or at least tell you . . . and then Efram was found here dead. I felt so strangely happy that someone so evil had died. I also felt scared. His death was mysterious, and I was afraid I’d become a suspect. But . . . but if I’d spoken up earlier, maybe no one would be suspecting you.” She broke into sobs again.

  Interesting. But even if she hadn’t told the entire truth before, I still couldn’t bring myself to start pointing fingers at her as being my number-one suspect in Efram’s death . . . yet.

  “Nina?” She looked at me again, her pallor even whiter than I’d ever seen it before. “Two questions.”

  She didn’t react.

  “Did you kill Efram?”

  “No,” she rasped.r />
  “Did you set Honey and me up last night?”

  “No!”

  I stood and approached her. She cringed, as if she thought the next abusive person in her life would be me. Which made me want to cry, too.

  Instead, I knelt, put an arm around her. “Okay, then. You didn’t do either. I didn’t do either. I still have work to do to figure this out. We’ll help each other. All right?”

  “Lauren, you’re the greatest.” She turned and hugged me tightly.

  When she left my office a little while later, I knew she wouldn’t think I was so great if she knew what I was doing.

  I’d considered it before, but now I did it: I created a page on her in my list of possible murder suspects.

  It almost seemed preordained—synchronicity or whatever—that Matt called while I was putting the finishing touches on the notes in my file on him. Of course he had said that we’d talk today, after he drove me to HotRescues last night. Why not now?

  Last night. That kiss . . .

  So what?

  “Are we on tomorrow for your visit here to see the animals rescued from the puppy mill?” he asked.

  “I’d love to,” I said, meaning it. We set up a time, and I smiled at my phone as I hung up.

  Then I frowned at my computer screen. All of what I was sticking there was interesting, but would it really help me zero in on Efram’s killer? I wasn’t a detective. I knew nothing about investigations except what I saw on TV cop shows, and, as I’d considered before recently, I knew from everything I’d read that they were all about drama and nothing about reality.

  I needed information. Guidance.

  Even if I didn’t explain why I needed it.

  I lifted the phone once more, took a card out of my top drawer—one I’d stuffed in there, never intending to look at it again—and called Detective Stefan Garciana.

  Chapter 22

  Detective Garciana worked out of the LAPD’s Devonshire Division. I arrived at the Devonshire Community Police Station, a low brick and concrete building on Etiwanda Avenue, at exactly the time he’d agreed to see me, three that afternoon.