The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I’m here to pay my respects,” she said quietly. “And to show everyone I have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t hurt Bethany.”

  You did hurt a lot of animals, I thought, and might have wanted to hide that from this group—and your behavior was certainly something to be ashamed of. But that wasn’t what she meant. Since I’d already promised myself I’d try to learn the truth about Bethany’s death, and hoped that Mamie wasn’t the killer, I should have felt happier to see her there. She was right, wasn’t she? Showing up at Bethany’s funeral was a positive gesture and a moment of holding her head up instead of slinking away in guilt.

  Maybe.

  I glanced around. People had begun wending their way into the chapel. A couple I recognized from the hoarding meeting at Bethany’s glanced our way, and Mamie, obviously knowing who they were, nodded a solemn greeting to them.

  “Are they members of Pet Shelters Together?” I asked her.

  “Yes, poor things.”

  We joined the throng heading for the service. “I’d like for you to introduce me to them later,” I said, “if the opportunity arises and you don’t feel uncomfortable talking to them.” Even though she might not know all the members of PST, I figured I could count on her more than on Darya to introduce me to those she was familiar with.

  “Why would I feel uncomfortable?” She looked puzzled.

  Because they’re animal rescuers, and you’re a known hoarder, I thought but didn’t say it out loud. Apparently my concerns about her discomfort were unfounded.

  “No reason,” I lied. “But if you happen to see anyone else you know, I’d like to meet them, too,”

  “In case one of them killed Bethany?” Her voice sounded eager. Although she kept her eyes down as we walked, she glanced sideways at me. She might have no sense of reality about her hoarding, but she otherwise appeared fairly astute at times.

  “We’ll see,” I answered.

  I stayed with Mamie for the service in the small, crowded chapel, with its arched ceiling and gorgeous chandeliers. We found seats in a row of pews near the back of the room.

  It was most likely the kind of rite Bethany would have wanted, except for the lack of celebrities. But she was eulogized by a whole bunch of pet rescuers who’d signed their facilities up as part of PST. I still wanted Mamie to introduce me to them, but as I sat in the pew, I wrote down names of the people and the shelters they ran so I could follow up later.

  The chairman of the board of directors of the group who’d bought Better Than Any Cosmetics from Bethany also praised her—her creativity, her foresight, her business acumen, and her generosity of spirit for selling out and taking on pet rescue as her cause.

  Miguel Rohrig spoke, too. As he had before when we’d talked briefly at the restaurant, he truly appeared to mourn Bethany’s loss. He talked about how sweet and generous she was. And how, to the extent he could, he would try to continue her work.

  Cricket Borley echoed those thoughts. She was certainly in a better position to do so, given that she was Bethany’s apparent successor as the head of Better Than Any Pet Rescues and Pet Shelters Together. She waved some photos she said were of dogs and cats for whom Bethany had recently found new homes, and tearfully chatted about Bethany’s high pet adoption rate, talking about how the animals would miss her most of all. I found my eyes tearing up, too.

  Mamie must have noticed. “I admit she did some good,” she whispered, “but she made other shelters in her network take in a lot of the older or otherwise less adoptable animals, so her own record looked good.”

  I glanced at her. This was something I needed additional information about, but not just then. “I want to hear more later,” I whispered back.

  “I guess her exes aren’t going to say anything,” Mamie murmured later as the service drew to a close.

  “Are they here?” I asked in a low tone, surprised by the possibility.

  “Sure. There’s John Jerremiah and there’s Sam Legroote.” Mamie pointed off to the left, to two guys sitting not far from one another toward the front rows of pews. “I’ll bet they’re here to cheer her passing.” She spoke right into my ear. “But knowing Bethany and her love of publicity, she probably left them something in her will if they showed up at her funeral. If so, she’d have told them in advance.”

  I wished it was appropriate for me to set up interviews with all the people here who I thought might have disliked Bethany, but it was, after all, her funeral.

  Even so, when the service was over and Bethany’s remains were placed in a vault in an ornate structure nearby, I looked around. Miguel, instead of being surrounded by fawning women, was now talking with Bethany’s ex-husbands. I found that interesting. Were they comparing notes about the exes’ divorce settlements, and how they stacked up against anything Bethany had left Miguel? Had Mamie guessed correctly, and they were being paid to show up?

  Had she left anything to Miguel—like, enough to constitute a motive to kill her?

  And what about the shelter administrators she’d recruited into PST and then, perhaps, used to suit her own blatant needs?

  I had a feeling that my speculations and more might get answered—correctly or not—on some of those celebrity-following TV shows, since the media reps were snapping pictures from the fringes of the crowd still milling on the cemetery grounds.

  The LAPD detectives kept looking in our direction, and I believed they were scoping out Mamie and what she was doing here.

  I did get some of my wishes fulfilled when Mamie took my arm and led me toward where a group of pet rescuers milled around. Cricket was there, and Darya Price and her husband, plus others I recognized from Bethany’s hoarding discussion and the visits to Animal Services centers to see, then pick up, some of Mamie’s animals. Mamie walked right up, joining them as if she was a member of their group.

  “Lauren,” Cricket said, ignoring Mamie. “Thanks so much for coming. Do you know everyone here?” At the shake of my head, she said to the group, “This is Lauren Vancouver, administrator of HotRescues. She may be interested in joining our network.”

  The group, mostly women and nearly all dressed in dark colors, seemed to each start talking at once, welcoming me, thanking me for coming, and also pretending that Mamie wasn’t there. Interesting. Whatever authority Bethany had exerted over the heads of the rescue groups in her network, Cricket had apparently taken it over easily. Too easily?

  At least I didn’t have to count on Mamie’s introduction to these people. They mostly introduced themselves. I was glad I’d jotted down some of their names and shelter affiliations, since I wouldn’t remember them all, even the ones I’d seen before. Now, though only a few names sounded familiar, a lot of their rescue organizations’ names jogged my memory, such as Redondo Rescues, Amazing Animal Rescues, Pet Home Locators.

  “Thank you all,” I said. “I appreciate the invitation to join. I’d love to hear more about the organization, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be in touch with some of you soon.”

  Everyone seemed to welcome that possibility. And if I managed to ask a few subtle questions about Bethany, how everyone liked her, and who might not have adored her quite so much and why—well, I’d just have to see how that went.

  In a short while, I walked outside the cemetery with Mamie and stood beside her at her car. “Did you figure out, from all the people who showed up, who might have killed Bethany?” she asked.

  We’d been shadowed here. A couple of the suits I’d noticed before stood nearby and weren’t subtle about watching us.

  “I think the police still suspect you.” I nodded in their direction.

  She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them again, her expression blazed. “It wasn’t me. How about . . . Cricket? She had a good reason. Why aren’t they after her?”

  “I don’t know that they aren’t,” I said. “If they thought they had enough evidence, they’d have arrested you by now, I’d imagine. That may mean they’re still checking
into other people, too. Just like you, Cricket’s an obvious choice—although taking over a shelter and organization like she did? That might be a reason to protect someone’s life instead of taking it.”

  There was no humor in Mamie’s laugh. She got into her car. “I’m going home now,” she said sadly. “My empty home. The place I hope I can keep living, instead of prison.” She closed her door and started driving away.

  “Lauren?”

  A flash from a camera blinded me for an instant when I turned to see Miguel, and behind him some of those damned paparazzi. They must have followed him to take his picture, and now I was memorialized, too.

  “Hi,” I said. “It was a lovely service, Miguel.”

  “Yes. Thanks.” His handsome actor’s face scrunched into a grimace of a smile. “Even Bethany’s ex-husbands were impressed.”

  “It’s great that you get along,” I prompted. “And also very nice that they came to her funeral.” Okay, I was getting tired of following rules of etiquette—I wanted some answers. “Why did they come?”

  “Money,” he said briefly. “My dear Bethany put in her will that they, and I, would get paid to appear at her funeral, if she passed before we did. She made sure to tell us all—although it wasn’t enough for any of us to kill her, of course.”

  I was flabbergasted—not only that Mamie had guessed that possibility, but that it was true and that Miguel disclosed it.

  “Before you accuse us of anything, they both assured me they didn’t kill her. And I know I didn’t.”

  But I didn’t really know that. I couldn’t cross the others off my list because of what they might, or might not, have said to Miguel. And just because he’d seemed to really grieve for Bethany didn’t mean he hadn’t killed her.

  “So,” he continued, “are you going to make HotRescues a part of Pet Shelters Together? I just heard from some of the members that you’re considering it. That would be great. And smart.”

  His tone, when he said the last, made me wonder what his underlying meaning was. Would I somehow be in danger if I chose not to sign up HotRescues?

  Enlisting wasn’t my intention. But using the possibility as an excuse to ask a lot of questions was.

  “So you’re still affiliated with Pet Shelters Together?” I blurted that out without thinking.

  “It’s part of Bethany’s legacy,” he said. “So, yes, I still intend to help out in any way I can.”

  Did that mean he considered it his mission, in memory of Bethany?

  Or, like being here, was he going to be paid by her estate to stay involved?

  Yes, I still had a lot of questions.

  And, no, I hadn’t yet eliminated anyone from my list of murder suspects.

  Not Mamie. Not Miguel. Not Bethany’s exes.

  More research to come.

  Chapter 21

  I don’t ever consider attending a funeral, even for someone I’d hardly known, an enjoyable way to spend a day. I always like being in charge, but not solving murders—and this investigation was getting nowhere fast.

  Even so, I wouldn’t give up. Not if I might be able to help Mamie. I’d made the decision to help her, taken it on as a responsibility. That meant I’d continue trying.

  But I’d nevertheless have to stop if it took all my time. At the top of my to-do list, now and always, was to take care of the animals at HotRescues and make sure that as many as possible were adopted into appropriate households.

  Okay, that was second on my list. First was to ensure that my own kids were doing well—especially since they were in town and I might be able to check on them in person. I called each from my car before getting on the road. Both answered right away, which made me smile. Unsurprisingly, both were in the middle of the plans they’d already made.

  So, their take-charge mom wasn’t going to be able to take charge of them just now. But the good thing was that they had compared notes, and both planned to join me for brunch tomorrow before heading back to their campuses. Mom would get a couple of hours of their time. Mom’s treat, of course.

  Mom was delighted.

  So, next on that ever-growing list? A home visit—one I’d undertaken a week ago without giving notice to my target household, and had not found anyone around. Today was Saturday. I’d brought the phone number along, and the call was answered right away.

  Consequently, I would make a stop in Northridge before going to HotRescues.

  After heading up the San Diego Freeway and taking surface streets into Northridge, I returned to the house I’d popped in at last week after checking on how Carmen Herrera was doing with her new adopted kitty, Queen J. Again, no dogs greeted me from the large fenced yard, but they barked from inside.

  When I rang the bell, Margie Tarbet answered the door immediately. Both Beardsley and Moe sat behind her, wiggling on their butts as if they wanted to leap up and greet me. Obviously, she had trained them well.

  Which made me feel even better that they’d found a home with this organized and caring lady.

  “How wonderful to see you, Lauren.” She squeezed my hand, and then I entered her small but pristinely maintained house, and was led into her neat, compact living room. That must have been her signal to the dogs, or they took it that way. Both leaped over to me and butted me with their heads, demanding that I pet them. I complied, of course.

  Margie, short and a little overweight but dressed nicely in a blue shirt tucked into gray slacks, was a nurses’ aid at a nearby hospital. That had been her profession when she had adopted the medium-sized, black, long-muzzled pup Moe, whose heritage I hadn’t been able to guess, and the gray cat Nemo, whom I hadn’t seen yet today. She’d entered it on our application then, and had done so again a few weeks ago when she’d dropped in and fallen in love with large, red Briard mix Beardsley. A born caretaker. One who loved pets.

  A perfect adopter—at least in theory. I had to make sure all was going well.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” Margie asked. “I don’t have much around in the way of people treats, but I may be able to find some of my son’s cookies.”

  Speaking of whom, a gawky human form came barreling down the hall from the area containing first the kitchen, with a couple of bedrooms in the back. I’d checked it all out on previous visits.

  Including the gawky human. He was Margie’s son Davie, a high school student, although I didn’t remember which grade. A senior, I believed.

  “Lauren . . . Ms. Vancouver. It’s so nice to see you!” He stopped in front of me, and I saw that Nemo the cat was in his arms, not looking especially thrilled about it. “Mom told me you were on your way. I’ll show you what good care we’re taking of Nemo, Moe, and Beardsley. How are things at HotRescues? Are all your animals okay?”

  I knew Davie was a chatterbox. He’d talked nonstop when he’d come with Margie first to look at our residents, then pick the latest one to take home. He had something positive to say about each animal. I had the sense that, if he’d been able to, he’d have taken every one of them home with him. The only time I managed to get him to keep quiet was when I answered his questions about how animals got rescued.

  Margie’s round cheeks had turned pink. “Calm down, Davie,” she said in a no-nonsense tone that I figured she must also use while training the dogs.

  I just smiled. “Everything at HotRescues is fine,” I said. “You’re welcome to visit anytime.”

  “I sent a neighbor to see you,” he responded. “Mrs. Herrera, a few blocks away. She adopted a cat, too, didn’t she? I love to send people to HotRescues. You take such good care of the animals, like Nemo. Animals rock.” He looked down at the bored cat in his arms, hugged her, then put her down. Then he knelt on the floor beside Beardsley and Moe, and the three of them started to wrestle.

  I accompanied Margie into her kitchen and sipped some lemonade, just to be friendly. But I’d seen what I needed to here. The two previously adopted animals were thriving, and now so was Beardsley. Margie obviously cared about them, and Davie ado
red them.

  I wished all home visits yielded such positive results.

  On my way to HotRescues a little while later, my mind only stayed briefly on the house I’d just visited. Mostly, I thought again about the funeral. And Mamie. And how she hadn’t been arrested, though the cops appeared to be watching her. But they were watching others, too.

  Since my intent was to help Mamie, which primarily meant ensuring that she wasn’t railroaded, maybe I didn’t need to focus as much on looking for whoever killed Bethany.

  Or maybe I did. I never gave up, and the matter hadn’t yet been resolved. An idea for continuing my investigation had started to germinate in my mind.

  It might not lead to anything but discord in my life, but what the hell? If anyone could handle it, I could. Hadn’t I survived my horrendous second marriage—and in fact become a better person for it?

  But I’d have to lay a little groundwork first.

  When I arrived at HotRescues, I said hi to Bev, who was in charge of the welcome room. Nina had gone off to volunteer at one of the city animal care centers.

  Next, I took my usual walk through the shelter area, patting all the residents and assuring them that I was looking for the right homes for them and hoped to place them as soon as possible. I’m not sure that Junior, Dodi, or Hannibal, some of our longest-term rescues, still believed me, but I was serious.

  I went upstairs in the center building to check in with Angie, our vet tech. Dr. Mona was with her, and I gave them a recap of our latest adoptions. I always liked it when Mona was there to meet prospective adopters in person, but because she was part-time, I relied both on what she had taught me and on her talking to people by phone. If she wasn’t available at all, I felt comfortable approving adoptions on my own, of course, but that wasn’t my preferred way.

  Next, I went to my office and called Dante. He answered his cell phone right away. Never mind that he was the CEO of the largest pet supplies retailer in the country, or the benefactor of HotRescues and the wildlife sanctuary Hot-Wildlife. Big, important honcho that he was, he remained accessible.