The More the Terrier

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I know you worked in the office sometimes,” I continued. “You mentioned that before. Did you do a lot of hands-on work there?”

  “Under Bethany’s supervision. You know how she liked to be in charge.”

  I had a suspicion, though, that there were other reasons as well. “Cricket was around a lot then, too, wasn’t she? You and she became friends, so I’ll bet you’re glad she succeeded to the head of PST, with Bethany gone now.”

  Darya smiled wryly. “Well, that was before. This is now. I’ve gotten the sense that Cricket is going to become another Bethany, and then some.”

  The discomfiture that Darya had evinced before was gone now. Maybe I had imagined it.

  I also had a new thought about who might have killed Bethany, along with a couple of reasons why.

  Before I zeroed in on it—and before I’d have anything potentially useful to turn over to the cops—I had some more questions to ask.

  But not here.

  Chapter 29

  I was jazzed.

  I was also convinced.

  Now, I just needed proof.

  Before I left Happy Saved Animals, I had to take the tour I’d anticipated. Darya was pleased to show me around and introduce me to some of the residents and volunteers.

  Her husband joined us for part of the walk-through. He was friendly but quiet.

  I wasn’t especially talkative, either. I had a lot on my mind. But nothing prevented me from visiting as many dogs and cats as I could.

  When I left, I did something I tried not to do during the day. I called Brooke, who’d slept at HotRescues last night.

  Unsurprisingly, I got her voicemail. “I’m making one stop on my way back,” I said in my message. “If I get the information I think I will, we need to talk about what I should do next.”

  An obscure communication? Probably. But Brooke would figure out the gist of what I was talking about.

  The drive from Mar Vista to Westchester was only around six miles. I had to head south, though, which was opposite from the way I needed to go to return to HotRescues.

  I didn’t call in advance, which was possibly foolish. If Cricket wasn’t at Better Than Any Pet Rescues, my extra miles would be for naught.

  Also, my frustration would be astronomical.

  Fortunately, she was there. Surprisingly, Miguel was in the office with her. Or maybe not so surprisingly. I’d already figured out that he still lived in the office/house. It might be too soon, on this early Friday afternoon, for him to report to work at the restaurant.

  The shelter’s office was located on the left side of the building’s vast entry hall. Hearing voices, I’d headed in there to find the two of them engrossed in conversation. Friendly conversation.

  Very friendly conversation? Like, were these two now an item, with Bethany no longer an obstacle? I’d thought they didn’t like each other, but that could have changed—or just been an act.

  It could also be a motive for one or both to have killed Bethany. But my untethered mind now galloped in a different direction.

  “Hi,” I said perkily. Standing together at one side of the room, they broke apart, looking a little guilty.

  “Welcome, Lauren.” Cricket sounded breathless. “What brings you here?” Her face was flushed. She wore a PST T-shirt with a pin near the neckline—a plain one, without the diamonds Bethany’s had.

  “Some questions,” I said. “Hi, Miguel.”

  “You here to do more snooping to figure out Bethany’s murder?” He sounded amused.

  “Working on it,” I said. “Not that it should give you any comfort, since I’m nobody when it comes to the investigation, but neither of you is at the top of my list.” Cricket was still second, but my suspicions of her were waning. They might fade completely, depending on her answers.

  “Go ahead and ask.” Cricket plopped down on a chair at the table in the middle of the room. She was certainly different in appearance from Bethany, even if she’d inherited her attitude. Yes, she was shorter and a little heavier—but in some ways more attractive, since she wasn’t all about appearance. She ran her fingers through her curly hair, as if deriving Samson-like strength from it.

  Miguel pulled a chair up so he was almost shoulder-toshoulder with Cricket, allied with her against me. “Yeah,” he said. “What are your questions?”

  “I like your pin, Cricket.” I intended it to sound like a non sequitur, not the harbinger of what I was about to delve into. “Once I have HotRescues join PST, when will I get one?”

  “Right away.”

  “Then you keep a bunch around?”

  “Yes.” She frowned, clearly puzzled about my interest.

  “I gathered that Bethany was a real stickler for members wearing those pins to meetings. Will you be the same way?”

  “What are you driving at, Lauren?” Her question exploded from her.

  “Just interested. Has anyone ever lost a pin?”

  “Yes, but not often. Bethany got very upset when the first person did.”

  “Was there a second person?”

  “Well . . . yes. Darya.”

  Yes! My assumption had been correct. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “But we never told Bethany or anyone else about Darya,” Cricket continued. “I just gave her a replacement and shuffled the inventory numbers.”

  “Did Darya find it again?”

  “I don’t think so. She promised to return the new one if she did. I told the cops that, too, when they mentioned the pins.”

  If true, that shot a hole in my premise. But Darya might not have returned it. And her reaction suggested she had something to hide about pins . . .

  Cricket shook her head. “What is all this about?”

  “Curiosity, that’s all.” I had learned from Brooke, who’d learned from the cops, about the PST pin found with Bethany’s corpse. They were apparently asking about pins, maybe casually. Had they gotten the same reaction from Darya that I had?

  “I’ll bet it’s more than curiosity,” Miguel said.

  I shrugged. “No big deal.” Which was a lie. “Actually, I was just in the neighborhood”—lie number two—“and thought I’d drop in to see how you were doing, Cricket. Better Than Any, too. Glad to see that everything looks fine. Right?”

  “Lauren—” Cricket drew out my name. “You’re not a nutcase. You’re a smart lady, and I know this is about something important, right?”

  “Honestly,” I said, “I don’t know yet.” I was near the door, and both of them had followed, as if to be sure I was serious about getting out of there. “I’ll be in touch again soon. I really like the idea of PST, you know? I may actually see about getting the HotRescues board’s”—meaning Dante’s—“okay to join. Thanks.”

  I waltzed out with a big grin on my face. I’d acted like a ditz, or someone utterly cagy. Or both.

  The important thing, though, was that I believed I had my answer.

  Brooke’s the one with the investigation background. Plus, her new guy Antonio is an LAPD detective. When she’s feeling well, she thrives on law enforcement stuff. At the moment, her health seemed to be improving all the time.

  Consequently, when I called her on my way back to HotRescues and told her what I’d learned, she sounded even more excited than me—a feat that seemed nearly impossible, considering that I was so full of anticipation that I wanted to dance my way to Mamie’s former shelter and tell her she was saved—from an unjustified murder rap, at least.

  But that would have been foolish. And premature.

  I could be wrong . . . as infrequently as that happened.

  Brooke called me back a short while after I reached HotRescues. By then, I’d gone inside to retrieve Zoey from Nina and was taking her for a walk along Rinaldi Street.

  “Antonio will bring Detective Greshlam to HotRescues at around three this afternoon,” Brooke said as I held my smartphone against my ear to catch every word. “I’ll be there, of course. Be ready to lay everythi
ng out for them, okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “By the way—Gavin, the new trainer? He’s amazing. Not that Cheyenne needs much instruction, you understand, but Gavin’s still managed to teach him quite a bit. He’s not just a pet now. He’s becoming a trained security dog.”

  Interesting. I wasn’t sure when they’d gotten together, but Brooke’s praise of Gavin added yet another reason to keep him on at HotRescues.

  The dance I’d been prepared to make as I drove finally found its way into my steps as I led Zoey back toward our shelter. Fortunately, she had been productive quickly, and I’d cleaned it even faster. She was energetic as always and thought our happy jogging was a game. She jumped in circles on her leash and barked enthusiastically as I laughed and ran.

  Never mind that I’d have been happier if the contact from the Robbery Homicide Division with whom I’d meet that afternoon was Detective Stefan Garciana, who’d been the thorn in my side the last time I had to figure out the solution to a murder. He’d been the one to suggest looking at the least likely possibilities first, to try to eliminate them . . . maybe.

  Not always. Like this time.

  Detective Greshlam had been the one to interview me right after Bethany’s death. She had stayed involved with this case. She was the right one to talk to. Plus, she’d be tempered—possibly—by Antonio, if she wanted to stay on her colleague’s good side. Or not.

  “What’s going on?” Nina asked while Zoey, panting, hurried to the water bowl in the welcome room.

  I was panting, too, and went into the adjoining kitchen for a chilled bottle of water. When I got back, I told Nina, “No guarantees, but I think I’ve found evidence that clears Mamie.”

  “Great!” My second-in-command leaped from behind the leopard-print counter and gave me a hug.

  Zoey and I took a nice, slow walk around the shelter, including the center building where I checked on the cats and toy dogs. We again had empty spots that would soon be filled by more of the animals rescued from Mamie’s.

  We’d have even more empty spots in a couple of weeks when the work on the property next door was completed.

  Which reminded me of the work I needed to do on my end to publicize Dante’s fund-raiser, only about a week away.

  For now, I led Zoey back toward my office, where I hoped I could concentrate on what I needed to do until the cops arrived that afternoon.

  We sat in the conference room in the middle of the second floor of the HotRescues admin building. I’d told Nina to hold all calls—and that we weren’t to be disturbed. By anyone.

  I was sure she understood that to include her.

  I watched as Detective Greshlam’s eyes moved from one photo on the room’s walls to the next. They each showed some of our successes—pets and their new owners, all smiling.

  I sat on a blue upholstered wooden chair, the one at the head of the oval table. The detective sat at my right, and I wondered if her chunky girth was comfortable in the narrow seat. Brooke and Antonio sat across from her. We were a study in contrasts, with both detectives, Antonio included, dressed in suits, and Brooke and me in our own standard uniforms around here—hers a black security T-shirt over jeans, and me in jeans, and a blue HotRescues knit shirt.

  “Detective Bautrel tells me you have some evidence to present to us in the Urber murder.” Detective Greshlam’s glare yelled that I should have butted out, but she didn’t say so in front of her fellow officer.

  Antonio didn’t hesitate to stick up for me—which suggested he really wanted to impress Brooke. Or maybe he was the one who was impressed—with the theory I’d had Brooke describe to him. “I didn’t get all the details, but what I heard puts a new spin on the case. Start where you want, Lauren, and tell us everything.”

  I didn’t intend to get into a lot of detail, like naming everyone I’d considered as potential suspects and why I’d eliminated some. Nor did I want to mention how I’d settled on Cricket as the murderer . . . until that last conversation with Darya. As a result, I didn’t actually tell them everything, only what mattered.

  I explained first about what I’d determined last. “The day before Bethany was murdered, she held that meeting about hoarding. One thing she said that I had thought odd then, but hadn’t glommed on to its importance, was something about how all shelter administrators who were part of Pet Shelters Together had to make sure their funds were used to help animals, nothing else. When I talked to Darya about Bethany’s speech that day, and how I’d learned afterward that Mamie was far from the only administrator Bethany tried to coerce into joining PST by what amounted to blackmail, Darya got upset. I can’t prove it, but maybe you can—that Bethany’s comment was aimed at Darya, or Darya at least took it that way. Bethany may have learned that Darya was stealing donated funds from her own shelter and pressured her, on threat of disclosure to the world, to join the shelter network.”

  “That’s not very convincing, Lauren.” Detective Greshlam’s tone sounded much too condescending. I curled my lips but said nothing. “Not without evidence.”

  Antonio responded. “Want me to go for the warrant to start checking it out, Joy?” I hadn’t heard the detective’s first name before, although her card had said her first initial was J.

  “I’ll handle it.” The detective’s tone remained professional, but she turned a seething look on Antonio. He took it in stride.

  “Then there was the PST pin,” I continued. “I heard one was found with Bethany’s body. Since Mamie hadn’t joined the network and gotten one, that should have kept her from being your top suspect.” Joy’s face remained impassive. If that was a reason they hadn’t arrested Mamie yet, she wasn’t going to admit it. “Were you aware that Darya had lost hers?”

  “She’d gotten a replacement.” The detective shrugged her shoulders as if this line of information was irrelevant and she was bored. But Antonio was grinning. “She showed it to us. Anyone could have taken her missing pin.”

  “And I’m sure all the other administrators showed you theirs, too, didn’t they?” I asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’d imagine you figured that the one dropped near Bethany was left on purpose by the killer, maybe to make you think that whoever did it was a PST member—which made you believe it wasn’t. But maybe a member actually did lose it during the murder. Did you ever determine where it might have come from?”

  Another noncommittal shrug.

  “You might check with Darya. She got even more upset when I mentioned it in the same conversation.”

  The detective’s eyes widened. I aimed a glance at Brooke, who was smiling as broadly as Antonio.

  “One final thing. Darya worked in the Better Than Any Pet Rescues office now and then after joining PST. With some supervision, sure. But she could easily have learned where Bethany kept her gun.”

  “So could a lot of other people.”

  “Like Mamie,” I agreed, “since she’d threatened Bethany once before, and had been threatened right back. But Darya and Bethany had been arguing. Quite a few people heard them. Those disagreements could have become threats. It’s just one more thing you may want to look into about Darya.”

  “That’s it?” Detective Greshlam didn’t sound impressed.

  “Taken all together, I’ve suggested a lot of motive and means for Darya’s guilt,” I said. Flimsy? Maybe, but I wasn’t a detective. Put all together, with some official legwork . . . “You’ll have to confirm them, of course. Opportunity, too, if she was there and dropped one of her two Pet Shelters Together pins in Bethany’s blood. All that is up to you, of course. But I think Darya’s a suspect worth looking into.”

  We were finished, so I took them both through the shelter area. Antonio hadn’t visited here a lot, but he enjoyed the place.

  I wasn’t sure whether Detective Joy Greshlam had any kind of heart, but I suspected she did, since it seemed to break just a little, at least, as she gushed over some of our residents.

  I wondered whether sh
e’d be back someday to adopt one.

  Antonio hung back with Brooke when his fellow detective eventually left. “What do you think?” I asked as we headed toward the parking lot. Greshlam and he had driven separately.

  “You definitely gave some angles they might not have known,” Brooke said.

  “No guarantees,” Antonio said, “but I like the way your mind worked on this, Lauren. If you’re right, I’ll call you so you can observe the arrest.”

  Chapter 30

  Sunday was when I’d planned to visit the Tarbets again.

  By then, only a couple of days had passed since I’d handed my theory and rationale over to the cops. Nothing had happened. At least I didn’t think so. Even if the media hadn’t gotten word about the focus on any different suspects in Bethany’s murder, Brooke would have heard something from Antonio.

  But she had assured me yesterday, and now today, that he hadn’t let her in on anything the LAPD might be doing.

  “That doesn’t mean they’re not actively pursuing what you gave them,” she assured me early on Sunday morning when Zoey and I arrived at HotRescues. “But they can’t tell regular citizens, even me, without potentially spoiling their case.”

  So, I just went about my regular business, making sure our residents were well cared for. Planning for our big fund-raiser, which would take place a week from today. Encouraging visitors to fill out our paperwork and, if they met our standards, adopt a dog or cat. Meeting with people who’d already been approved and had come to pick up their newest family members. And doing home visits.

  That day, I called first, as I usually did. First, I went to the Northridge home where someone had just adopted a cat this week. I hadn’t met the lady but had relied on her paperwork, plus recommendations from Nina, Mona, and Angie. All had liked her, and she took the cat home the day after the initial visit.

  After I met her at her home, I couldn’t help but agree with their opinions. I felt certain that the year-old Siamese mix she’d adopted would have a good forever home.