Nonstop Spaniels (Novella)

by Linda O. Johnston

  “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been arrested,” she said, teasing a lion-toned kitty with a toy that resembled a feathery fish, of all things. As she leaned over, her dark ponytail slid forward, and the cat, whose name was Raja, took a swipe at it with her left paw. We both laughed.

  “Will you still intern at the PetForYou veterinary clinic?” I asked.

  “Frank is now looking for an even better situation for me,” she said, smiling. “He told me that, after all I’d been through, I deserve it.”

  “You sure do,” I agreed, and went back to playing with a black cat named Omni.

  • • •

  As the time passed, I kept in as close touch with Antonio as I could. I could hear the laughter in his tone a lot when I called him. He apparently found my frustration amusing—which might have been why he didn’t tell me much.

  At least, not until he invited Matt and me to join Brooke and him for dinner on Saturday night. Our dogs were invited, too.

  It wasn’t the first time this group had gotten together for what appeared to be a double date. We chose a nice steak joint not far from HotRescues—one that, of course, had an outside eating area so the dogs were welcome. That was generally our number one criterion when we decided to try a new restaurant.

  This place had a reputation, though, of being a little more formal than our usual hangouts, so the guys had both worn nice shirts and sport coats. I hadn’t had time to return home to change, but I always kept a snazzier outfit at HotRescues, just in case. I wore slacks, but a dressier pair than usual, and a blouse also with a jacket over it. Brooke was most appropriately clad in a slinky black dress, and I watched Antonio’s dark eyes as they stared at her appreciatively.

  Three dogs accompanied us, since Matt had taken the time to go home for Rex and his change of clothes. Brooke’s Cheyenne and my Zoey sat at our feet on the concrete patio. None of them seemed inclined to lie down yet in the crowded eating area, since there were lots of people around us whose food had been served, so doggy noses remained happily in the air.

  We’d given our orders and were sipping on wine from a bottle that Antonio had selected for the table. All our discussion had been small talk, and I was getting antsy.

  “Okay,” I finally said to Antonio. “Tell us what’s going on, Detective.” I assumed it was good stuff, or he wouldn’t have ordered such a nice wine.

  “I was wondering how long it would take for you to start pushing me,” he said, smiling.

  Brooke nudged him with her shoulder in gentle rebuke. I, in turn, glanced toward Matt, whose expression was amused. And when Matt looked amused, his great-looking features got even more handsome. And sexy. I suddenly looked forward to some alone time later.

  After we got some answers.

  Antonio took a sip of wine. Since he was a cop, I’d have expected him to order hard liquor or beer instead, but he didn’t fit into any kind of mold. “Here’s what’s going on,” he finally said.

  Murder suspect Spencer Quivara remained in police custody, without bail. He continued to give the impression of being a young guy who got in over his head when he started trying to help his girlfriend Ellie out at PetForYou.

  On the other hand, he didn’t really have to do more than help with bookkeeping. If he’d been genuine, he would have reported to the board about how Dr. Dan Ideman was stealing a lot of the shelter’s donations for his own use. Apparently Ideman thought he was entitled since a percentage of the veterinary clinic’s profits also went to support the rescue facility.

  Spencer had apparently been shocked at first, but Ideman had gotten him over it by giving him a percentage of everything the vet stole.

  But Spencer’s conscience eventually began to kick him in the gut, especially as he was preparing to ask Ellie to marry him. He’d told Ideman he wanted out.

  The vet hadn’t exactly been thrilled. He’d apparently worried that Spencer would tell all to the board, and they’d both be arrested—only Spencer, by turning on him, might get off free.

  Ideman told Spencer he would be the one to go to the board—but he wouldn’t confess. No, he’d fix things first so it would appear that Spencer, who’d been in charge of the bookkeeping for nearly a year, had been the one to engage in all the thievery and make it look like the innocent vet, who’d only wanted to help animals, had been framed.

  In the ensuing argument, Spencer had grabbed one of the scalpels at the veterinary clinic—after donning sterile gloves. Heat of the moment? Maybe. But there was at least some degree of premeditation, too.

  “At least that’s the department’s speculation at this point, and there’s enough evidence to start the criminal process against the guy,” Antonio finished. “He didn’t exactly admit all that, but he’s been having a hard time denying it—and he does have a good lawyer who has gotten him to invoke his Fifth Amendment rights against self-incrimination even when he’s asked simple questions, like does he like to drink wine.” Antonio took another sip just as our entrees were served.

  I asked a few questions, but Antonio had told us what I’d hoped to learn. “Is it okay for me to tell Ricki?” was my main inquiry.

  “Sure, as long as you make it clear that, like all defendants, Quivara is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law and all that.”

  I’d already undergone my regular scolding from Matt, but when I again, on prodding, described how I’d gotten my own near-confession from Spencer, he once more told me I should have called him. Better yet, I shouldn’t have been involved with yet another murder investigation.

  “You’re right,” I told him, and in atonement invited Rex and him home with me again that night.

  Heck, I’d have invited them anyway. And enjoyed all Matt and I did into the wee hours.

  And when he once more demanded that I never again get involved in a murder investigation, I assured him I wouldn’t go looking for one. I appreciated his concern, even if I didn’t like being told what to do.

  But if another one came looking for me?

  Well, on that I made no promises.

  Though I did kiss Matt again … and again … for caring.

  Keep reading for a special excerpt from Linda O. Johnston’s next Pet Rescue Mystery …

  TEACUP TURBULENCE

  Coming in paperback January 2014 from Berkley Prime Crime!

  “But I was here first!” The senior lady with frizzy yellow hair stood in front of me on the crowded sidewalk. She placed her hands on her hips and looked up with her lower lip jutting belligerently.

  I tried to smile, in case this woman was a better potential dog adopter than she initially seemed. “That never matters in pet adoptions. What’s important is finding the right home for each of our wards.”

  That’s my job. My passion. I’m Lauren Vancouver, chief administrator of HotRescues, a wonderful shelter in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley.

  “Well, I’d give the best home to Marvin,” the woman said. “I’m sure of it.” Now she sounded almost desperate.

  We both turned to look at the long row of temporary wire enclosures that ran along the HotPets storefront behind us. Most contained dogs of all breeds and sizes. Farther away were crates that held cats.

  I was happy to see lots of people staring into the fenced areas and crates, talking to the HotRescues staff and volunteers who’d come to help at this mobile adoption event, and petting leashed dogs brought out at an interested person’s request. An occasional round of barks hid the happy exclamations of potential adopters.

  The closest pen held the miniature pinscher Marvin—along with some medium-sized terriers and a French bulldog mix.

  Beside me on the other side, Naya Fayler regarded me with a worried expression. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Lauren,” Naya said. “But I really love Marvin.”

  I’d gathered that. It was why I’d accompanied her and her husband Tom out here so quickly. I had sensed a pending adoption.

  “And in fact, we were here first,” Naya continued. “I fil
led out the application to adopt Marvin before we went inside to the party.”

  Naya appeared fiftyish, with short chestnut hair framing her face. Laugh lines crinkled at the edges of her blue eyes, but her skin was otherwise smooth and flawless, possibly the result of an excellent makeup job. She wore a dressy white tunic top over a long black skirt.

  Tom stood talking with Bev, a senior, experienced HotRescues volunteer who had come along to help at this mobile event. Tom’s hair had receded from his forehead a bit, and what was left was salt-and-pepper and short. He had wide cheeks and a broad smile revealing slightly yellowed teeth. He was the manager of the new subsidiary, HotPets Bling, and I had just met him and Naya at the party taking place in the store’s back room to celebrate the HotPets empire’s fifteenth anniversary.

  Dante DeFrancisco, the company’s owner, was also HotRescues’ generous benefactor. After he’d introduced me to Naya and Tom, they’d told us about their immediate bonding with Marvin, and that’s when I’d accompanied them outside.

  Not that I generally liked to okay a same-day adoption. But Dante had vouched for them. And they clearly were animal lovers.

  Bev had handed me the Faylers’ adoption application that they’d filled out before. I, too, was dressed up, in a shimmering blue shirtwaist dress and low heels—very different from my usual HotRescues knit shirt, jeans, and athletic shoes.

  I skimmed over the form, very aware of the still emotional woman at my other side. I had an idea how to handle her but needed to deal with this first.

  Everything on the application seemed in order. The Faylers owned their home, had no other pets right now—they’d lost an aging dog a month ago—and were empty nesters.

  As I was, sort of. My daughter and son were away in college, although Kevin’s school, Claremont McKenna College, wasn’t too far from L.A.

  I noticed something of particular interest. “You used to run your own pet grooming chain?” I asked.

  “That’s right,” Tom said, joining us. “But we sold out a few years back—nice profit, too, I might add. I already knew Dante from the pet industry, and he offered me a job with HotPets.”

  And under hobbies … “You fly a plane?” I’d seen all kinds of hobbies listed on our application, but this was the first time I’d seen that the potential adopters were pilots.

  “Yes—it helped us visit our grooming shops all over the western U.S. before. Now we just do it for fun.”

  All seemed fine. In fact, it was better than a lot of applications I reviewed and approved.

  That was a relief, since I would have had a difficult time vetoing an adoption by an executive of HotPets.

  But that woman remained at my side, eagerly awaiting my decision on Marvin. I motioned for her to join me, and we meandered toward the parking lot at the far side of the walkway.

  “I’m really sorry,” I lied. I’m seldom sorry about anything, and finding a great home for one of my shelter dogs was not something I ever regretted. “But there are extenuating circumstances beyond who saw Marvin first.” I didn’t need to explain that the Faylers had seen him first anyway. “Have you looked at any other dogs here?”

  She shook her head sadly. “I just really liked him.”

  “Well, let’s go see who else might fit even better with you.”

  I nodded at Bev as I started leading the woman through the crowd and along the line of temporary pens. I mouthed the words “Okay” and “Marvin” and nodded toward the Faylers. Bev knew me well enough to understand that I’d approved the adoption. She’d have questions but could notify a staff member to start the paperwork.

  “Now, let’s see,” I said to the lady. “I’m Lauren, by the way.”

  “I’m Georgia.”

  “What are you looking for in a dog, Georgia?”

  “Tiny,” she said. “And cute. Just like the ones in those HotPets Bling ads.”

  She gestured toward the small digital sign in the HotPets window that looked like a miniature of the large billboards now set up in a lot of areas within L.A. Notwithstanding how controversial these bright, illuminated signs were around here, Dante—wealthy and smart entrepreneur that he is—had negotiated the city council’s permission to post a lot of them in commercial areas.

  The ads also ran on TV, all featuring adorable teacup-sized dogs—Pomeranians, Pekingese, Maltese, Chihuahuas, and more—that wore the new, decorative HotPets Bling collars with attractive, unique, and fun designs set into them using rhinestones and other faux jewels—all attached, of course, in a way they couldn’t be chewed off and swallowed by the animals wearing them. The actual collars were made in all sizes, though, so one could be bought to fit any dog.

  Right now, there was a little Yorkie on the ad wearing a bright pink collar inset with designs of dog bones topped with haloes, all in shiny gems. I had to admit the dog and his adornment were extremely cute.

  Sure, a lot of other dog collars existed that were decorated in fun ways, including sparkling designs, but these were really special, like everything from HotPets.

  The Bling ads had gone viral here, in Southern California. Dante was using this as a test market and so far it had been a huge success. I was delighted for him.

  What was less delightful was how the ad campaign had caused a run on teacup-sized dogs. There used to be an overabundance of small dogs in this area, but now they were being adopted from HotRescues almost as soon as we saved them from the high-kill shelters and made them available. The same was true for every other local shelter, even the public ones.

  Lots of lives were being saved that way, and I was delighted.

  But the popularity of the tiniest dogs made them harder for interested adopters to find. No wonder Georgia had tried to glom immediately on to small min-pin Marvin.

  However … “Marvin is a cute pup,” I told her. “But I’d like to introduce you to someone else.” I hurried her toward the far end of the enclosures—as fast as possible in this crowd.

  Unsurprisingly, one of the volunteers, Ricki, already held the dog I had in mind in her arms, showing her off to a young couple with a child.

  Not necessarily a good match anyway, I thought.

  “Sorry, Ricki,” I said. “I want to introduce Mimi to Georgia.” I gestured toward the woman beside me as I took the little Yorkie from Ricki’s arms. “Why don’t you show Frenchy to these nice people?” That was the French bulldog mix—small, but not this small, and given up by a household that had kids. Seemed a better fit.

  “Mimi?” Georgia said, reaching over to pat the little Yorkie. “Oh, she’s perfect! Can I take her home?”

  “I’ll have a volunteer come here and let you play with her,” I said. “Then you can fill out an application. We’ll need to check some things out, but if all goes well you may be able to pick Mimi up at HotRescues tomorrow.”

  Unless someone else with better credentials put in an application on her. In that event, all would not go well for Georgia.

  What mattered was the care and future of the dogs.

  “That’s wonderful!” she said. I showed her to one of the sturdy card tables we’d brought along to make it easier for people to fill out applications and handed one to Georgia. She started to fill it out immediately.

  I was finally able to check on the Faylers’ adoption of Marvin—almost complete, fortunately. Because Tom worked for the HotPets empire, I decided to waive the usual nominal fee we charged for adoptions.

  “No way!” Naya exclaimed. “Paying that amount is the least we can do. In fact, I’d love to come volunteer at HotRescues someday. Could I do that?”

  “Sure.” I explained the process, which consisted of an application and a visit to HotRescues for a tour and orientation.

  “Great. Tom will do it, too, won’t you, dear?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Tom said, aiming a fond smile at her.

  I checked over their paperwork quickly, accepted their payment via credit card, and then we were done.

  I rose and walked to th
e nearest fenced-in area, where I bent over to pick up Marvin, who was small and warm and lovable. When I put him near my face, he licked my nose. “Gonna miss you, guy, but you’re going to have a really great life now.”

  I assumed that was true, with obvious pet lovers like the Faylers. But even so, I’d check to be sure.

  I clipped one of our standard leashes on the ordinary collar we always provided with adoptions. “Looks like Marvin needs one of the HotPets Bling collars,” I said.

  “Count on it,” Tom responded. “In fact, let’s go back to the party.

  • • •

  We passed through the large HotPets store, probably one of the best and busiest in the chain. Why not? It was in Beverly Hills.

  In moments, we were back in its vast stockroom, where I picked up a flute of champagne from a table near the door.

  The place had been reorganized for the party. All the huge crates and other containers holding items sold at the store that weren’t on shelves had been stacked along the edges of the room and draped with metallic fabrics to feign elegance.

  The center was filled with partygoers—like me again. Songs with animal themes surrounded us, although the volume on “Hound Dog” and the rest was low enough not to ruin the crowd’s ability to chat.

  I quickly rejoined the group of friends I’d brought along: Matt Kingston of Los Angeles Animal Services, the really great animal-loving man I’m dating; my good friend, veterinarian Carlie Stellan, who also has a weekly TV show on the Longevity Vision Channel; and her boyfriend Liam Deale, who works at a local TV station.

  “How’d it go?” Carlie asked.

  “Very well, I’m delighted to say.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Our host, Dante, had joined us.

  So did his lady friend Kendra Ballantyne, an attorney and pet-sitter. She wore a lovely sapphire-colored gown, much dressier than I’d ever seen her before. Of course I’d mostly seen her dressed for one or the other of her careers.

  “Lauren, I’d like you to meet more of my staff.” Dante was a good-looking man even when not dressed up in an elegant suit as he was today. His wavy hair was dark and immaculately styled, his expression as pleased as I’d ever seen it as he waved the people accompanying him toward me. “This is the store manager, Marie Ellis, and I think you’ve already met my new administrative assistant, Sheila Sheltron.”