Beaglemania (20 page)

“You stole Killer.” The accusation shot coldly in my direction.

“I helped to find the dog—his name is Quincy now—a new home. I didn’t know who his owner was when he was brought here, but he’d clearly been abused. If I’d found his owner then, I’d have turned him over to the authorities for prosecution, but things didn’t work that way. Instead, Efram threatened to sue, and we worked out a compromise that was supposed to teach him how to treat animals better. Apparently, it didn’t take.”

“That’s
your
story.”

Too bad the young woman wasn’t here so I could shake some sense into her. Or maybe it was just as well. If I laid a hand, or even a glare, on her, she’d scream to the world that I killed Efram.

But maybe I’d have a better sense of her innocence or guilt.

“Yes,” I said, “it is. So—can we get together to sound each other out?”

“No,” she said. The next thing I heard was a beep that told me she’d hung up.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to start breathing normally again. Tension had turned my respiration shallow, and I felt almost light-headed.

I also felt like I wanted to cry. Talking to three potential murder suspects who wanted me to take the rap for Efram’s killing, all in one day?

I liked to think I was a calm, sane, rational person. Not prone to crying jags. But for this moment, I wanted to break down.

No. What I wanted was to find the truth. No matter what it took.

For now, I squared my shoulders. It was time, at last, to go see my beloved charges outside in the shelter area.

 

 

Nina was getting ready to leave for the day. “Are you going home?” she asked as I passed through the reception area.

“Soon,” I told her.

“I had Ricki and some of the others working on the Princess adoption. Everything checked out.”

“Great! I’ll call tomorrow to get things finalized.” Most of the time, adoptions we approved took days, or even weeks. Our last few had been surprisingly easy and fast, thanks to my current flock of diligent assistants. “Meantime, have a good evening.”

“You, too.” She studied me with her usual worried frown, and I made myself smile to counter it.

“Are you volunteering at a city shelter tonight?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

A minute more, and I was outside. Some of the dogs were barking. Surprise!

I almost laughed as I greeted each by name, despite how choked up I felt. And then I realized what I truly needed. Hugs.

First, though, I headed into the center building and looked in on the cats and the rest of our animals. I didn’t see Pete or any volunteers. They must be back in the shed, grabbing food—a good thing. I went back out, sneaked around the corner to one of the side paths, and opened Babydoll’s enclosure. The shepherd mix stood on her hind legs, greeting me enthusiastically. I bent, braced myself, and threw my arms around her, basking in the doggy kisses she rained on my face.

I actually laughed. The first time that day, and maybe for many days before.

Jazzed, I gave her one final hug for that moment, then went out to engage in similar affection with a couple of the other dogs who’d been there awhile, including Honey, the Westie mix. Good for them, and especially good for me.

I took my time but eventually headed back toward the main building. Pete Engersoll caught up with me.

“All the animals have been fed,” he said. “Our last volunteer of the day just left, too. Okay for me to leave?”

“Sure,” I told him.

“You look happy,” he accused.

“I am,” I said. In case he doubted me, I gave him a big hug, too.

He looked startled but hugged me back. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great,” I told him. For a murder suspect.

I watched him head toward the exit near the back shed, then returned to the main building. And was startled to hear a knocking on the opposite door, the one visitors entered through. My heart beat a heavy cadence as I approached. It couldn’t be the killer. Whoever it was would hardly announce him—or her—self that way.

The cops? Was I about to be arrested?

“Who’s there?” I called out, trying to sound confident and in charge.

I’d been right about one thing. The person outside was one of the authorities.

“It’s Matt Kingston, Lauren. May I come in?”

I half expected, after the day I’d had so far, that Matt had surged his way in this direction so he could brandish his official capacity at me, as an officer of Animal Services. He was wearing his official uniform, standing tall, his height declaring his authority. Maybe someone had dared to call in a complaint about how we treated our inhabitants.

Remembering the canine hugs I’d just participated in, I’d disagree loud and strong with any ridiculous assertion like that. I’d nearly convinced myself I didn’t want to see Matt, and was marshaling reasons not to admit him, when he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Lauren. I’ve been really looking forward to my tour of HotRescues. Is now a good time?”

I pondered the question. It actually was a good time. The animals had been fed, their enclosures cleaned one last time for the day, and it was past the time we allowed people to check the facility out for a new pet. All the staff had left, but I wouldn’t need help showing Matt around.

Besides, he was one good contact to keep in my back pocket—the captain in charge of SmART, D.A.R.T., and more. He might help if I ever needed a good word at a city shelter to rescue animals on the brink of euthanasia.

He was also kind of cute. Of course, I was ready to kick myself for feeling any kind of attraction to him. Work with him, sure. Maybe even see him socially a little, if we got along—dinner, a drink now and then, like friends enjoying occasional camaraderie.

But I’d been married once to the only good guy out there and my awful second marriage had cured me of considering another serious relationship.

I opened the door, nearly laughing at myself for such an absurdly long and twisted reverie. “Come on in.” It wasn’t as if I was committing myself to anything but a tour of HotRescues. “I thought I’d get to visit the animals saved from the puppy mill before you came here.”

“Friday’s only two days from now.” That was the day he’d already invited me to tour the facility where they were kept. “But I was in the area and figured I’d jump the gun a little and drop in here today. I didn’t think it would matter . . . Does it?”

“No problem.” But my adrenaline caused by the unexpected knock was still painting my insides with energy I’d no way to expend, and I tried to slow my breathing.

Matt’s brown eyes were fixed on mine, appearing to study them. “Are you okay?” He didn’t wait for my answer before entering. He walked into the welcome room and moved till he was behind me. “Nice place,” he said. “I especially like that cat motif.” He nodded toward the leopard-print counter. “Are all those real pictures of adoptions?” He pointed toward the photos on the wall.

“Every one of them. We’ve more pictures like that upstairs. And a whole lot more we haven’t hung on the walls.” I grinned, feeling my pride in HotRescues drape around me like the embrace of angel wings.

“My kind of place.” Matt stopped looking from one photo to the next and turned to face me. The warmth in his toast-colored eyes engulfed me even more, and I took a step back.

“Just wait till you see the rest of it.” I locked the door behind him, then motioned for him to follow. “If you like animals, you’re about to receive a treat.”

“If you’ve any doubts about my liking animals,” he said drolly, “then I haven’t been doing my job right when you’ve been around.”

I laughed as I led him outside to the shelter area.

Of course the dogs all started barking. We reached Honey first, and she leaped at the bars. Did she remember our hugfest of a short while ago? I certainly did.

Matt reached in and gave her a scratch behind the ears. “How ya doing, Honey?” He wasn’t psychic. The label on the outside of the enclosure gave a précis of the inhabitant’s most crucial information. Even so, I felt a trickle of warmth inside. Matt obviously knew how to approach and speak to a lonesome pup.

My most recent walk through here had been just a short while ago, but I enjoyed it all over again as I gave Matt a tour, explaining our reason for each item of bedding, toys, and equipment in the enclosures as he gave each pup individual attention. I took him into the center building, showing him the cats, toy dogs, and the few hamsters and rabbits who were our residents at the moment. Some of the friendlier kitties responded to his soft talk to them, and to my surprise and delight a few of the more standoffish ones, too, drew close and let him pat them.

All the better for their future rehoming.

I took Matt upstairs in that building, where our rudimentary health office was—the room where our veterinary tech Angie Shayde hung out when on duty. It contained first-aid necessities as well as basic examination equipment. Si Rogan had a small office here, too. Plus, there was a room that feigned being a den, where potential adopters could experience what it felt like to be at home with the pet they were considering.

Back outside, I showed Matt the rear storage building by opening the door and letting him glance inside. Although it contained our laundry facilities, it certainly wasn’t as interesting as the rest of the place. I also walked him through our park area where adopters could also have a one-on-one with their impending new pets.

“That’s it,” I told him. “You’ve pretty much seen it all.”

“Great place!” he said, smiling down at me. His eyes glimmered, and I noticed even more than before that he had a five o’clock shadow. Definitely all male. And sexy.

Irrelevant to someone like me, with little interest in becoming interested.

So why, then, when he asked, “How about joining me for dinner?” did I say, “Sure. Why not?”

 

 

“What kind of dog do you have at home?” Matt asked.

We sat across from one another at a nice Mexican restaurant about a mile from HotRescues, also on Rinaldi Street. I’d ordered a taco and a chile relleno, and Matt worked on an outsized chicken burrito. The lights were dim, and the mariachi musicians were between sets.

“I don’t have a dog,” I said. “How about you?”

“I’ve got a black Lab mix. Rex. I wouldn’t have figured you as a cat person . . . at least not only cats. No dog?”

“No,” I said firmly. “No pets of my own at all right now.” Fortifying myself with a long sip of a margarita, I told him about losing Bosley, the family Boston terrier. “I’ve got an entire shelter of pets. Why would I need one that I’d have to leave at home a lot of the time? Who could get sick without my even knowing about it.”

“Is that what happened with Bosley?”

To my annoyance, I felt tears flood my eyes. I stared down at my food as if I needed to memorize it before eating, until I got my emotions back under control.

“Pretty much,” I said.

“How long ago?”

“A few months.” I saw his hand dart across the table before I felt it grab mine. I looked up at him. “It still hurts, damn it.”

“So why not adopt another one?”

“It still hurts, damn it,” I repeated, and made myself aim a pathetic smile toward him. “Bosley was mostly my kids’ dog anyway. He was ten years old, and we got him before HotRescues was even founded. He was cute and small and seemed overwhelmed when I brought him to HotRescues, so I didn’t do it much. That meant he spent a lot of time by himself. I wouldn’t want to do that to another dog.”

“Understood. I sometimes bring Rex to work, although I have to leave him with other personnel when we’re called out for a rescue. Maybe if you adopted a dog from HotRescues, he’d be used to the place and you could bring him in more.”

“I’ve considered that.” I hoped my tone was abrupt enough to convey that I wasn’t an idiot. If I got another dog—which I didn’t want to do, at least not now—it would definitely be a rescue dog, probably one whose life I helped to save.

“Any favorite breeds?”

We got into a discussion then about personalities of various kinds of dogs. I happened to love the looks of Border collies. Australian shepherds, too. I also liked the enthusiasm and intelligence of both breeds.

“So if you happened to rescue an Aussie-Border mix, that’s when you’d consider adopting.” There was no question in Matt’s tone, as if he simply reiterated the conclusion I’d drawn.

“No,” I said. “I’m not looking for another dog. Not now, and not anytime soon.”

“I get it.”

He was willing to change the subject, fortunately. I asked how he had decided to work for Animal Services, and how he’d become a captain overseeing the elite rescue organizations within the agency. “I was a Navy SEAL a while back,” he said. “Great job, but I didn’t want to do it forever. When my enlistment was up, I decided I needed a different kind of challenge. Sort of different, anyway.” He’d gotten out and joined a police force in a small Southern California town, gravitating to the K-9 unit. Eventually, he’d heard of an opening in LA Animal Services. It seemed a good fit, and he’d joined, doing well enough to be promoted to get where he was now.