Oodles of Poodles (21 page)

I hated to interrupt them, but Elena noticed me and smiled. “Hi,” I said, then stooped to pat the dogs. Pretty young Elena, who again wore a Solario Studios T-shirt and jeans, held the leash of the real Sheba today. Jerry, less officially dressed in a shirt that featured some musician I’d never heard of, had Sheba’s counterpart Stellar, who did so well in looking scared.

How did I tell the two white poodles apart? Well, I am a pet expert and could distinguish their features.

But besides that, the collars they wore now, while off the set, had each of their names attached in bas-relief metal.

When I stood again, I asked, “Are both of these girls scheduled to be filmed today?”

“Sheba is,” Elena replied enthusiastically, nodding so her soft brown hair bobbed. “There’s a scene where Millie argues with one of the people at that miserable shelter where Sheba’s been jailed. I can’t wait to see her get mad and tell the shelter person off, even if it is just Lyanne in the role. Poor Sheba actually went through something like that in real life before she was brought to the shelter where she was chosen for this film. And the dogs? They’ll just be watching, probably from inside their kennels, but I’m sure the cameras will shoot their reactions. It’ll all be so cool!”

I loved her enthusiasm over the filming. Would she ever be able to participate on camera? As I’d noted before, I had no doubt that was her ultimate plan.

“And they may need some extras on the set,” she continued, “playing people visiting the shelter looking for a new pet. I’m hoping I’ll be able to help out.”

Of course she was.

Jerry, on the other hand, seemed more laid back despite his obvious interest. “It should be a fun day,” he said. “I don’t care if I get to be an extra, but these dogs will need special attention if they’re going to be locked up most of the time.”

By then, Sheba had squatted to relieve herself, but she was still sniffing the grass and didn’t seem in any hurry to go inside.

“When do you need to take these two to the soundstage?” I asked.

Elena shrugged, and Jerry said, “Don’t know for sure. I think one of Mr. Paramus’s assistants will come for us and go inside to talk to Winna about the other dogs who’ll be needed.”

We continued to stand there. I figured I should go inside
and talk to Winna myself, or maybe to Grant, who’d undoubtedly be there watching over the dogs. Except—

“You know, I’m looking for some information,” I said impulsively, looking at both young assistants. “This experience with
Sheba’s Story
has inspired me, and I’m working on a screenplay that’s a fictionalized version of Director Marford’s death. What I’d really love, though, is to expose the real murderer. Of course, the police will hopefully figure that out before I do, but I’m still doing my research. Who do you think ran him over, Elena?”

She frowned pensively. “Well, honestly? I don’t know. But that veterinarian Dr. Stellan and he were arguing. And the American Humane representative, Grant, too.”

“They’re too obvious. How about…well, for the sake of my research, if you were the killer, Elena, why would you have done it?”

Her shining green eyes opened wide in what looked like shock. “Me?” she squeaked. “I would never—I don’t like your research, Lauren. Use your own imagination. I know a film script is supposed to be all made up, but don’t turn perfectly innocent people like me into killers.”

“I’m just asking questions to get ideas,” I said. “Okay, Jerry. Your turn. Tell me who you think did it—and if it could have been you, why would you have killed him?”

“Let’s make this fun,” he said with a grin. “Mmm—I think you did it, Lauren. Because he threatened the animals. But if I’d done it, it would have been because…I thought the film needed more publicity while it was being shot, so killing the director was a good way to get some.”

Clearly it was a joke to him. That was fine. Except for the part where he accused me.

“Thanks,” I said. “I think. Anyway, I’m going inside. See you later.” I left the two of them talking. Actually, it appeared that Elena was doing most of the talking and Jerry just stood there shaking his head.

I was soon in the area that I’d come to consider a doggy hotel, a poshly furnished locale in the middle of the building. Lots more poodles were in their kennels, with soft bedding on the wood laminate floor. Other dogs, too, who had smaller roles in the film.

As I passed by their enclosures, most barked. The few who didn’t looked at me so hopefully that it was all I could do to keep walking.

But there were humans at the end of the long row—Grant and Winna, as well as some other young handlers whom I didn’t yet know.

“Hi, all,” I said. “Everything under control here?”

“It sure is,” Winna said with a huge grin. The chief animal handler was dressed entirely in white that day, which underscored the redness of her curly hair. I wondered how she expected to keep her outfit clean around all the dogs—or maybe she considered a bit of dirt a sign of her competence. “We need to take most of this gang over to the set in a few minutes since there’s going to be a scene in the fictional shelter.”

In contrast, Cowan, the trainer-in-chief, was dressed all in black, which only served to accentuate the compactness of his stature and girth.

“Yes, I know,” I said to Winna. “Where Millie confronts one of the shelter staff who’s mistreating Sheba.”

“Exactly.” Winna looked impressed.

“But of course none of the animals will really be mistreated,”
Grant said, making sure that the American Humane presence was remembered. I was sure that he was saying that to caution Winna and Cowan as well as to make a statement.

A few minutes later, I helped this gang, including assistants, put a bunch of the dogs on leashes and walk them out of this building and to the nearby one where the scene would be shot. I wished the camera staff Carlie always brought with her for filming were around. I thought we all created a delightful picture, crossing the studio lot. Too bad I hadn’t brought my own camera. I hadn’t been taking photos for a while. My phone? Maybe, but I hadn’t become skilled in using it that way.

Since I had a few minutes where everyone would be somewhat distracted, as they should be, by the dogs, I managed to blurt out the same questions that I’d asked of Jerry and Elena. They’d been strictly an impulse then. Now, I thought they could actually help me to help Carlie.

Or just seem stupid. And I hated that idea. In fact, I wasn’t happy at all with the game I’d begun playing, but I hadn’t yet come up with a better way to try to clear my good friend Carlie. As a result, I did it again.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve decided to work on a screenplay about Hans’s death. Can anyone tell me who you think killed him and why?”

I got a dirty look from Grant, who was right beside me. I felt bad for an instant since I liked the guy. But only for an instant. “Me, of course. I’m a suspect since I argued with Hans. But guess what? Even if I had a bit of a motive, I didn’t do it.”

“Right,” I said. I looked beyond him toward Winna. “Did you do it? And if so, why?”

She guffawed as she maneuvered the two leashes in her hand. She had two dogs, a Yorkie mix and a poodle, under her control. “I’d have been on Grant’s side, against the scary scene with those dogs on the street. Did I kill him?” She paused to spread out her arms, notwithstanding dogs and leashes. “Do I look like a killer?”

Cowan was less exuberant in his response. Walking at my left, he shot me a glare even angrier than Grant’s. “What the hell are you doing, Lauren? I liked the guy, actually, even if I didn’t like that particular scene set-up. You want a suspect to throw into your damned screenplay? Use your buddy the vet.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

Inside the soundstage, the crew was busy moving lights and taking final steps to make the place look like a shoddy kennel where animals might be abused.

Dr. Cyd Andelson was there since Carlie wasn’t. To start things off, I approached and asked if she’d despised Hans Marford enough to kill him, making sure that others like Niall were around. Of course Cyd denied it. So did Niall when I played my little screenwriter game with him. He seemed outraged—because I questioned him, or because he’d already started working on a similar screenplay himself?

Would that have given him a motive to kill Hans?

The scene at the pretend shelter was filmed at least a half-dozen times before I left. Grant was in the middle of it all, ensuring that every one of the dogs was well cared for, given sufficient water to drink, and so forth.

Mick Paramus was hard to take aside for my silly confrontation, but I managed to do so. He seemed distracted,
but he laughed and agreed he had one of the best motives of all to do away with Hans. He was having an absolutely wonderful time as director of this film. Killing someone to get such a fantastic appointment? Well, sure.

That attitude made me slip him figuratively toward the bottom of my suspect files, although I didn’t eliminate him. He could just be playing along.

The problem with all the questions I’d asked so close together was that, even in reflection, I couldn’t say for sure if I now could zero in on any of these people as top suspects.

After I eventually returned to HotRescues and took a quick visit around the place, I sat down at my computer for a while and listed my recollections of everyone’s feedback when I’d all but accused each of them.

Niall, maybe?

Winna. Of course.

I shuffled who was where in my files, then gave up, and Zoey and I headed for home.

I’d done all I could that day on Carlie’s behalf but I still had no real answers, just more questions.

Had I stirred the real killer up by making him, or her, think I knew who it was but was just playing a silly game to put that person off guard?

Unlikely. But I could hope, couldn’t I?

I’m not stupid, by the way. I realized that by asking so many questions, I might have annoyed the real killer. I intended to be careful and not put myself into a situation where anyone could get revenge by harming me. I’d stay
where there were other people around, like at HotRescues. When I went home, I had a security system. All was well.

Or so I thought—until I got a phone call at three o’clock in the morning, from Brooke.

“Lauren,” she said in a muted tone. “There’s someone here at HotRescues. I’ve called the cops, including Antonio. They’re on their way. But I thought you’d want to know.”

Chapter 22

Rousing Zoey, I shooed her outside into our fenced yard for a quick middle-of-the night outing, then decided to let her come along. After I finished hurriedly dressing in jeans and a Stanford sweatshirt Tracy had given me, I loaded Zoey into the car and we zoomed off toward HotRescues.

This wasn’t the first time there had been a problem in the middle of the night at my shelter.

But that first time, months ago, was what had led to our hiring someone to sleep there overnight every night.

We still had security cameras mounted within the shelter area—more of them now, and better quality.

I used my hands-free system to call Brooke again once I was on the way. “Has Antonio arrived yet?” I asked immediately. “And is Cheyenne there with you?”

Our security director’s dog was an adorable, well-trained
golden retriever who, I felt certain, would do everything she could to protect her mistress. Even so, without knowing who the intruder was—and whether he or she was armed—I didn’t feel at all comfortable relying on the dog to save either of them.

“He just called,” Brooke responded. “He’s about five minutes away.”

I was still ten minutes away. Not that I’d be much protection. Besides, Brooke knew better than I did how to take care of herself.

“Are you in your apartment? Do you hear anything?” Dumb questions on my part, at least the last one. I heard a lot of dogs barking in the background but they didn’t sound near her. The first answer was probably yes.

It was. “I’ll stay here till I’ve got backup,” she said.

“Good call.” I felt somewhat relieved. I really liked Brooke.

Besides, HotRescues was my responsibility.

But I remained frightened, not my usual reaction. Not only was I responsible, but I cared. What if whoever was there had come to hurt our residents?

Maybe it was only an animal wandering through the yard—a raccoon or skunk, maybe. Not the best situation, but not especially dangerous, either.

Yet I knew better. Brooke was fully aware of what was happening around her. She would most likely have viewed some of the security camera footage already.

It had to be a person.

I could only pray that Brooke, and all the animals, remained safe.

• • •

I heard no sirens as I approached the HotRescues parking lot. Were the police already there? Had they decided to remain silent so they could catch whoever was trespassing in the act?

Pulling into the lot, I recognized Antonio’s dark sedan sandwiched between two police cars. I saw no people around, so they must all be inside the fence.

I took a deep breath as I got out of my car, unhooked Zoey from her safety restraint in the backseat, and snapped on her leash. I watched her for a few seconds. She sniffed the air, then the ground—nothing atypical. She didn’t seem alarmed, and she could be very protective if necessary.