The More the Terrier (13 page)

Chapter 17

Okay, what should I do now? A confirmed hoarder who undoubtedly loved animals—and just might be a peoplemurderer—had just asked me for a job.

At least she’d come here at a reasonable time during the day to make this pronouncement—rather than early in the morning, as she had done the day Bethany had been murdered.

Yes, she had been stable enough to give up the hoarded animals for their sakes, and for her own. And, I wanted to help Mamie. To clear her name, if it turned out she hadn’t been the one to kill Bethany.

But have her here? Around all the creatures I love, when she was definitely someone who’d abused pets in her care . . . intentionally or not?

I glanced at Dante. He stood behind me, arms crossed, looking amused. With his eyebrows raised that way, he also appeared as if he wanted to know how I’d handle the situation.

So did I.

Of course Dante had met Mamie before, when she had interviewed for running HotRescues. She looked different now, but I was certain he knew who she was—if for no other reason than her picture had been on the news a lot lately.

“Let’s talk about this,” I said to Mamie. I turned my gaze on Nina at the other side of the counter—entreating her nonverbally to find me a distraction—then back on Mamie. Mamie was smiling, but her gaze looked challenging, as if daring me to say no. What would she do then?

I heard a “woof” from down the hall. The distraction I needed! Nina had shut Zoey into my office while I was gone, and I hadn’t let her out yet. I’d wanted to take the tour of the site next door without bringing her. Now, I wanted to hug her. Of course, I always wanted to hug her.

“Tell you what, Mamie. That’s my dog, Zoey, calling me. Why don’t you come along on a quick walk, and we’ll discuss whether it’s a good idea for you to make a commitment now to work here.”

“Okay.” She didn’t follow me, though. I turned back to see her standing in front of Dante. “Hello, Dante. Remember me?”

“Yes, I do, Mamie.” He held out his hand formally, for a shake.

She complied, but her hesitation suggested it was an effort to touch him. With dignity, she said, “I know things don’t look good for me now, but I love animals. I’d have been a real asset here if you’d chosen me to run HotRescues. I really . . . Well, since you didn’t, maybe you could convince Lauren to hire me now.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “Lauren and I can talk about it.” He shifted his gaze toward me.

“You’ll say no.” Mamie sighed. “But I’m not a hoarder, wouldn’t have looked like one if . . . I can show you here, I promise. It’s so lonely at home—my shelter—without any of my babies around. Someone who didn’t know what happened tried to do an owner relinquishment yesterday, and I was so tempted . . . but until I know I won’t get arrested for killing Bethany—which I didn’t do—I can’t try to get my shelter back.”

“Mamie, you know you’re still subject to prosecution for animal abuse,” I said gently. “You can’t even think about starting your shelter again. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

“No babies, no fur babies either . . .” She stopped and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were wet and mournful. “Please, Lauren, let me work here. I can’t be alone.”

I wasn’t sure I understood all she’d said, and I absolutely felt sorry for her. But this wasn’t a good time for her to start working, or even volunteering, here. Not until all the issues surrounding her were resolved—if they ever were.

“We’ll talk about it,” I said, repeating Dante’s comment. “Right now, let’s go walk Zoey.”

We soon passed through the welcome area again, with Zoey prancing beside me. Dante was still there, talking to Nina. “I’ll be taking off now, Lauren,” he said. “Let me know your ideas for some kind of event here.” He smiled at Mamie. “I hope everything works out well for you.”

“Thanks,” she replied in a tone that suggested she wasn’t optimistic.

He exited through the door to the parking lot. I gestured for Mamie to join Zoey and me as we headed for the nearby door to the shelter area.

My old mentor oohed and aahed over each of the residents as we passed their enclosures, including Babydoll, Dodi, and Hannibal. She reached in to pet them, and every one of them closed their eyes in apparent ecstasy at her touch.

She’d always had a way with animals . . . until she wound up abusing them with her love.

Zoey danced at my side until we reached the visitors’ park at the far end of the rear storage shed. There, she fulfilled her restroom duties, and I used one of our recyclable bags to pick it up.

“Good dog.” Mamie patted her again, too.

I knew how lonely she was, and how the absence of pets around was hurting her. Even so . . .

I waved her to a seat at a picnic table where our visitors could sit and watch their prospective new pets romp and play and, with luck, win their hearts. Mamie sat down across the table, looking at me expectantly.

“Mamie,” I said, “I don’t think it’s wise for you to commit to be here any particular days or hours, but you’re welcome to visit, and to help us take care of our residents, whenever you’re able. I have a budget for regular employees, though, and don’t think I can hire you under these circumstances, but—” Okay, I might be able to squeeze a small hourly rate out of our funds, thanks to Dante’s largesse. But I wanted to see how things worked out first.

Things like how often Mamie would actually show up. And whether she was about to be arrested.

“But I can come here to help? Whenever I want?” She sounded thrilled. “And I can pet the dogs, and hug the cats, and there’ll be plenty of food for them, and—”

She looked almost childlike in her glee, clapping her hands enough that some of the dogs nearest us started to bark.

I laughed. “Yes to all of that.” I had to ask, though. “You do collect Social Security, don’t you? I mean, you have enough money on your own to survive, right?” Otherwise, I’d rethink everything.

“Of course, dear. It’s enough for me. I just couldn’t stretch it enough to make sure that all my sweet rescues had enough to eat. That’s part of what led to my difficulties. That, and not many donations. But you don’t have that kind of problem, do you?” Her gaze turned shrewd. “Not with Dante’s money.”

“No, thank heavens.” Was she blaming me again for her problems? Or just reminding me?

“Oh, coming here often—it’s wonderful! Thank you, Lauren.” The shrewdness left her face, and her eyes, among all the surrounding wrinkles, seemed to glow.

All right. Maybe she had no hidden agenda. And I had planned to keep an eye on her anyway. This could be a good idea. Maybe.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. What she’d said earlier kept circling through my mind, and I had to ask. “What did you mean before by, ‘no babies, no fur babies either’?”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I was hoping to make you feel sorry for me, but . . . did I tell you, back when you helped me at my shelter, about my failed marriage?”

I shook my head. I also held my breath. I’d heard that when people became hoarders, it was sometimes the result of a highly emotional event in their lives. I’d assumed, if that was true with Mamie, it was because she hadn’t been chosen by Dante to run HotRescues. She had apparently started bringing in more animals to her shelter after that. But maybe it wasn’t the only reason. And maybe I’d had nothing to do with it. Or at least not much.

“It wasn’t too long before I met you.” She tried to keep her tone casual, but her voice hitched and I knew it was something that had affected her significantly. “I’d had two miscarriages and was told I probably couldn’t carry a baby to term. My husband and I had been married for a few years, and I started talking adoption. That’s when he told me he was divorcing me to marry a woman he’d been sleeping with. She was pregnant. She didn’t miscarry.” Mamie’s laugh was forced. “I didn’t care about him after that. But I had a lot of love to give somewhere. That’s when I really started concentrating on pet rescue.”

“I’m so sorry, Mamie,” I said.

“I’m not. Or at least I won’t be, when I can start taking in my own fur babies again.”

I didn’t reiterate that her wish might be impossible. I understood that the recidivism rate for hoarders was astronomical. To avoid being prosecuted for animal cruelty, she and her lawyer might have to cut a deal in which she’d promise never to take in any animals, or maybe she’d be allowed just one or two.

“Well, we’ll have to see how things go. Did they recommend that you see a counselor when you were at the facility where the police had you checked out?”

“Yes, and I’ll be seeing her, about once a week. When I can.”

Which made me think she wasn’t seeing the therapist at all.

“But I promise, I won’t even think about taking in animals—well, I’ll think but I won’t do it—till things are resolved about Bethany’s death. And as long as I can come here to hug your pets.” She bent to pat Zoey, then looked up at me once more. “Are you going to find out who killed Bethany, Lauren? I swear it wasn’t me.”

I wanted to believe her even more now. I felt so sorry for her—for everything.

“I can’t promise to figure that out, Mamie, but I’ll keep looking.”

She smiled up at me, her expression now one of trust. “I know you can do it, Lauren. I saw the news about how you did it before, how someone was killed right here and you helped to catch that murderer.”

“Well . . . yes. But that doesn’t make me an expert. Let me ask you a couple of questions. Who do you know that also knew Bethany and, in your opinion, is the least likely to have killed her?”

“Besides me?” I nodded. “And you?”

I laughed. “Yes, besides us.”

“And besides Dante?”

“Yes, besides him. I don’t think they were really acquainted anyway.” Although I remembered that Dante said Bethany had contacted him.

“Oh, but Bethany knew everyone. Especially everyone with money and power and anything else she thought she needed to be the most important person in the world.” She nodded knowingly. Even though she acted ditzy and confused at times, I suspected that was an act. She clearly still retained a lot of insight.

“I gathered that,” I said. “In any event . . . who, among all the people you think she knew best, was the least likely to have killed her?”

“Well, I think she really loved her boyfriend, Miguel. I heard they argued a lot, but I think he loved her, too. So, maybe he’s the least likely.” She leaned over the table toward me. “Especially since I heard that she was supporting him, but she didn’t leave him much in her will.”

I couldn’t help laughing. Insight. This woman was one shrewd and perceptive senior citizen . . . sometimes.

“I get it,” I said. And I did.

I intended to have a little conversation soon with Bethany’s main squeeze before her death, Miguel Rohrig.

Mamie stayed long enough for me to treat her to dinner at a nearby family restaurant. She ordered meat loaf. If she always ate as little as she did then, she’d be able to dine on the remainder, boxed for her to take home, for the next two evenings.

I’d been virtuous and ordered a salad. Even so, it was large enough that I, too, got a doggy box for the remainder.

What did we talk about? Pets, of course. I’d left Zoey at HotRescues, and Mamie waxed eloquent about how wonderful she was. I, of course, agreed.

Which got Mamie sighing over how much she missed her own special pet, who’d been taken by Animal Services along with the rest of the hoarded animals.

“I just wish they had left Herman with me,” she said sadly as we walked to my car. “Just one dog, that’s all. I could have taken perfect care of him, especially if he was the only animal around. I always treated him specially, which was most likely unfair to all my other babies.”

“I know he’s special to you,” I said sympathetically.

She looked at me with a hopeful expression lighting her face. “Was he one of the dogs that you could pick up before?”

“No, but I’ll check on him again.”

“Thank you so much, Lauren! For everything. You are the absolute best.” She hugged me again, then got into my car.

Back at HotRescues, I saw her to her own automobile, which looked as elderly as she was beginning to appear—an old Chevy sedan with lots of dings, its red paint faded and scratched. “A vintage car,” I said, half in jest.

“It’s my baby, too, like Herman. It’s gotten me where I’ve needed to go for years.”

“Well, I’m a worrier. Why don’t you give me a call when you get home?”

“You think this senile senior citizen can’t drive worth a damn?” She said it lightly, as if she wasn’t offended at all if that was indeed what I thought. Close enough.

“I worry about everyone I care about, Mamie. You sound like my kids—except for the ‘senile senior citizen’ part.”

She laughed. “I’ll call you,” she promised. “Count on it.”

Which she did, maybe an hour later.

I was still at HotRescues. I’d received a message on my office phone from Kathy Georgio, asking why I didn’t contact her and the usual gang from the Southern California Rescuers loop to help take in the hoarded animals released that day by Animal Services. I called her back and explained that I was motivated by hoping to appease some of the shelter administrators involved with Pet Rescuers Together, without going into detail—like, I wanted information from them to help clear Mamie.