The More the Terrier (21 page)

Chapter 28

I was on the phone a lot at home that evening, which bored Zoey, who slept beside me on the couch. Hey, it was her house, too. I didn’t agree with those who kept their pets off the furniture. Fine for them, but it wasn’t my way.

I called Mamie first. I had no intention of letting her know I believed I was close to solving Bethany’s murder—and, hence, Mamie’s biggest legal problem. Not till I was certain, I had some evidence to hand over, and the right suspect was in jail. I worried about her, though.

“I’m fine, Lauren,” she said when I asked, but her tone suggested the opposite. The stress couldn’t be helping her deal with her already fragile psyche.

“How are you and Mr. Caramon getting along?” I asked in a not-so-subtle way of trying to find out if she was still being hounded by the police.

“Okay. We’re getting together again on Monday.”

“Oh. Well, take care, Mamie.”

“You, too, Lauren.”

I almost wished I could send some optimism over the phone airwaves.

My next discussion was with Matt. He’d had a busy week, but tomorrow was Friday, and we’d get together over the weekend. He’d rounded up the members of the SmART team. They would visit HotRescues next Saturday to check out the facilities for the demo I hoped they could do for the fund-raiser that Dante had finally scheduled for that Sunday. They’d even do a practice run.

After confirming it with Matt, I next spoke with Dante, letting him know that everything was a go from my end.

“Great, Lauren,” he said. “I’ve had my HotPets PR guys do what they could to get ready without total confirmation. Starting tomorrow, flyers will be available in all local HotPets and on our Web site, and we’ll flood all our online customers. We’ll emphasize what a great job HotRescues does, and should get a good turnout.”

“How much will we charge for people to get in?”

He named a reasonable figure. “Some of our take will go toward a generous contribution to SmART, since the team members pay for all their own equipment that isn’t donated, right?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Some will go toward HotRescues programs—not any offset for the new construction. That’s my nickel. Depending on how much we get, any extra will go to whatever rescue groups we decide on later. With my PR guys’ input, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Watch that sarcasm,” Dante said, but I heard amusement in his tone.

As I hung up, I decided to invite Mamie to our event. She might enjoy the distraction.

Finally, I called Carlie, let her know that our Sunday fund-raiser was happening . . . and also giving her the contact information I’d gotten from Dante about his PR guys. “If it’s okay with them, you can film all or part of one of your
Pet Fitness
shows there, if you want.”

“Count on it! Thanks, Lauren.”

There was a show about pet rescues in New York on Animal Planet that night. Zoey and I watched it before heading to bed.

Happy Saved Animals, the no-kill shelter managed by Darya Price, was located off Sepulveda Boulevard in Mar Vista, a part of Los Angeles not far from Venice and Santa Monica.

After dropping Zoey off at HotRescues that Friday morning, I drove south toward that general area—again. I’d been doing that a lot lately, ever since Mamie’s phone call.

I’d also been visiting more competing rescue organizations that ran shelters in a compressed amount of time than I had since before I helped to start HotRescues. Then, while putting together my business plan, I’d looked at other setups, asked questions without fully explaining my need to know, and stirred together the good while discarding the difficult and adding a dash of my own creativity. The result had impressed Dante enough, which had thrilled me. Still did.

Happy Saved Animals had been one of the shelters I’d checked out back then. I wasn’t sure who the director had been at the time, but it wasn’t Darya.

As I recalled now, the organization had impressed me as being solid, the fund-raising success impressive, and, most important, the emphasis on taking good care of animals had been wonderful.

I wondered if Darya had kept it all up. Why not? Since it wasn’t broken, she was unlikely to have fixed it.

I parked in the lot behind the facility and approached the gate. I entered into an attractive courtyard surrounded by buildings. The one on the right had a “Welcome” sign, and that was where I headed.

I’d called ahead to warn Darya I was coming, but she wasn’t the one to greet me. Instead, a friendly dark-haired woman showed me to a seat in what appeared to be a waiting room. “I’ll give you some paperwork to fill out,” she said, “and then I’ll have someone take you back to see our wonderful animals who are waiting to be adopted.”

She had a heavy accent, perhaps Middle Eastern, and she might not have fully understood what I’d said when I introduced myself. I gently waved away the clipboard she started to hand me and began to explain again who I was.

Darya walked in then. “Lauren, welcome.” She laughed lightly as she gestured toward the clipboard her assistant still held. “Lauren would pass all our requirements with flying colors,” Darya told the other lady, “but she’s here for another reason.” She turned back to me with a somewhat quizzical expression. “Which I’m eager to hear about. Come into my office, Lauren.” She waved for me to follow her.

Unlike a lot of administrators and their staff, Darya didn’t wear a uniform consisting of a T-shirt extolling her shelter. Nor was she the pinnacle of fashion, as Bethany had been. Instead, she had a business-like shirt and pair of slacks on her lean frame, as if impressing possible adopters with her professionalism might help her place her animals into new homes faster. I’d have to ask if it worked. If so, I might change my style.

Darya’s office was located down a short hall. I glanced in an open door and saw her husband, Lan, sitting behind a desk at a computer, his back toward the door.

“Does your husband work here, too?” I asked as we continued walking.

“He helps with a few things, like payroll for employees—not many of them, since we try to recruit volunteers. He’s great at giving fund-raising advice. He’s actually a CPA and works at an accounting firm that manages the books of a lot of doctors’ offices and medical centers.”

“Handy guy to have around,” I said with a smile, meaning it. Fortunately, Dante had a good accounting firm he dealt with for his HotPets empire who also helped to balance our HotRescues books. That meant I didn’t have much to worry about except for keeping track of donations—mostly from Dante himself—and expenses. An accounting program on our computer system helped a lot with that.

“He sure is,” Darya agreed. She showed me into the next room. “Here we are.”

Her office was smaller than mine. Even if I hadn’t had the conversation area, my digs were roomy compared with this. But it was neat, with a desk clear of everything but the inevitable computer, and a three-drawer file cabinet sideways against the back wall.

Darya pulled out a folding chair and set it up for me, wedging it in front of her desk. I sat down, regretting that I hadn’t asked for my tour first. Someone must have walked through the shelter, since I heard a wave of dog barks, starting with only one or two, then rising to a crescendo. Made me want to see them and hug a few, too.

Later, I figured.

“Can I get you some coffee or water?” Darya asked.

“I’m fine,” I said.

She pulled a bottle of water from a drawer and took a sip. “I’m delighted you’re here,” she said, “but what did you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure you can guess, at least somewhat. I’m still butting my nose in where it doesn’t belong, trying to figure out who really killed Bethany.” I smiled, but Darya’s return expression was only half amused.

“I understand your wanting to clear Mamie,” she said, “but if she’s guilty—and it sure looks that way—you’re just wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.” I leaned forward in an attempt to suggest earnestness, but I couldn’t go far in this cramped room. “I have an idea who really did it, but . . . Look, Darya, I’m still trying to sort through the e-mails I received from Pet Shelters Together members, but the gist of most of them is that Bethany wasn’t a very nice person at times. She did anything she could think of to get people to join PST. Nasty stuff. That’s what I’d figured led to her death. Someone fought back. It could have been Mamie, but I’ve come up with a better possibility. That’s why I’m here.”

I stopped. My intention had been to describe my new theory, that someone had a stronger motive: taking over the whole organization. Handling it differently. Making more money, and whatever else she chose to do—using what she’d learned from her former boss and running with it, after using Bethany’s own gun on her.

That someone would have been Cricket.

But I stopped talking as all the color drained from Darya’s face. Her former smile drooped, and her expression became guarded.

“Interesting theory,” she said.

Interesting reaction,
I thought.

“If you have another one, I’d love to hear it,” I said, even as my mind backtracked. I’d been talking about someone fighting Bethany’s nasty, coercive actions to get people to join PST. Had that happened to Darya? If so, how?

“Meantime,” I continued, “it’s surprising how many members of PST shared their reasons for joining with me—and their opinions all seemed to be mixed. They liked the concept. But just being approached by Bethany about joining turned into nightmares for some of them. If they said no, or they’d think about it, Bethany would back off a little, then come back at them with some nastiness that she’d researched and could maybe use against them if they didn’t opt in.” I paused. “She rubbed it in, too—like she did with Mamie that day she talked to us all about hoarding. Did she do that with you, too?”

“That day? Of course not.” She responded awfully quickly, her tone squeaky.

Even more interesting. Had whatever upset Darya about this conversation been mentioned that same day by Bethany? What had it been?

Darya sat back then and laughed. “Okay, you got me. You can add me to that list, but I hate to admit it. Bethany twisted my arm, too. I was reluctant to have Happy Saved Animals join the group, and she knew it. I didn’t like her attitude, for one thing. There was a situation where someone was interested in adopting a nonaggressive pit bull from Better Than Any Pet Rescues one day when I was there. Bethany kept making demands of that lady, telling her exactly how she’d have to train the dog, what to feed it, the works. The poor lady was almost in tears.”

“Was that Nalla Croler?” I asked. “I know she had an axe to grind with Bethany, so she’s on my suspect list, too.” I had some alternate, hugely growing suspicions right now but didn’t want to give them away.

“That name sounds familiar. I had a few pretty calm pit bulls here, too, and suggested she might want to check mine out—and I promised not to give her grief about the one she adopted, although she of course would be advised to train and supervise any dog properly. All the other PST members were horrified that I dared to contradict Bethany.” She laughed. “It didn’t really matter anyhow. The lady had fallen in love with the dog right there and decided to adopt despite Bethany’s edicts.”

“And you decided to join PST anyway?” I said casually.

“Well, yes. After that, Bethany came to me and told me she knew about . . . Well, something I didn’t want anyone else to know.”

It had been a big deal to Darya—enough to get her to join the network. I needed to learn what it was, even if she chose not to reveal it. Or had she already?

“The important thing was that I really liked the concept, and the other people. I decided to join anyway.”

“And got a lot out of it, I gathered.” A loose end that Brooke had mentioned to me suddenly popped into my mind, and I blurted, “Like that pretty pin?”

Darya’s pallor seemed to increase and her mouth opened. Nothing came out at first, and then she said, “The pins are pretty, aren’t they?”

Not exactly an admission of anything. Still . . .

“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 everything 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?”