The More the Terrier (22 page)

Another noncommittal shrug.

“You might check with Darya. She got even more upset when I mentioned it in the same conversation.”

The detective’s eyes widened. I aimed a glance at Brooke, who was smiling as broadly as Antonio.

“One final thing. Darya worked in the Better Than Any Pet Rescues office now and then after joining PST. With some supervision, sure. But she could easily have learned where Bethany kept her gun.”

“So could a lot of other people.”

“Like Mamie,” I agreed, “since she’d threatened Bethany once before, and had been threatened right back. But Darya and Bethany had been arguing. Quite a few people heard them. Those disagreements could have become threats. It’s just one more thing you may want to look into about Darya.”

“That’s it?” Detective Greshlam didn’t sound impressed.

“Taken all together, I’ve suggested a lot of motive and means for Darya’s guilt,” I said. Flimsy? Maybe, but I wasn’t a detective. Put all together, with some official legwork . . . “You’ll have to confirm them, of course. Opportunity, too, if she was there and dropped one of her two Pet Shelters Together pins in Bethany’s blood. All that is up to you, of course. But I think Darya’s a suspect worth looking into.”

We were finished, so I took them both through the shelter area. Antonio hadn’t visited here a lot, but he enjoyed the place.

I wasn’t sure whether Detective Joy Greshlam had any kind of heart, but I suspected she did, since it seemed to break just a little, at least, as she gushed over some of our residents.

I wondered whether she’d be back someday to adopt one.

Antonio hung back with Brooke when his fellow detective eventually left. “What do you think?” I asked as we headed toward the parking lot. Greshlam and he had driven separately.

“You definitely gave some angles they might not have known,” Brooke said.

“No guarantees,” Antonio said, “but I like the way your mind worked on this, Lauren. If you’re right, I’ll call you so you can observe the arrest.”

Chapter 30

Sunday was when I’d planned to visit the Tarbets again.

By then, only a couple of days had passed since I’d handed my theory and rationale over to the cops. Nothing had happened. At least I didn’t think so. Even if the media hadn’t gotten word about the focus on any different suspects in Bethany’s murder, Brooke would have heard something from Antonio.

But she had assured me yesterday, and now today, that he hadn’t let her in on anything the LAPD might be doing.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not actively pursuing what you gave them,” she assured me early on Sunday morning when Zoey and I arrived at HotRescues. “But they can’t tell regular citizens, even me, without potentially spoiling their case.”

So, I just went about my regular business, making sure our residents were well cared for. Planning for our big fund-raiser, which would take place a week from today. Encouraging visitors to fill out our paperwork and, if they met our standards, adopt a dog or cat. Meeting with people who’d already been approved and had come to pick up their newest family members. And doing home visits.

That day, I called first, as I usually did. First, I went to the Northridge home where someone had just adopted a cat this week. I hadn’t met the lady but had relied on her paperwork, plus recommendations from Nina, Mona, and Angie. All had liked her, and she took the cat home the day after the initial visit.

After I met her at her home, I couldn’t help but agree with their opinions. I felt certain that the year-old Siamese mix she’d adopted would have a good forever home.

I next stopped at the people who’d referred her to HotRescues. The Tarbets were wonderful about doing that, and I wanted to thank them. I also wanted to invite them to our fund-raiser next weekend.

Davie was home, along with Margie. The teenager was the one to answer the door. “Hi, Lauren! Come in.”

“I can’t stay long,” I said. “Your mother home?” She was, and she joined us in their living room with Nemo, Moe, and Beardsley. I chatted with them for a while, and thanked them for their latest referral, one of many recently. “It feels wonderful to save animals, doesn’t it, Davie?”

He looked a little confused—and a little sheepish. But all he said was, “Mom’s the one to thank. She’s the one who gives out the most referrals.”

“But you try to help, too, don’t you? Anyway, come to our fund-raiser a week from today. I’ll get the entrance donation waived for you, and you might enjoy seeing the Small Animal Rescue Team give a demonstration. Plus, there are some things I’d love to show you at HotRescues, including our newest facilities.”

When I left, I felt sure they’d be there. A good thing. I intended to make it an event that Davie in particular wouldn’t forget.

The week dragged on. Not that I wasn’t busy.

I talked to Mamie a couple of times. She sounded depressed, and I attempted to cheer her without giving her particulars.

Until someone else was arrested for Bethany’s murder, she remained a suspect. I knew the cops were smart, and I’d given them a wonderful lead. But you never knew . . .

Besides, I could be wrong. Just in case, I studied my suspect files daily, hoping to see something I had missed. Nothing leaped out at me, though. And my accuracy and intuition were usually as spot-on as a Las Vegas odds-maker’s.

Yet I started to worry. I could have trotted down the wrong path in my eagerness to chase an answer I liked. Maybe I’d been right when I’d believed it was Cricket. Maybe Mamie was guilty after all.

Had I missed something? Was it someone I hadn’t even considered seriously? Heck, I wasn’t really a detective. I’d just been darned lucky—and smart—when I’d solved the last murder I’d been involved with . . . the one where I’d been the primary suspect.

Maybe I should just back off and avoid all this frustration. But that would cause frustration of another kind.

I at least got Mamie interested in coming to our fund-raiser and SmART demonstration that weekend. And to see our animals—which by then would include more of those she had considered hers. Despite her expression of interest a while back, she hadn’t returned to HotRescues in the interim.

Matt had let me know there were a bunch more animals from Mamie’s hoarding available to be picked up. Otherwise, they’d be moved to one of the overcrowded city care centers—which would put their longevity in ultimate danger. I’d immediately notified the shelter managers and others who viewed the Southern California Rescuers Web site, including Kathy Georgio and Ilona Graye. I let Cricket know, too, and she promised that, after she spoke with her members, there would be no released animal left behind. Would she use Bethany’s tactics? I didn’t ask—not when pets’ lives could be at stake.

I was at the Northeast Valley Animal Care Center on Thursday at the time Matt prescribed, along with Pete Engersol to help, and we accepted around a dozen dogs and cats. Kathy, Ilona, and some other shelter directors I knew from the Southern California Rescuers Web site, from as far away as Palm Springs and San Diego, were there, too. So were Cricket, Sylvia, Raelene, and even Darya. I acted entirely cordial with Darya, without hinting what I knew—or thought I did. Fortunately, she only had room for one or two animals, and I assumed she was there only because Cricket had insisted on it.

I wondered what would happen if Darya was arrested. When I’d visited her shelter, I had recalled that she wasn’t the first director there. She wouldn’t be the last, either. Right now, she had a staff and a husband, so presumably the animals at Happy Saved Animals would still be well cared for.

One way or another, I’d make sure of it.

Matt was there when we picked up the animals. I wanted to give him a big, grateful kiss, but we both decided to wait till we were alone together. He promised me he’d be at the HotRescues fund-raiser on Sunday. Plus, we made arrangements to have dinner together on Friday night.

I had to cancel out on that, though. Friday was the day Brooke got the call from Antonio. The Robbery Homicide Division had in fact been able to get hard evidence to prove the allegations I’d made.

Darya Price was about to be arrested.

I was vindicated! I’d not only chosen the right suspect, but I’d helped to point the cops in her direction.

I drove to Happy Saved Animals with Brooke. She’d met me at HotRescues, and we’d left Zoey and Cheyenne there in Nina’s able care.

“You know this is a special favor to me.” Brooke sat in the passenger seat of my Venza, and her glowing smile lit her entire face. “I mean, our getting notice and an unofficial invitation to watch, as long as we stay out of the way.”

“Your Antonio seems like a great guy . . . for a cop.”

She laughed. “What do you mean,
seems
?”

We reached the street where Happy Saved Animals was located. I’d entered last time through a rear courtyard. Was that the best place to hang out now? I wasn’t sure, but the entrance from the main street was a gate in a large fence that obscured what was beyond it. I noticed a few police cars parked in the vicinity and mentioned our dilemma to Brooke.

She made a quick call to Antonio. “Stay here,” she said. “This will be fine.”

It was. We couldn’t tell much of what was happening, but in about half an hour the gate opened and Darya came out, surrounded by cops. She appeared to be cuffed, with her hands behind her. The police ushered her into the back of one of the marked cars, and it drove off.

“So justice has triumphed again,” Brooke said.

“Amen,” I responded, hoping—and believing—it was true.

Later I learned from Brooke, also unofficially, that the LAPD investigation had yielded that Happy Saved Animals did indeed have some donors who would soon be unhappy. Not all of their donations went to the shelter but instead were kept by Darya and, presumably, her husband.

Meantime, Lan had disappeared and was being sought as a person of interest in the ongoing investigation.

A PST pin had unsurprisingly been found at the shelter, in Darya’s office. Detectives had questioned Cricket, and she’d told them what she had divulged to me: that Darya had received a second one after losing the first. Since the organization kept close watch on its pins, the logical conclusion was that the one found at the site of Bethany’s murder was one of Darya’s. And since there had been no indication that anyone else had taken the missing one, the assumption was that Darya had found it.

A lot of this was circumstantial evidence. So was the fact that Darya had argued with Bethany a lot, including the day before the murder.

What wasn’t quite so circumstantial was the fact that Better Than Any Pet Rescues was equipped with security cameras, similar to those at HotRescues. That hadn’t been made public. Mamie’s car had been seen entering the parking lot, which was no surprise, since she was found there. Other vehicles had come and gone, too, including Darya’s and her husband, Lan’s—again no surprise, thanks to the meeting that night. But although Lan’s had driven away with the rest of the crowd, Darya had stayed late, allegedly to help Bethany clean up. She had already been questioned over and over by the police, since she might have been the last one besides the murderer to see Bethany alive.

Or she might have been the murderer. The cops had been aware of that, which was one reason Mamie had remained free. What I’d told them hadn’t made them turn the official investigation in an entirely different direction. Even so, my little bits of icing on their investigatory cake—the reason behind the arguments between Darya and Bethany, consisting of Bethany’s threats to reveal the financial condition of Happy Saved Animals to the world, plus the added swirl of the missing pin—had provided enough evidence to finally lead to the arrest.

The media had learned about the arrest, too, and had vans and helicopters and reporters capturing the situation on film. It would be on the news that night.

Whatever the consequences ultimately were for Mamie’s hoarding—and she should receive some credit against the animal cruelty charges for her decision to surrender her pets—she would not be arrested for Bethany’s murder.

Except for finally doing the memorial Web site for Bethany that I’d promised the PST members, my involvement in the killing was finally over.

Chapter 31

Matt and I did get together that night after all. I really felt jazzed after witnessing Darya’s arrest, and Brooke and I left the scene around seven o’clock.

A while later, Matt and I were seated outside at a familystyle restaurant with Zoey and Rex lying happily at our feet. Matt was in casual civilian garb, including a navy T-shirt that hugged his substantial chest and biceps, which made me relish the evening as a hot date. Or maybe it was my need to celebrate in as many ways as possible that enhanced my awareness.

I still wore my usual HotRescues outfit. I hadn’t had the time or inclination to don anything sexier, but judging from Matt’s appreciative glances in my direction, he didn’t care.

“We need a bottle of wine,” I told him. “To celebrate. My treat.”

He laughed. “No, mine. I need to toast the heroine of the day. And night.” His dark eyebrows lifted suggestively, and it was my turn to laugh. And nod as I felt my cheeks redden.

We took our time over dinner and wine, but hurried back to my place when we were through.

Where we carried out my celebration more personally . . .

I remained in a festive mood the next day at HotRescues—and not entirely because of my night with Matt. Although that certainly helped.

So did the reports on radio, TV, and Internet about the arrest of Darya Price for the murder of Bethany Urber. Not to mention the pleased chatter from my shelter staff and volunteers.

I got a call from Miguel, who sounded really glad that his girlfriend’s murderer had been caught. “I talked to both of her ex-husbands already, too. They told me to thank you.”

Interesting, since I didn’t gather they were high on the authorities’ suspect list—or mine, either, for that matter. Nor did they particularly miss Bethany. Maybe they had just grown tired of being questioned.

Then there was Mamie. I didn’t have to call her; she called me. Without animals in her life, she probably spent a lot of time watching television. “Lauren! It’s so wonderful! That poor Darya, though. I know she and Bethany argued a lot because of Bethany’s nastiness to her, too—but Bethany was nasty to everyone. We all hated her.”

“Murder’s a pretty extreme reaction, though. And even with Darya now in custody, I’d suggest you not go around talking about how much you hated Bethany. Darya hasn’t been convicted yet.”

“Oh. Right. I get it.” She paused. “See you tomorrow. Right? That’s when your fund-raiser will be?”

“Yes. See you then.”

I had a surprise for her. One of the dogs we’d taken in at HotRescues this week had been her favorite, Herman. Even if she remained forbidden from keeping any animals, she could visit him here. We wouldn’t push to find him a new home.

Matt called soon afterward—not just to congratulate me, or to thank me for last night, although he did both of those, too, which warmed my heart, and other parts of me, even more. “I’ll be there later with the members of the Small Animal Rescue Team,” he said. “They’ll set up their equipment this afternoon and do some practice runs in anticipation of tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“Absolutely.”

“One more thing I need to let you know. Things are in chaos around Happy Saved Animals. Darya’s husband isn’t there, and the staff isn’t proving capable of taking care of the animals. We’ll probably need to take them all into Animal Services custody, but I’m not sure how many we’ll be able to keep.”

Meaning that the rest might be put down for lack of space.

“I’ll find a place for any that need it,” I assured him, even as my mind began somersaulting over all the issues. I’d just gotten help from a lot of other rescuers, but not all in the area or beyond. Plus, I hadn’t pushed hard to enlist the help of fosterers, but I would now if that became necessary.

One thing that would help was that my own facility’s added space would be available soon. I’d just have to make it happen faster, if necessary. Lives were in the balance.

“Great,” Matt said. “Why am I not surprised? We can talk about it later.”

Seven members of the Small Animal Rescue Team arrived around mid-afternoon. They were all employees of Los Angeles Animal Services, stationed at different animal care centers. I’d seen at least some of them before.

Matt was with them. He introduced me again to Renz Sharp—short for Lorenzo—the team leader whom I’d seen at the puppy mill rescue along with some of the others. Renz was of moderate height and wiry, with light brown hair and a broad and friendly smile. Like the other SmART members, Renz wore a darker brown T-shirt with a round logo that said Los Angeles Animal Services, Small Animal Rescue Team. Each had a short, appropriate nickname—a play on their real names—stamped in white on their shirts. Their work pants were deep green. Two were women, five were men, and all were friendly.

After introducing them to our staff and volunteers, and giving them a quick tour of the open part of our facility, I took them next door to show them the building that would be the center of their exercise. In addition to long metal tubes, each carried a large fabric bag that looked heavy, and undoubtedly contained part of their equipment.

I wasn’t able to stay with them while they got ready, but they began adding safety equipment to their uniforms, including helmets, vests, and knee pads.

“It’ll take them a while to get prepared,” Matt said. “I’ll come get you when they’re ready to start testing their setup.”

About forty-five minutes later, he came for me. I left Nina in the welcome area, poor thing, but someone had to be there in case any potential adopters arrived. She’d be back tomorrow to see the demonstration, so she was okay with it.

Everyone else came with me, Matt included.

The training session held by SmART was utterly amazing.

By the time I returned to our new building’s second floor, they had already positioned things up on the balcony with a large metal tripod anchored by nylon rope to a heavy floor-to-ceiling pole they had set up inside. They had also run several thick strands of rope over the balcony rail to the ground below.

“We’re going to do what we call a MARS exercise,” Renz told me from beneath his red helmet. “That stands for Mock Animal Rescue Scenario. We need to be prepared for all kinds of rescues, including where animals have fallen down cliffs or other mountainous terrain. The best way to get to them is for some of us to traverse down lines like these to wherever they are, which may not be the bottom. Then we’d determine if we can take them all the way down from wherever they are and get them out from there, or if we have to haul our team members and the animals back up. We don’t usually have the same issues off buildings, but this is a good training situation just in case.”

I looked at the nylon lines strung downward, hitched together by metal gadgets I’d heard the team members refer to as carabiners. There were also pulleys and other gizmos. Thanks to taking my kids to amusement parks and fairs within the last few years, I recognized what this really was. Not that I’d encouraged Tracy and Kevin to participate in scary rides like that, but they’d insisted. I’d only watched, though.

“That looks like a zip-line,” I said. “You just hook up to it and ride down on those pulleys, right?”

“Exactly. Ready to see this?”

I definitely was, and so were the other HotRescues people who’d joined me.

With some remaining at the top and others at the bottom to make sure the system remained stable, SmART team members slid down the lines one by one. Men and women were equally adept, and the exercises went perfectly.

We clapped and cheered as we watched. I felt glad it was them, and not me, sailing down those ropes. None of them looked scared. I’d have been terrified. I was okay with heights, as long as I was on something substantial, like a building.

“That’s amazing!” I said to Matt.

“What’s really amazing,” he reminded me, “is that these folks are all volunteers, even though they work for Animal Services. They buy most of their equipment unless it’s donated.”

I’d talk to Dante, but I was sure that no matter what kind of money we brought in from our fund-raiser tomorrow, he’d send a healthy contribution their way.

Eventually, each team member had taken a turn zipping down the line. They’d do the same thing all over again tomorrow, the demonstration they had promised as part of the fund-raiser for animal rescues that would also publicize HotRescues.

The public was in for a great event, and so were we.

“We’ll just leave everything set up for tomorrow, if that’s all right,” Renz said.

“Fine. We have security around all night, so no one should bother anything.”

But it turned out I was wrong—and not for any reason I could ever have anticipated.

Later, after the SmART Team and most of my HotRescues crowd was gone, I joined Matt at a nearby Mexican restaurant for a quick dinner. Brooke had already arrived for the night with Cheyenne, and Zoey stayed with them for now.

Despite feeling some regret, I sent Matt home so I could return to HotRescues. He understood, since his earlier announcement about the possible demise of Happy Saved Animals was one reason I needed to go back and work on logistics.

At the shelter, I left my purse in my desk drawer and went outside with a notepad and pen in my hand, saying hi to the medium and large dogs on both sides of the shelter path as they greeted me. “You’re going to get even more company soon,” I told them, but they didn’t give me their opinions—at least none I interpreted from their continued barking.

Brooke, the only human still around, was in the middle of her early walk-through under the shelter lights, with both Cheyenne and Zoey accompanying her. I told her about my dilemma.

“That sucks,” she said, when I told her Matt’s assessment of how endangered the pets from Darya’s shelter now were.

“It sure does.”

“Need me to do anything?” she asked.

“Nothing any different from your usual great security job,” I said. “Come on, Zoey.” We went through the gate into the new property so I could look around and stew over the problem. A lot of dogs behind us still kept up their noise. I knew my statement hadn’t made them any more nervous than usual, but figured they were continuing to grump to Brooke.

I could have asked my staff members to help figure out how to handle this, but it was up to me to ensure that things get done right. Micromanagement? Who cared? This time, I needed to reassess the amount of space we’d have for more endangered pets once the new part of the shelter opened, and to figure out how we could open it faster—like right away.

The building, though close to being done, wouldn’t be usable for a few more weeks. Most of the outside enclosures had already been started, but they still needed a lot of work.

No matter what Darya had done to Bethany, the animals in her shelter could not be permitted to suffer for it. Here or somewhere else, they’d be taken in and cared for.

I made notes as Zoey and I walked around. Not all the lights on the adjoining property were hooked up yet, but enough that I could see.

The configuration of the new enclosures would nearly double our capacity. Maybe we could shoehorn in most of the endangered pets, for a while, at least, if we came close to finishing our new areas. The outdoor fencing was up, but the long, shedlike indoor areas where the animals—mostly dogs—could go to get out of sun or rain, or just veg out, had only just been started. If necessary, we could bring in dogs of all sizes, and even cats, and somehow provide temporary covers for them. Maybe Dante would have suggestions of items HotPets could provide.

Zoey suddenly stopped walking and just stood on the path beside me, growling. Even baring her teeth. That wasn’t like her.

“What’s wrong, girl?” I asked.

She lunged forward, toward the nearest door to the building, though it was closed. Had some wild creature gotten inside? I hoped not, but at least if it had, it would be isolated. I could call Matt and he’d be able to get me some help. First, I wanted to see what it was.

Oddly, I remembered another situation where I’d gone into our back shed building and found that a very human enemy had set up a trap for me and one of our rescue dogs . . .

But that was months ago, and that situation had been resolved.

Just in case, though, I didn’t want Zoey to get into an ugly situation where she could get attacked by a coyote or even a raccoon, or sprayed by a skunk, if it did turn out to be a local wild creature.

“Sit,” I told her. “Stay.”

She looked at me reproachfully, but no dog was smarter or more obedient than a Border collie, the most obvious part of her background. She sat and stayed as I opened the building’s door.

I reached for the light to flick it on. Too late, I noticed movement off to my side.

In a moment, when light flooded the downstairs area, I saw what had caused it.

A wild animal? Maybe—but one in human form. It was Darya’s husband—Lan Price.

He was brandishing a knife, and before I could react, he had grabbed me.